Pity Date
-- EXCERPT: Faith I’ve had an invisible target painted on me that only members of the opposite sex can see. And boy are they determined to shoot me through the heart. It started with Bobby McEntire in the first grade. My best friend, Anna, used to help me chase him around the playground as a way of declaring my undying devotion. He missed the point entirely and tripped me so that I fell face first into a mud puddle. That single act of war ended any love I’d once felt for him. In the fourth grade, Kenny Franks caught my eye. He wasn’t the typical boy girls pined for, which made me think he could possibly share my feelings. He had moderately bucked teeth, a nose that turned up just enough to appear porcine, and he wore glasses. Surely, I was enough to catch the heart of one such as him. Alas, when I asked him to be my boyfriend on Sadie Hawkins Day that same year, he laughed in my face. Laughed. At me. The disdain I felt lasted through our senior year in high school. When he approached me at a friend’s graduation party and asked why I hated him so much, I reverted to childish ways and threw my drink on him before walking away. How dare he forget his transgression? Then there was that tourist I kissed—my first!—at a beach party the summer before my freshman year. I never got his name, nor did I see him any summers after that. I can’t really say what I felt for him was love, but a definite hormonal reaction took place. Also, I may have pretended that he was my long-distance boyfriend at Katie Ramsey’s big back to school sleepover the week before we entered the hallowed halls of Elk Creek High School. Go, Crappies!—as in the fish, not the poop emoji. In high school, I was all about Adam Sanchez. Adam was so far out of my league, I knew nothing could ever come of us, but that didn’t stop my fantasies. I spent the whole four years imagining scenarios where he would claim me for his own. My favorite was the one where he strode into the lunchroom like a rock star taking center stage. He stopped right in front of me before loudly declaring my perfection to one and all. Then he got down on one knee and asked me to homecoming/prom/the spring formal—basically, whichever dance was on the horizon. None of that ever happened. Obviously. Junior year in college, I thought I’d found my life partner in Trevor Blake. Trevor was your typical tall, dark, and handsome specimen. He was sporty and studious. But more important than both of those things, he had a sense of humor that kept me laughing. The only problem was that after a year of dating, Trevor still hadn’t put any serious moves on me. When confronted with why, he claimed it was because he wanted us to save ourselves until we were married. He saw us getting married, so, yay! But also, we did not live in Victorian times, so it was kind of hard to trust that was the real reason. In retrospect, I’m hugely grateful I didn’t believe him. A happenstance that was firmly cemented when I caught him making out with his roommate at a kegger their fraternity was throwing. As far as gaydar goes, I didn’t have any. I dated a few different guys in my twenties, but none of them sent my heart into atrial fibrillation. I simply enjoyed going out with them while I was waiting for “the one.” Enter Astor Hill. I knew he was it for me the night we met. One look at his sandy-haired Leonardo de Caprio (from Titanic) savoir faire, and my heart rate took off like a particularly vigorous Fourth of July fireworks display. Boom, boom, boom! Everything about him shouted he was destined to be Mr. Faith Reynolds. Although, I’m sure I would have taken his last name instead. I mean, Faith Hill worked so well for, you know … Faith Hill, that I was sure to have equal success. Even though I was no singer … But then Astor showed his true colors and once again I was left behind. That’s when I should have probably converted to Catholicism and committed my life to God, a la the convent life. I might have actually done that too, had it not been for the pity date …
GIVEAWAY! To Love a Thief
