Iced Up Love

Iced Up Love Elizabeth Bardot I ced Up Love Copyright © 2023 by Elizabeth Bardot. All rights reserved. Printed in Australia. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations em- bodied in critical articles or reviews. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. For information contact : elizabethbardot.com Cover design by Wynter Designs Editor : Leavens Editing First Edition: June 2023 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Contents . Chapter 1. One 2. Two 3. Three 4. Four 5. Five 6. Six 7. Seven 8. Eight 9. Nine 10. Ten 11. Eleven 12. Twelve 13. Thirteen 14. Fourteen 15. Fifteen 16. Sixteen 17. Seventeen 18. Eighteen 19. Nineteen 20. Twenty 21. Twenty-one 22. Twenty-two 23. Twenty-three 24. Twenty-four 25. Twenty-five 26. Twenty-six 27. Twenty-seven 28. Twenty-eight 29. Twenty-nine 30. Thirty 31. Thirty-one 32. Thirty-two 33. Thirty-three 34. Thirty-four 35. Thirty-five 36. Thirty-six 37. Thirty-seven 38. Thirty-eight 39. Thirty-nine 40. Forty 41. Epilogue Want More? Also By Acknowledgments For all the booktok girlies who are in their hockey romance era and don’t want to have to choose ;) One Liana Life doesn’t end happily ever after. It ends in fire and brimstone; with everything you love going up in smoke. I stared at the curser blinking on the screen, re-reading the words I had just typed out. Real smooth, Lia. Those are the perfect opening lines to a romance novel. I chided myself, groaning as I stood from my desk and rolled my neck. Six months. It had been six months since my entire world exploded, my career gone in a spectacular explosion of hate and scandal after the release of that damn sex tape. I was still furious with my ex, I never knew he had been filming me, saving it for a rainy day. When it leaked, my name was plastered everywhere. Lia Waverly, romance author living the life of her scandalous books. The headlines had been disgusting, the comments from readers who I thought were fans had destroyed me. I guess it didn’t help I specialized in historical romances; not that there wasn’t spice, because there was plenty of that, but my image had still been wholesome. Nothing my lawyer did fixed the damage done and I had lost my contract with the publisher, my sales tanked, and my name had been blacklisted in all reading communities as too controversial, after fellow authors had descended like attack dogs, dragging my name through the mud at any opportunity they had to ride the wave. The minute I had some authors claim that my work was too similar to theirs, readers crucified me with glee. But writing was my dream, and I was too stubborn to let it go. I had picked up some freelance work writing in some obscure magazines that gave me some form of income, but that didn’t satisfy the muse inside me. Not that I could claim to be inspired right now. I had been trying for weeks to get some form of a story out of my head, but I felt like a fraud, and I wasn’t afraid to say fear held me back. Fear that I would face the firing squad again if I dared to show my face. Things moved fast in our modern world, there were new scandals to satisfy the online community and my name was barely mentioned now, but at the time, I felt like a noose was around my neck and spent every waking moment waiting for someone to shove me off the chair. Loud banging on my door startled me and I groaned softly, grateful for the distraction but wary because I knew who it was. I opened the door to a frowning Evelyn Anderson. “That’s it. I’m calling for an intervention. You look like death warmed up. Have you even showered this week?” Her Texan twang lacked the sympathy I had hoped for as she pushed past me, putting her hands on her hips, surveying my messy kitchen. “What have you been living on? Microwave meals?” she sneered, pinching an empty container between her perfectly manicured hands, and crinkling her nose in disgust. “This won’t do. I’m taking you out. You need real world interaction.” She said with a smile, and I rolled my eyes. “No, I don’t, Evelyn. I’m fine. I’m alive and I showered yesterday.” She raised an eyebrow at me, her light blonde hair falling from her shoulder as she surveyed my clothes. I was in comfy sweatpants that were covered in stains, mismatched socks and an old shirt that was so faded I couldn’t remember what it even had on the front. I wasn’t even wearing a bra, because who needs them anyway, it wasn’t like I was impressing anyone. “Sure you did. Get in the shower. I’ll get your notepad and handbag ready. We’re going out tonight. Just something casual.” She said as she began tidying my kitchen. “Where are you taking me?” I asked, wary that this was some kind of date. She turned with a grin, clapping her hands excitedly. “To a hockey game!” She bounced a little as I stared at her with shock, then disgust. “Please. Why the hell would I want to watch men slide around on the ice? I don’t even know anything about the game.” She sighed dramatically. “Because this is the first season my brother is playing for the NHL…” She emphasized before waving her hand at me. “And this little pity party has run its course. He got us great seats and we are going to support him.” She gave me her no-nonsense stare and I groaned. “I haven’t even met your brother. Why would he care if I