Press Your Luck: Love Games Series, page 1
Press Your Luck by Dee Ellis
© 2023 by Dee Ellis. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author.
Cover Design: Designs with Hart
Interior Formatting: Dee Ellis
Publisher: Hummingbird Press
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Hi Reader!
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Thank You for Reading!
Love Games Series
About the Author
Chapter One
Luck
Success hinges on being good—and being lucky.
With a name like mine, Luck Landon, I was born to be both. Growing up I hated being talked about because of who I was. Or who I was never going to be. My father had tasted success. It was short-lived once he became infamous for bad habits instead of being famous for good work.
After years of bad press and mockery, he quietly retired. Truth be told, he had not booked a real role or even hosted an event for over a decade before his retirement. Mother is still active with her candy-coated holiday films on cable. Those fluff films kept us from losing everything.
Father tried to talk me out of taking a chance on a film career. Said the business had wrecked our lives. I always wanted to prove him wrong. To prove to myself I am better than he was. Sometimes I wish I had listened to him.
“Rehearsals in twenty minutes,” Roxie announces with a smile.
Glancing at her in the reflection of the mirror, I nod. I tug at my suit jacket, fixing my tie as the stylist fusses with my hair. Swatting her hand away, I shoot her a scathing look. No need to mess with perfection.
“Do not touch the hair babe.”
Ignoring the glare she sends my way, I chuckle. I guess I can be a bit of a diva. I blame it on how my mother raised me. I was spoiled with the best acting coaches, the best stylists, and the best PR firm. Mother was just as determined as I was to prove father’s failures were just a fluke.
Like father like son, I got my taste of success. Landing a role on a popular soap should have been just the start for me. I won an Audience Choice award after a particularly heartbreaking story arc. Once movie offers started coming my way, I thought I had it made.
“All those big dreams got us nowhere, bud,” I taunt my reflection.
Shaking my head, I push to my feet, fixing my suit again. The stylist cycles through some ties before she chooses one and gets to work tying it in a Windsor knot. It is one of my signature looks with this new gig. One I was shocked to be offered.
“Late for rehearsals, Luck,” Roxie’s voice calls as she rushes past the dressing room again, clipboard in hand.
“How can I be late? I am the host,” I call dryly as I bend to get one last look at my hair.
They can hardly get the show started without the host. Not that I am thrilled to be host of something featured on daytime television. This is a far cry from more respected soaps or melodramas. I long for the days of playing a hotel magnate on Life in Lustra.
Now I am just a cornball on a cartoonish game show.
“There he is.”
“Here I am,” I declare as I throw out waving jazz hands.
“Right on time,” the director calls. He is a liar. I am never on time.
Production members hustle across the stage testing lighting or setting up the sets. Bright colors partnered with wild stripes make up the main set, where the audience will see all the action. Hanging overhead facing the players is the gameboard, also brightly colored and striped.
Fixing my tie again, I smooth a hand over my hair. I am always a little anxious before rehearsals, no matter what the gig is. On soaps we did table reads, stage blocking, and rehearsals before filming a single scene. This is all new territory for me because episodes will be taped live.
Five months ago, I would have laughed at someone standing on this stage. Who watches game shows anymore? That was the question I asked when the offer came in. It would seem lots of people watch game shows. With a retro romance going on, all things of yesteryear seem hot again.
“Luck, our contestants will be here shortly. Two women, one man. Roxie gave you their information cards earlier,” the stage director chatters quickly, walking with me as I head for my spot behind the podium. “We will run through intros once. After blocking, we will start the taping.”
“I got it, Daniel. It’s been two weeks of daily filming, bud, I have the routine down. Trust me. Let’s get this show going, boss.”
Press Your Luck is the newest throwback gameshow to make a comeback. I wanted to tell my agent to get screwed when he told me they wanted me to host. With no callbacks happening after I pissed off a lot of important people, I had little choice.
Taking my spot, I shake off my nerves as I wait for the players to take their places. It is just my second week of taping, so I am still getting into the swing of things. Still figuring out what sort of character I am trying to be here. Truth is, I am still not sure how I feel about being here.
At the same time, I am grateful to have a gig after all my mistakes.
“Luck, please behave,” Roxie is at my ear, a stern look on her face.
“Well, it is much for fun for everyone when I misbehave, is it not?”
Roxie rolls her eyes and shakes her head. As she turns away, my cocky grin fades. Yeah, I am known for being a loose cannon. Flirting with married women in front of their director husbands, sleeping with studio moguls’ daughters on their yachts, and drinking until I couldn’t perform.
Being compared to my father not for his star status but his drunken downfall is what woke me up. Too bad it was almost too late. Pissing off men in power in this industry is as bad as boring the talent director. In the months it took to get clean I was almost entirely forgotten about.