-- EXCERPT: “I swear you’re going to be the death of me,” said Mia as Claire slipped into the nondescript van. “Only if you plan to die having too much fun.” With a wry grin, Mia shook her head. “We’ve got a glitch in the Grenadine Necklace job.” “What kind of glitch?” “The insurance company has asked that at the close of tonight’s fundraising event that the necklace be pulled from public display and returned to Paris. They plan to have armed guards remove it from the case and walk it out to the armed elevator down to the secure parking lot, into an armored truck and then to a private airport to be taken back to Paris via a private plane.” “Shit. I want that necklace.” “It’s worth a small fortune and the insurance company was iffy about allowing the Petacci family to exhibit it at all.” “Rightfully so. It doesn’t belong to them.” “No one has ever been able to prove that the Grenadine Necklace didn’t find its way into the family long before Clara.” “Knowing and being able to prove are entirely two different things, which is why no one has ever been able to wrest it from their greedy grasp until now.” “You know, if it wasn’t for the fact that you don’t so much as keep a dime from these heists, I would have left you twisting in the wind in Dusseldorf. But like it or not, you, my friend, are on the side of the angels. I think you’re going to have to chalk the Grenadine Necklace up to a loss.” “No. We’ve put in too much time…” “And if we get caught?” “We won’t. Let me think a minute.” Claire brought her fist up toward her face, bouncing the back of her thumb on her lips. “While you’re coming up with something, you should know, I think someone may be on to us.” “Why do you say that?” “When I was running my routine this afternoon, the program found two clandestine hits against our firewall at specific enough times that I don’t believe they were random. The first one was the day before the last job in Milan; I might have written that one off to an anomaly. But the second one was just this morning. I think someone is phishing.” Claire looked at Mia and smiled. “It’s not like you to just dump a big problem in my lap. What are you thinking?” “You know me too well,” she said with an impish grin. “There is a small—a very small—chance that you still might be able to snatch the necklace. Their plan is to send it out with armed guards who will exit via the still under construction new gallery. Their thinking is that it’s wide open, and no one can sneak up on them…” “But you know better.” Despite what Mia liked to tell herself, she got just as much of a buzz out of pulling off these capers as Claire. “I do. There’s a small piece of ducting that runs from the women’s loo. We take a canister with knock-out gas and roll it down to them. The loo is right around the corner from the new gallery. Once their down, you slip in, grab the thing and then walk out with the rest of the people at the fundraiser.” Claire returned Mia’s wicked smile. “I like it. Simple, elegant, and no one gets hurt. And who will I be this evening?” “Luckily, it wasn’t invitation only. Tickets were offered exclusively to those who made the right donation…” “I take it you made the right donation?”
GIVEAWAY! #Book Blitz #Dirty Billionaires: A Dark Romance Anthology #Contemporary Romance @Xpresso Book Tours20/5/2023
Dirty Billionaires: A Dark Romance Anthology
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- SNEAK PEEKS: Deal with the Devil by Dori Pulitano “Miss Stone. We’re not calling the police… yet. But I need you to tell me why you’ve been selling photos of people’s private business to the tabloids. It’s going to create a fucked-up situation for my club and now for Mr. Winston.” “I can’t tell you.” “Dalton.” I glance over my shoulder at him. “Go to Mr. Winston and his manager. Tell them I’ll be there shortly. Then we can decide what to do with Miss Stone.” “Dom?” His tone is filled with worry. “Shouldn’t we call alert the authorities?” “No. Do what I asked.” “Are you sure about that, sir?” Danny questions my reaction. “There’s no telling what she’s done.” “Danny, return to the floor and do your job. I’ll take care of this matter. Please keep this between the three of us for now.” “Yes, sir.” The sound of the door clicking tells me they’ve left me alone with Miss Stone. “Now. What do you suppose I should do with you, Miss Stone? You’ve ignored every policy I have in place here at the club to violate a client’s privacy and are likely responsible for the recent spotlight aimed at Mr. Winston’s reputation.” My cock throbs at the way she bows her head and stares at her feet. “I’ll do anything. Please.” Her voice is barely a whisper. The mere notion this girl is submissive has my dick threatening to split open the zipper on my pants. “How old are you, Miss Stone?” She twists her fingers in her lap. “Twenty-three.” The lie rolls off her tongue, making me wonder if she’s even legal. “Twenty-three, huh? Are you married? Have a boyfriend?” “Nn—nno.” She stutters her answer, her eyes lifting slightly to look at me. “Why?” “What about family? I assume you live in the area?” Her