Ginger Voight's Blog, page 7
August 27, 2016
Sneak Peek Saturday: Your first look at Masked in the Music
Happy Saturday, everyone! We're less than a month away from my next release, MASKED IN THE MUSIC. This one is a brand new type of romance for me, with TWO hot guys in the forefront. It was a challenge issued to me by my bestie for years, but the idea finally came to me - or was given to me - when I was hanging out with a couple of friends of mine who are actually in a band. I think it's fair to say that this story was conceived at the Rainbow Bar & Grill on Sunset. I'm not sure you can get much more rock-n-roll than that. Months later we have Tony and Rudy, who are up against every known obstacle to pursue their romance. You want angst? I got your angst. And then some.
I'm proud to introduce Rudy, who allowed me to live in his head for a while, and taught me some things as he was learning some things. It isn't often a pretty story, but it was one that needed to be told. I'm honored that he told it to me.
****
INTRODUCTION
I knew I was meant to play guitar from the moment I was nine years old. I had just witnessed Prince perform in the Super Bowl Half-Time Show, and it was unlike anything I had ever seen or heard before. The way he made that guitar sound, the sheer bliss on his face as he played it, it was like he ceased being human and bent long and sparkling into the fabric of the universe, like a god. Echoes of ancient music bled through his fingertips. I could hear the beat of tribal dances of the natives, the echoes of the tortured gospel of the slaves that later gave root to the foundation of rhythm and blues. All really great music challenged and changed the status quo, that was no big surprise. But what he did with it was out of this world. It was ancient and yet it was unlike anything I’d ever heard before, something so futuristic that I nearly thought he was an alien being from outer space.
After that I became obsessed. I got every album and listened to them until I could sing them in my sleep. That Christmas I got my very first guitar, the only thing I had written on my wish list. I wanted in on this miracle. I wanted to reach deep into this mystical bliss. I wanted to transcend the murky paths of mediocrity and reach that summit of excellence, and I knew what I had to do to make that happen. By then I knew that this genius who had first inspired me had taught himself how to play dozens of instruments, and I set out to do the same.
It took me eight years to go from playing a guitar to a guitarist, someone worthy of the title, one to share with my idols like Prince, and Hendrix, and Frampton, Clapton, Van Halen, Slash, Dimebag. The list goes on and on. Each one taught my hands new way to travel across those steel strings until my fingers bled. Finally, on my eighteenth birthday, I composed my first song. Accidentally, yet purposefully. Inevitably.
That’s when I reached that euphoric state of self-awareness I’d been searching for. I wasn’t just wishing or hoping or aspiring anymore. I wasn’t dreaming of who I could be someday in the inky, undefined darkness of the future. Through hard work and perseverance I pulled back every last layer of fear until I became who I was meant to be.
I was an artist.
It took me a little longer than that to come to terms to the fact I was gay.
I had always known I was different. I wasn’t like everyone else, with dreams of some steady job somewhere, with a mini-van, two kids and a dog. I didn’t want the requisite white picket fence future with a wedding, a mortgage and a retirement plan. I wanted what so few of us ever truly obtain—the freedom to define myself for myself, on my own terms. I decided early on I had to shake off the expectations of the world around me to do that.
Most settle for security. They find a job they can stand, they sell large chunks of their lives for a paycheck, they buy the right car, live in the right neighborhood, participate in society with the polite, numbing acquiescence of remarkability, choosing instead to blend into the background of tapestries other people had the courage to weave.
This never interested me. Not in the least. For a long time I chalked this up as a casualty to my ambition. I walked—no, sprinted—down an alternate path with one goal in mind. I wanted to be a rock god. Certain notable exceptions aside, most of that didn’t result in golden anniversaries with spouses of either gender. I forfeited dates for late nights studying my guitars, or my keyboard, or my computer, anything that could help me speak the only language I had the courage to speak. When it came time for prom, I didn’t care to dance, or make out, or lose my virginity. I just wanted to listen to the band, to absorb every last note until they became a part of me, filed away in my subconscious to inspire and cultivate my own voice.
The music was all I needed. That was all I wanted. It was a lot less complicated than revealing the real truth—that the random, token girls I tried to date throughout high school left me cold. It wasn’t even their fault. They were funny, pretty, interesting…everything every red-blooded American boy would want. They’d touch me with eager hands and shower me with tentative kisses, but I was always left wanting more. Like anyone else I was waiting for the lightning bolt, but—in keeping with the alternate theme of my life—it always seemed to strike with the wrong people.
When I was five years old, I remember sitting in my mom’s car in front of the store, waiting for her to finish loading the back with our weekly groceries. I was playing with one of my cars, running it over the dash, making funny sounds with my mouth as it accelerated over the graceful sloping curve. All that stopped when I caught sight of a man walking into the store. He was talking on a cell phone. He had a brilliant smile framed by a beard trimmed neat, and I could almost feel the heat of his gaze from a full thirty feet away even though he wasn’t even looking at me specifically. I remember how I forgot about my toy car, my mom, or even the colorful popsicles I normally couldn’t wait to tear into the minute we got home. It was like time itself screeched to a halt.
Simple aberration, right? Lightning misfired. It does that sometimes. I didn’t feel that way again until Mr. Johnson started teaching me music theory in eighth grade. He was just twenty-eight and, simply put, he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. A tall, golden Adonis with a strong chin, broad shoulders and a killer smile. I’ve always been a sucker for a great smile. But it was more than that. For the first time I felt a stirring deep inside for something I couldn’t yet name. I remembered how his big strong hand wrapped around the neck of the guitar, and it made me shiver all the way down to my toes. He had these bright blue eyes that twinkled when he laughed, and he laughed a lot. I convinced myself that I hadn’t really fallen in love with him. It was a crush, misplaced because of the intense passion we shared for the music.
Another misfire, obviously.
Though I wanted to, I never felt that same excitement, that same joy, that same connection with girls, despite all the dates I’d endure simply to appease my family and friends. I tried, God knows I tried. I chased that lightning bolt for all it was worth, but it continued to elude me.
That was until I met Tony Rojas. Five minutes in his presence and I was every bit as enamored as his legion of groupies. He was more than a rock god; he was a sex god. From the intensity of his unusual turquoise eyes or the sexy curve of that smile carving into the bronze perfection of his face, I found myself from worshipping at his altar from the moment we met. It was beyond me. I was locked into the ride and there was nothing left to do but hold on. Looking back I can see that Tony was put in my life to awaken me. I had spent my life painting the canvas with only one color, thinking that would be enough. It only took one moment to convince me otherwise, but that moment was undeniable. When I looked into those captivating blue-green eyes for the very first time, and felt really and truly seen for the first time in return, I knew the real truth.
Nothing would mean anything if I didn’t take the chance to be really and truly happy. To do that, I had to be honest. Lightning struck and I was in love, even though that love was about to cost me everything.
But I would do it all again for one more minute in his arms. I loved him no matter what it cost me, my family, my music… even my future. Nothing meant anything without him. That was when I knew the deepest truth of all. I was meant to love him. And he was meant to love me.
This is our story. A love story. A horror story. It was erotic, it was romantic. A comedy, a tragedy. A cautionary tale.
It is a life story.
It is my story.
And sometimes one chance is all you get to tell it.
****
MASKED IN THE MUSIC releases September 25th, which is a very special date for me personally - and reason #1 why I chose it. You can pre-order it now for a discounted price. It goes up to regular price after release.
Fair warning... if you need a warning to read a book, this will NOT be the book for you. I'm keeping it real, folks. As always.
I'm proud to introduce Rudy, who allowed me to live in his head for a while, and taught me some things as he was learning some things. It isn't often a pretty story, but it was one that needed to be told. I'm honored that he told it to me.
****
INTRODUCTION
I knew I was meant to play guitar from the moment I was nine years old. I had just witnessed Prince perform in the Super Bowl Half-Time Show, and it was unlike anything I had ever seen or heard before. The way he made that guitar sound, the sheer bliss on his face as he played it, it was like he ceased being human and bent long and sparkling into the fabric of the universe, like a god. Echoes of ancient music bled through his fingertips. I could hear the beat of tribal dances of the natives, the echoes of the tortured gospel of the slaves that later gave root to the foundation of rhythm and blues. All really great music challenged and changed the status quo, that was no big surprise. But what he did with it was out of this world. It was ancient and yet it was unlike anything I’d ever heard before, something so futuristic that I nearly thought he was an alien being from outer space.
After that I became obsessed. I got every album and listened to them until I could sing them in my sleep. That Christmas I got my very first guitar, the only thing I had written on my wish list. I wanted in on this miracle. I wanted to reach deep into this mystical bliss. I wanted to transcend the murky paths of mediocrity and reach that summit of excellence, and I knew what I had to do to make that happen. By then I knew that this genius who had first inspired me had taught himself how to play dozens of instruments, and I set out to do the same.
It took me eight years to go from playing a guitar to a guitarist, someone worthy of the title, one to share with my idols like Prince, and Hendrix, and Frampton, Clapton, Van Halen, Slash, Dimebag. The list goes on and on. Each one taught my hands new way to travel across those steel strings until my fingers bled. Finally, on my eighteenth birthday, I composed my first song. Accidentally, yet purposefully. Inevitably.
That’s when I reached that euphoric state of self-awareness I’d been searching for. I wasn’t just wishing or hoping or aspiring anymore. I wasn’t dreaming of who I could be someday in the inky, undefined darkness of the future. Through hard work and perseverance I pulled back every last layer of fear until I became who I was meant to be.
I was an artist.
It took me a little longer than that to come to terms to the fact I was gay.
I had always known I was different. I wasn’t like everyone else, with dreams of some steady job somewhere, with a mini-van, two kids and a dog. I didn’t want the requisite white picket fence future with a wedding, a mortgage and a retirement plan. I wanted what so few of us ever truly obtain—the freedom to define myself for myself, on my own terms. I decided early on I had to shake off the expectations of the world around me to do that.
Most settle for security. They find a job they can stand, they sell large chunks of their lives for a paycheck, they buy the right car, live in the right neighborhood, participate in society with the polite, numbing acquiescence of remarkability, choosing instead to blend into the background of tapestries other people had the courage to weave.
This never interested me. Not in the least. For a long time I chalked this up as a casualty to my ambition. I walked—no, sprinted—down an alternate path with one goal in mind. I wanted to be a rock god. Certain notable exceptions aside, most of that didn’t result in golden anniversaries with spouses of either gender. I forfeited dates for late nights studying my guitars, or my keyboard, or my computer, anything that could help me speak the only language I had the courage to speak. When it came time for prom, I didn’t care to dance, or make out, or lose my virginity. I just wanted to listen to the band, to absorb every last note until they became a part of me, filed away in my subconscious to inspire and cultivate my own voice.
The music was all I needed. That was all I wanted. It was a lot less complicated than revealing the real truth—that the random, token girls I tried to date throughout high school left me cold. It wasn’t even their fault. They were funny, pretty, interesting…everything every red-blooded American boy would want. They’d touch me with eager hands and shower me with tentative kisses, but I was always left wanting more. Like anyone else I was waiting for the lightning bolt, but—in keeping with the alternate theme of my life—it always seemed to strike with the wrong people.
When I was five years old, I remember sitting in my mom’s car in front of the store, waiting for her to finish loading the back with our weekly groceries. I was playing with one of my cars, running it over the dash, making funny sounds with my mouth as it accelerated over the graceful sloping curve. All that stopped when I caught sight of a man walking into the store. He was talking on a cell phone. He had a brilliant smile framed by a beard trimmed neat, and I could almost feel the heat of his gaze from a full thirty feet away even though he wasn’t even looking at me specifically. I remember how I forgot about my toy car, my mom, or even the colorful popsicles I normally couldn’t wait to tear into the minute we got home. It was like time itself screeched to a halt.
Simple aberration, right? Lightning misfired. It does that sometimes. I didn’t feel that way again until Mr. Johnson started teaching me music theory in eighth grade. He was just twenty-eight and, simply put, he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. A tall, golden Adonis with a strong chin, broad shoulders and a killer smile. I’ve always been a sucker for a great smile. But it was more than that. For the first time I felt a stirring deep inside for something I couldn’t yet name. I remembered how his big strong hand wrapped around the neck of the guitar, and it made me shiver all the way down to my toes. He had these bright blue eyes that twinkled when he laughed, and he laughed a lot. I convinced myself that I hadn’t really fallen in love with him. It was a crush, misplaced because of the intense passion we shared for the music.
Another misfire, obviously.
Though I wanted to, I never felt that same excitement, that same joy, that same connection with girls, despite all the dates I’d endure simply to appease my family and friends. I tried, God knows I tried. I chased that lightning bolt for all it was worth, but it continued to elude me.
That was until I met Tony Rojas. Five minutes in his presence and I was every bit as enamored as his legion of groupies. He was more than a rock god; he was a sex god. From the intensity of his unusual turquoise eyes or the sexy curve of that smile carving into the bronze perfection of his face, I found myself from worshipping at his altar from the moment we met. It was beyond me. I was locked into the ride and there was nothing left to do but hold on. Looking back I can see that Tony was put in my life to awaken me. I had spent my life painting the canvas with only one color, thinking that would be enough. It only took one moment to convince me otherwise, but that moment was undeniable. When I looked into those captivating blue-green eyes for the very first time, and felt really and truly seen for the first time in return, I knew the real truth.
Nothing would mean anything if I didn’t take the chance to be really and truly happy. To do that, I had to be honest. Lightning struck and I was in love, even though that love was about to cost me everything.
But I would do it all again for one more minute in his arms. I loved him no matter what it cost me, my family, my music… even my future. Nothing meant anything without him. That was when I knew the deepest truth of all. I was meant to love him. And he was meant to love me.
This is our story. A love story. A horror story. It was erotic, it was romantic. A comedy, a tragedy. A cautionary tale.
It is a life story.
It is my story.
And sometimes one chance is all you get to tell it.
****
MASKED IN THE MUSIC releases September 25th, which is a very special date for me personally - and reason #1 why I chose it. You can pre-order it now for a discounted price. It goes up to regular price after release.
Fair warning... if you need a warning to read a book, this will NOT be the book for you. I'm keeping it real, folks. As always.
May 29, 2016
"Glitter" Confessions
1. "Glitter on the Web" likely would never have happened had it not been for Macklemore.
The bestie and I share movies and videos with each other every weekend, which is pretty cool that even 35 years into our friendship, we find new things to share between us. We're still teaching each other things, and he, inadvertently sometimes, purposefully other times, has inspired more than one story doing it. Many months back, he sent me the video for "Downtown" by Macklemore.
In the video, Macklemore shows some love for a bigger girl:
First thought: "Aw, that's cool. Hope he means it." So, being me, I dug a little deeper as I'm known to do, to find a pic of his wife to see if she, too, was a big girl. She wasn't. It got the gears turning. What if a popular singer showed love for bigger girls, endearing him to that particular audience, but it was all a marketing ploy? Hence, Glitter was born.
Confession, Part Two - I had completely forgotten about this until the bestie showed me ANOTHER Macklemore song where he, once again, proclaimed his affection for bigger girls and it sparked the memory. (I still hope he means it.)
