Nicola Marsh > Nicola's Quotes

“He’s hot. Better than the sexiest book boyfriend. I blame those elusive fictional men on my failure to find a guy who’s good enough. Turns out, real men aren’t alpha with a beta core. If they’re alpha, they’re usually arrogant and self-absorbed. And the beta guys don’t provide me with enough of a challenge, so I’m destined for dating disasters.”
― Nicola Marsh, Did Not Finish

“Axel Low. Author extraordinaire. Word wunderkind. The page-turning prince.”
I barely hear his muttered, “save me,” before he slides a cell from his back pocket. “Are you calling Axel?”
“I’m calling my agent and telling her I can’t do this.”
― Nicola Marsh, Did Not Finish

“I’ve never said anything bad about your books.” She’s eyeing me with blatant confusion, like she can’t figure me out. Join the club. It has many members, and I don’t care.
“Doesn’t mean you haven’t ruined other writers’ careers.”
A tiny dent appears between her brows. “It’s my job to review books and I’m as objective as I can be. It’s a simple fact that not every book published is good. And I owe it to the New York Press readers to give my honest opinion.”
It sounds like a spiel she’s recited many times before. Which means I’m not the first author to bail her up.
“I’m in publishing. I know how reviews work.” I stalk to the fire and grab a poker. Her logic merely accentuates how unreasonable I’m being, and I need something to jab at, so I start prodding at the smoldering logs. “But your words hold more sway than most. Books you pump up go gangbusters, books you trash end up languishing. Surely you know that?”
For the first time since we met, I glimpse an angry spark in her eyes. She’s obviously trying to impress me, to stay calm, probably with the aim to suck up. But I’ve hit a nerve and her eyes drift to the poker in my hand for a moment, like she’s imagining skewering me with it.”
― Nicola Marsh, Did Not Finish

“Besides, there's plenty of time to get a ring. I'd rather spend time with you than flash around a five-carat rock on my finger."
"Five carats?" He clutched at his chest. "I work in the ER; I'm not a brain surgeon."
"Well then, maybe you should introduce me to some of your colleagues---"
She squealed as he made a lunge for her, allowing him to catch her far too easily.
"You have a smart mouth, Ms. Ryland."
"Haven't you heard? Smart mouths make for the best kisses," she said, a moment before proving exactly that.”
― Nicola Marsh, The Man Ban

“How's your room?"
"You could see for yourself if you popped in."
"Is that a line?"
"I don't know. Is it? Do you feel the compulsion to rush over to room 306 and see me right now? I promise I'll make it worth your while."
"Sorry, no compulsion."
"Too bad." He lowered his voice. "I'm still sore from hefting all those heavy platters in Auckland, and if you want me at the top of my beefcake game for your shoot tomorrow, you could give me that massage."
She laughed, a joyous sound that shot straight to his heart. Head. Gut. Wherever. "Nice try, but I'll pass."
"Your loss, sweetheart. Just think, you could be here right now, having me splayed on the bed at your mercy, all that bare skin to explore, running your hands over my pectorals, my biceps, my latissimus dorsi---"
"I hope that's not a fancy anatomical term for anything below the waist."
He guffawed, enjoying their sparring way too much. "You sure I haven't tempted you?"
She hesitated for a moment, before replying. "Maybe a little, but I really have to prep for tomorrow. I'm meeting with the head chef in thirty minutes to run through the dishes, then I'll need a few hours to go through my planning."
"Anything I can do to help?"
"Just bring the beefcake at eight sharp in the morning."
"Yes, ma'am."
"And Manny?"
"Yeah?"
"If I ever lose my mind and decide to give you a massage, I'll be starting at your very impressive gluteus maximus.”
― Nicola Marsh, The Man Ban