#straight up this woman should be on the new york times bestseller list

[theribbajack]

"Know this, my husband, and know it well: The moment you set foot beyond the Circle of Faces will be your last. For I shall send the Black Dogs!"

In honor of spooky season now upon us, I decided to do a quickie from one of my favorite ever books, Starflower by Anne Elisabeth Stengl, depicting the fall of Amarok the Wolf Lord. If anyone is into high fantasy/Celtic mythology, I highly recommend her Tales of Goldstone Wood series. I first read it almost ten years ago and it still lives in my brain and writing style rent-free to this day.

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

The Reaper and the Death Angel Part 1

Another establishing chapter, part 2 should be the real start of the story but it depends. I've had a migraine for three days. As I stated before, some of the characters are from The Punisher Netflix series. The phone numbers in the story are actually New York zoned, yes I did that research.

Prologue

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Death and a shoot out (unnamed characters). Happy's mum's disorder is never mentioned, I chose the use MS because it's so understudy and the meds are super expensive. Mentions of a dead body.

2,130 words

Comment if you want to be tagged in this series.

Relationships are growing but in person as the mystery persists.

Juice was over it, he had spent the last week trying to gather some information on the new mechanic because Jax was going to ask him if he wanted to prospect.

He couldn't find anything more than a closed military record and some commendations, as far as he was concerned, Sam was a ghost.

Clay was not going to be happy.

****

"Is there any reason your Sister isn't listed as your emergency contact?" Sam had mentioned you to Gemma more than once so he wasn't surprised when the question came up.

"Yeah, she travels so much it can be hard to know where she is, the man listed is her friend from when she worked will the military."

Willam Russo

Work Phone: Anvil military contracting company (914)909-3515.

Mobile Phone: (646)465-9314.

"If anything goes wrong, call him and he'll get into contact with y/n."

Juice waited till Sam left the office to go in and speak with Gemma.

"Hey Gem." It had been a long day for Juice and Gemma could see the tension in his body.

"Can I grab that phone number from you? Clay was pretty insistent that I at least get some info before we ask Sam to prospect" Gemma handed the piece of paper across the desk to Juice.

"If Clay gives the ok, I think he'll be a good fit.

"Ok Juicy, what did you find?" Clay was leaning back in his chair, smoking a cigar and had a tumbler of scotch at his right side.

"Not much, Sam was in the Reconnaissance Marines for 10 years, he joined when he was 17 with his older Sister's permission and got out about 4 months ago."

He flipped through the thin file in front of him.

"He has a lot of commendations, mostly for his work as the unit machinic but he also has a lot for bravery in battle, he seems like a straight up solider."

Clay nodded but seemed unimpressed.

"What about his Sister?"

Juice took a deep breath.

"That's a whole nother story. I couldn't find much, only academic and charity stuff, these two bearly exists when it comes to records and soical media."

He was hunched over a laptop now.

"Dr. l/n, five PhDs: Forensic anthropology, human sexuality, cultural anthropology, Philology or the study of languages, and biology and physiology"

He shook his head his disbelief as he continued.

"She also has multiple other qualifications, including emergency medical triage, the lady is a genius. But that's about it, I managed to find out she's been on the New York Times bestsellers list under an alias and she publishes her tax returns as part of a program called 'A future of equity.' "

He picked up a satellite phone and dialled the number written on a piece of paper.

"I got her contact info of the guy that was listed as Sam's emergency contact."

The phone ran for a while before you picked it up.

"Hello, is this Mr Ortiz?"

Juice was shocked, this was very unexpected.

"I've been expecting your call, if you're at the table, you might as well put me on speaker."

Clay gave a curt nod.

"Now, Mr Ortiz, how can I assist you today?"

There was still silence across the line.

"I'm a very busy woman, so I'll make it easy for you. I am aware of your criminal dealings, I couldn't care less; however, I had a feeling this would happen, and I've informed Sammy of the details. If he still wishes to join your organisation that is his choice."

Clay was opening and shutting his mouth like a beached fish.

"If you are wondering if I'll ever go to the cops the answer is no, I hate the pigs, probably more than you do. As for if I think he'll make a good member, I don't know. He wasn't raised to skate his morals or moral obligations, there will be times where he will put things over the Club."

They were all looking back and forth at each other, this was certainly a new experience.

"Having said that, he is a gifted warrior and an efficient killer, he is also loyal to a fault so if you show you are worthy of that loyalty then you will never have to worry about him having your six."