2. GLITTER is my unintentional homage to Purple Rain.
This one happened by accident, really. It's Eli's fault. He started playing an instrumental piece early in the book, and it just felt right to give it the Purple Rain treatment. That movie makes the list of one of my favorite closing scenes ever, given the emotional payoff at the end. To have a musician struggle with an important piece of music, to figure out what he wanted to say, and say it when it had the most emotional payoff, made sense. I had already given Eli a few Kid/Price-like qualities, including his teaching himself to play the piano, and producing/writing/performing all of his earliest work. So really, it was unintentional, but in the end I was proud to pay tribute to one of my idols, especially one who taught me so much how to be my own kind of artist. Little did I know at the time it would be a memorial. :(
3. It took me a long-ass time to title this book.
Names come to me relatively easy. It's not so much a choice as it is a discovery. When I name my characters, I generally know who they are before they have a name to go with the character. So I go down a list of potential names that I keep (and add to,) until I find the one that feels right, like I'm looking for someone who already exists and I'm just waiting to have them step forward for roll call. (This is also why I generally don't change names easily when I've found the one that clicks, and why working with anyone else creatively is so challenging because they typically want to change these names first thing. It's like taking your kid to school and introducing them, only to have the teacher say, "Hum, we already have a Justin. Can I just call him Doug?" Self-publishing allows me the freedom to allow my characters to be who they were supposed to be, something I got to know very early on in the creative process.) Book titles are even harder, because if you inadvertently name your book after a book that already exists, you can risk suffering from comparison. I knew I had to think outside the box with this one, because I really, really wanted it to stand out. With GLITTER, I had my concept and my characters, but I had no idea what to name their journey. Finally I circled around to the "web" idea, given the story is about a big lie. What's the only thing that could entice someone like me onto a web? My husband doesn't call me a magpie for nothing. Also, GLITTER ON THE WEB leaves a little wiggle room if I ever want to revisit the story... like... GLITTER DOWN THE AISLE, or GLITTER IN THE CRIB... that kind of thing. Y'know... just in case... ;)
4. Eli is based on real men I've known.
If you're really close to me, you probably recognize Eli. I really didn't hide what I was trying to do with this character. While reading it, my husband turned to me and said, "You think So-N-So will recognize himself in your book?" My first thought was, "Probably not, because anyone who would really Eli me wouldn't read the book in the first place." Which is true. All I can say is I hope so, even though the So-N-So Steven referred to isn't *technically* the whole inspiration for the character (though bad experiences involving him definitely worked themselves out in the book, as they tend to.) Truthfully I hope every guy who has ever Eli'd me sees themselves in the book, because they're all represented in every nasty thing Eli said or did. I threw it all into an Asshole Bouillabaisse as my way of saying, "How you treated me was not okay, and I only wish I had had Carly's ovarian fortitude to tell you that." Everything Eli did or said to piss you off has happened to me at some point, just like it has probably happened to many, many women of size reading the book. Typically these were the things I accepted and excused when I was too stupid to recognize my own value, and this was my way to rewrite things, to let someone else know that it isn't okay of if someone treats them this way. Stand up for yourself. You can. And if the guy is worth having, he'll cowboy the fuck up. (Many don't, but that's okay. If they can't see your worth, they don't deserve you anyway. Trite, but true.) Honestly, it gives me great satisfaction when I hear that people hate Eli. I wanted you to. I wanted you to see how unacceptable this behavior is, so that we learn to nip that shit in the bud in real life. He is the voice of our media... he's the voice of our society. It's *our* job to stop agreeing with it, and demand the respect and human courtesy we deserve.
5. Eli's and Carly's story isn't over.
For everyone who wanted an epilogue, to see what happens with this couple beyond any kind of HEA (or HFN, you don't know,) there's a reason I didn't include one. Their story isn't over, and you WILL see them again. FFF releases this November, and will focus on all THREE of the owners of the club, Carly included. Oh, and Caz hasn't gone away either... so this should be all KINDS of angsty fun.
Have you read GLITTER? Tell me what you thought!
The bestie and I share movies and videos with each other every weekend, which is pretty cool that even 35 years into our friendship, we find new things to share between us. We're still teaching each other things, and he, inadvertently sometimes, purposefully other times, has inspired more than one story doing it. Many months back, he sent me the video for "Downtown" by Macklemore.
In the video, Macklemore shows some love for a bigger girl:
Now do you or do you not wanna ride with me
I got one girl, I got two wheels
She a big girl but ain't a big deal
I like a big girl, I like 'em sassy
First thought: "Aw, that's cool. Hope he means it." So, being me, I dug a little deeper as I'm known to do, to find a pic of his wife to see if she, too, was a big girl. She wasn't. It got the gears turning. What if a popular singer showed love for bigger girls, endearing him to that particular audience, but it was all a marketing ploy? Hence, Glitter was born.
Confession, Part Two - I had completely forgotten about this until the bestie showed me ANOTHER Macklemore song where he, once again, proclaimed his affection for bigger girls and it sparked the memory. (I still hope he means it.)
2. GLITTER is my unintentional homage to Purple Rain.
This one happened by accident, really. It's Eli's fault. He started playing an instrumental piece early in the book, and it just felt right to give it the Purple Rain treatment. That movie makes the list of one of my favorite closing scenes ever, given the emotional payoff at the end. To have a musician struggle with an important piece of music, to figure out what he wanted to say, and say it when it had the most emotional payoff, made sense. I had already given Eli a few Kid/Price-like qualities, including his teaching himself to play the piano, and producing/writing/performing all of his earliest work. So really, it was unintentional, but in the end I was proud to pay tribute to one of my idols, especially one who taught me so much how to be my own kind of artist. Little did I know at the time it would be a memorial. :(
3. It took me a long-ass time to title this book.
Names come to me relatively easy. It's not so much a choice as it is a discovery. When I name my characters, I generally know who they are before they have a name to go with the character. So I go down a list of potential names that I keep (and add to,) until I find the one that feels right, like I'm looking for someone who already exists and I'm just waiting to have them step forward for roll call. (This is also why I generally don't change names easily when I've found the one that clicks, and why working with anyone else creatively is so challenging because they typically want to change these names first thing. It's like taking your kid to school and introducing them, only to have the teacher say, "Hum, we already have a Justin. Can I just call him Doug?" Self-publishing allows me the freedom to allow my characters to be who they were supposed to be, something I got to know very early on in the creative process.) Book titles are even harder, because if you inadvertently name your book after a book that already exists, you can risk suffering from comparison. I knew I had to think outside the box with this one, because I really, really wanted it to stand out. With GLITTER, I had my concept and my characters, but I had no idea what to name their journey. Finally I circled around to the "web" idea, given the story is about a big lie. What's the only thing that could entice someone like me onto a web? My husband doesn't call me a magpie for nothing. Also, GLITTER ON THE WEB leaves a little wiggle room if I ever want to revisit the story... like... GLITTER DOWN THE AISLE, or GLITTER IN THE CRIB... that kind of thing. Y'know... just in case... ;)
4. Eli is based on real men I've known.
If you're really close to me, you probably recognize Eli. I really didn't hide what I was trying to do with this character. While reading it, my husband turned to me and said, "You think So-N-So will recognize himself in your book?" My first thought was, "Probably not, because anyone who would really Eli me wouldn't read the book in the first place." Which is true. All I can say is I hope so, even though the So-N-So Steven referred to isn't *technically* the whole inspiration for the character (though bad experiences involving him definitely worked themselves out in the book, as they tend to.) Truthfully I hope every guy who has ever Eli'd me sees themselves in the book, because they're all represented in every nasty thing Eli said or did. I threw it all into an Asshole Bouillabaisse as my way of saying, "How you treated me was not okay, and I only wish I had had Carly's ovarian fortitude to tell you that." Everything Eli did or said to piss you off has happened to me at some point, just like it has probably happened to many, many women of size reading the book. Typically these were the things I accepted and excused when I was too stupid to recognize my own value, and this was my way to rewrite things, to let someone else know that it isn't okay of if someone treats them this way. Stand up for yourself. You can. And if the guy is worth having, he'll cowboy the fuck up. (Many don't, but that's okay. If they can't see your worth, they don't deserve you anyway. Trite, but true.) Honestly, it gives me great satisfaction when I hear that people hate Eli. I wanted you to. I wanted you to see how unacceptable this behavior is, so that we learn to nip that shit in the bud in real life. He is the voice of our media... he's the voice of our society. It's *our* job to stop agreeing with it, and demand the respect and human courtesy we deserve.
5. Eli's and Carly's story isn't over.
For everyone who wanted an epilogue, to see what happens with this couple beyond any kind of HEA (or HFN, you don't know,) there's a reason I didn't include one. Their story isn't over, and you WILL see them again. FFF releases this November, and will focus on all THREE of the owners of the club, Carly included. Oh, and Caz hasn't gone away either... so this should be all KINDS of angsty fun.
Have you read GLITTER? Tell me what you thought!
May 14, 2016
The weight of writing "plus-size" fiction, and why I cannot be shamed.
The story of how I came to write "plus-size" or Rubenesque romances is pretty well known by this point. As a "plus-size" woman, I was sick and tired of reading books where women who looked like me were treated as the supporting characters, the comic relief, or the sad examples of what not to be. This was not my experience. As the star of my own life, I have had quite a bit of romance, quite a bit of sex, and quite a bit of drama all on my own. It rubbed me raw that, especially in romance, the "ideal" I needed to "escape" to was someone other than me. See, that kind of thing just feeds my internal chatterbox, which is already running 24/7 telling me I'm a piece of shit anyway. It ends up reinforcing this societal message that if I don't conform to the standard of beauty set by other people... I just don't count. I don't deserve to find love, I don't deserve to be successful, and I certainly don't deserve a happily ever after.
Entire multi-million-dollar industries are banking on this premise, from the magazines we see screaming at us from the check-out aisle, to the cosmetics and fashion industry and... let's not forget the weight-loss industry, which brings in BILLIONS per year. So naturally the women we see reflected back to us in the media all tend to fit a certain type, and woe to the women who don't. Any time any woman dares to dip her tippy-toe outside of this narrow definition of ideal feminine beauty, there's shame the size of Texas waiting to be heaped on her, to corral her back into line.
And we all kind of accept it. We all kind of go along with this idea that women in particular deserve our ridicule and our disdain simply because of how they look, which reinforces the even more destructive social messaging that a woman's value hinges on something so temporary and so superficial. If you dare to be successful in any OTHER way, whether professionally, intellectually, in your character, with your achievements, even if you want to be president of these United States, it all comes back to how you look.
And it's bullshit.
I used to shovel the shit, same as the majority of folks in our culture. I wrote thin and beautiful women, desired women, who didn't know they were thin, beautiful and desired, something I wouldn't know dick about, and publishers told me thanks but no thanks. My characters were "too perfect."
But that was how I saw the women mirrored back to me. They were certainly more perfect than I was, and more deserving of good things than I was.
I mean, that IS the message, right?
In 2007, I set out to change that message. I wrote my first Rubenesque romance, LOVE PLUS ONE, about a size-12 (gasp! shocker!) gal who not only didn't know she was beautiful... she had the world around her reinforcing that sad message. She had to fight through BOTH piles of bullshit to find her happily ever after.
THAT... I know.
Since then I've written all sorts of "plus-size" fiction, with all sorts of heroines. I have my confident, DGAF heroines who embrace the fact they are different and don't give a rat's ass who agrees with them. (Rachel from THE FULLERTON FAMILY SAGA, Andy from THE GROUPIE SAGA, Coralie from THE MASTERS SAGA, Caitlin from PICTURE POSTCARDS and Carly from GLITTER ON THE WEB.) I have my more insecure heroines, who are fighting uphill through molasses to figure out their worth. (Jordi from THE FIERCE TRILOGY, Shannon from LOVE PLUS ONE.) I have my pissed off heroine, who gained weight just to keep men dafuq away from her, (Jessica, UNDER TEXAS SKIES,) and the character who has battled the chatterbox a lot like me over the past four decades, even when she couldn't see the great things that were right in front of her. (Roni from THE LEFTOVER CLUB.) Joely Morgan, from BACK FOR SECONDS, was a 40-year-old mother of three who gained weight and alienated her hubby, who dropped her like a bad habit for a 20-something size-perfect beauty. She got the interest of a younger, hotter man who wanted to get his hands all over her neglected curves, again... writing what I know from real-life experience.
I've written characters who are where I used to be. I've written characters who are who I want to be. And each and every one I allowed to be who they were, no physical changes necessary. They had to change their attitude only, one that said, "You're allowed to find love the way you are. And that must always start with you."
Needless to say, there's been some negative feedback. In a genre where fantastic, unrealistic things happen all the time, I've heard my share of complaints that "plus-size" fiction isn't "realistic" enough to sell. One blog I read treated the whole Rubenesque genre as a joke, saying it would be more realistic to her if two mentally challenged people found love together, as long as they were hot. You can be an asshole, you can be missing limbs, you can have the IQ of a kumquat, but God forbid you're larger than a size-6, which is where this particular blogger started her fat-shaming because "No man I know would ever date a woman bigger than that!"
So the majority of American women, who tend to be a size 14/16, are SOL when it comes to finding love... even though they do, even though they date, have sex, marry, have families and generally live happy lives.
I've had personal reviews that reinforce this sad message. One reviewer, an admitted size-16 herself, said my GROUPIE SAGA was unrealistic because no rock star AND music mogul would fight over a woman who wore a size-16.
Ahem...
Oh yeah. Nothing to like THERE. She's only the first model of size to grace the cover of the coveted Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. She's listed in People's Most Beautiful. Oh, and she's also married to a hot guy who digs her curves like there's no tomorrow.
And she did all that as a size-16.
Another interviewer took issue with the fact that I don't shy away from numbers in my book. CC Cabot (or Coralie) from my MASTERS SAGA was also a size-16, which... if you look at the Victoria's Secret Sizing Guide, is 42.5-34-44.5. Coralie is 46/34/44. I made her top-heavy because some women don't necessarily have sizes that fit these cookie-cutter sizes, and my whole message with Coralie was that American fashion sizing is bullshit (particularly the use of the term "plus-size.") She, as the daughter of a fashion industry icon, couldn't even find stuff to fit or flatter in her very own store because of this segregated idea of feminine beauty. I wanted to make it hard for her to find clothes, because for many of us it IS hard to find clothes. Even Salma Hayek and Scarlet Johansson, some of the hottest babes in Hollywood, overfill certain sizes. Salma is 39-24-36 and Scarlett is 36-25-36. Back at Victoria's Secret, a size-4 is 34.5-26-36.5, but you don't get into the 39" bust size until a 12, or a 36"-bust size until an 8. Did I mention already that the fashion industry standard for "plus-size" starts at a size 6? WHICH, btw, is a SMALL at Victoria's Secret.
See where I'm going with this? THIS guy does.
But because I said that Coralie had a size-46 bust, a reviewer took issue with my gender identity. "Is this writer even a woman?" she wanted to know, because 46 inches was HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE.
She's right. I don't know much about being a size-16, as it's been about three decades since I wore a 44-36-44. My current bust size now is 48". Whether I'm a woman or not... well...
Many a guy has looked at my chest and didn't give a shit about the number (unless it was my phone number,) but thanks for the reality check, I guess. Living in my skin day to day, I had forgotten what an anomaly I was. Thank GAWD someone was there to remind me how I don't fit in. Having made the career of my dreams out of thin air, raised two amazing men, and been loved and desired by many amazing guys, my confidence was getting OUT OF CONTROL. Someone definitely needed to put me in my place.
Even though I can point to real life examples of what I write...including my very own story, it's "unrealistic." I'd venture to guess more size-16 women get married every single day than college graduates get whisked away by gazillionaires, but ... y'know... whatever. Gotta protect the message.
It should be crystal clear by this point I don't give a flying fig about "the message."
Actually that's not true. I care enough about the destructive nature of this bullshit message to change it. This is why I write the books I do. I was sick and tired of being told I wasn't the ideal, I couldn't have my happily ever after, and I was not good enough. This is the uphill battle I climb every single time I walk outside my front door, facing a culture that would rather shame me into conforming than understand me as I am.
