Meet Cute (Love, Camera, Action Book 5) by Elise Faber (red white and royal blue hardcover .TXT) 📕

I stuck my head out from behind Tal’s shoulder. “Look you—”

“Tammy,” Tal said. “Can you please walk to the panel there and hit the code six-four-seven-two?”

I blinked.

But despite being more than used to giving the orders, his tone had me instantly obeying. I moved to the keypad, punched in the numbers. Crossed back to Tal.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

The paparazzo was moving around the room, his camera still pointed at us, at me, at Talbot. It was the most unnerving thing I’d ever experienced, even more so because of how casual he was, just walking around in a home that wasn’t his, taking pictures in a constant fury.

“You need to leave,” Tal said.

“I just need—” The camera dropped, and I saw the greedy look in his dark brown eyes, the shadows beneath, the lines around his mouth. He smelled like cigarettes, the odor filling the room, masking the lovely spice of Tal’s scent. I hated that, hated the man who’d destroyed the small slice of peace, of happy we’d managed to build.

It was as though he had jabbed his fingers into the wound on my arm, was jiggling them around, just for good measure.

“He asked you to leave,” I said. “And as an officer of the law—”

The front door burst open.

Two huge guys launched themselves at the intruder, and in approximately one-point-five seconds, he was face-first on the floor, his camera ripped out of his hands, and those hands restrained behind his back.

Talbot turned to face me, one hand on my uninjured arm, the other on my cheek. “God, Tammy, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He stared deeply into my eyes, and I saw regret pass through his. “I’m sorry.”

I opened my mouth, ready to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, but he was already turning back to face the trio of men.

“My camera!” the man complained.

One of the security guards shoved him more firmly into the floor, told him to “Shut the fuck up.”

The other came over to us. “The police are on their way.” He held up the camera. “I think you’ll find that the camera’s memory card is mysteriously wiped.”

Tal nodded. “How’d he get in?”

Fury on the tall, built man’s face. “I don’t know that yet, Mr. Green. We’ll review the tapes and—”

“I want Annalise here,” Tal said in a voice harder than anything I’d heard before.

“I’m not sure—”

I could have sworn I heard Talbot’s teeth grind together. “You tell your boss to get her ass down here immediately. I don’t give a fuck where on the planet she is, but I expect her to be here by tonight.” He stopped, shoulders rising and falling on a breath. “I don’t pay through the fucking nose,” he said quietly, fingers coming to the bridge of his nose and squeezing, “for a man to stab my woman in front of my house, for another to assault her in my house—”

I shivered—though probably not for the reasons he thought.

He still noticed, anyway. Though he didn’t spare me a look as he wound an arm around my waist and hauled me to his side.

My shivering was two-fold. One, because he’d called me his woman, and two, because he was upset that I was the one affected—stab my woman, assault her in my house. I’d never had anyone ever think of me first, of the way that I’d been impacted by a situation, rather than themselves. It was just . . . unfathomable.

And I just . . . I just really liked it.

“I know, Mr. Green.”

“Then get Annalise here,” he gritted. “Get more help to secure the house. I don’t care if you have to sleep on the fucking couch until I get the rest of it sorted.”

“What sorted?” I asked.

He glanced out the window. “Until I find us a different place to stay.”

“We’ve called in more teams,” the guard said. “Once the police take this asshole away, two of us will always be in the house.”

Talbot nodded then turned us in the direction of the bedroom when the sound of sirens filled the air. “We’re getting dressed.”

“I’ll take care of the police until you’re ready.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Talbot

I was furious with the people who were supposed to have been protecting her, and Tammy was making them meatloaf.

Well, at the moment, she was wiping her eyes because she was grating an onion into a bowl, having already rebuffed my attempts to help her, ordering me to grab one of those beers and to stop glowering at everyone until the alcohol content in the beverage quote, “Chills you the fuck out.”

But there wasn’t much that would chill me out.

I was absolutely furious, beyond fucking angry that someone would come into my house, that he’d scared Tammy—Tammy, who’d fucking fought off a knifed-attacker with hardly a fuss, and Tammy who’d screamed like . . .

Well, I don’t think I’ll forget the terror in that scream for a long, long time.

She swiped at her eyes again, and I set down my beer, crossed over to her, snagging a tissue from the boxes and dabbing at the stream of tears. “Why in the hell are you grating an onion?” I muttered, nudging her away from the bowl and taking over the task myself.

“Because it makes the meatloaf better,” she said, moving to the sink and washing her hands.

“It can’t possibly be worth it,” I grumbled, scraping the onion up and down the metal surface.

“That’s because you haven’t eaten my meatloaf.”

Since that was true, I didn’t bother replying, just kept grating, even as I listened to Annalise coordinate with the security team in the other room. More guards would be staying in the house, which I fucking hated, but I also couldn’t disagree with it. My realtor had managed to speed up closing for the house I’d bought, one that was much harder for people and paparazzi—and yes, after that morning, I was separating the two—to come anywhere close. There would be no more pictures in the driveway or shots of anyone