Broken Rules e-Book #2. ***PREORDER NOW for MAY 8TH 2025***

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***BROKEN RULES***

Lex

Producing my first major film was supposed to be my chance to prove I belong in this industry. Then Summer Strawbridge walked into my office, all sharp edges and unrelenting fire.

She’s not the director I wanted, and I’m definitely not the producer she expected. Every meeting turns into a battle of wills. Every moment with her tests my patience… and my control. But there’s no denying her vision—or the way she gets under my skin.

I can’t decide if I want to kiss her or fire her.
Maybe both.

But with six months to pull off the impossible, one thing’s certain: we’re either going to make the best movie of our lives… or we’re going to destroy each other.

Summer

This was supposed to be my big break—a chance to prove I’m more than my past. But then I met Lex Landry: nepo baby, arrogant prick, and annoyingly good-looking.

He doesn’t respect me—or even like me—but we’re stuck together. And as much as I hate it, he challenges me, sees me in ways no one else has.

I can’t afford to fall for him. My career and pride are on the line. But every step with him feels like we’re heading straight for disaster—and I’m not sure we’ll survive the impact.

Chapter One - Lex

When I was a kid, I used to have nightmares about showing up at school in my underwear and being called up to deliver a report I hadn’t written. More than once, I dreamed I was the star of the school play, but I had never gone to a rehearsal. It was opening night, and all eyes were on me—unprepared, deer-in-headlights me.

This was no nightmare, though it felt like one. I was standing in my father’s office, which, at times, had felt more like home to me as a kid than the house I grew up in. The studio was on the brink of producing my first major film, a project Dad was counting on essentially turning around the studio’s lackluster numbers. Imagine my surprise to find out he went behind my back and secured a notoriously difficult director without my input. As if it wasn’t bad enough, he had chosen the script without me and was already reaching out to agents to secure the actors he wanted.

Now, I was faced with the last person I would ever have hired for this or any project. Summer Strawbridge, with her shitty attitude and insistence that she always knew what was best and her artistic vision couldn’t possibly falter. Word traveled fast around here, and everybody knew that certain people who weren’t worth the pain in the ass they might deliver.

It didn’t seem to matter since she was standing in front of me, giving me the up and down like I was a slug, and she was deciding whether to squash me or let me go on my way. She looked like she had just left some artist commune with the boho outfit she’d thrown together. And yet, somehow, she managed to look down on me?

“I know we’re all looking forward to getting started.” Dad was either unaware of the sudden tension in the air or didn’t care. I’d go with the latter because why would he? As far as he was concerned, she was my problem. He’d expect the same results regardless —a film with the power to breathe new life into the Landry International brand.

“I know I am,” she chirped. Did she realize how everything about her changed when she turned away from me to face him? That withering expression she wore a split second ago turned to something brighter and hopeful—just an eager girl looking to prove herself.

Had she ever considered acting as a profession? If she had, I could see why she had given it up in favor of directing because she was no good at pretending she wasn’t desperate as hell. Her smile was too hard, almost brittle, much like the light shining from her eyes with determination and mania. I could respect one. I wasn’t sure I wanted to work with the other.

Not that I had a choice because, as usual, Dad had gone over my head and done exactly what he wanted and now expected me to play nice and accept his word as law. I’d ask myself where he got off, but I knew the answer. He had always gotten away with it. Why would that stop now?

“And do you understand we are looking at a rushed schedule?” Dad asked, watching her closely. “I wasn’t sure if word had gotten to you yet.”

If she hadn’t already rubbed me the wrong way, looking at me the way she did, I might have felt sorry for her. She didn’t know she was being tested. The girl had only walked in moments ago wearing her loose, flowing dress and arms full of bangles, the sort of look that gave me the impression of an artis- tic, free spirit type. In other words, was she going to adhere to a rigid schedule, or was she somebody who relied on her horoscope to make decisions for her?

Her smile slipped, but not by much. “A rushed schedule?” she asked. I couldn’t read her expression but imagined her panicking inside.

“Yes, we had a scheduling conflict and had to shift projects around to accommodate. Lex will tell you all about it,” he offered, throwing my ass under the bus. “This is his baby. I have to remind myself to keep my hands out of it.” With an indulgent laugh, two out of three of us knew he didn’t mean, he looked my way. “Son, I’m handing the reins over to you. I would invite the two of you to talk it over here, in my office, but I have a meeting in a few minutes.”

The bastard.
The motherfucker.

Putting me on the spot this way, saddling me with her, and then stepping back and playing innocent. It was part of the new persona he was trying to put together in his old age—the benevolent, grand- fatherly figure. I didn’t care for it.

But it was the hand I’d been dealt, and a pair of clear, green eyes watched my every move. I had to rise to the occasion before she got the idea I didn’t know what I was doing.

“Let me lead you to my office, Miss Straw- bridge.” I was out to sea, flailing blindly, but I’d be damned if I gave any hint of that as I opened the door to my father’s office and stepped aside so she could pass.