In my newest book, GLITTER ON THE WEB, Carly Reynolds shares this same mission. She is likewise a size-16, but she doesn't give a fuck if you think she's huge. She dates. She has an active sex life. She lives her life on her terms, and fuck the naysayers who want to shame her for any of it.
Because every plot needs an opposing force, I decided to make a living embodiment of our social standard. I've done that before with Eddie in FIERCE, but this time I had a different agenda. I was going to put these two opposing mindsets together, and use the resulting chaos to change the fucking message. So I created Eli Blake, who is the perfect ideal of a man, according to society standards. He's painfully good-looking. He's white. He's rich. He's straight. He's successful in the eyes of the world. These are his "get out of asshole" free cards that society hands to guys like this, even when they're ginormous douche bags.
It really is amazing what we, as women, tolerate from guys who simply look a certain way. (I'll get to that more in a minute.)
GLITTER was my way of shining a light on the destructive nature of the shaming mindset that goes hand-in-hand with shaping a message around beauty conformity. Needless to say, Eli had his biases when he got into this relationship, but so did Carly. Forced to work together, and live together, to perpetuate the lie of being a couple, they were able to get past the bullshit. And that's where the real chance for romance starts.
Fast-forward to May 9, the day before I released my ambitious project, and the book world exploded around the concept of "fat-shaming" when a male model went on a social media rampage against fat women, both the authors and readers of romance. I won't name him, he got enough publicity at the start of the week, but his message was that fat writers had to write romance because they weren't getting any dick at home, and readers of romance should just go eat ice cream and hang themselves in the closet.
That he wasn't more widely panned by the women who had become his "fans" as a fitness role model and cover model for romance novels, just reinforced the power of this destructive message. It's also a sad social statement that women accept abusive behavior from jerks just because we think they're good-looking. (Raise your standards, ladies. S'all I'm saying.)
Because of this brouhaha, I decided to keep GLITTER ON THE WEB at its pre-order price of $2.99 for another week. The ironic timing of this guy's meltdown was just too perfect to let pass by. He wanted to tell us fat girls to go hang ourselves in the closet. I'm trying to tell us all that no matter what your size, you deserve to be happy. You don't lose your worth as a human just because some jagoff is pissed off you're not doing more to attract him.
For some reason, some guys get really REALLY mad about this. I mean, why else would you say to someone that they need to hang themselves in a closet??
He did try to wrap this "concern-trolling" bullshit with the more socially accepted "obesity epidemic" trappings. But this guy doesn't give two shits about your health if he's trying to tell you you need to end it all simply because of what you weigh. What kind of fucked up message is that?? "I really want you to lose weight so you can live longer. But fuck that, you're a fat slob of a pig. Kill yourself now." That is a passionate, deep-seated hatred of you as a potential sexual partner who didn't do enough to please him, like you owed it to him to be hot.
Spoiler alert: You don't.
Like Jennifer Weiner said, there is room in the world for the unpretty. You don't owe it to him to give him a boner or to get his attention. From this kind of explosive meltdown, I'm going to go out on a limb and say this is not the kind of man you want ANY attention from. EVER. But regardless of who or what, you don't owe it to anyone else to be thin, to be pretty, to be perfect, to look good, to fit into a certain size - OR exercise and diet and starve yourself just so the people who are trying hard to find reasons to hate you will somehow like you one day.
Spoiler alert: They won't.
I've talked about fat-shaming before, where I was actually FAT-SHAMED for doing so. (Not surprised.) In fact, there are some who would fat-shame me for writing romances about bigger women, just because it's "unhealthy" to encourage happiness/self-acceptance when the accepted wisdom is fat is bad. Even though studies have proven that fat-shaming has the OPPOSITE effect, which I know from my own personal experience.
All of this stuff just reinforced why I write the stories I do. My entire purpose on the planet is to change the message, because I know first-hand how destructive it is. You want to be really, truly healthy? Try loving yourself enough to be imperfect. Convince yourself that you matter. You have value. You are here to be what no one else can be... and that's you. You're here to love, to learn and to grow, and you deserve to be happy. If you're not happy where you are, then change it. You have the power to do that. If you are happy where you are, then work on those things to make you stronger, to help you live longer, so you can show all the naysayers that no matter how much they try to steal your thunder, you're here to shake things up, and fuck 'em if they don't like it.
So stop accepting these ill-fitting boxes they try to cram us all into to make THEM feel better about themselves, when they're the ones who are limited. You matter. And you deserve to be here. You're going to make waves standing out, being different, but don't you dare apologize. People will try to shame you, sure, because they don't know how to handle it. This usually indicates these are people who aren't fit to judge you anyway. So don't accept that shame. There's no one on this planet more qualified to judge you for being you except you. And I got news for you... you're fucking perfect at it. Because of the scars you wear... not in spite of them.
Shake off the haters, lift your chin and own. You might be surprised who might someday agree.
GLITTER ON THE WEB now available everywhere.
Entire multi-million-dollar industries are banking on this premise, from the magazines we see screaming at us from the check-out aisle, to the cosmetics and fashion industry and... let's not forget the weight-loss industry, which brings in BILLIONS per year. So naturally the women we see reflected back to us in the media all tend to fit a certain type, and woe to the women who don't. Any time any woman dares to dip her tippy-toe outside of this narrow definition of ideal feminine beauty, there's shame the size of Texas waiting to be heaped on her, to corral her back into line.
And we all kind of accept it. We all kind of go along with this idea that women in particular deserve our ridicule and our disdain simply because of how they look, which reinforces the even more destructive social messaging that a woman's value hinges on something so temporary and so superficial. If you dare to be successful in any OTHER way, whether professionally, intellectually, in your character, with your achievements, even if you want to be president of these United States, it all comes back to how you look.
And it's bullshit.
I used to shovel the shit, same as the majority of folks in our culture. I wrote thin and beautiful women, desired women, who didn't know they were thin, beautiful and desired, something I wouldn't know dick about, and publishers told me thanks but no thanks. My characters were "too perfect."
But that was how I saw the women mirrored back to me. They were certainly more perfect than I was, and more deserving of good things than I was.
I mean, that IS the message, right?
In 2007, I set out to change that message. I wrote my first Rubenesque romance, LOVE PLUS ONE, about a size-12 (gasp! shocker!) gal who not only didn't know she was beautiful... she had the world around her reinforcing that sad message. She had to fight through BOTH piles of bullshit to find her happily ever after.
THAT... I know.
Since then I've written all sorts of "plus-size" fiction, with all sorts of heroines. I have my confident, DGAF heroines who embrace the fact they are different and don't give a rat's ass who agrees with them. (Rachel from THE FULLERTON FAMILY SAGA, Andy from THE GROUPIE SAGA, Coralie from THE MASTERS SAGA, Caitlin from PICTURE POSTCARDS and Carly from GLITTER ON THE WEB.) I have my more insecure heroines, who are fighting uphill through molasses to figure out their worth. (Jordi from THE FIERCE TRILOGY, Shannon from LOVE PLUS ONE.) I have my pissed off heroine, who gained weight just to keep men dafuq away from her, (Jessica, UNDER TEXAS SKIES,) and the character who has battled the chatterbox a lot like me over the past four decades, even when she couldn't see the great things that were right in front of her. (Roni from THE LEFTOVER CLUB.) Joely Morgan, from BACK FOR SECONDS, was a 40-year-old mother of three who gained weight and alienated her hubby, who dropped her like a bad habit for a 20-something size-perfect beauty. She got the interest of a younger, hotter man who wanted to get his hands all over her neglected curves, again... writing what I know from real-life experience.
I've written characters who are where I used to be. I've written characters who are who I want to be. And each and every one I allowed to be who they were, no physical changes necessary. They had to change their attitude only, one that said, "You're allowed to find love the way you are. And that must always start with you."
Needless to say, there's been some negative feedback. In a genre where fantastic, unrealistic things happen all the time, I've heard my share of complaints that "plus-size" fiction isn't "realistic" enough to sell. One blog I read treated the whole Rubenesque genre as a joke, saying it would be more realistic to her if two mentally challenged people found love together, as long as they were hot. You can be an asshole, you can be missing limbs, you can have the IQ of a kumquat, but God forbid you're larger than a size-6, which is where this particular blogger started her fat-shaming because "No man I know would ever date a woman bigger than that!"
So the majority of American women, who tend to be a size 14/16, are SOL when it comes to finding love... even though they do, even though they date, have sex, marry, have families and generally live happy lives.
I've had personal reviews that reinforce this sad message. One reviewer, an admitted size-16 herself, said my GROUPIE SAGA was unrealistic because no rock star AND music mogul would fight over a woman who wore a size-16.
Ahem...
Oh yeah. Nothing to like THERE. She's only the first model of size to grace the cover of the coveted Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. She's listed in People's Most Beautiful. Oh, and she's also married to a hot guy who digs her curves like there's no tomorrow.
And she did all that as a size-16.
Another interviewer took issue with the fact that I don't shy away from numbers in my book. CC Cabot (or Coralie) from my MASTERS SAGA was also a size-16, which... if you look at the Victoria's Secret Sizing Guide, is 42.5-34-44.5. Coralie is 46/34/44. I made her top-heavy because some women don't necessarily have sizes that fit these cookie-cutter sizes, and my whole message with Coralie was that American fashion sizing is bullshit (particularly the use of the term "plus-size.") She, as the daughter of a fashion industry icon, couldn't even find stuff to fit or flatter in her very own store because of this segregated idea of feminine beauty. I wanted to make it hard for her to find clothes, because for many of us it IS hard to find clothes. Even Salma Hayek and Scarlet Johansson, some of the hottest babes in Hollywood, overfill certain sizes. Salma is 39-24-36 and Scarlett is 36-25-36. Back at Victoria's Secret, a size-4 is 34.5-26-36.5, but you don't get into the 39" bust size until a 12, or a 36"-bust size until an 8. Did I mention already that the fashion industry standard for "plus-size" starts at a size 6? WHICH, btw, is a SMALL at Victoria's Secret.
See where I'm going with this? THIS guy does.
But because I said that Coralie had a size-46 bust, a reviewer took issue with my gender identity. "Is this writer even a woman?" she wanted to know, because 46 inches was HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE.
She's right. I don't know much about being a size-16, as it's been about three decades since I wore a 44-36-44. My current bust size now is 48". Whether I'm a woman or not... well...
Many a guy has looked at my chest and didn't give a shit about the number (unless it was my phone number,) but thanks for the reality check, I guess. Living in my skin day to day, I had forgotten what an anomaly I was. Thank GAWD someone was there to remind me how I don't fit in. Having made the career of my dreams out of thin air, raised two amazing men, and been loved and desired by many amazing guys, my confidence was getting OUT OF CONTROL. Someone definitely needed to put me in my place.
Even though I can point to real life examples of what I write...including my very own story, it's "unrealistic." I'd venture to guess more size-16 women get married every single day than college graduates get whisked away by gazillionaires, but ... y'know... whatever. Gotta protect the message.
It should be crystal clear by this point I don't give a flying fig about "the message."
Actually that's not true. I care enough about the destructive nature of this bullshit message to change it. This is why I write the books I do. I was sick and tired of being told I wasn't the ideal, I couldn't have my happily ever after, and I was not good enough. This is the uphill battle I climb every single time I walk outside my front door, facing a culture that would rather shame me into conforming than understand me as I am.
In my newest book, GLITTER ON THE WEB, Carly Reynolds shares this same mission. She is likewise a size-16, but she doesn't give a fuck if you think she's huge. She dates. She has an active sex life. She lives her life on her terms, and fuck the naysayers who want to shame her for any of it.
Because every plot needs an opposing force, I decided to make a living embodiment of our social standard. I've done that before with Eddie in FIERCE, but this time I had a different agenda. I was going to put these two opposing mindsets together, and use the resulting chaos to change the fucking message. So I created Eli Blake, who is the perfect ideal of a man, according to society standards. He's painfully good-looking. He's white. He's rich. He's straight. He's successful in the eyes of the world. These are his "get out of asshole" free cards that society hands to guys like this, even when they're ginormous douche bags.
It really is amazing what we, as women, tolerate from guys who simply look a certain way. (I'll get to that more in a minute.)
GLITTER was my way of shining a light on the destructive nature of the shaming mindset that goes hand-in-hand with shaping a message around beauty conformity. Needless to say, Eli had his biases when he got into this relationship, but so did Carly. Forced to work together, and live together, to perpetuate the lie of being a couple, they were able to get past the bullshit. And that's where the real chance for romance starts.
Fast-forward to May 9, the day before I released my ambitious project, and the book world exploded around the concept of "fat-shaming" when a male model went on a social media rampage against fat women, both the authors and readers of romance. I won't name him, he got enough publicity at the start of the week, but his message was that fat writers had to write romance because they weren't getting any dick at home, and readers of romance should just go eat ice cream and hang themselves in the closet.
That he wasn't more widely panned by the women who had become his "fans" as a fitness role model and cover model for romance novels, just reinforced the power of this destructive message. It's also a sad social statement that women accept abusive behavior from jerks just because we think they're good-looking. (Raise your standards, ladies. S'all I'm saying.)
Because of this brouhaha, I decided to keep GLITTER ON THE WEB at its pre-order price of $2.99 for another week. The ironic timing of this guy's meltdown was just too perfect to let pass by. He wanted to tell us fat girls to go hang ourselves in the closet. I'm trying to tell us all that no matter what your size, you deserve to be happy. You don't lose your worth as a human just because some jagoff is pissed off you're not doing more to attract him.
For some reason, some guys get really REALLY mad about this. I mean, why else would you say to someone that they need to hang themselves in a closet??
He did try to wrap this "concern-trolling" bullshit with the more socially accepted "obesity epidemic" trappings. But this guy doesn't give two shits about your health if he's trying to tell you you need to end it all simply because of what you weigh. What kind of fucked up message is that?? "I really want you to lose weight so you can live longer. But fuck that, you're a fat slob of a pig. Kill yourself now." That is a passionate, deep-seated hatred of you as a potential sexual partner who didn't do enough to please him, like you owed it to him to be hot.
Spoiler alert: You don't.
Like Jennifer Weiner said, there is room in the world for the unpretty. You don't owe it to him to give him a boner or to get his attention. From this kind of explosive meltdown, I'm going to go out on a limb and say this is not the kind of man you want ANY attention from. EVER. But regardless of who or what, you don't owe it to anyone else to be thin, to be pretty, to be perfect, to look good, to fit into a certain size - OR exercise and diet and starve yourself just so the people who are trying hard to find reasons to hate you will somehow like you one day.
Spoiler alert: They won't.
I didn’t want to tell her that “they” would never stop finding things that girls are “too” this or that for, to deny us our happy endings, like we somehow didn’t deserve it anymore because we’re not perfect. It starts with too young, then it becomes too fat, too thin, too loud, too quiet, too timid, too bold, too chaste, too slutty, too ugly, too pretty… until finally we’re too old, and we get put out to pasture like any brood mare who was no longer useful.
“‘They’ will always try to make you feel like a half-person, who will never be complete until you have a man to validate you. But ‘they’ are full of shit. You are an amazing person all on your own. The right person will see that. It’ll turn all those things that are too much into just right.” - Carly Reynolds
I've talked about fat-shaming before, where I was actually FAT-SHAMED for doing so. (Not surprised.) In fact, there are some who would fat-shame me for writing romances about bigger women, just because it's "unhealthy" to encourage happiness/self-acceptance when the accepted wisdom is fat is bad. Even though studies have proven that fat-shaming has the OPPOSITE effect, which I know from my own personal experience.