back stiffens as she looks me in the eye. “It’s just me and I live close to here.” I snort, knowing damn well the apartments close by are shit holes. It’s the only negative about the club’s location. But trying to get an upscale community to let me put in a club with the specialty Vibe caters to wasn’t going to happen. Doesn’t matter—the clients here would not care less if I put Vibe on a desert island. They’d still show up and pay the hefty membership fee. “What are you going to do with me?” -- Mistaking Stone by Amy Stephens “Oh, my, what have we here,” I whisper into her hair and run one of my fingers along her fold. She’s so slick, it’s easy to add a second one. Up and down, she begins to squirm and moan. Hmm, I wonder if I can make her scream? Placing her hand on top of mine, she guides my fingers to her sweet spot. I rub the delicate tissue, gently and effortlessly, all the while imagining what it would feel like against my tongue. Dear brother, you didn’t realize a good thing when you had it. The back of the seat begins to lower, opening up the area for me to visit. “Does this seat have a massager?” she giggles. “Does the car have four wheels?” “You’re such a tease, Stone Arlington.” We’ll see who’s a tease when I get done with you, my princess. With my right hand on her tit, roughly kneading it, and my left hand shoved between her legs, I thrust one finger inside her soaking wet pussy. It goes in easily and I quickly add a second finger. I nod my head when I hear the seat massager come to life. Her hips begin to raise then lower as the massager goes from the middle of the seat to the bottom. “You must be left-handed,” she says barely above a whisper. “Baby, there’s talent in both of these hands, but yes, I’m a lefty. Don’t worry, though. You haven’t felt anything yet.” And with that, I drive a third finger inside, spreading her even wider. GIVEAWAY! #Book Blitz #Her Bodygurad in Blizz (A Bliss CAy Novella 5) by Freda Ann @Xpresso Book Tours16/5/2023
Her Bodyguard in Bliss
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo Only 99¢ for a limited time! -- EXCERPT: “For appearance’s sake, and to give you better access to Riley, I strongly suggest the two of you pretend to be a couple—nothing too serious since she’s here on business.” “Are you kidding me?” Riley exclaims. “I don’t know about that, Sloane. No one would believe we’re a couple, we clearly have nothing in common, and not an ounce of chemistry to pull it off.” I rest my hands on my hips, looking at my big sister whose eyes widen. “Well, at least we agree on something.” Riley responds with a smirk. “Like I said, Riley, it’s just a suggestion, though it’s one I’m confident can only help to assure your safety. The two of you have been in relationships before so I’m sure you can fake it.” My sister stands and pulls Riley away from the table to talk to her. I walk over to the window, watching the cars drive by while thinking of the utter torture it would be pretending to be Ms. High and Mighty’s boyfriend, but refrain from expressing my feelings. After much deliberation, Sloane steps closer and tells me, “It’s settled, Chance.” I join them in the middle of the room, when she adds, “You’re now Riley’s new boyfriend.” I stifle my reaction, as she continues, “You’ve joined her in Bliss Cay for the summer to get to know each other better. That means you’ll need to study the intel I sent you to make your relationship believable. I trust you’ll fill Riley in on the details she’ll need to know about you to pull this off?” Looking away, I grit my teeth thinking of this woman being privy to my personal life, but push my feelings aside—at least for now. “Of course,” I glance at Sloane before facing Riley. “Shall we get you settled into your rental house, Ms. Cole?” “Yes, that would be perfect, but if we’re supposed to be involved,” she rolls her eyes, “you might as well call me Riley.” “Fine, as long as you don’t ask me to call you honey,” I glare at her, unable to resist. Sloane looks at me, flicking her head at the door. “Walk with me for a minute?” “Sure,” I follow her to the hallway knowing what’s coming. She faces me crossing her arms and wearing her boss face again. “The tension between you two better not escalate any further Chance, so find a way to civilly deal with our client. If you’ve lost your ability to be professional, despite your personal feelings, then let me know now and I’ll take the job.” “I admit, the woman knows how to push my buttons, but I can handle her. Everything will smooth over before the day is done. Have faith in me, okay?”