Press Your Luck is my chance to remind everyone who I am.
“Rehearsals in five,” Roxie shouts, then whispers into her headset.
Wincing at her sharp tone, I nod. As I turn back towards the stage, I see the contestants being led in. The first woman is loud and bold, in a bright red polka dot dress. Her exuberance makes me smile despite how uncertain I still am about this entire thing.
Behind her trails a tall, thin man with short, cropped hair and a suit that fits too tightly. He seems very excited to be here, waving at the empty risers where the crowd will sit. I am still chuckling at the characters they bring on here when the final contestant follows the others in. I swallow hard, my tie feeling way too tight suddenly.
Sailing across the stage as if an angel coasting on air is an actual…well, angel. Glistening blonde hair spills down her back and the form fitting royal blue dress showcases her soft curves. Her head turns just slightly, her bright blue eyes swinging my way.
“Holy shit,” I hear myself mutter as my heart stills inside my chest.
Jesus, she is beautiful. Full pink mouth, cute button nose, and those eyes. Those eyes sparkle with something, as if she and I share a secret. Her perfect mouth tilts in a half smile that makes my heart slam against my chest. I suddenly want to know every single one of her secrets.
“Who is she?” I whisper to Roxie as I fuss with my tie again.
“A contestant? Do you ever do your work, big star?”
Shooting her a divisive look, I wave her off, ignoring her snorting laugh. Watching all the contestants take their seats, I refer to the cards prepared for each player. Details about them from their age, their names, and a few favorite things are on each card.
“Lenna Carter, twenty-five. Here for a good time, not a long time, on a sabbatical. Sabbatical? Who takes sabbaticals?” I murmur to myself in wonder.
Looking over the contestants again, I focus on her. Lenna sits with her shoulders back, a beaming smile at her beautiful face, all her hair flowing around her like golden silk. Her eyes come to mine, and I feel my pulse quicken once again.
Being an actor means I work with the worlds’ most beautiful women all the time. Truth be told, not one has ever made my heart thump or my hands tremble. Because none of them ever looked at me the way Lenna is looking at me right now.
“Go meet the contestants before rehearsal starts,” Roxie demands, nudging me with her elbow in their direction.
“Of course. Right, yeah that’s a good idea, I stammer, shaking off my nerves as I run a hand through my hair. Hair I snapped at the stylist about not touching earlier, and here I am ruining it.
For a moment, I forget the character I am here. Once I took this gig, I knew I wanted to create a likable character for viewers. After all the bad press, I needed to introduce a new version of Luck Landon to the public.
As I reach the contestants’ stage, where they sit atop risers that will slide around the huge sound stage, I forget about public image. I forget about the mistakes I made and how I feel as if I am starting over here. I forget about that likable character I am working to build for this show.
All I can think about is talking to Lenna as myself, just Luck.
“Hello there,” my words are meant for her, but I make sure to nod at all three players. “We excited to win some cool shit?” I tease them with my trademark crooked grin.
“I am,” polka-dot girl announces, clapping her hands. “Loved this show growing up! Excited to be here and see some whammies.”
Grinning at her, I let her go on for a moment about trying out for the show. Tall thin man talks next, explaining he was dared by some buddies at work to go on a game show. When it comes time for Lenna to speak, all of us seem captivated by her.
“I am here for fun,” she starts, voice tinged with a southern lilt. “Made a list of all the wild stuff I could do on sabbatical, so here I am!”
Smiling at her, I check her hands for rings, noting how pretty her little hands are with their pink polish. Her face is freckled, and I am trying to count them as I gaze at her. Our eyes stay locked in a heated gaze that makes my tailored pants feel too tight.
Lenna reaches up to tuck some hair behind her ear. I find myself starting to reach out too, wondering how silky the strands feel in my fingers. My eyes drop to her soft mouth. I am hit with indecent images of that mouth wrapped around my cock as my hands tangle in her silky hair.
Blinking, I glance away, as if she can see my filthy thoughts. I take a step closer to her, drawn in by her scent. Sugar sweet like fresh cookies. Her hands twist in her lap and I reach out, my big hand closing hers. Our eyes flash to one another’s as something electric zips through us both.
“Lenna,” I whisper her name, the rest of the stage, the crew, all of it fading away. I take another step closer, watching her throat work as she swallows hard. Good, she felt that too. Her eyes are so sapphire blue, as if gazing into a sparkling galaxy of beautiful light.
“Luck, take your place please,” Roxie shouts, Daniel calling out to me seconds later.