All of this stuff just reinforced why I write the stories I do. My entire purpose on the planet is to change the message, because I know first-hand how destructive it is. You want to be really, truly healthy? Try loving yourself enough to be imperfect. Convince yourself that you matter. You have value. You are here to be what no one else can be... and that's you. You're here to love, to learn and to grow, and you deserve to be happy. If you're not happy where you are, then change it. You have the power to do that. If you are happy where you are, then work on those things to make you stronger, to help you live longer, so you can show all the naysayers that no matter how much they try to steal your thunder, you're here to shake things up, and fuck 'em if they don't like it.
So stop accepting these ill-fitting boxes they try to cram us all into to make THEM feel better about themselves, when they're the ones who are limited. You matter. And you deserve to be here. You're going to make waves standing out, being different, but don't you dare apologize. People will try to shame you, sure, because they don't know how to handle it. This usually indicates these are people who aren't fit to judge you anyway. So don't accept that shame. There's no one on this planet more qualified to judge you for being you except you. And I got news for you... you're fucking perfect at it. Because of the scars you wear... not in spite of them.
Shake off the haters, lift your chin and own. You might be surprised who might someday agree.
“You really don’t care what people think, do you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like today. I tell you to skip makeup, you put on sunglasses like it’s nothing. If I had said that to Rhonda, she would have spent the next ten minutes yelling at me in Spanglish, telling me I didn’t understand what it was like to be a woman in the public eye.”
“Big difference. I’m not in the public eye.”
“Yeah, you are,” he corrected. “You just don’t care. At the spa. On the beach. You just walked through a crowded lobby in beachwear, and don’t even notice if other people stare or talk behind your back. It’s like you’re a queen and they’re all beneath you.”
I chuckled. “Oh, I notice. But you’re right. I don’t care. I’m not defined by the opinions of others.”
His caresses grew even gentler. “Like a queen.” I said nothing. “It’s sexy,” he murmured, his fingers trailing over my shoulders and down both arms as he leaned closer. “You’re sexy.”
My eyes met his. “Surprised?”
He nodded. “Every day.” He leaned forward for another kiss.
GLITTER ON THE WEB now available everywhere.
May 7, 2016
Last Sneak Peek Saturday - and LAST WEEK to get Glitter on the Web for $2.99
This is it folks. GLITTER ON THE WEB releases May 10! (Which, incidentally, is the same day that DEADPOOL releases on DVD - so if you're anything like me, I know you will likely be torn. Pro-tip: cast RR as Eli Blake and you're good to go for a sexy all-nighter!)
So we've covered already that my heroine, Carly, doesn't care much for our douche bag hero, Eli. She signs up for a year pretending to be his girlfriend because there's a LOT of money involved, but she has no intention whatsoever of actually falling for the guy. He has no intention of falling for either, because clearly she's not his type.
This makes for all sorts of interesting situations because neither one is trying to impress the other. They can speak bluntly. They can tell the truth. They can push back instead of roll over. They had a push-pull relationship from the get-go, which - truth be told - are my favorite kinds of sticky romantic entanglements.
The following scene is one that Carly herself finished. Characters do that sometimes, throwing curve balls at you with surprising new actions you didn't outline or predict. It was clear she wasn't about to take my guff any more than she took Eli's. It was a scene where Eli orchestrates this huge makeover for our casual, atypical beauty, which doesn't go over very well for Carly. So she takes matters into her own hands. Like Eli, I didn't really see this little surprise coming. It was the exact moment that I fell head over heels in love with her. This is a strong character who doesn't let others tell her how to feel about herself, especially an arrogant dickhead like Eli Blake. This is an example of how far she's willing to go to prove her worth, even when he wants to deny her of it. (Later in the book... she goes further. I LOVE THIS GIRL.)
****
Cabot’s Department Store had been a L.A. staple of fashion since the 1940s, and in the past couple of years they had started up a new plus-line of clothing called Youniquely Cabot, which, for the beginning of their run anyway, was modeled by heiress C.C. Cabot herself, who, like me, had an ample figure.
Her sister-in-law, Darcy Masters, was the mastermind behind all the amazing creations, and it was her genius that guided our personal shopping experience when we got there for our eleven o’clock appointment.
Eli had beaten me to the store, where he turned on the charm for our personal shopping assistant, Ashley. Since she was thin and pretty, he got her name right the first time, and used it often with that blinding white smile of his.
That wasn’t what bothered me. I was used to that. What I wasn’t used to was the way he hung on me like a cheap coat, trying to sell this new romance to the 20-something salesgirl.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he greeted with that same smile as he walked right up to me, put his arms around me and reached for a kiss.
Though I was no prude, and PDAs never really bothered me, having that mouth open over mine—again—made my skin crawl. It wasn’t that he wasn’t a good kisser, of course he was. It was that he was Eli Blake and the kiss was for show and I was a big fat phony faking liar, just like he was.
Needless to say, my response was lukewarm, which earned his cheerfully delivered reproach. “Come on, baby. No one cares,” he murmured as he cuddled me close, his hands sliding down my back to rest on either hip. I used my eyes alone to warn him of the boundaries he was crossing. It only made him smile wider as he turned back to Ashley. “You’ll have to forgive her. She’s shy.”
She giggled. “Not a problem. I’m the same way. My boyfriend always wants to get cozy in public. Drives me crazy. Of course I don’t have the whole world watching,” she added empathetically as she glanced my way.
I could barely unclench my jaw. “That does make it a little more challenging,” I agreed.
Ashley remained cheerfully on point. “Darcy looked over your list of events and she sent over quite a few options for you to consider. Give me five minutes to get everything started.”
“We’re in your hands,” Eli smiled at her while he cuddled me closer, squeezing one ass cheek for effect.
The minute she left the mirrored room, I thrust him away. “I wish you’d stop telling everyone I’m shy.”
He shrugged as he made his way to the tufted upholstered loveseat. “Which would you rather be? Shy? Or a frigid bitch? Because it could go either way.”
I glared at him. “I’m neither, for your information.”
He crossed one leg over the other, his eyes icy as he stared back at me. “Could have fooled me. We’re supposed to be crazy about each other, remember? That’s the story you’re being paid quite well to sell. Haven’t you ever been in a relationship before?”
“Is that what you think?” I gaped. “That I’m some sad wallflower that has never been kissed?”
“I know you’ve been kissed. You’ve been kissed by me.”
I barely concealed my growl of frustration just as Ashley lowered the lights and began our own private fashion show. I glanced back to Eli, who patted the space beside him with that self-satisfied smirk of his. My teeth clenched together tightly as I walked over to the love seat and squeezed myself next to him on the tiny, intimate piece of furniture. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, almost like a vice grip to keep me in line, as the first model appeared.
She was a size 14/16 like me, but her look was far more stylish than the nondescript pantsuit I happened to be wearing. She wore funky layers and bright colors, with the sass and attitude to match as she sashayed from one side of the room to the other, with a twirl as she reached us, so we could get the full 360-degree view of her outfit.
“This is for those casual occasions,” Ashley said. “Going to the movies, out to the mall, maybe meeting for lunch at an outdoor café. Just add some funky jewelry or maybe a jacket over a casual shirt and you’re ready to take on the town.”
“I like it,” Eli told her. “But I would like to see something a bit sexier.”
Ashley bestowed a smile. “Not a problem. Next is Emma, who will model one of our more versatile looks that would work for day or night, dressy or casual.”
Emma wore a sleek pencil skirt in snakeskin print, with a white blouse and an olive-colored leather jacket, along with the kind of high heels I had given up in middle school, when my growth spurt put me eye-to-eye with most the boys in my class.
Given my new steady Eli was a good seven inches taller than me, this was no longer a concern. I could only hope I remembered how to walk in the silly things.
When Eli commented he would like to see more skin, the next model, Ariel, walked out in silky black palazzo pants with a corset top with sheer lacy sides. “Add a black leather jacket and you’re good to go,” Ashley said.
“That’s more like it,” Eli murmured as he cuddled me closer. “I can’t wait to see you in that one,” he murmured, grazing his lip against my cheek near my ear. “Or, more accurately, out of it.”
I nearly bit the inside of my cheek clean off to keep from screaming.
Ashley wasn’t done. She had everything to show us, from cocktail dresses to athletic wear. “My baby does like to stay active,” he said as he grinned at me.
“You have no idea,” I promised just under my breath, plotting my revenge accordingly.
Eli made his next request to Ashley, though he looked straight at me. “Maybe we should see some lingerie, then.”
From negligees to baby doll nighties, each and every model paraded past us in silk, satin and lace. There were swimsuits, bras and panties, everything one might need for a year-long romance with one of the most desired men in the world.
It took at least two hours for us to finish our business there at Cabot’s, but if I thought he was done, I was seriously mistaken. The next stop we made was to a salon, where he suggested we do something a little more exciting with my chestnut brown hair. “Blonde highlights,” he told the stylist, who proceeded to wrap me up in so much tin foil I was pretty sure I could pick up communication from the International Space Station.
After that, it was a couple’s afternoon at a spa, where we got plucked, pampered and groomed. I very nearly brought the whole thing crashing down when it was time for our dual massage, since I had to strip down to just my panties underneath my robe.
I could tell from the cocky look in his blue eyes that he was just waiting for me to buckle. Maybe he thought I should be ashamed of my body since it wasn’t “perfect,” and he was just waiting for me to agree. So I walked into that room and let the robe fall right off my shoulders, revealing myself almost entirely for his curious stare. I wore no bra, so naturally that was where his eyes first fell, taking in every inch of my breasts as they swayed heavily before him.
Yeah, fucko, this is what natural, unenhanced tits look like.
He wanted to shame me, but I wasn’t ashamed. Like the great Eleanor Roosevelt once said, no one can make anyone else feel inferior without their consent. I simply refused to consent—to the world at large, and to Eli Blake in particular. So I wasn’t shy at all when I climbed up on my table and waited for a rub-down.
Eli was so taken aback that he didn’t say much during our massage. I made a mental note to get naked more often.
Afterwards, when they had placed hot stones along our bodies, they left us in the softly lit room, illuminated only by candlelight, with gentle music playing in the background. Finally Eli spoke.
“I have to admit, I never thought you’d go through with all this,” he murmured.
I turned my head to look at him. “Told you I wasn’t shy.”
“You’re full of surprises, Carly Reynolds,” he said, his eyes closing as he enjoyed his hot stone therapy.
“Just wait until tomorrow. You might want to wear a cup.”
He opened one eye to look at me. I just chuckled and looked the other way.
****
I had so much fun with these characters. I really can't wait for you to meet them. So get your pre-order today! This weekend will be the last that GLITTER is on sale, after May 10th it goes up to $3.99.
And don't forget to subscribe to my email list. Tomorrow I'm sending out an exclusive sneak peek by email only!
Subscribe to our mailing list* indicates required Email Address * First Name Last Name
So we've covered already that my heroine, Carly, doesn't care much for our douche bag hero, Eli. She signs up for a year pretending to be his girlfriend because there's a LOT of money involved, but she has no intention whatsoever of actually falling for the guy. He has no intention of falling for either, because clearly she's not his type.
This makes for all sorts of interesting situations because neither one is trying to impress the other. They can speak bluntly. They can tell the truth. They can push back instead of roll over. They had a push-pull relationship from the get-go, which - truth be told - are my favorite kinds of sticky romantic entanglements.
The following scene is one that Carly herself finished. Characters do that sometimes, throwing curve balls at you with surprising new actions you didn't outline or predict. It was clear she wasn't about to take my guff any more than she took Eli's. It was a scene where Eli orchestrates this huge makeover for our casual, atypical beauty, which doesn't go over very well for Carly. So she takes matters into her own hands. Like Eli, I didn't really see this little surprise coming. It was the exact moment that I fell head over heels in love with her. This is a strong character who doesn't let others tell her how to feel about herself, especially an arrogant dickhead like Eli Blake. This is an example of how far she's willing to go to prove her worth, even when he wants to deny her of it. (Later in the book... she goes further. I LOVE THIS GIRL.)
****
Cabot’s Department Store had been a L.A. staple of fashion since the 1940s, and in the past couple of years they had started up a new plus-line of clothing called Youniquely Cabot, which, for the beginning of their run anyway, was modeled by heiress C.C. Cabot herself, who, like me, had an ample figure.
Her sister-in-law, Darcy Masters, was the mastermind behind all the amazing creations, and it was her genius that guided our personal shopping experience when we got there for our eleven o’clock appointment.
Eli had beaten me to the store, where he turned on the charm for our personal shopping assistant, Ashley. Since she was thin and pretty, he got her name right the first time, and used it often with that blinding white smile of his.
That wasn’t what bothered me. I was used to that. What I wasn’t used to was the way he hung on me like a cheap coat, trying to sell this new romance to the 20-something salesgirl.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he greeted with that same smile as he walked right up to me, put his arms around me and reached for a kiss.
Though I was no prude, and PDAs never really bothered me, having that mouth open over mine—again—made my skin crawl. It wasn’t that he wasn’t a good kisser, of course he was. It was that he was Eli Blake and the kiss was for show and I was a big fat phony faking liar, just like he was.
Needless to say, my response was lukewarm, which earned his cheerfully delivered reproach. “Come on, baby. No one cares,” he murmured as he cuddled me close, his hands sliding down my back to rest on either hip. I used my eyes alone to warn him of the boundaries he was crossing. It only made him smile wider as he turned back to Ashley. “You’ll have to forgive her. She’s shy.”
She giggled. “Not a problem. I’m the same way. My boyfriend always wants to get cozy in public. Drives me crazy. Of course I don’t have the whole world watching,” she added empathetically as she glanced my way.
I could barely unclench my jaw. “That does make it a little more challenging,” I agreed.
Ashley remained cheerfully on point. “Darcy looked over your list of events and she sent over quite a few options for you to consider. Give me five minutes to get everything started.”
“We’re in your hands,” Eli smiled at her while he cuddled me closer, squeezing one ass cheek for effect.
The minute she left the mirrored room, I thrust him away. “I wish you’d stop telling everyone I’m shy.”
He shrugged as he made his way to the tufted upholstered loveseat. “Which would you rather be? Shy? Or a frigid bitch? Because it could go either way.”
I glared at him. “I’m neither, for your information.”
He crossed one leg over the other, his eyes icy as he stared back at me. “Could have fooled me. We’re supposed to be crazy about each other, remember? That’s the story you’re being paid quite well to sell. Haven’t you ever been in a relationship before?”
“Is that what you think?” I gaped. “That I’m some sad wallflower that has never been kissed?”
“I know you’ve been kissed. You’ve been kissed by me.”
I barely concealed my growl of frustration just as Ashley lowered the lights and began our own private fashion show. I glanced back to Eli, who patted the space beside him with that self-satisfied smirk of his. My teeth clenched together tightly as I walked over to the love seat and squeezed myself next to him on the tiny, intimate piece of furniture. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, almost like a vice grip to keep me in line, as the first model appeared.
She was a size 14/16 like me, but her look was far more stylish than the nondescript pantsuit I happened to be wearing. She wore funky layers and bright colors, with the sass and attitude to match as she sashayed from one side of the room to the other, with a twirl as she reached us, so we could get the full 360-degree view of her outfit.
“This is for those casual occasions,” Ashley said. “Going to the movies, out to the mall, maybe meeting for lunch at an outdoor café. Just add some funky jewelry or maybe a jacket over a casual shirt and you’re ready to take on the town.”
“I like it,” Eli told her. “But I would like to see something a bit sexier.”
Ashley bestowed a smile. “Not a problem. Next is Emma, who will model one of our more versatile looks that would work for day or night, dressy or casual.”