GIVEAWAY! The Stone Initiation
-- EXCERPT: I leapt back as something large and gray swooped at me, and the next moment I was in its grip, boots off the ground and airborne. “Cam!” My friends’ cries drifted away as every sense in my body focused on the thing…the creature that had me in his grip. Serath held me against his body. Thick muscled arms crushing me to him. “Don’t struggle,“ he said. “I don’t want to drop you.” Struggle? I couldn’t think, let alone struggle. His woodsy scent, his arms around me, his body pressed to mine… Overload. “Breathe,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Just breathe.” I hated him for hurting Touron. I wanted to punch him in the face to even things out. I’d do that as soon as he put me down. As soon as he let me go. That was right. That was the plan. I exhaled and inhaled in quick succession then regretted it because his delicious aroma flooded my mind and my traitorous body melted against him. He cursed under this breath, the word vibrating against me like an intimate invitation. We landed in a clearing, nature pressing in around us, cocooning us as he continued to hold me. His heart beat like a drum against me. I was so mad at him. So pissed off. Oh god, this felt good. It felt right. I rubbed my cheek against his pectoral, and he made a soft vibrating sound like a purr. What was I doing? “What are you doing?” “Having this moment,” he said, his voice a low-grade rumble. I lifted my chin to look up at his monstrous gargoyle face. To trace the strong lines that made up the features that were both frightening and compellingly beautiful. The combination made my heart ache, and the urge to reach up and trace his scar rushed through me so strongly that my fingers were hovering at his jaw before I managed to catch myself. I clenched my fists. I was here for a reason, and this…This wasn’t it. This was hormonal, pheromonal, needy body bullshit. “You hurt my friend.” “I know. I’m sorry.” Dammit, why wasn’t he being an asshole? I grit my teeth. “Tell him that.” “I will. I swear it. I will. And after this moment.” His throat bobbed. “After this moment, I’ll stay away from you. I won’t touch you. I won’t covet you. I’ll let you be. I just…I need this one moment.” There was an aching throb to his words that echoed inside me. My eyes heated with the threat of tears that made no sense. I swallowed past the lump in my throat. I didn’t want to mate with him. I didn’t need a fated lover, but my body didn’t seem to agree. It yearned for him. Longed to stay here, like this. Enveloped in his heat, so even though I didn’t want it, I found myself asking. “Why? Why can’t you—” He gripped my jaw and forced my head up. “Don’t ask it. Never ask it.”
GIVEAWAY! Guardian
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: Next, the tengu king’s eyes narrow and his wings ruffle. “Let us see you in your original shape, boy. Your magic doesn’t quite match the kitsune form you present.” He waves his feathered fan, popping me back into human shape. At least I had the sense to dress formally, in a navy suit and a tie that Su-chan picked out for me. Though, I still feel out of place. Besides my aunt and I, everyone else wears a kimono and hakama. It’s different from the streets of Kyoto, where you see the traditional clothing only occasionally. Then Soujou-bou raises a bushy eyebrow. “Nakamura-san, why do you associate with a magic thief?” “That is his story to tell, Soujou-sama. Know that I believe him,” she responds in a flat, neutral tone that raises my hackles. She’s never this submissive. As I give a deep, reverent bow, he remarks, “Boy, Nakamura-san’s recommendation does not excuse the evil in which you’ve partaken. Why did you stoop so low and steal kitsune magic?” My insides twist at having to contradict the tengu king right off the bat. Taking a deep breath, I keep it simple. “We did not steal it, sir.” But he snaps, cutting through the air with his feather fan. “No one gives such a gift! It destroys the owner. If I do not find your explanation satisfactory, you’ll not leave my palace alive.” The declaration sends a shiver down my spine and my words spill out. “The fox I was fighting was Date Sari. She’d repeatedly attacked me and Aunt Hisako because of an old grudge and used her magic for evil—mixing it with that of an oni to add to her power. “When she attacked my girlfriend, I tried to stop Date without killing her by dispelling her abilities. We didn’t know it would split and settle into each of us. The kami judged Date for her actions and Inari Okami was merciful. He didn’t require us to return her magic or hoshi no tama, which would have killed us. “My aunt gave me a chance to start again after leaving the yakuza, and I wish to honor her and follow in her footsteps.” “Yakuza, you say?” His eyes flick to my aunt. I whisper, “I have much to atone for, sir.” Pressing my palms together in front of me, I bow as low as I can and remain in the position as I ask, “Please, teach me so I can serve as a Guardian.”