Jax had a strange look on his face, he really liked the sound of your voice.

'Will that be all gentlemen?"

Clay cut in. "Yes miss, thank you."

Juice hung up the phone.

There was another beat of silence.

Piny slammed his fist on the table.

"I like her!"

There was a burst of laughter and Clay picked up the gavel, he looked over at Jax expectancy.

"I think I'll ask him to prospect."

The table erupted again, Jax was in for a while ride for the next 12 months.

****

Two months later

"Hey prospect, get me a beer."

Say please you shit.

"Yes sir."

Sam really liked the Club, the guys had learnt pretty fast that there were certain things he wouldn't tolerate. He thinks back to the conversation you had the day he was given his patch.

"You can't let them disrespect you and push you around, it might seem counterintuitive, but they're looking for a certain kind of person, someone who doesn't let themselves be pushed around."

He was about to protest when you continued.

"Don't disobey, just have your own voice. Respect is earnt not given, they don't deserve to be treated as better than you because of some bits of fabric on their back."

He could hear you trying not to laugh.

"Most of them are also civilians, you can't trust your life with someone who can't shoot their way out of a paper bag."

Your bluntness put him off at first, but you were right, he is pushed around a lot less than the other prospects. Maybe it's because he had been so useful but even Clay was getting used to not having someone to treat like dirt.

****

"We can't do anything with this, Clay was holding a bit of paper covered in symbols.

"Is this even a language?" Clay handed the paper to Jax who shook his head and passed it to the next man.

"Can I see that please?" Sam reach over Jax's shoulder to hold his hand out.

Bobby handed it over with a quick glance.

"I know what this is, it's Aramaic."

They looked over at him like he had three heads.

"Can you read it?" Jax's tone was a little cruel, but he let that go.

"No, but my Sister can." Sam paused for a moment to read the room.

"She's available for video call, I'm sure she'd love to help."

Juice set up the laptop so most of the guys could see it, the call rang for a moment and then opened to what looked like an empty tent.

"I'm here, I'm just wrist deep in a dead body. What do you need?"

Sam smiled, he loved you so much.

"We have a code that looks like it Aramaic, can you help translate?" Sam held up the bit of paper up to the camera. They could hear some moving around the tent, but they still couldn't see anything.

"Yes, that's easy. It's not very well done, but the gist is some information on numbers, of men, and a location." Your tone was short and bored.

Clay interrupted you.

"That doesn't give us anything."

They could hear a deep breath across the line.

"If you'd be patience, I'd tell you."

Clay looked like you had slapped him.

"Basically, be at the warehouse at 6pm on Sunday, we'll have another charter with us, make sure you ride without your patch."

Sam looked proudly at the rest of the room.

"It sounds like someone is planning an ambush, don't get little brother killed please." Jax smiled, he was really starting to like you.

"Also, Mr Morrow. I find the old idiom holds well, 'manner maketh man', if we speak again please say please and thank you" the line went blank.

****

Three months later

"What's wrong Hap?"

Happy gave Sam a look that would have frozen hell, but he paused when he saw the genuine look of concern on Sam's face.

"Mum's MS is getting worse, I don't know how much longer we'll be able to afford treatment."

Sam put his hand on Happy's shoulder, he gave him a look he had seen you give many times before, we'll find a solution.

"If you like, I can talk to y/n? She's always ready to help and knows a lot of very fancy doctors."

Happy almost managed to keep the hopeful look off his face.

"I'll tell her to expect your call."

****

"Mr Lowman, I assume?" your tone was friendly.

"Yeah" he didn't know what to say or how to start.

"Ok, I got some of the details from Samuel and I think I can help. I spoke to a Doctor in Seatle who works with MS patients, she thinks that your Mum would be a good fit of a clinical trial currently taking place."

Happy so was relieved he could cry.

"She won't have to travel, they'll loop in her current doctor and send the Meds by via the mail. She may have to go up once or twice for some tests, but that's it."

Happy was speechless.

"You have my personal number, I'm in the UK lecturing so if you need to talk over the next two weeks please call at any time. Bye bye now."

The utter comfort he felt talking to you gave him the courage to call to pay his Mother's medical bills.

"I'm sorry to tell you Hap but it's already been paid" ok, now he was going to cry.

"Who?"

"It was an anonymous payment, I couldn't tell you."

****

A week later

Sam and Jax were out looking for a Mayan that had been seen driving into charming when the shooting started.