Emma wore a sleek pencil skirt in snakeskin print, with a white blouse and an olive-colored leather jacket, along with the kind of high heels I had given up in middle school, when my growth spurt put me eye-to-eye with most the boys in my class.
Given my new steady Eli was a good seven inches taller than me, this was no longer a concern. I could only hope I remembered how to walk in the silly things.
When Eli commented he would like to see more skin, the next model, Ariel, walked out in silky black palazzo pants with a corset top with sheer lacy sides. “Add a black leather jacket and you’re good to go,” Ashley said.
“That’s more like it,” Eli murmured as he cuddled me closer. “I can’t wait to see you in that one,” he murmured, grazing his lip against my cheek near my ear. “Or, more accurately, out of it.”
I nearly bit the inside of my cheek clean off to keep from screaming.
Ashley wasn’t done. She had everything to show us, from cocktail dresses to athletic wear. “My baby does like to stay active,” he said as he grinned at me.
“You have no idea,” I promised just under my breath, plotting my revenge accordingly.
Eli made his next request to Ashley, though he looked straight at me. “Maybe we should see some lingerie, then.”
From negligees to baby doll nighties, each and every model paraded past us in silk, satin and lace. There were swimsuits, bras and panties, everything one might need for a year-long romance with one of the most desired men in the world.
It took at least two hours for us to finish our business there at Cabot’s, but if I thought he was done, I was seriously mistaken. The next stop we made was to a salon, where he suggested we do something a little more exciting with my chestnut brown hair. “Blonde highlights,” he told the stylist, who proceeded to wrap me up in so much tin foil I was pretty sure I could pick up communication from the International Space Station.
After that, it was a couple’s afternoon at a spa, where we got plucked, pampered and groomed. I very nearly brought the whole thing crashing down when it was time for our dual massage, since I had to strip down to just my panties underneath my robe.
I could tell from the cocky look in his blue eyes that he was just waiting for me to buckle. Maybe he thought I should be ashamed of my body since it wasn’t “perfect,” and he was just waiting for me to agree. So I walked into that room and let the robe fall right off my shoulders, revealing myself almost entirely for his curious stare. I wore no bra, so naturally that was where his eyes first fell, taking in every inch of my breasts as they swayed heavily before him.
Yeah, fucko, this is what natural, unenhanced tits look like.
He wanted to shame me, but I wasn’t ashamed. Like the great Eleanor Roosevelt once said, no one can make anyone else feel inferior without their consent. I simply refused to consent—to the world at large, and to Eli Blake in particular. So I wasn’t shy at all when I climbed up on my table and waited for a rub-down.
Eli was so taken aback that he didn’t say much during our massage. I made a mental note to get naked more often.
Afterwards, when they had placed hot stones along our bodies, they left us in the softly lit room, illuminated only by candlelight, with gentle music playing in the background. Finally Eli spoke.
“I have to admit, I never thought you’d go through with all this,” he murmured.
I turned my head to look at him. “Told you I wasn’t shy.”
“You’re full of surprises, Carly Reynolds,” he said, his eyes closing as he enjoyed his hot stone therapy.
“Just wait until tomorrow. You might want to wear a cup.”
He opened one eye to look at me. I just chuckled and looked the other way.
****
I had so much fun with these characters. I really can't wait for you to meet them. So get your pre-order today! This weekend will be the last that GLITTER is on sale, after May 10th it goes up to $3.99.
And don't forget to subscribe to my email list. Tomorrow I'm sending out an exclusive sneak peek by email only!
Subscribe to our mailing list* indicates required Email Address * First Name Last Name
April 30, 2016
I have one word for your Sneak Peek Saturday: Caz Bixby. (Wait, what?)
If you've been around a while, you already know that I love, love, love to include little Easter Eggs in my book, bringing back characters from other stories for unexpected cameos. I got the idea from Stephen King, the Master, whose little asides for his diehard fans (and by diehard, I mean those who read more than one of his books,) made me feel special, like we were connecting on a delicious little secret casual fans might miss. You just get more out of it that way, and I love doing that in my books, building my universe a little bit at a time.
Mostly, I can't let some of these characters go. Vanni, Graham, Jorge... these are characters I bring back again and again because they just make life so much fun. Well, no one, and I do mean no one, made my life more exciting than Caz Bixby, one of the stars of my MASTERS saga. This guy was shameless and naughty, and I like that. I knew when I ended the Masters series that he would be back - as many times as I could make it happen - before one day starring in a book of his own.
He doesn't get his own book/HEA yet, simply because that's not what Caz Bixby is about. He's a catalyst, not a romantic hero. Like he says, "I don't do love, sweets. I do sex and lots of it."
So needless to say, when Eli Blake, Douche Extraordinaire, thinks that Carly is too much woman to fit his narrow standard - I introduced a naughty, shameless little catalyst to prove to him that some guys found her "just enough." He gets to see her through the eyes of a man who knows exactly what to do with her.
It doesn't go well...
Here's another snippet from GLITTER ON THE WEB...
****
“Carly, I have someone I want you to meet.”
The man in question stood to his full height and turned to me with a familiar smirk. I had seen him somewhere before, though I wrestled with my memory to place him. Finally it clicked a half a second before she said, “This is Caz Bixby, my new boss.”
Caz Bixby—notorious playboy and known gigolo, one who had taken pop culture by storm when he outed one of his more notable clients and dismantled an entire election campaign airing her dirty laundry. He was rewarded with a TV show of his own, and my guess was that was where Clem had been keeping herself lately.
OGWO was once again as right as rain.
“Carly,” he crooned as he took my hand in his and brought it to his lips for a kiss. “I’ve heard so much about you. And not just from Clementine. You get any more press and they’ll have to give you a show.”
I laughed. “God forbid.”
He grinned. “Is that an accent I detect?”
“Maybe a little,” I replied in good humor. He was fun, and he was almost painfully good looking. It wasn’t a bad combo. “Guess where and I’ll buy you a shot.”
“Ooo, a challenge,” he said as he leaned back to inspect me. “Talk dirty to me.”
I leaned forward. “Mud. Soot. Manure. Oil.”
He clapped one hand on the bar. “Say no more. You are from the great state of Tejas, am I right?”
“Give that man a silver dollar,” I nodded as I held up my finger to order a shot from Clem.
“Make it two,” he added before turning back to me. “You’ve got to join me in a Valentine’s Day toast.”
I shook my head. “Can’t. Pain meds,” I said with a pout.
“Oh, yeah.” He glanced at my foot. “How’s the bum foot?”
“Healing,” I said. “I’m starting physical therapy next week.”
He smiled wide. “If you ever need a trainer…,” he said, letting his offer trail off.
“And here I thought you were way too busy for something like that.”
He laughed. “For one of Clem’s friends, I could make an exception.” His eyes glittered as they ran over me. “Especially for a pretty one.”
“Actually,” Clem said as she leaned across the bar, delivering the shots, “Carly is taken.”
He glanced out onto the dance floor, where Eli now danced with Lisa and Daisy. “Yeah. I heard.” His eyes met mine. In an instant, I feared he could easily read all those things I would never say. I could say nothing as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a black card with a gold lettering embossed on it. He handed it to me. “Offer still stands, though. Even if you need to talk. I know instant fame can be tough.”
I nodded and took the card, placing it in my clutch.
He continued to study me with that thoughtful stare. “Care to dance?” he offered and I shook my head.
“I probably shouldn’t.”
“Why not? He’s having a good time,” he added, nodding once again to the dance floor. There Eli was sandwiched in between my two friends, who were having a sexy good time grinding against a famous, sexy crooner. “Come on,” Caz urged. “I really want to dance and my favorite girl is behind the bar.” I still hemmed and hawed, so he added, “Don’t you want to show a poor, lonely guy some of that southern hospitality?”
I looked up into those playful hazel eyes. I couldn’t help but smile. “Okay.”
He pulled me towards the dance floor, where Lola had just started playing “More Than a Mouthful.” Caz plastered me against his hard body. “I love this song,” he grinned, and I knew in an instant he was completely incorrigible. “So tell me what it’s like to fall in love under a microscope,” he said.
“You should know,” I countered. “You’re more famous than I am.”
He laughed. “I don’t do love, sweets. I do sex and lots of it.”
The way his body moved against me left no room for argument about that.
“Then you and Clem are perfect for each other,” I teased.
He laughed again. “Clem is a hoot. And a riot in the sack.”
My eyes widened. “You slept with her?” That didn’t sound like Clem at all. Normally she never mixed business with pleasure.
“I sleep with everyone,” he grinned, unabashed. “Haven’t you heard?”
My eyes narrowed. “Oh. So you’re a liar.”
He leaned forward with that cheeky grin. “Takes one to know one.” I gasped as I realized what was happening. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to bust you. But if you want to sell this relationship, you’re going to have to go for broke, baby doll. I can smell the neglect all over you. You haven’t been properly fucked in,” he paused to lean closer still and peer into my face, “four months at least.”
I gasped at how on the nose he was. Who the fuck was this guy?
“If you ever need help in that department, I’m available for that too. No one sells a lie better than Caz Bixby. Ask anyone.”
“Thanks,” I muttered as I tried to turn away, but he pulled me back.
“Don’t get all sore. Come on. Let’s dance,” he added softly as he pulled me closer.
Just then another man’s hand landed on my arm. It was Eli, and he wasn’t happy. “Is this jerk giving you a hard time, babe?”
Always in character, I thought. Caz, unfortunately, ran with it.
“Not yet, but I’m trying,” he added with that self-satisfied smirk that rivaled Eli’s.
“She’s with me,” Eli practically growled at him.
Undaunted, Caz shot back, “Sorry, man, it was hard to tell, considering you were dancing with other girls and all.”
Eli’s glare narrowed to pinpoints. “Who are you?”
Caz reached out his hand. “Caz Bixby. Clem works for my show.”
I could see Eli quickly process the data. “I see.”
“Clem was working the bar so I asked Carly here for a dance. Figured no harm, no foul, right? I mean it’s Valentine’s Day. All the pretty girls deserve a dance on Valentine’s Day.”
“You’re so right,” Eli said as he pulled me to his side. “Carly’s dance card is full. But I’m sure you’ll find another.”
“I always do,” Caz said. His eyes returned to me. “They all come to Caz eventually,” he grinned as he bowed, then disappeared into the crowd.
“What a prick,” Eli muttered, which made me laugh. “What’s so funny?”
“I would think you guys have a lot in common,” I shrugged.
His gaze fell over me. “We have one thing in common, it would seem.”
“Please,” I dismissed. “It was just a dance.”
“Tell that to the flush in your cheek,” he hissed before he dragged me back to the dance floor.
****
If you didn't get enough Caz in the MASTERS saga, pre-order GLITTER ON THE WEB right now at the discounted cost of $2.99! Price goes up after the May 10 release!
Mostly, I can't let some of these characters go. Vanni, Graham, Jorge... these are characters I bring back again and again because they just make life so much fun. Well, no one, and I do mean no one, made my life more exciting than Caz Bixby, one of the stars of my MASTERS saga. This guy was shameless and naughty, and I like that. I knew when I ended the Masters series that he would be back - as many times as I could make it happen - before one day starring in a book of his own.
He doesn't get his own book/HEA yet, simply because that's not what Caz Bixby is about. He's a catalyst, not a romantic hero. Like he says, "I don't do love, sweets. I do sex and lots of it."
So needless to say, when Eli Blake, Douche Extraordinaire, thinks that Carly is too much woman to fit his narrow standard - I introduced a naughty, shameless little catalyst to prove to him that some guys found her "just enough." He gets to see her through the eyes of a man who knows exactly what to do with her.
It doesn't go well...
Here's another snippet from GLITTER ON THE WEB...
****
“Carly, I have someone I want you to meet.”
The man in question stood to his full height and turned to me with a familiar smirk. I had seen him somewhere before, though I wrestled with my memory to place him. Finally it clicked a half a second before she said, “This is Caz Bixby, my new boss.”
Caz Bixby—notorious playboy and known gigolo, one who had taken pop culture by storm when he outed one of his more notable clients and dismantled an entire election campaign airing her dirty laundry. He was rewarded with a TV show of his own, and my guess was that was where Clem had been keeping herself lately.
OGWO was once again as right as rain.
“Carly,” he crooned as he took my hand in his and brought it to his lips for a kiss. “I’ve heard so much about you. And not just from Clementine. You get any more press and they’ll have to give you a show.”
I laughed. “God forbid.”
He grinned. “Is that an accent I detect?”
“Maybe a little,” I replied in good humor. He was fun, and he was almost painfully good looking. It wasn’t a bad combo. “Guess where and I’ll buy you a shot.”
“Ooo, a challenge,” he said as he leaned back to inspect me. “Talk dirty to me.”
I leaned forward. “Mud. Soot. Manure. Oil.”
He clapped one hand on the bar. “Say no more. You are from the great state of Tejas, am I right?”
“Give that man a silver dollar,” I nodded as I held up my finger to order a shot from Clem.
“Make it two,” he added before turning back to me. “You’ve got to join me in a Valentine’s Day toast.”
I shook my head. “Can’t. Pain meds,” I said with a pout.
“Oh, yeah.” He glanced at my foot. “How’s the bum foot?”
“Healing,” I said. “I’m starting physical therapy next week.”
He smiled wide. “If you ever need a trainer…,” he said, letting his offer trail off.
“And here I thought you were way too busy for something like that.”
He laughed. “For one of Clem’s friends, I could make an exception.” His eyes glittered as they ran over me. “Especially for a pretty one.”
“Actually,” Clem said as she leaned across the bar, delivering the shots, “Carly is taken.”
He glanced out onto the dance floor, where Eli now danced with Lisa and Daisy. “Yeah. I heard.” His eyes met mine. In an instant, I feared he could easily read all those things I would never say. I could say nothing as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a black card with a gold lettering embossed on it. He handed it to me. “Offer still stands, though. Even if you need to talk. I know instant fame can be tough.”
I nodded and took the card, placing it in my clutch.
He continued to study me with that thoughtful stare. “Care to dance?” he offered and I shook my head.
“I probably shouldn’t.”
“Why not? He’s having a good time,” he added, nodding once again to the dance floor. There Eli was sandwiched in between my two friends, who were having a sexy good time grinding against a famous, sexy crooner. “Come on,” Caz urged. “I really want to dance and my favorite girl is behind the bar.” I still hemmed and hawed, so he added, “Don’t you want to show a poor, lonely guy some of that southern hospitality?”
I looked up into those playful hazel eyes. I couldn’t help but smile. “Okay.”
He pulled me towards the dance floor, where Lola had just started playing “More Than a Mouthful.” Caz plastered me against his hard body. “I love this song,” he grinned, and I knew in an instant he was completely incorrigible. “So tell me what it’s like to fall in love under a microscope,” he said.
“You should know,” I countered. “You’re more famous than I am.”
He laughed. “I don’t do love, sweets. I do sex and lots of it.”
The way his body moved against me left no room for argument about that.
“Then you and Clem are perfect for each other,” I teased.
He laughed again. “Clem is a hoot. And a riot in the sack.”
My eyes widened. “You slept with her?” That didn’t sound like Clem at all. Normally she never mixed business with pleasure.
“I sleep with everyone,” he grinned, unabashed. “Haven’t you heard?”
My eyes narrowed. “Oh. So you’re a liar.”
He leaned forward with that cheeky grin. “Takes one to know one.” I gasped as I realized what was happening. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to bust you. But if you want to sell this relationship, you’re going to have to go for broke, baby doll. I can smell the neglect all over you. You haven’t been properly fucked in,” he paused to lean closer still and peer into my face, “four months at least.”
I gasped at how on the nose he was. Who the fuck was this guy?