I realized as I led the way to the office catty- corner from my father’s, on the opposite end of the floor, that we had something in common. We were both a little shell-shocked. “There’s a small, unused office here,” I pointed out, opening the door to the room next to my office. “You’re free to take it for the duration of the project.” She looked around, not saying a word, her stiff body language screaming a single word. Rage.

It was obvious she hadn’t been given all of the details, the same as me. It might have brought us closer, given us something to bond over. Should I clear the air and laugh over this?

She made up my mind for me as we entered the room, one considerably smaller than the one we had left. I had only started putting my own touches on it. Truth be told, with Dad considering retirement, part of me wanted to wait until I moved into his office before settling in.

Turning to me as soon as we were alone, she folded her arms. Gone was the sunny, almost painfully sincere and driven girl Dad met. I was looking at the real Summer, whose chin jutted out when she was pissed off. “Is this your policy?”

“Meaning what?” And why the fuck was she so combative straight off the bat? We had barely exchanged a few sentences, yet the woman glared at me like I had personally destroyed her life.

“Meaning, I wasn’t told anything about a rushed schedule when I agreed to do this picture. How rushed are we talking?”

“Six months to the premiere,” I announced. Why bother easing into it? She wanted to play tough, so I’d give her what she wanted. “You’re welcome to tell us to fuck ourselves if you don’t think that’s possible. Better to get it out of the way now.”

Her head snapped back like she’d been struck, and her eyes widened a fraction. For the first time, we were on equal footing, both of us flailing to make sense of what we’d been thrown into. We were both trapped since she had to know we were the only studio in town willing to hire her. There was no choice but to comply if she wanted to work.

The illusion of solidarity didn’t last long. “Now I see why you wanted me for this,” she announced, jutting a hip out to the side, still staring me down in my office. “I can’t imagine any other director capable of getting the job done in such a ridiculously short amount of time. Why did we bother having this meeting? I should be out scouting locations as we speak.”

I shouldn’t have bristled at her strident, almost overly confident tone of voice. Cocky, even. “There are procedures we need to follow first, you realize.” Taking a seat at my desk, I gestured for her to do the same in one of the leather chairs on the opposite side. She hesitated, lips pursed, but gave in before long. Why did everything have to be a contest with her?

“How many movies have you produced, Mr. Landry?” She took a seat, moving gracefully, crossing her legs under her long, linen dress. Something unexpected stirred in me as I watched closer than I should have. I couldn’t help it. It was hardwired in me.
When I saw a beautiful woman, I reacted. It was nature.

And I couldn’t deny she was beautiful, or she might have been if she put a little effort into herself. She was barefaced. Her auburn hair looked like she might have run her fingers through it before putting it up in a sloppy bun. The ugly sandals she wore were so old they were practically gasping for air, barely clinging to life. I didn’t think it was my imagination, the faint aroma of incense following her around. It reminded me of when I saw her at my father’s honorary industry event, where her version of ‘dressing up’ looked more like a protest against nice clothes.

This wannabe hippie was going to question me? “This will be the first film my name is on,” I admitted since there was nothing to be ashamed of. “But rest assured, I grew up behind the studio gates. I felt more at home here than I did anywhere else.” What did I think I would get admitting that? A little understanding? The hope she might soften?

I was disappointed. “But you’ve never produced a major film?”

A fucking Google search could’ve told her that. Dammit, she knew how to hit a nerve. “I know exactly what needs to be done.” Where the fuck did she get off, anyway?

“Good, because we’re in a hurry.” She reached into the tasseled satchel bag she carried over her shoulder and pulled out a thick binder, which she opened on her lap. “I have all of this information on my MacBook, as well, and I can forward it to you.”

“What information would that be?”

“I’ve put together a list of actors who are perfect for this. People who immediately came to mind when I read the script.” It was almost cute how naïve she was. I almost hated bursting her bubble.

Almost.

Because she had started us off on the wrong foot, glaring at me like I didn’t deserve to breathe air. “That’s very nice, and I’m sure it will be taken into consideration.”

She looked up from the pages she flipped through, arching an eyebrow. “You aren’t interested in seeing the list?”

I folded my hands on my desk the way I’d seen Dad do countless times. “Miss Strawbridge, let’s get something straight.”

“Summer.”

“Pardon me?”

“My name is Summer. You don’t need to call me Miss Strawbridge. You’re not old enough to put on the whole formal act.”

This arrogant little bitch. She had a point, but how she delivered it left me biting back a growl. “I hope you don’t think that means you get to call me Lex.”

“I wouldn’t make an assumption like that.”

“Thank you. Summer,” I continued, emphasizing her name, “I understand what you must be dealing with right now. You’re still fairly untested, new in town.”

She bristled. “Not exactly new.”

Why was everything an argument? “You were in talks to helm two different films at other studios,” I snapped. “And both times, you were replaced by other, more experienced directors. What would you call that?”

“I’ve directed five independent features, one of which premiered at Cannes and won the award for Best Short Film.”

“That was Eric Danvers’ film,” I reminded her. The director I wanted. His work on Road to Glory proved he was a master at capturing breakneck speed on film. I almost forgot to breathe more than once during the climactic race scene with its daring camera angles that fully immersed me in the action. He would’ve been perfect for another longer feature revolving around a group of amateur race car drivers.