Jax didn't see much before he was being slammed into the ground, shit this man was heavy. Sam was off him, with gun in hand once there was a break in the fire, he looked like a completely different person. His cheerful disposition and relaxed posture were gone, what was in its place utterly terrified Jax.

"Watch my six and don't get shot" Jax was too frightened of him to disobey. The next four minutes weren't fun, Sam went through the house like a ghost, the three Mayans lying in wait were dead, Jax didn't even see most of them before he heard the single shot from Sam's gun, all right between the eyes.

"Shit man, I......"

"It's done, are you hit?" Sam wasn't even looking at him. Jax shook his head.

****

"It was fucking crazy, one minute we're being shot at and the next there were dead Mayans everywhere, I'm glad he's on our side." Jax had come back to the Clubhouse pale and washed out, Sam didn't look like anything had happened.

Clay didn't comment, Sam had proven he could kill for the Club without question, there wasn't much for him to consider after that. Still, he was hesitant to sing the man's praises. All the guys loved him and his opinions did sway people, Sam could either be a powerful ally or an enemy he would have to take out.

****

Four months before the prospect vote.

"Hello, is this Mrs Teller-Morrow" Gemma was taken aback by the old-timey talk.

"Yes"

"I'm Sam's older Sister y/n, may I please ask you some questions?" Gemma had heard a lot about you from Sam and the other guys. So far you have been nothing but kind and helpful.

"Sure Dr l/n." she could hear you huff a laugh at the other end.

"Please call me y/n. I've been thinking of finally settling down and was wondering how Sam is going with the Club?" Gemma wasn't sure where this was going.

"There's a lovely property about twenty minutes outside Charming, it needs a lot of work but it's on a very nice parcel of land. I don't want to decide until I know that Sammy will be here for a long time, so it would do me a huge favour if you could me tell if you think he'll be voted in" You were polite, but your tone was very direct. She wanted to see if you were just old fashioned or a stuck up bitch.

'I'll cut off my left tit if someone votes no" she was telling the truth, she would be totally stunned if Sam didn't get in.

"Wonderful! Thank you so much." she could hear the excitement in your voice.

"I guess I'll be meeting all of you very soon."

Part 2

I'm much happier with this chapter than the last, feedback is much appreciated.

[what-even-is-thiss]

In the mainstream Trans women are invisible and trans men are more invisible than that and afab enbies are even more invisible than that and amab enbies are even more even more invisible than that and intersex trans people are even more even more even more invisible than that.

And add economic class and race and disability and weight and sexual orientation and lack of conventional attractiveness and any other number of disadvantages into any of this and it multiplies the invisibility even further. People just straight-up ignore us even after we come out to them multiple times.

There are basically two recognized trans people in the mainstream. I’m talking about mainstream, mainstream. Like People Magazine mainstream. Like everyone’s grandma knows about them mainstream. Caitlyn Jenner and Laverne Cox. Both trans women who are conventionally feminine. Both of them subject to a lot of transphobia. And I don’t like Caitlyn Jenner.

You talk about transmasc representation and people are like “Well here’s a medical drama you didn’t watch!” “Here’s a movie where a trans man was played by a cis woman!”

No! Stealth trans women only started holding public offices in the 90s and early 00s. The first white trans man voted into office was only instated in 2016 and the first trans man of color to hold public office only in 2017. This is all incredibly recent.

And with non binary celebrities? Who outside of trans people and the woke side of the internet is gendering them correctly? After Johnathan Van Ness came out as non binary mainstream media outlets still called him a man!

Also, name one intersex trans person by name. Just one. One.

Unless you are one or are best friends with one you probably couldn’t. I couldn’t. I’m doing just as bad in that regard.

Anyways I’m tired of having to actively search for trans rep. Somebody get a trans man on the New York Times Bestseller List already. Make a trans actor a main character on an ABC Family show. Make somebody famous after they come out. Jeez. Somebody should make a Harvard law school scholarship specifically for trans women because we need one in congress asap.

[darlingpetao3]

Seducing the Gem (Nash Wells x Reader, Chapter 5/9)

Rating: M (Smut in Chapter 6 only)

Summary: When a mysterious package shows up at your front door, you (a famous Romance novelist) are hurtled from your virtually uneventful life and into one of danger and adventure. In a quest to save your captured friend Caitlin from impending harm, you run into a suave adventurer named Nash who helps you along the way. Or is the charming Nash simply after something in your possession…?