“If you ever need help in that department, I’m available for that too. No one sells a lie better than Caz Bixby. Ask anyone.”
“Thanks,” I muttered as I tried to turn away, but he pulled me back.
“Don’t get all sore. Come on. Let’s dance,” he added softly as he pulled me closer.
Just then another man’s hand landed on my arm. It was Eli, and he wasn’t happy. “Is this jerk giving you a hard time, babe?”
Always in character, I thought. Caz, unfortunately, ran with it.
“Not yet, but I’m trying,” he added with that self-satisfied smirk that rivaled Eli’s.
“She’s with me,” Eli practically growled at him.
Undaunted, Caz shot back, “Sorry, man, it was hard to tell, considering you were dancing with other girls and all.”
Eli’s glare narrowed to pinpoints. “Who are you?”
Caz reached out his hand. “Caz Bixby. Clem works for my show.”
I could see Eli quickly process the data. “I see.”
“Clem was working the bar so I asked Carly here for a dance. Figured no harm, no foul, right? I mean it’s Valentine’s Day. All the pretty girls deserve a dance on Valentine’s Day.”
“You’re so right,” Eli said as he pulled me to his side. “Carly’s dance card is full. But I’m sure you’ll find another.”
“I always do,” Caz said. His eyes returned to me. “They all come to Caz eventually,” he grinned as he bowed, then disappeared into the crowd.
“What a prick,” Eli muttered, which made me laugh. “What’s so funny?”
“I would think you guys have a lot in common,” I shrugged.
His gaze fell over me. “We have one thing in common, it would seem.”
“Please,” I dismissed. “It was just a dance.”
“Tell that to the flush in your cheek,” he hissed before he dragged me back to the dance floor.
****
If you didn't get enough Caz in the MASTERS saga, pre-order GLITTER ON THE WEB right now at the discounted cost of $2.99! Price goes up after the May 10 release!
April 23, 2016
Sneak Peek Saturday, Week Two
It's Saturday, so you know what that means. More Eli to whet the appetite just in time for the release of GLITTER ON THE WEB on May 10th. Can you believe it? That's only a little over two weeks away. Sure it's foreplay. If you've read my books, you're familiar with that concept, and nothing - NOTHING - will match what Eli is about to do to you in Glitter.
Don't forget that you can pre-order right now for the discounted price of $2.99. Prices go up to the regular price of $3.99 after May 10.
In GLITTER ON THE WEB, my heroine has made a pact with the devilish douchebag, Eli Blake - a pop sensation who has made a name for himself writing songs for all the bigger girls. Of course, he's not one known for actually *dating* them, so when his carefully constructed house of cards threatens to come down, he decides to pay Carly a pretty penny to act as his girlfriend for a year in order to protect his phony baloney image.
At first he sees her hatred of him as a positive. He's not attracted to her, she's not attracted to him. Odds are she won't get too attached when they go their separate ways, and he can tie the relationship up in a neat and tidy package. No muss, no fuss. But there's more to Carly than meets the eye, which he figures out almost immediately. It doesn't take long at all before he starts to see her as the ultimate challenge, especially the more she resists.
This isn't going to come easy, y'all. You just THINK you've cursed me before.
Enjoy...
***I followed him onto the dance floor, where Lola slowed it down to a sensual, familiar tune. My eyes met his. “That’s yours?”
He nodded with a smile as he held me closer. “Still working on the lyrics. You were right. They’ll make or break the song.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” I said.
“God, I hope so,” he replied. “I’m not used to writer’s block.”
“Used to things always coming easy for you?” I challenged.
His unapologetic eyes met mine. “Of course.”
I chuckled. “Great doesn’t come easy. If it did, it wouldn’t be great.”
He laughed. “Such sage wisdom. Should I call you Confucius? Or Yoda?”
“That’s OGWO to you,” I corrected.
His brow lifted. “OGWO?”
“Oh Great Wise One. That’s my nickname around the office, because I was able to…,” I trailed off.
“Able to what?”
I sighed. It was too late to turn back now. “Because I could always tell what you were going to do.”
His eyebrow arched even higher. “Is that so?” I shrugged. “And what makes you think you know me so well?”
“I pay attention,” I told him. “It’s like playing chess with someone who only has a few tried and true moves. You have one winning strategy and you keep using it. Simple as that.”
“If it ain’t broke,” he shrugged with that smirk I used to hate. He spun me out, twirled me around and brought me back. “So I take it you think you’re impervious to all my tricks.”
I laughed again. “I know I am.”
He ran his hand along my back until it rested on my hip. “What makes you so sure?”
I shrugged. “I see through the bullshit. There’s glitter on your web, Eli, but it’s a trap all the same. I’ve seen it. I’ve always seen it. When you see it for what it is then you can’t get caught up in all it’s not.”
He swung me around. “You sound so confident. Care to make it interesting?”
“Any more interesting than it already is?” I countered.
He laughed. “I guess you have a point,” he conceded. “But I still think I could make you fall in love with me.”
“Gee,” I said, completely in character. “And I thought I already was.”
It made him laugh again. “Touché,” he said before he kissed me on the lips. He deepened the kiss, and I responded. His eyes were cloudy as he straightened. “So tell me, OGWO. What am I thinking now?”
He kept me flush against his body, which I could feel come to life. “You’re thinking that you haven’t fucked anyone in a few months, and maybe I’ll do.” His eyes met mine. “But I won’t do. Not for one million dollars.”
I smiled and exited the dance.
***What would you do for one million dollars? More importantly... who would you do, and how much would you give?
Pre-order GLITTER ON THE WEB today!
Don't forget that you can pre-order right now for the discounted price of $2.99. Prices go up to the regular price of $3.99 after May 10.
In GLITTER ON THE WEB, my heroine has made a pact with the devilish douchebag, Eli Blake - a pop sensation who has made a name for himself writing songs for all the bigger girls. Of course, he's not one known for actually *dating* them, so when his carefully constructed house of cards threatens to come down, he decides to pay Carly a pretty penny to act as his girlfriend for a year in order to protect his phony baloney image.
At first he sees her hatred of him as a positive. He's not attracted to her, she's not attracted to him. Odds are she won't get too attached when they go their separate ways, and he can tie the relationship up in a neat and tidy package. No muss, no fuss. But there's more to Carly than meets the eye, which he figures out almost immediately. It doesn't take long at all before he starts to see her as the ultimate challenge, especially the more she resists.
This isn't going to come easy, y'all. You just THINK you've cursed me before.
Enjoy...
***I followed him onto the dance floor, where Lola slowed it down to a sensual, familiar tune. My eyes met his. “That’s yours?”
He nodded with a smile as he held me closer. “Still working on the lyrics. You were right. They’ll make or break the song.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” I said.
“God, I hope so,” he replied. “I’m not used to writer’s block.”
“Used to things always coming easy for you?” I challenged.
His unapologetic eyes met mine. “Of course.”
I chuckled. “Great doesn’t come easy. If it did, it wouldn’t be great.”
He laughed. “Such sage wisdom. Should I call you Confucius? Or Yoda?”
“That’s OGWO to you,” I corrected.
His brow lifted. “OGWO?”
“Oh Great Wise One. That’s my nickname around the office, because I was able to…,” I trailed off.
“Able to what?”
I sighed. It was too late to turn back now. “Because I could always tell what you were going to do.”
His eyebrow arched even higher. “Is that so?” I shrugged. “And what makes you think you know me so well?”
“I pay attention,” I told him. “It’s like playing chess with someone who only has a few tried and true moves. You have one winning strategy and you keep using it. Simple as that.”
“If it ain’t broke,” he shrugged with that smirk I used to hate. He spun me out, twirled me around and brought me back. “So I take it you think you’re impervious to all my tricks.”
I laughed again. “I know I am.”
He ran his hand along my back until it rested on my hip. “What makes you so sure?”
I shrugged. “I see through the bullshit. There’s glitter on your web, Eli, but it’s a trap all the same. I’ve seen it. I’ve always seen it. When you see it for what it is then you can’t get caught up in all it’s not.”
He swung me around. “You sound so confident. Care to make it interesting?”
“Any more interesting than it already is?” I countered.
He laughed. “I guess you have a point,” he conceded. “But I still think I could make you fall in love with me.”
“Gee,” I said, completely in character. “And I thought I already was.”
It made him laugh again. “Touché,” he said before he kissed me on the lips. He deepened the kiss, and I responded. His eyes were cloudy as he straightened. “So tell me, OGWO. What am I thinking now?”
He kept me flush against his body, which I could feel come to life. “You’re thinking that you haven’t fucked anyone in a few months, and maybe I’ll do.” His eyes met mine. “But I won’t do. Not for one million dollars.”
I smiled and exited the dance.
***What would you do for one million dollars? More importantly... who would you do, and how much would you give?
Pre-order GLITTER ON THE WEB today!
April 16, 2016
Sneak Peek Saturday! - Week One
There are a little over three weeks to go until I release my 28th book, GLITTER ON THE WEB, on May 10th. I'll spend the next few Saturdays sharing some snippets with you from the novel, which you can pre-order right now for the discounted price of $2.99.
(Prices go up to the regular price of $3.99 on May 10.)
In GLITTER ON THE WEB, Eli Blake is one of the hottest names in popular music thanks to penning ode after ode to all the Big Girls. Funnily, he has never, y'know, actually dated one. When a bitter ex decides to "out" his disdain of the very fans he courts, he gets the beyond brilliant plan to fake a relationship, the same as he faked his image. The nearest Big Girl is a woman named Carly Reynolds, who works for his agent. Because of the dismissive way he has treated her in the past, she knows what kind of lying faker he is. To say she hates him is putting it mildly...
That doesn't stop Eli.
***He followed me as I carried my last box.
“Need any help?” he asked when we were practically at the car.
I glared at him. If I had been Julie, he would have never let her lift a finger. But because I was voluptuous, zaftig, Rubenesque—fat—he let me do all my own heavy lifting. The driver of the limo, however, was quick to assist me, putting the last heavy box into the trunk while Eli scooted inside. He was pouring himself a glass of champagne when I joined him.
“Care for a glass?” he asked, surprising me.
“No thanks,” I muttered. “I’m working.”
He toasted me with the plastic flute. “As am I.”
I rolled my eyes and stared out of the window, waiting for this charade to mercifully end. Eli, however, had other plans. He tapped the privacy pane after the driver got back into the car. “Can you stop us by a drug store first?”
I smirked at him. “Forget your condoms?”
He chuckled. “Maybe.”
It was only after our impromptu stop that I realized what he was really up to. He handed me the bag, which was filled with makeup. “What’s this?”
“I got all pretty for this shindig. I figured you might want to do the same.”
I thrust the bag back at him. “No, thanks.”
Undaunted, he handed it back. He glanced over my dressed-down appearance, from my sensible ponytail to my fresh face, all the way down to my comfortable work clothes. I was all practical, all the time. This, apparently, was not good enough for the Great Eli Blake. “You’re not an ugly woman. You just need to try a little harder, that’s all.”
My teeth ground together. “God, you’re such a dick.”
He withdrew one of the packages. “Come on. A little lipstick at least.” I refused to take it, so he added, “This is part of your job in marketing, Carly. You look good, I look good.”
If nothing but to provide positive reinforcement for his getting my name right, I grabbed the lipstick from his hand. It was a much bolder color than I would ever wear, given I had pretty full lips myself. But the deep merlot color matched my top, which surprised me that he had even taken notice. I took a compact from my purse, the one I kept on hand to diminish that shiny forehead look I still got from time to time. I applied the lipstick, the only compromise I was willing to make. This seemed to please Eli, who remained (blissfully) quiet for the rest of our trip to Universal City.
In fact, he seemed to get “in the zone” from the time we made our turnoff from the 101. He did some breathing exercises to prepare, singing just in mid-range to warm up. He had switched from wine to water, practically killing a full bottle before the limo came to a stop. As much as I despised the man, he did work hard at his craft. He never missed any small detail—or opportunity. He took the business of singing seriously, if nothing else in his life. He could have such integrity if he only tried.
As if he felt me soften, he spared me a big smile as the car came to a stop. “Let’s go kick some ass,” he grinned.
I nodded and placed my hand on the door handle. Before I could open it, I felt him shift closer, as though he was going to exit through my side of the car instead of his own. Instead, his hand snaked across my lap and pulled the door closed and kept it there. I gasped in surprise as I faced him, realizing in that moment how close his face was to mine. My eyes widened. “What are you doing?”
Those blue eyes were as clear as cool water. “Kiss for luck?” His gaze dropped to my mouth as he whispered, “Carly?” And just like that, with no preamble, he leaned forward and crushed his lips to mine.
If you had told me just that morning that I’d end up lip to lip with Eli Blake, I would have had you committed. But there he was. And there I was. And it was happening.
And it kept happening. He pressed me back against the seat, his mouth covering over mine, luxuriating in this stolen kiss. Those full lips tried to nudge mine apart slightly so that his eager tongue could snake its way inside.
It was a step too far. I pressed both hands on his chest, and his muscles rippled under my fingertips. Finally I shoved hard and broke away. His face hovered over mine, his lips swollen from the kiss, my freshly applied lipstick smeared around his mouth, telltale evidence to our unexpected encounter.
“Now you have lipstick all over you, Einstein."
My snarky comment was met with a smirk. That was when it hit me, why he had done what he had done, from buying the lipstick to taking that kiss I knew damned well he didn’t want.
“I know,” he continued to grin before he swung open the door without wiping his mouth. He shoved me out first, jumping out after me.
Before I could turn to grab the merch from the trunk, he wound a powerful arm around me and kept me plastered to his side as paparazzi snapped photo after photo.
I was still shell-shocked as the press yelled for him, but he kept us moving down the line, answering only one question as we went.
“Who’s your friend, Eli?”
“Carly!” he shouted back. He even spelled it out for them, just to make sure they’d note it properly.
Great, I thought. Now he gets my name right.
***What would you do for one million dollars?
Pre-order GLITTER ON THE WEB today! Eli is waiting.
(Prices go up to the regular price of $3.99 on May 10.)
In GLITTER ON THE WEB, Eli Blake is one of the hottest names in popular music thanks to penning ode after ode to all the Big Girls. Funnily, he has never, y'know, actually dated one. When a bitter ex decides to "out" his disdain of the very fans he courts, he gets the beyond brilliant plan to fake a relationship, the same as he faked his image. The nearest Big Girl is a woman named Carly Reynolds, who works for his agent. Because of the dismissive way he has treated her in the past, she knows what kind of lying faker he is. To say she hates him is putting it mildly...
That doesn't stop Eli.
***He followed me as I carried my last box.
“Need any help?” he asked when we were practically at the car.
I glared at him. If I had been Julie, he would have never let her lift a finger. But because I was voluptuous, zaftig, Rubenesque—fat—he let me do all my own heavy lifting. The driver of the limo, however, was quick to assist me, putting the last heavy box into the trunk while Eli scooted inside. He was pouring himself a glass of champagne when I joined him.
“Care for a glass?” he asked, surprising me.
“No thanks,” I muttered. “I’m working.”
He toasted me with the plastic flute. “As am I.”
I rolled my eyes and stared out of the window, waiting for this charade to mercifully end. Eli, however, had other plans. He tapped the privacy pane after the driver got back into the car. “Can you stop us by a drug store first?”
I smirked at him. “Forget your condoms?”
He chuckled. “Maybe.”
It was only after our impromptu stop that I realized what he was really up to. He handed me the bag, which was filled with makeup. “What’s this?”
“I got all pretty for this shindig. I figured you might want to do the same.”
I thrust the bag back at him. “No, thanks.”