GIVEAWAY! A Seasonal Song
-- EXCERPT: Current Year Clarissa gazed at the horizon as she sat on the beach. The breeze provided little relief from the oppressive heat and humidity. Her cotton shirt clung to the contours of her body as sweat dripped down the back of her neck. The wind and humidity disheveled her long brunette hair. She paused and whispered under her breath. “Here I am, again. Back in Miami.” They say history repeats itself. From her perspective, she concurred. So much heartache, so much love, and such beautiful memories. The smell of the ocean brought a tear to her eye. The tear slowly trickled down her cheek, dropping from her chin into the ocean. She smiled as she thought of her last summer in Miami. Some would categorize it as a summer fling, but the passion and intense emotions they shared were real. Jack was twenty-seven and designed custom yachts. She was twenty-one, a sophomore at Berklee College of Music. An unlikely pair, but perhaps their paths collided for a reason. She strolled to the water’s edge. The sand stuck to her feet, leaving deep imprints on the beach. The waves crashed against her legs, throwing her slightly off balance. She steadied herself as she walked back to her towel. Her mind drifted back to her job last summer at the Purple Penguin Café. Where it all began. As she remembered when she first met Jack, her heart pounded in her chest and her breathing became slightly labored. Last summer at 6:30 p.m. on June 25th Jack walked into The Purple Penguin. She chided her silliness for remembering the exact date and time, but she did, and the memory was as crisp as if it had happened yesterday. Last year All teal chairs and tables were occupied at the eclectic-furnished café. Loud conversations inundated the room. Several people waved, trying to get her attention. She was exhausted, and her feet ached. She wished her shift would end. As she served a table, he entered the café and waited to be seated. A table soon opened, and the hostess assigned him to her section. She finished serving her current table and approached him, greeting him warmly. “Hi. My name is Clarissa. What can I get for you?” His warm brown eyes glanced up from the menu and met hers. “Hi, nice to meet you, Clarissa.” It surprised her to hear her name. Although she always introduced herself, the customers rarely repeated her name. “What’s in that silver penguin shaker thing I saw you take to the other table?” “Shake Your Penguin, our signature cocktail. It’s a mix of Absolut Vodka, pomegranate juice, lime soda, and berries. It’s very popular and tastes great. I should know. I’ve sampled a few of them.” She winked and laughed. He smiled. “I’ll take your word for it. Let’s start with one of those Shaky Penguin things.” She returned a few minutes later with his drink. He took a sip. “Wow, this is good!” Jack continued. “Listening to your accent, you don’t seem to be from around here. Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want.” Clarissa laughed, “It’s okay. The short answer is, I’m from everywhere.” “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” “Well, when I was growing up, I was an Army brat. Between the ages of two and nineteen, I lived in eight states, and three years in Stuttgart, Germany.” Jack smiled at her. “Sie müssen dann fließend Deutsch sprechen?” Clarissa smiled. “Yes, I speak German, but fluent is an exceptionally strong word. Let’s just say I can converse in German with few errors.” She found him intriguing. Perhaps it was the warm manner he talked to her. She calculated he was slightly older than her, maybe in his late twenties. He had a sincere smile and kind eyes. “Most of our clientele are tourists and stay at the Purple Penguin Hotel next door,” she said. “We don’t get many locals. Are you from around here?” “I’m originally from Boerne, Texas, just northwest of San Antonio. I’ve lived in Miami for five years. A business client is staying at the Penguin Hotel. I just dropped him off, saw the restaurant, and here I am. Never been here before.” “How’d you get from Texas to Miami Beach?” she asked. “I’ve always loved the ocean. Growing up, I spent my weekends in Aransas Pass hanging out on the beach. I’m experienced in construction, saw an opening in Miami, and here I am.” GIVEAWAY! This Will Hurt I
-- EXCERPT: Just go home, you fucking moron. You don’t belong in LA. I made my way across campus, feeling more out of place every time I left class. I was leaving behind a good career in the Marines for…random classes at Santa Monica College. Learn videography in twelve weeks. Study the art of documentary filmmaking in one semester. Then I thought about why I’d left the service. How sick I was of seeing death through my lens. Combat photography had been such a fucking fluke anyway. I was infantry. I was more at home on the front lines in Afghanistan than… But no. No. No, I was here because I couldn’t stand the war anymore. I didn’t wanna see another dead soldier, hear another explosion, witness another crying child surrounded by blood and debris. I went to the coffee shop on the corner of the street where Nikki worked. She had the car, and we’d go home together once she was off her shift. I ordered a coffee and found an empty table by one of the windows. Sounded pretty good, though, didn’t it? Go home with my girlfriend at the end of the day… Except, it was her car, her apartment, and my savings were almost gone. By next month, I’d