Tag List: @tardis-23​ @thecaptainsgingersnap​ @the-marvelatic​ @itsprongs​

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

It’s the cacophony of birds squawking that stirs you from your sleep. Your eyes flutter open to find your head tucked under Nash’s chin. His hand rests on your waist as he continues to sleep.

You feel your eyes go very round.

Immediately, you start to move away from him and stand up, letting your blanket fall away, and start towards your hanging clothes. You hear a rustling, followed by a hum.

“Now that’s what I call a view.”

You laugh awkwardly. “Be quiet.”

Nash smiles to himself. “Hand me my stuff, would you?”

Collecting his now dry clothes, you chuck them at Nash where he sits, then dress yourself without making eye contact with the man. You can’t step into the legs of your jeans fast enough, and nearly fall over. In bracing yourself on the van’s door, you spot something outside.

“Oh my goodness…” you breathe. There is a tiny baby gorilla making its sweet, adorable way towards the van. A little noise leaves your mouth, signalling how cute you think the little creature is. “I just want to go out and snuggle him.”

You reach for the door handle, but Nash grabs your hand to stop you.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Wh-?”

You nearly have a heart attack when the biggest, furriest gorilla face pops up in front of your face at the window. You inhale to scream, but nothing comes out. Instead, and without thinking, you clutch the closest thing - Nash’s undershirt - the only thing he’s managed to put back on so far. His hands hold onto your body, wanting you to feel safe just by touch.

It’s impossible to stop staring at the massive creature outside, especially when it locks eyes with you. The gorilla surveys the pair of you inside the van as if questioning whether you pose a threat to its child but must silently declare you harmless. It wanders over to the infant, scoops it up, and scurries off into the trees.

Only when the apes finally disappear do you realize that you and Nash are still holding each other, and you back off. Hiding your face, you fetch your now dry clothes on the back of the seat.

“Well,” he says cheekily, “that was rather exciting, don’t you think?”

“Being held at gunpoint, almost dying on a bridge, or an ape popping up at me in a window… Yeah. That’s gotta be the most exciting.”

“We had a moment.”

You scoff.

“Harrison Nash Wells believes in ‘moments’? I find that hard to believe.” You finally throw on your shirt and step into your jeans quickly, attempting to look like you’re focusing on the process itself and not still thinking about how he was touching you.

“What, you don’t think I can recognize a moment?” he shoots back.

“I just don’t think you’re that kind of guy. You move too fast to even have moments.”

When you turn around, Nash is right there in your space, staring you down with his piercing blue eyes. His gaze is electrifying - you feel static in your veins.

“Think you have me figured out, do you, Princess?”

“I’ve written characters like you.”

“There’s just one problem,” Nash points out, stepping closer.

“What’s that?”

“I’m not a character. I’m a living-” Step. “Breathing-” Step. “Man.” Step.

You swallow, flustered, and don't know where to look - his eyes or his mouth. Instead, you look out the window.

“We better get going.”

***

The next couple of hours are a bit awkward of a walk. At least, for you it is. Nash carries on with his seemingly inexhaustible amount of confidence.

“Ah, here we go,” he says, looking straight ahead. It almost feels like a mirage, but it couldn’t be more real - a small village.

Civilization!

As you both start making your way past people’s homes, you can’t help but notice each place is in the process of being decorated.

“I wonder what’s going on,” you muse while approaching a couple who are stringing lanterns on their porch. “Excuse us? What’s the occasion? Is there a festival going on?”

“Ah, hello!” greets the exuberant man, “My niece is getting married today! This is all for her.”

“Oh, that’s amazing, congratulations!” you say.

“Thank you.” The man eyes up both you and Nash. “You two are not from around here, are you?”

You laugh.

“No, I’m afraid not,” Nash replies, offering a hand. He introduces himself, then you as ‘Princess.’ 

“It’s nice to meet you kind strangers. My name is John, and this is my wife, Mary.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, too,” you reply genuinely. Honestly, it’s just such a relief to come across other normal people - ones who aren’t trying to kill you. “Actually, we’re a little lost. Do you think you could help us?”

“We can sure try,” Mary offers. “Where are you looking to go?”

“Kinshasa?”

The couple shares a look.

“That’s a bit of a ways east, dear. Far too long to keep walking. Have you been walking all this time?”

You nod.

“John, what about that old contraption of yours? Could they not take that off your hands?”