Undaunted, he handed it back. He glanced over my dressed-down appearance, from my sensible ponytail to my fresh face, all the way down to my comfortable work clothes. I was all practical, all the time. This, apparently, was not good enough for the Great Eli Blake. “You’re not an ugly woman. You just need to try a little harder, that’s all.”
My teeth ground together. “God, you’re such a dick.”
He withdrew one of the packages. “Come on. A little lipstick at least.” I refused to take it, so he added, “This is part of your job in marketing, Carly. You look good, I look good.”
If nothing but to provide positive reinforcement for his getting my name right, I grabbed the lipstick from his hand. It was a much bolder color than I would ever wear, given I had pretty full lips myself. But the deep merlot color matched my top, which surprised me that he had even taken notice. I took a compact from my purse, the one I kept on hand to diminish that shiny forehead look I still got from time to time. I applied the lipstick, the only compromise I was willing to make. This seemed to please Eli, who remained (blissfully) quiet for the rest of our trip to Universal City.
In fact, he seemed to get “in the zone” from the time we made our turnoff from the 101. He did some breathing exercises to prepare, singing just in mid-range to warm up. He had switched from wine to water, practically killing a full bottle before the limo came to a stop. As much as I despised the man, he did work hard at his craft. He never missed any small detail—or opportunity. He took the business of singing seriously, if nothing else in his life. He could have such integrity if he only tried.
As if he felt me soften, he spared me a big smile as the car came to a stop. “Let’s go kick some ass,” he grinned.
I nodded and placed my hand on the door handle. Before I could open it, I felt him shift closer, as though he was going to exit through my side of the car instead of his own. Instead, his hand snaked across my lap and pulled the door closed and kept it there. I gasped in surprise as I faced him, realizing in that moment how close his face was to mine. My eyes widened. “What are you doing?”
Those blue eyes were as clear as cool water. “Kiss for luck?” His gaze dropped to my mouth as he whispered, “Carly?” And just like that, with no preamble, he leaned forward and crushed his lips to mine.
If you had told me just that morning that I’d end up lip to lip with Eli Blake, I would have had you committed. But there he was. And there I was. And it was happening.
And it kept happening. He pressed me back against the seat, his mouth covering over mine, luxuriating in this stolen kiss. Those full lips tried to nudge mine apart slightly so that his eager tongue could snake its way inside.
It was a step too far. I pressed both hands on his chest, and his muscles rippled under my fingertips. Finally I shoved hard and broke away. His face hovered over mine, his lips swollen from the kiss, my freshly applied lipstick smeared around his mouth, telltale evidence to our unexpected encounter.
“Now you have lipstick all over you, Einstein."
My snarky comment was met with a smirk. That was when it hit me, why he had done what he had done, from buying the lipstick to taking that kiss I knew damned well he didn’t want.
“I know,” he continued to grin before he swung open the door without wiping his mouth. He shoved me out first, jumping out after me.
Before I could turn to grab the merch from the trunk, he wound a powerful arm around me and kept me plastered to his side as paparazzi snapped photo after photo.
I was still shell-shocked as the press yelled for him, but he kept us moving down the line, answering only one question as we went.
“Who’s your friend, Eli?”
“Carly!” he shouted back. He even spelled it out for them, just to make sure they’d note it properly.
Great, I thought. Now he gets my name right.
***What would you do for one million dollars?
Pre-order GLITTER ON THE WEB today! Eli is waiting.
April 9, 2016
Last weekend to pre-order Glitter on the Web for only $1.99!
The year is just speeding along, isn't it? The good news is that means it'll be May 10th before you know it. What's so special about May 10th? It's Eli Day.
Eli Blake is one of the more interesting heroes I've written in one of my novels. He's as arrogant as he is talented, as tempting as he is frustrating. I had a lot of fun getting to know him in Glitter on the Web. And, just between you and me, he's kinda sorta loosely even figuratively based on someone I used to know. In a way. Just kinda. Maybe a little.
Here's another lil' taste...
***“Hey, Charlie.”
And just like that, my hatred restored. My brow furrowed as I turned around to face him. He was soaking wet with only a towel around his hips. “It’s Carly,” I corrected tightly, figuring he should at least know my friggin’ name after seven months, especially since I was helping make him a star and all.
“Sorry,” he dismissed easily. His gaze swept over me, likely looking for some indication that I would be verklempt in his near-naked presence. Instead, I crossed my arms and glared at him. I could practically hear his brain click and whir from where I stood. “I was wondering if you could help me pick out something to wear.”
My eyebrow practically arched right off my head. “You’re a big boy. You can dress yourself.”
He chuckled. “You have a point.”
Just like that, he dropped the towel. My breath caught, much to my regret. Those needle dick rumors were off the mark. Way off. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“I just thought I could use a woman’s perspective. You know, since you’re my marketing demographic.”
Again, the hatred flared. “Is that a nice way of calling me fat?” I shot back. Unlike my comment to Frank, which had been a joke, Eli’s taunt got squarely under my skin.
He walked towards me. “Voluptuous. Zaftig. Rubenesque. You can pick the title, doesn’t matter to me.”
My fists curled into balls as he approached. Why was he trying to get a rise out of me? I gave him a wide berth as I stomped towards his bedroom, yanking open one of the doors. The steam from his hot shower rushed over me in a fog.
“That’s the bathroom,” he grinned.
“I can see that,” I snapped back, before I slammed that door and went to the next one. It opened to a massive walk-in closet, filled with all kinds of clothes. God, he really was a vain, superficial jerk…
He was still completely naked as he leaned against the door frame. “You don’t like me, do you, Carla?”
My teeth gritted together. “What gave it away?” I sneered.
“Why not?” he asked, as if such a thing were unthinkable to him. A girl didn’t like him? Stop the presses!
I spun around to face him. “My name is Carly, for one,” I started. “But you wouldn’t know that, even though I’ve worked with you for seven long months, trying to make you a megastar. And succeeding, by the way,” I added with emphasis. “I don’t matter to you the same way your fans don’t matter to you. I don’t fit into a certain size, so I don’t count.”
He conceded the point with a slight nod of his head. “If it’s attention you want…,” he started, but I cut him off.
“I don’t want your attention, Big Shot. If my being fat means I keep assholes like you disinterested, then that definitely counts as a pro in my book, not a con. There are plenty of men out there who see me for me. They count. You don’t.”
He was amused by my impassioned speech. “So what’s the problem?”
I practically growled in frustration. “The problem is you’re a liar and a fraud! You don’t mean the stuff you sing. You’re doing it to get famous. That’s it.”
“So?” he countered again.
“So?” I repeated, incredulous. “People believe you, Eli. They think you’re this romantic hero when you’re nothing but an egomaniac!”
He laughed as he sauntered into the closet, standing so close to me I could smell the scent of the body wash he had used to scrub himself squeaky clean. He still hadn’t put on any clothes.
“I’m not any different from any other guy, Cathy,” he said. By now I knew he was getting my name wrong on purpose, just to piss me off.
It was totally working.
“Carly,” I grated.
“Whatever,” he shrugged, which only made me madder. “This is the way the world works. I didn’t make the rules.”
“You’re so full of shit. Every guy is not like you. What about Jace Riga? Isn’t that why you got this brilliant idea to dupe all the fat chicks? Because you saw how famous he got actually falling in love with one?”
Again he chuckled. “Jace Riga is not a regular guy. Believe me. If he hadn’t lost his leg in the war, he would have ended up with that Shelby chick.” He brushed a finger along my nose, booping the end of it, and pulling away just in time for me to swipe the air as I tried to knock him away.
“You’re an asshole,” I spat.
“But I’m right. That’s the real reason why you hate me. And you know it.” He patted me on the butt before turning me towards his clothes. “Now dress me like you would dress your dream guy. That’s your job,” he added, before he leaned forward to whisper, “Carly,” near my ear.
***
If you loved my brash bad boy Vanni, you're about to get blown away by Eli. Pre-order your copy of GLITTER ON THE WEB now for only $1.99. After this weekend it goes up to $2.99, where it will stay until it releases at its regular price of $3.99.
Don't forget to sign up for my newsletter, where you can get exclusive little tidbits and be "in the know" about specials as they come along! I'm going to send the newest one out tonight, with an exclusive excerpt. You don't wanna miss it!
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Enjoy. ;)
Eli Blake is one of the more interesting heroes I've written in one of my novels. He's as arrogant as he is talented, as tempting as he is frustrating. I had a lot of fun getting to know him in Glitter on the Web. And, just between you and me, he's kinda sorta loosely even figuratively based on someone I used to know. In a way. Just kinda. Maybe a little.
Here's another lil' taste...
***“Hey, Charlie.”
And just like that, my hatred restored. My brow furrowed as I turned around to face him. He was soaking wet with only a towel around his hips. “It’s Carly,” I corrected tightly, figuring he should at least know my friggin’ name after seven months, especially since I was helping make him a star and all.
“Sorry,” he dismissed easily. His gaze swept over me, likely looking for some indication that I would be verklempt in his near-naked presence. Instead, I crossed my arms and glared at him. I could practically hear his brain click and whir from where I stood. “I was wondering if you could help me pick out something to wear.”
My eyebrow practically arched right off my head. “You’re a big boy. You can dress yourself.”
He chuckled. “You have a point.”
Just like that, he dropped the towel. My breath caught, much to my regret. Those needle dick rumors were off the mark. Way off. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“I just thought I could use a woman’s perspective. You know, since you’re my marketing demographic.”
Again, the hatred flared. “Is that a nice way of calling me fat?” I shot back. Unlike my comment to Frank, which had been a joke, Eli’s taunt got squarely under my skin.
He walked towards me. “Voluptuous. Zaftig. Rubenesque. You can pick the title, doesn’t matter to me.”
My fists curled into balls as he approached. Why was he trying to get a rise out of me? I gave him a wide berth as I stomped towards his bedroom, yanking open one of the doors. The steam from his hot shower rushed over me in a fog.
“That’s the bathroom,” he grinned.
“I can see that,” I snapped back, before I slammed that door and went to the next one. It opened to a massive walk-in closet, filled with all kinds of clothes. God, he really was a vain, superficial jerk…
He was still completely naked as he leaned against the door frame. “You don’t like me, do you, Carla?”
My teeth gritted together. “What gave it away?” I sneered.
“Why not?” he asked, as if such a thing were unthinkable to him. A girl didn’t like him? Stop the presses!
I spun around to face him. “My name is Carly, for one,” I started. “But you wouldn’t know that, even though I’ve worked with you for seven long months, trying to make you a megastar. And succeeding, by the way,” I added with emphasis. “I don’t matter to you the same way your fans don’t matter to you. I don’t fit into a certain size, so I don’t count.”
He conceded the point with a slight nod of his head. “If it’s attention you want…,” he started, but I cut him off.
“I don’t want your attention, Big Shot. If my being fat means I keep assholes like you disinterested, then that definitely counts as a pro in my book, not a con. There are plenty of men out there who see me for me. They count. You don’t.”
He was amused by my impassioned speech. “So what’s the problem?”
I practically growled in frustration. “The problem is you’re a liar and a fraud! You don’t mean the stuff you sing. You’re doing it to get famous. That’s it.”
“So?” he countered again.
“So?” I repeated, incredulous. “People believe you, Eli. They think you’re this romantic hero when you’re nothing but an egomaniac!”
He laughed as he sauntered into the closet, standing so close to me I could smell the scent of the body wash he had used to scrub himself squeaky clean. He still hadn’t put on any clothes.
“I’m not any different from any other guy, Cathy,” he said. By now I knew he was getting my name wrong on purpose, just to piss me off.
It was totally working.
“Carly,” I grated.
“Whatever,” he shrugged, which only made me madder. “This is the way the world works. I didn’t make the rules.”
“You’re so full of shit. Every guy is not like you. What about Jace Riga? Isn’t that why you got this brilliant idea to dupe all the fat chicks? Because you saw how famous he got actually falling in love with one?”
Again he chuckled. “Jace Riga is not a regular guy. Believe me. If he hadn’t lost his leg in the war, he would have ended up with that Shelby chick.” He brushed a finger along my nose, booping the end of it, and pulling away just in time for me to swipe the air as I tried to knock him away.
“You’re an asshole,” I spat.
“But I’m right. That’s the real reason why you hate me. And you know it.” He patted me on the butt before turning me towards his clothes. “Now dress me like you would dress your dream guy. That’s your job,” he added, before he leaned forward to whisper, “Carly,” near my ear.
***
If you loved my brash bad boy Vanni, you're about to get blown away by Eli. Pre-order your copy of GLITTER ON THE WEB now for only $1.99. After this weekend it goes up to $2.99, where it will stay until it releases at its regular price of $3.99.
Don't forget to sign up for my newsletter, where you can get exclusive little tidbits and be "in the know" about specials as they come along! I'm going to send the newest one out tonight, with an exclusive excerpt. You don't wanna miss it!
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Enjoy. ;)
February 14, 2016
Swoon-a-palooza Book Boyfriend #14: INTRODUCING Eli Blake! (Cover reveal, pre-order, $0.99 sale! LTO)
And now, finally, our last book boyfriend for the 2016 Swoon-a-palooza. This guy is brand new. Technically you're not even going to meet him until May. But if you like douche bags who need a lot of work to turn them around, THIS is your guy.
Here's the blurb:
After Eli Blake’s viral video “Big Girl/Big Heart” shoots him right to the top of the charts, he rises to fame shamelessly tapping into this niche. Because of his striking good looks, all his faithful groupies want desperately to believe every word he sings, like he’s not another run-of-the-mill superficial jerk.
One little wrinkle. He totally is.
After a vindictive ex goes public that he secretly hates fat chicks, Eli must find a full-figured decoy pronto. Obviously the only way to save his rocketing career before it collapses under the weight of one lie is telling an even bigger one. Enter voluptuous Carly Reynolds, his agent’s assistant, who knows what kind of arrogant fake he is and can’t stand him as a result.
Still, a girl’s gotta eat, and it’s not every day you get a million bucks for telling one teeny tiny fib. Surely she can handle this lying, philandering opportunist for a year. It's not like she'll actually fall for the guy.
Or will she?
In GLITTER ON THE WEB, Ginger Voight returns her readers to the fabulous world of the rich and the famous, with all the delicious complications that entails. One ordinary girl is forced to go for broke and risk it all, and maybe…just maybe… find something real in one beautifully tangled web of deception.
I get to play around with the rich and the famous again, where nothing is like it seems. I like exploring that duplicity a lot, and with my new couple, Eli and Carly, I get to do it as honestly as I've ever done it. There are no real lies between them. They are both honest about their agendas, which, essentially means they're using each other for their own personal gain. They don't like each other, and don't pretend to. This is all just business.
Which begs the question, could YOU fake a relationship for a whole year with someone you hated, JUST for a million-dollar payday?
A prologue, to whet your whistle:
If you had told me a year ago that I’d be living with one of the most idolized men in music, I never would have believed you. In fact, I likely would have laughed in your face. Me? Plain ol’ Carly Reynolds? The girl voted most likely to be forgotten within ten minutes of graduation?
Ch’yeah right.
Nobody but nobody expected such a thing, least of all me. Up until a year ago, I wasn’t the kind of girl who flew around in private jets, whisked away to tropical islands on a whim; nor was I one who regularly frequented Vegas, Los Angeles and New York, or walked enough red carpet to pave a path from Burbank straight to the Santa Monica Pier.
And I certainly wasn’t the kind of girl who could hold a superstar’s entire career in my hands.
No. Up until a year ago, I was the kind of girl who brought coffee for the people that did all that stuff. I filed paperwork and answered phones, and if I was really lucky I could write a press release. I collected a paycheck, one that barely paid for a 900-square foot apartment above a Chinese restaurant in Hollywood.