have to take that bartending job in West Hollywood where the tips were so good. By then, I’d be twenty-seven. I retrieved my pen from the inner pocket of my jacket, and I opened the notebook. Final project. Final project, final project, final project. I needed content. I understood filming. Documenting. But coming up with my own content for a fucking college class’s final project? I was doomed. “There you are! Fuck, I thought I lost you, man.” I furrowed my brow and glanced toward the man’s voice—that belonged to someone I definitely didn’t know. But he was coming toward my table, and he was staring right at me. No, wait. I recognized him. He was in my class, wasn’t he? Out here, I had developed a radar for East Coast people, and he had a New York accent. Otherwise, not much about him stood out. Average height, dark hair, fairly fit, on the lanky side, probably a bit younger than me. He sat down in front of me, out of breath, and removed his messenger bag. “Look, I’m just gonna come out and say it. I have two hundred bucks, I’m living in my truck, and I have one network connection that I desperately wanna use. He told me to send him my final project—see if he could make some calls—but as has become painfully clear in this class, videography isn’t my thing. I understand fuck-all about goddamn HDV, SxS, and the difference between standard definition and hi-def.” He leaned forward. “Dude, y’all were talking about memory cards, and I thought we were discussing a fucking festival in Austin.” That…was SXSW. South by Southwest. “Anyway—in short, I have an idea,” he went on. “There is an artistic approach to it, but I’ll admit, it’s more of a come-hither for networks, something I think will sell. To get a foot in the door. But I need a partner, and I’ve watched you in class. You know your way around the equipment and the editing software. When the professor asks his dumb, insane questions, you actually know the answers.” Was this how he talked to people he’d never met before? I didn’t even know his name. I guessed if you were desperate enough and living out of your car, you cut to the chase faster. That might very well be me in the near future. So if he had an idea… I extended my hand. “I’m Jake.” He gave me a puzzled look, before he seemed to remember he’d just jumped into the conversation with no preamble. Then he flashed a dimpled grin and shook my hand. “Roe. It’s Monroe, but everyone calls me Roe.”
GIVEAWAY! Not Today, Cupid
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- EXCERPT: “I’ve gotta admit, I’m dying to know what you just signed up for.” “That makes two of us.” I shove my burger aside. There’s no way I can eat it now. Not with the prospect of some half-baked project hanging over my head like a guillotine. Miles smirks. “Drumroll, please.” I give him the finger, but Beck indulges him, tapping the edge of the table. “Anonymous says we need a—oh, this is too perfect.” Miles howls as Beck and I stare at him, waiting for the punchline. “A—” He chokes on his laughter and has to take a drink of water before continuing. “A Valentine’s social!” He’s messing with me. He has to be. Who would put that in the suggestion box? This is a place of business, not a fucking romper room. Even if sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. “Let me see.” I reach for the laptop, shooting Beck a dark look. They’re both laughing like hyenas now. “Have you two been stuffing the suggestion box?” “Don’t look at me,” Beck says, shaking his head. “I don’t have time for that kind of petty prank.” He chuckles. “It is pretty ironic, though. You know, since the only thing you hate more than Valentine’s Day is the suggestion box.” Miles is laughing so hard now it’s a wonder he doesn’t bust a blood vessel. Asshole. Could this be his doing, some ass-backward attempt to make me appear likable? It doesn’t matter. I’m not doing it. “Pick something else. February fourteenth is the Epos launch. The timing is terrible and four weeks isn’t nearly enough time to put something like this together.” “Oh, no you don’t.” Miles wags a finger at me. “You already agreed. Besides, that was the last one.” Fucking hell. Leave it to Miles to pick the one week the damn thing isn’t overflowing. “No way. It can’t be done.” “Not with that attitude,” Miles says through peals of laughter. When he finally gets control of himself, he adds, “Relax. If anyone can handle it, it’s you.” It’s true. I’ve never walked away from a challenge in my life, but what the hell do I know about planning a social? I’m the last person in the world who should plan this event. On the other hand… It could be the perfect opportunity to prove I’m not the controlling bastard Scarlett thinks I am. Arrogant. Uptight. Cold. Her words chip away at my brain with maddening persistence. I shouldn’t care what she thinks. I know it on a cerebral level, but after last year’s bad press, her ludicrous, ill-informed assessment is infuriating. Salt on an open fucking wound. “So?” Beck spears a piece of lettuce with his plastic fork. “Are you going to do it?” My gaze slides from Miles to Beck and back again. It won’t be easy—I’m already spread thin with the Epos launch—but I’m no quitter. With a little time and a plan of attack, I can do this. And who better to help plan a Valentine’s social than Miles’s snarky, highly organized, whip-smart assistant? “I’ll do it on one condition.” A slow grin curves my lips. “I want Scarlett to help.”