“Oh, yes, I suppose I could part with it,” John replies. “I have an old Jeep I was going to sell for parts, but I think you both need it more than I do.”

“Thank you. It’s much appreciated,” Nash says, then points his thumb at you. “I don’t know how much longer she can walk for.”

“Excuse me?” you pipe up. “I can go all night if I have to!”

Nash turns so that only you can see his face, and winks at you. Only then did you hear how that must have sounded. Your cheeks feel on fire now.

“You wouldn’t want to do that,” John points out. “Not safe out there at night.”

“Oh my, and look at your leg, you poor thing!” Mary exclaims. “I will fix that up for you!”

“In fact,” John continues, “if you would like to take a rest from your journey, you may stay with us tonight and we would be happy if you both would join us for the wedding.”

Your eyes light up at the offer. A wedding? How wonderful! Maybe you’ll even take mental notes for a new book during the ceremony! How will the groom look at his bride as she walks down the aisle? And when they cut the cake or the toss of the bouquet?

Just as you say, “Thank you, we’d love to!” Nash answers with, “Oh no, we better get going.”

You share a glance with your companion.

“What about your friend, Princess?” he mutters so only you can hear.

“Nash, maybe I should rest my leg? And like they said, it wouldn’t be safe to head out, especially when we don’t know when we’d get this lucky again out there. Besides, John said he’d lend us his Jeep, so we can leave first thing in the morning.”

Though he drops his shoulders slightly in defeat, he still smiles.

“Yeah. Yeah, alright,” he says.

“Perfect!” Mary says while taking your hands. “We must get you cleaned and clothed! Come with me, dear.” The couple leads you and Nash into their home. It’s quite spacious compared to the other houses along the main strip of the village. You are highly glad for their kind hospitality.

“You look familiar, dear,” Mary says to you, once inside. “I feel like I’ve seen your face be- eeee!”

The squealing woman leaves you standing in the middle of the room as she heads over to her bookshelf. Mary pulls out a book and opens it to the back page, scurrying back to you. You find yourself staring at your author photo and profile.

“You’re (Y/N) (Y/L/N)!” she shouts.

“I am!” You smile at her enthusiasm.

“I am a big, big fan! You are my favourite writer. I have all of your books.”

“Oh my gosh, really? Thank you so much! That means so much to me.”

You can feel Nash’s eyes boring into you without even having to look. And while Mary explains to you why Carter is her favourite male character you’ve written about, you spot Nash plucking one of your six novels from Mary’s bookshelf.

“Just wait until you meet Chase,” you tell her. “He’s in my next book. You’ll just love him too. I know I do.” Nash thumbs through the book in his hands, studying it still.

“I cannot wait!” Mary squeals.

“I’ll send you a copy myself, I promise.”

“You are the sweetest! Now, please dear, follow me. Let’s get you into some new clothes for the ceremony.” You cast a glance over to Nash again, hoping to catch a glimpse of… well, you’re not sure.

The adventurer doesn’t look up from your book.

***

After having a much-needed shower and letting Mary tend to your leg with a bandage, you step out of the spare bedroom clad in your new friend’s beautiful flowy dress she’s loaned to you for the evening.

“My dear, you look breathtaking! My dress was made for you!” Mary coos and rushes to you for a hug. Her enthusiasm and sweetness causes you to break out in a grin. Over her shoulder, you notice John murmur something into Nash’s ear, and Nash, well… he won’t stop staring at you.

Wait. When did Nash change into a tux?

It actually takes a hell of a lot out of you to pick your mouth up off the floor.

He. Looks. So. Good.

It’s almost ridiculous how good he looks, and now you can’t decide whether he looks better clothed like this or down to barely anything like last night...

“You look… good,” you tell him.

“What, the New York Times bestselling author can only come up with the word ‘good’ to describe me?”

You scoff, watching to see if he is indeed somehow inching closer to you. “Shut up. I meant what I said.”

“I don’t look better than good?”

“You look alright.”

“I feel like we’re going backwards now.”

“Aw, you two act like such an old married couple!” Mary points out, shaking you from your banter. “How long have you been together?”

You blush hard, and immediately regret how you acted with Nash. We are not a couple. We do not act like a couple. Far from it!

However, you don’t say any of this aloud. Instead, you laugh a little and say, “I may be a hopeless romantic, Mary, but I’m not that hopeless!” Then nudge Nash in his rib with your elbow as a joke.