So what changed?
In short, a parakeet died.
Her name was Rosie Blue, though, from the pictures at least, I can attest she was neither rosy nor blue. She was mostly white with yellow spots, with what looked like one black eye. You know, like she’d gone a few rounds in the ring but had lived to tell the tale.
That was until a run-in with Beau Jangles, a sixteen-pound Maine coon cat. To his credit, he did hold off killing Rosie for an entire week after they became unlikely roommates. But Rosie had a taste of wanderlust in her blood, and regularly broke out of her own cage to go prowling around her new digs, just to see what was going on.
Suffice it to say… she bit off way more than she could chew. (Though, technically speaking, she wasn’t the one doing the chewing.)
Thanks to her unexpected demise, the same could be said about me. (And no comment.)
So how did some ordinary girl from the Lone Star state end up in the position I’m in, practically betrothed to one of the sexiest, most infuriating men on planet Earth? A man who, up until a year ago, I pretty much hated with a white hot passion?
.
.
.
How much time have you got?
GLITTER ON THE WEB will bring all the riches and excess of my FULLERTON FAMILY SAGA, wrapped in the familiar (read: fake) rock star world of GROUPIE - where Graham AND Vanni will definitely make an appearance - all with the quirky humor of a take-no-prisoners type of heroine unlike anyone I've written yet. If you think this one is going to fall easily for the pretty boy just because he's got game, you've got another thing coming.
She's a mighty Sequoia, and his saw - though impressive - isn't as big as he thinks it is.
So what can I tell you about Eli? He's a pompous jerk with an inflated ego. It's not necessarily unearned, he does possess some unique talents and qualities, and he knows better than most how to play the hands he was dealt to ensure a win. He's privileged and self-centered, which means this pop star can and will go through hordes of groupies in his career.
Provided they're not fat anyway. The man does have some standards, after all.
You're probably going to hate him. That he's as hot as he is will likely piss you off. The more despicable he is, the hotter he has to be, otherwise we'd all staple him to a tree somewhere.
But his journey will be an interesting one, as we see what living with someone "normal" does for our superstar. Will this "normal" girl give him a deeper, more empathetic perspective of the world around him? Or will he just try to bang her just to prove he can, because she can't reject him. How will he ever recover when he realizes there's one woman on planet Earth isn't entranced by his magical penis?
You'll have to wait till May for answers to those questions.
You don't, however, have to wait till May to pre-order your copy. GLITTER ON THE WEB, my 28th novel, will release May 10. It is available to pre-order now on Amazon, soon to be live on iTunes and B&N. I'm offering it at the special introductory price of $0.99, which will go up in increments as we get closer to the publish date, where it will revert back to its regular price of $3.99. Don't be intimidated by the price. This is a standalone novel, not a series, so you don't have to worry about cliffhangers or waiting around for the next book.
Here's the cover, one of my favorites to date.
So Happy Valentine's Day everyone! Thanks so much for reading along the last two weeks, learning about all my guys. Hopefully by next Valentine's Day, I'll add three or four more. ;)
Swoon-a-Palooza Book Boyfriend #13 - Caz Bixby (Another $0.99 sale! LTO)
Devlin Masters was our romantic hero in the male escort romance, MASTERS FOR HIRE. Caz Bixby, however, is just a down and dirty manwhore. He genuinely is the yang to Devlin's yin. I didn't see him coming in Book 1, but the second he introduced him in book 2 of the MASTERS SAGA, MASTERS FOR LIFE, he made himself QUITE at home.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,” I said, sweet as sugar.
He smiled wider. “Caz. Caz Bixby. I’m a friend of your Aunt Margot’s.”
“He’s my personal trainer,” she purred as she stretched out on the chaise lounge.
Of course he was. Next to Devlin, I had never seen a man more anatomically accurate. His jaw was squared, just like it had been sculpted from marble. From the way his clothes fit, I was pretty sure that everything below the neck was just as defined. He looked like he could have stepped out of a magazine.
He caught how my gaze swept over him, and I could tell by that glint in those bright amber green eyes that he both welcomed and expected the attention.
Like I was saying in my last blog, Devlin is a huge question mark. He gave our CC the fairytale of her dreams in Vegas, which they take back with them to Los Angeles in a very permanent way. Despite "leveling up" in their relationship, much remains a mystery about Devlin. He holds many, many secrets, which he refuses to share with CC, expecting her to trust him.
Essentially he's asking her to take him at face value like he accepted her. But it's not going so well. Once Caz hits the scene... it gets even worse.
“You know I’d never take lessons from Margot’s slimy boy toy, right?”
“You’re goddamned right you’re not. You’re never to talk to that man again.” His voice was laced with hostility, and his eyes flashed with anger as he turned to face me. “Do you understand me, Coralie?”
My eyes narrowed as I stared at him. “So let me get this straight. You can train some enchantress for her Ironman triathlon, and possibly my beautiful niece on the piano, but I’m never to do anything with another man ever again?”
“Not that man,” he growled.
“Why not?”
“Coralie,” he started in a foreboding voice, but I was over it. He was the one being unfair and unreasonable. He expected me to take it on the chin every time he interacted with some woman, but I couldn’t even take fucking tennis lessons?
“I’ll take them if I want to take them,” I informed him coolly.
“Coralie,” he repeated, his jaw clenched tight.
“You want me to trust you? Then trust me. I would never betray you, Devlin. And you know that.”
He was silent for a moment before he finally sighed. “It’s not you I don’t trust.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Caz Bixby isn’t just some fitness instructor or sports trainer,” he informed me in a resigned monotone.
My gut tightened. “How do you know that?”
“I know everything about Caz Bixby,” Devlin finally admitted. “He’s a gigolo, Coralie. Just like me.”
Here's the thing. The only thing that can break up Dev and CC are the secrets Dev harbors. And just one guess who knows every single one of them?
They say familiarity breeds contempt, and this was never truer than in the case of Dev and Caz, who are intrinsically linked by their shared history. They hate each other, but they can't get rid of each other... though God knows they try. In Book 2, Caz is essentially our antagonist. He doesn't want these two together, and he'll do anything he can to wedge them apart. This includes hitting on CC whenever he really doesn't care for "fat chicks." He gets paid to fuck, though, so he knows how to fake it. When the fates align to put her in his world on a weekly basis, as this "personal trainer" whips her into shape, he makes sure to turn up the heat.
By the time Caz showed up, I was finally ready to face him for Round Two, where he would no doubt try to weasel into my psyche and plant more suspicion and doubt. He wore a pretty self-confident smile when I opened the door. He also wore a suit and carried roses, along with a bottle of champagne. He entered the room with the swagger of a man who thought he had the upper hand.
“I thought we were going to work out,” I stated as I closed the door behind him.
“Oh, we will,” he said as he handed off the roses to me. “But there are several ways to do that, aren’t there?”
I took the roses into the kitchen to find a vase. He followed behind.
“This is really some place you have here.”
“Thank you,” I said in a clipped voice. I knew he was circling something and, of course, he was.
“You ever wonder how many women Devlin had to fuck to afford this place?”
I sent him a severe side-eye glare. “It doesn’t matter how many women he fucked in the past. He’s only fucking me now.”
Caz chuckled softly. “Oh, the many ways those words can be interpreted. So tell me. How did [Dev] take the news when you told him about our deal?”
“What makes you think I did?”
He shrugged. “Because you’re a good girl. You’re going to give him a play-by-play of all our interactions because you still feel like you need to earn his trust.”
I gave his outfit the once over. “I take it that you showed up tonight like we were on some kind of date just to undermine my efforts.”
“Of course,” he admitted gleefully, with a self-satisfied smirk. “You’re paying $10,000 a week for my services. You might as well get what you paid for.” He walked towards me until he was practically shadowing me from behind. His voice lowered as he toyed with a tendril of my long hair. “Fucking, by the way, is definitely on the table. Just in case you were wondering.”
I pulled away with a scowl. “I wasn’t.”
That made Caz laugh too. “Let me guess. Good ol’ Dev has fucked you so much and so well this past week, you’re too sore to even consider it. And you probably think that was an accident, too.”
I turned to face him. “He fucked me often and well because that’s what we do.”
“Right,” he agreed. “Like I said, you get what you pay for.”
“You’re disgusting,” I snapped before I walked away from him.
“But I’m right,” he said as he followed me. “And deep down, you know it.”
The tension between these three is OFF. THE. CHARTS. Is it dangerous? Lethal? Erotic? You tell me.
I reached for a lamp, which cast a mellow light across the large living room. Devlin sat in one of the chairs, still in his suit from work, his shirt open at the collar, his tie long abandoned. He held a crystal decanter in one hand. It was once full of expensive Scotch, but he had all but drained it. I could smell it all the way across the room.
He waited until we got a little closer before he said anything. I realized that Caz’s discarded suit was draped across the arm of his chair, with the shoes right on the floor next to him. It sent an involuntary shudder through me when I met Dev’s murderous gaze. His voice was every bit as malevolent.
“Nice workout?”
“Fabulous,” Caz grinned. “[CC] is quite… flexible. And that stamina. Wow.” He ran a hand down his glistening chest, along his skin tight shorts, near his pronounced package. Devlin’s cheek twitched as he tried to keep his composure. It only made Caz try that much harder to get under his skin. “But I’m sure I’m not telling you something you don’t already know.”
I was afraid that Dev’s head might actually explode. I crossed over to him, where I reached for Caz’s clothes. Devlin circled my wrist in his fingers, tightening his grip without even looking at me. Instead he stared straight at Caz. “They’re his clothes. Let Caz get them.”
The two men stared at each other for a long moment. Finally Caz approached, but slowly. I felt Dev coil, almost like a snake, the closer he got. He raised his other arm, which made Caz stop immediately, but all Dev did was take another swig of liquor from the decanter he held. His mouth curved slightly, as if he knew how unsettled the other man had become. Caz was no longer smiling as he reached forward, deliberately and cautiously, for his clothes. Devlin had him locked in that lethal glare, while he held onto my wrist with a white-knuckled grip. I could practically feel him twitch, in anticipation of any movement.
Caz withdrew his clothes, but his tie trailed behind. He clearly debated whether or not it was worth a second brush with Devlin to retrieve it.
Devlin wasn’t going to let him off the hook. “Don’t forget your tie, Casper,” he murmured.
Another unspoken moment passed between them, like an electrical current. “Keep it,” Caz said. “I know how you like ties.”
Dev’s hand gripped my wrist even harder. I knew he was doing everything he could not to fly up from that chair throttle him. Caz must have known it too, because his smile returned. “See you next week,” he said before he finally left.
You got your fairy tale in Book 1. In Book 2, we're going for pure angst. In Book 3, MASTERS FOREVER, I gun the motor even harder. You get erotica, drama, romance and a complete family saga. And these two professional lovers will give our heroine WAYYYYY more than she ever even dreamed.
“Jesus,” Caz exhaled as he rolled his eyes. He grabbed the remote and turned to a music channel that had pulsating dance music. He dragged me up by the hand. “This is a party, for fuck’s sake.”
“Caz, I don’t want to,” I tried to protest as he pulled me to the center of my living room. Still holding the remote, he turned down all the lights courtesy of the dimmer.
“Come on, pussycat. If you wanted to stay here and feel sorry for yourself, you’d have never left.”
A dance tune by Madonna began to play, the aptly titled “Hung Up.” Caz pulled me close, his hands on my hips, to guide me through the sensual movements as we began to undulate to the music. I stole glances at Dev, who watched us from his spot in the corner of my couch.
It was the very same corner where he had been that first night, when he commanded that I strip for him. He had seduced me that night, confidently and well. My flesh responded instantly to the memory. I shuddered and looked way, focusing on Caz, who danced closely to me, grinding his hips against me, his eyes locked with mine. “Only a couple of hours left, baby,” he said. “Do you really want to spend it sad?”
The music pulsated around me, a rolling beat that made the entire room felt like it was spinning and tumbling through space. Of course, that might have been the pot. My brain had taken off somewhere around Pluto. That, combined with the alcohol I had consumed, helped me submit to the dance. I closed my eyes and just allowed myself to ride the music.
“That’s it,” Caz murmured. “Let yourself go. You know you want to.”
Again my eyes sought Dev. Maybe I was waiting for permission. Maybe I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to lose his shit again. My eyes snapped open when I realized he was no longer sitting on the sofa.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt him fall into step behind me, pinning me between both of them.
“Dev,” I started, but his mouth landed right next to my ear.
“Shh,” he shushed, and it sent an involuntary shudder all the way through my body. His hands landed on my hips just above Caz’s. They both guided my movements as we danced closely together. I shivered as Dev’s hands slid up my sides, hooking my arms on his as they curved around each shoulder to pull my arms back. Using his body he arched my back towards Caz, who danced even closer, his hands sliding up my sides until his thumbs could brush under each full breast.
Their eyes locked, and the intensity of their stare took my breath away. It was as if they communicated with no words at all, with Caz immediately followed Dev’s lead.
Yep, my lovelies. For the first time - EVER - I go *there.* No really. I go THERE. There's a reason my Steven's mother, grandmother, sister and all my kids aren't allowed to read it.
EVER.
Because of all the secrets and spoilers in the second and third books of the MASTERS SAGA, I can't say too much more. All I CAN say is that these two men flipped my world topsy-turvy.
And I enjoyed every fucking minute of it.
I can't say I had an actor in mind to play Caz, but I happened upon this particular video around the time I was writing the books and I found it VERY inspiring.
This personal trainer inspired Caz SO much, down to every freaking tattoo. AND BEARDS, which I don't normally like. In fact, I was never supposed to like Caz at all. His entire presence in this book was to tear my couple apart from the inside, working in tandem with one of the biggest bitches I have EVER written to date: Suzanne Everhart. Not only are they out to torpedo my couple, but both thought it would be easy because of CC's size. Neither hide this.
He reached for a tendril of my hair, caressing the silky strands between his finger and his thumb. “I like that you proved me wrong. It excites me when I think of you. And I know if I keep coming by your house week after week, I’m going to find a way to get you into bed. I won’t stop. I don’t stop. That’s what Suzanne’s counting on. She needs to break you. She needs to show Devlin that you are just like everyone else. Just like her.”
I pulled my hair from his grasp. “Why can’t she just leave me alone? Why can’t you?”
“As long as blood is pumping, her teeth are going to be in that jugular, CC. Me too. We’re not nice people. We’re not good people. We play the game and that’s it.”
“Thanks for being honest, I guess,” I said as I started to push past him. He grabbed my arm and held me close.
“I’m the only one with the balls to be honest with you, Coralie. And you know it.”
He's an arrogant prick with his own self-serving agenda. But something happened along the way that I wasn't expecting. He won me over, despite the horrible things he did. He was compelling and interesting. I wanted/needed to know more. This made him the kind of character that we WILL be seeing again. I have him scheduled to appear as a supporting character in three upcoming books. By the time he gets a story of his own, we'll ALL be aching for it. (And I kind of think he's going to make damned sure of it... starting first with twisting me around his finger.)
I have a lot of work to do with Caz yet, but he has a whole lot of potential.
And I can't resist him. Bottom line.
For a limited time only MASTERS FOR LIFE is on sale for $0.99, which, with the sale on MASTERS FOR HIRE, brings the grand total for all three full-length novels to less than $5. I HIGHLY recommend that you purchase the entire MASTERS SAGA, because you WILL curse me by the end of Book 2. Seriously, if you can't jump - immediately - to the next book, you'd hunt me down with a freaking pitch fork. It's on par with EMPIRE STRIKES BACK, without the three-year wait to see how it resolves.
One-click THE MASTERS SAGA if you dare...