GIVEAWAY! Playing For Keeps
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- EXCERPT: “Ted, hello.” Bryce offered him her hand, and he pulled her in for a quick, friendly kiss on the cheek. She stiffened up. Damn it, is that moldy cheese smell me? No. It’s Ted. It must be Ted. After he let her go, Ted spoke to the woman next to him, “Ree, this is my ex-wife, Bryce. Bryce, this is Rita, my girlfriend.” We lah-dee-frickin’ da, Ted went and got himself a girlfriend. But I have beaver slippers. Bryce bit her lip to keep from laughing or crying, she wasn’t sure which. Rita offered her hand to Bryce. “It’s nice to meet you. Ted has told me so much about you.” “Yeah, nice to meet you, too.” Bryce greeted her ex’s new girlfriend with a perfunctory handshake as she took the opportunity to give Rita the once-over. She was the kind of effortless beauty Bryce, with her hair dye and multi-session workouts and (previously) gluten free, vegan diet, had only ever dreamed of being. Rita, whose luminous face apparently had no need for makeup, wore her long, dark hair in a cascade over her shoulders. Her white pants and nautical-striped shirt were right out of a J. Crew catalog. Bryce folded her arms across her dingy, dirty t-shirt. “What are you doing in town?” Ted asked. He was definitely staring at her pants—or, well, his pants. She crossed her legs, trying to hide the big, gold “Michigan.” “I’m…I live here.” Ted laughed. “You live in Wackernagel?” Bryce frowned. “Well, I have the house here.” “Yeah, you do, but I…I figured you’d sell it the first chance you got.” Ted laughed. “What about work?” He hadn’t heard. Somehow news of her great professional demise had not reached Ted. Bryce said a quick prayer of thanksgiving for loyal friends, Ted’s aversion to social media, and the fact that their work circles didn’t overlap. His high school teachers’ crowd didn’t have much contact with Big Law beyond Bryce. “I’m taking some time off.” Bryce crossed her arms. “Like, a sabbatical?” Rita asked. Bryce nodded. Sure, let’s call it that. “Good for you.” Tim smiled softly. “I’m glad you’re finally taking some time for yourself.” Yeah, that’s what I’m doing. Bryce shot him a relaxed, self-assured smile. Might as well let him keep thinking things are wonderful. No harm in that. “Things are going really well for me here, in fact. I’m fixing up the house”—or, technically, redecorating it with old chip bags, empty wine bottles, and assorted other garbage—“and I’m really finding myself”—by binge watching TV shows, eating ice cream, and sleeping all day. “That’s great,” Ted said. And his eyes were back on Bryce’s pants. These stupid pants. They were blowing her cover. Her current outfit screamed everything but “I’m thriving!” Bryce chuckled, trying to make light of her oddball clothing. “I see you’ve noticed what I’m wearing.” Ted’s eyes widened. “I have. Have you?” She tamped down any annoyance at his semi-snide tone.
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