Page 1 of Praise Me: Lumberjack
CHAPTER 1
JENNA
You’re probably wondering how I ended up here.
Chained to an oak tree in the middle of the forest.Naked.
Believe me, I’m wondering that myself.
The bark is digging into the flesh of my buttocks and back. The chains are restrictive and heavy, making it difficult to breathe. My manager, agent, an editorial team and a dozen assistants stare back at me, waiting for me to take the social media shot of the century.
We flew here on a private jet. To commemorate Earth Day.
Even I see the irony.
Maybe being chained to this tree was inevitable, though. Child actors are supposed to go down a wild and confusing path on their quest to be taken seriously, right? The transition is never seamless. It’s bumpy and often humiliating. A coming-of-age story playing out under the microscope of judgment.
I played an iconic role on a long-running sitcom calledHey Bettyand now, unless I do something out of the box to prove I’m an artist and a grown woman—instead of a fifteen-year-old with a catchphrase—I will be irrelevant by next week.
Or so my manager, Dustin, tells me.
“Look passionate, Jenna! You are trying to save the tree from being chopped down,” shouts the photographer. “Dare them to come take it from you!”
“Who is them?”
“Them is me,” booms a voice from the back of the crowd. A collective jolt goes through the group, and they step aside, allowing the speaker to come forward.
And suddenly, the fact that I’m naked takes on a whole new meaning.
It’s one thing for the makeup artist, photographer and manager to see me naked. They’re a bunch of desensitized Los Angeles natives.
But this man, thisgiant manwith a chainsaw, with his robust frame, makes me feel truly exposed in my nudity. Flustered and antsy. My hips automatically drop at an angle, cocked, my back attempting to arch off the tree. An involuntary preen. The chains are covering my breasts and sex, but only barely, and every inch of me besides that is on display. My stomach and cleavage and the highest points of my thighs. My arms are restrained, otherwise I might actually fix my long chestnut-colored hair as this man approaches—he’s that compelling in all his square-jawed, exasperated masculinity.
“Y-you’re here to chop down the tree?” I ask him as he draws closer.
God, he’s so tall. Blends right in with the mighty oaks on all sides of us.
They don’t make men like this in LA.
Not only is he unique in stature, but he’s trying not to ogle me. With all his might.
There’s a deep furrow between his black brows, his breathing growing just a hint shallow as that intense gaze sweeps my thighs and tummy. Then he clears his throat. Hard. And turns to address my manager instead of me. “This tree and three othersare scheduled to come down today,” he says in that low, brusque voice. “Unless you have a permit for this…whatever it is, I’m going to need you to unchain the girl and get the hell out of my forest.”
“Yourforest?” I ask, blinking. “You own the forest?”
“I’m as close as it gets.”
How is it that I feel his voice in my stomach? “Care to explain?”
He sighs. “Ever heard of a lumberjack? I’m here to harvest these trees. Where do you think the wood comes from that built your pretty little house. Out of thin air?”
“I have a condo,” I say uselessly.
“Good, Jenna!” exclaims the photographer. “Get pissed. Tell him the tree isn’t coming down on your watch. Not on Earth Day!”
My face heats. “Don’t you think there are better ways to get our point across?” I call to Dustin.
“Yes,” deadpans the man with the chainsaw. “I do.”