“It’s a long story.” Her posture went rigid, like someone stuck a broomstick down the back of her dress. “Rest assured, my fingerprints are all over the finished product, regardless of whether my name appears in the credits.”

Interesting. It wouldn’t be the first example of someone being cut out of a finished product after pouring themselves into it. For every star on the Walk of Fame, there were hundreds of stories of people whose dreams were shattered.

“What happened?” I asked. “Was there some kind of falling out?”

Somehow, she managed to go even stiffer. “That’s personal.”

“I’m asking for the sake of understanding what I’m getting into with you. Was there a creative disagreement with Eric Danvers?”

“Yes.” Her jaw tightened, and a sneer curled her lip. “There was a disagreement. A falling out. And he decided to pretend I didn’t carry that entire film on my back. And because he’s a man, everyone believed him that I was impossible. Difficult. Stubborn. A bitch,” she concluded, the word exploding from her mouth.

“Are you?” What was wrong with me? Why the hell did I ask her that? It had to be the attitude she carried. There was a wall of energy around her, hot and prickly. Something about it touched a perverse part of me that wanted to antagonize her, and I didn’t know why.

“Do you expect me to say yes?” she countered. “Would that make it easier for you if I said yes, I’m a real bitch when I put my mind to it? Exactly how would you define a bitch?”

This was a mistake. I held up my hands in mock surrender, chuckling. “Fine. You don’t need to twist my balls. It was a joke.”

“Was it? I thought jokes were supposed to be funny.”

How did I define a bitch? For starters, I was looking at one. “And I thought a newcomer to the industry being given a huge opportunity with a major studio was supposed to be grateful instead of combative.”

“Who said I’m not grateful? I know this is a great opportunity.” She stood in one quick, graceful move- ment, slinging her satchel over one slim shoulder and resting the binder on her hip. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to bow and scrape. If that’s what you’re looking for, Mr. Landry, you’ve got the wrong girl. Thank you for wasting my time.”

She was going to leave. She actually started for the door, sandals slapping the floor, muttering some- thing under her breath. I was torn between wanting to see how far she would go and being distracted by her perfect peach of an ass as it swayed under the loose, linen dress.

Finally, my good sense won out, and I found my voice. “You’ve made your point.”

She stopped but kept her back to me. “What point do you think I’m trying to make?” she asked in an icy tone.

“Have you forgotten you’re talking to the executive producer of the film you’re trying to direct?”

“Have you forgotten you’re not going to have a film without a director?” She slowly pivoted on her heel, revealing a smirk. “I understand word got around about me. But it’s gotten around about you too. And I know you wanted Eric on this. We still have plenty of mutual friends.”

Dammit. How was I supposed to know they were connected somehow? Irritation set my teeth on edge. I didn’t appreciate her smug expression, the humor in it, and the feeling of being exposed.

“I quoted a couple of potential directors,” I allowed, fighting to stay calm when I wanted more than anything to throw her out of my office on her ass. No wonder she couldn’t break into this town. Nobody wanted her, myself included, but then I didn’t have much choice.

“But it was your father’s people who reached out to me and worked out the terms. Not you. Why is that?” she asked, feigning innocence while a nasty smirk played across her lips.

Gritting my teeth, I stood. “Let’s get one thing straight, Strawbridge.”

“I thought you were going to call me Summer.”

“Summer,” I spat before I could stop myself.

“If you don’t want this job, be my guest and let me know now. There’s still time to find somebody else.”

“You aren’t going to find anybody capable of doing a better job with this script than I can and definitely not in six months. I already have the entire film in my head.” She tapped two fingers to her temple. “I understand these characters... their emotion and turmoil. Nobody can put that on the screen the way I can.”

Where had this side of her been hiding? This burning, passionate intensity? She didn’t need to shout, wave her arms, or make demands to get her point across.

“I’d like to hear some of your thoughts on the script,” I offered, struggling to soften my approach. “It might be nice to get an idea of what you’re envisioning.” Because at the end of the day, she’d signed a contract and was attached to the project. I had no idea how long it would take to find a worthy director with such short notice.

Tipping her head to the side, she retorted, “We could have been doing that all this time if you hadn’t wasted this meeting by turning it into a pissing contest.”

Was that what I had been doing? Everything in me reared up in denial. Who gave her the right to talk to me that way? And how the hell did she have the balls to call me out? Because that was exactly what I had done. It had been a pissing contest since the moment we set eyes on each other.

But she had set the tone. Not me. Would I accuse her of that? No, even if it was true. One of us had to be the bigger person if there was any hope of making this work. “Fine. Why don’t we start over? There’s a lot of work to get through and very little time to get it done.”

“Unfortunately,” she replied with a sigh. “A lot of that work involves doing something other than sitting in an office. I have locations to scout, and it looks like I’ll need to revise the entire shooting schedule to accommodate the timeline. We’ll have to touch base again tomorrow.”

Turning toward the door, she added, “I’m looking forward to it.”

I would’ve stopped her, but I couldn’t string two words together.

How the fuck was I supposed to survive six months with this woman?

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