Sighing, I nod and start to back away. I give Lenna’s hands a gentle squeeze, transfixed as her cheeps bloom pink. I fight the urge to reach out to feel the warmth of her blush beneath my fingers. Gathering myself, I share a smile with her before reaching out to the others, so my behavior is not seen as an unfair preference.
Taking my place, I am still grinning, my heart thumping fast. Run through rehearsals go smoothly with Lenna enchanting the entire place. Roxie is at my side as we start to roll tape, telling me to behave again. And I have been on my best behavior with this gig, so I tell her not to worry.
Nothing to worry about over here. I just met a woman I am willing to press my luck with, pun fully intended.
Chapter Two
Lenna
Being observant has always been my strongest trait.
Growing up with two truth seekers taught me to pay attention to the little details. Dad was a talented lawyer, fighting for truth and justice for his clients, even if it barely paid the bills. Mom was a former detective who never gave up finding the truth for dad’s clients.
Finding the truth was a little different for me. I chose to write about truth, starting out with grilling my parents about their cases when I was a curious teen. As my thirst for details grew, I studied cold cases, wrote pieces about unjust court rulings, and did what I could to show the truth to the world with my words.
Five months ago, I decided I wanted a break from hard-hitting stories. Seeking truth and justice is no simple task. It takes its toll. I sat down one night and wrote a list of fun things I had always wanted to do. Working that list the way I work leads for a story, I set out to enjoy life a little.
“A game show?” my bestie Nola questions with a perk of her brow.
“Yes, a game show. Have you never wondered what it might be like to go on one? What it is like behind the scenes of that sort of thing?”
“Uh…no? I mean we all loved Price is Right growing up and a few of us still love Jeopardy, despite the great loss of Trebek,” she remarks sadly, turning her confused gaze back at the booklet clutched in her hands. “But I mean…really? Press Your Luck? They still make this show?”
“They do now,” I answer in a sing-song voice. “Hosted by some soap opera hunk. Luck Landon? I mean is that not perfect?”
“No way! Luck Landon from Life in Lustra? He is a fox!”
“Who cares about any of that,” I argue with a wave of my hand. “I just want to see how hosting works. How winning works. I mean, do we walk away with our arms full of small appliances and exotic trips?”
“Why must everything be a story?”
Blinking at Nola, my smile freezes on my face. I hate how honest she is as much as I love it. It can sting when she hits her mark. I do make everything a story. As if I approach everything with an angle. I never mean to, I guess I just cannot turn off the reporter in me.
“I guess it is a stupid idea,” I mumble, feeling foolish for thinking otherwise.
“Oh, sis, I did not mean to piss on your party,” she cries, sitting up to wrap her arms around me and pull me down with her.
Sighing, I nod because of course she never means to call me out. We just view the world very differently. Nola writes from a different place. Her words are poetic and romantic. Stories of consuming love and lust. Steamy romances that make me blush and make me wish I knew how to act more impulsively.
Nola is the reason we took off on this grand adventure all those months ago. I wanted to see places I had only written about, experience things I had only read about, and for once in my life, not turn it all into a story for the public to pick apart and debate. I wanted this story for myself.
“It will be fun,” she declares, sitting up after squeezing me in a tight hug. “And we will get to meet that fox Luck Landon. You might win a trip or a ton of cash, or just get to be on a cornball show. It is not a stupid idea, just like nothing else on our list has been stupid.”
We laugh because there have absolutely been stupid things on our to-do list: riding a motorcycle that we almost immediately crashed, playing a high stake round of poker which cost us five grand we didn’t have, and going on a hot air balloon ride that wound up tangled in trees for hours.
“It would be fun to win something,” I agree as I follow her to the closet of our suite.
“Would be even more fun to fool around with Luck,” she retorts.
“Stop it,” I chastise with a laugh. Nola is a world class flirt who turns heads wherever she goes. Lively and loud, she is hard to miss with her long dark hair and the lithe figure of a former athlete. “I am not here to fool around with some soap opera stud.”
“Who said you? I meant me,” she teases with a waggle of her brows.
“You want to go on the show?” I say tightly, suddenly a little bothered that she was making fun of my idea just moments ago.
“God, no. I am no good at trivia or problem solving. I will go to watch you kill it and win all the prizes. I will take the consolation prize: Luck.”
Laughing, I agree with this plan. I just want to have a good time. I never allow myself to let go. I am always working, always writing, always seeking the story. For once in my life, I am going to go have a good time and ignore all the details that mean little more than a byline.
Arriving at the studio almost two hours later, I am a ball of nerves. I clutch my ticket until it’s a crumpled ball in my hands. I applied to be a contestant on the show months ago after we started our list of things to do. I put a dozen weird things on this list, including some of the crazier ones we’ve done so far.