The couple laughs along, but when Mary leans over and whispers to John, he nods and makes an agreeable sound.

“Please excuse us,” Mary says to you both, and your hosts proceed to retire to the back room of the house.

“They left us alone on purpose, didn’t they?” you ask Nash.

“Yup.” You find yourselves both shaking your heads at the ridiculousness. It’s not like Nash and you would ever… No. He’s too- He’s not-

You don’t even know exactly what to think about him.

[cctinsleybaxter]

2019 in books

The year’s contenders for the good, the bad, and the rest. I used to make a list of the ten best books I read all year, a tradition encouraged by my mom as far back as high school, but out 2019′s twenty-six mediocre offerings it didn’t really come together. Instead I’ve decided to break my ‘honorable mentions’ category into three subsections that I hope you’ll enjoy. In order of when read, not in order of affection:

Honorable mentions [books I liked; 3+ star material]

The Fifth Season by N.K Jemisin was given to me as a Christmas present last year, and I wasn’t sure how much I would like it since I don’t really do high fantasy. Rules need not apply; I loved the world building and narrative structure, and the characters were so much better than I’m used to even when their arcs seemed familiar at first glance. I guessed what was going on with the formatting maybe a little too quickly, but even then it was emotionally engaging and I was eager to keep reading and see what happened next. Haven’t devoured a book that way in years.

The Periodic Table by Primo Levi has been on my list for a while; as a memoir told through short stories it’s hit-or-miss, but so worth it. I especially loved getting to read his early attempts at fiction, and the chapter Phosphorus regarding his first real job as a chemist in 1942 (his description of his absolute disgust at having to work with rabbits, the feel of their fur and the “natural handle” of the ears is a personal favorite.) This excerpt is one I just think about a lot because it’s full of small sweet details and so kindly written:

“[my father] known to all the pork butchers because he checked with his logarithmic ruler the multiplication for the prosciutto purchase. Not that he purchased this last item with a carefree heart; superstitious rather than religious, he felt ill at ease breaking the kasherut rules, but he liked prosciutto so much that, faced by the temptation of a shop window, he yielded every time, sighing, cursing under his breath, and watching me out of the corner of his eye, as if he feared my judgement or hoped for my complicity.”

Slowing Down from Mouthful of Birds by Samanta Schweblin is a one-page short story, but I’m including it because it’s the best in the book and one of the better stories I’ve read in general. I won’t spoil it for you since it’s more poem than anything else (and you can read the whole thing here.)

A Short Film About Disappointment by Joshua Mattson deserves to be lower in the order because it’s like. Bad. But I couldn’t help but have a self-indulgent kind of love for it, since it’s a book about white boy ennui told through movie reviews. It definitely gets old by the end (one of those things where you can tell the author lost steam just as much as his leading man), but parts of it are so well-written and the concept clever. 80+ imaginary movie reviews and psychosomatic possession by your traitorous best friend. 

The Gone-Away World by Nick Harkaway has one of the greatest twists I’ve ever read in a novel, and no that’s not a spoiler, and yes I will recommend it entirely on that basis. It does its job as a multi-year sci-fi epic; reminds me a lot of Walter Moer’s early stuff in that it’s a bit Much(tm) but still a good mixture of politics and absurdity and absolute characters. Tobemory Trent was my favorite of the ensemble cast (but also boy do I wish men would learn how to write women.)

My Only Wife by Jac Jemk is a novella with only two characters, both unnamed, a man describing fragmented memories of his wife. It has me interested in Jemck’s other writing because even though I didn’t love it she writes beautifully; reading her work is like watching someone paint. The whole thing has a very indie movie feel to it (no scene of someone peeing but there SHOULD be), which I don’t think I’ve experienced in a story like this before and would like to try again. 

Mentions [books I really wanted to like but my GOD did something go wrong]

Bad Blood: Secrets and Lies in a Silicon Valley Startup by John Carreyrou is the most comprehensive history we have of Elizabeth Holmes and her con-company Theranos. It’s incredibly well-researched and absolutely fascinating, but veers into unnecessary pro-military stuff in one chapter (’can you believe she tricked the government?’ yes i can, good for her, leave me alone) and carries an air of racism directed at Holmes’ partner and the Pakistani people he brings onto the company. Carreyrou works for WSJ so I don’t know what I expected.

Circe by Madeline Miller was fun to read and goes down like a glass of iced tea on a hot day, but leaves a bit of an unpleasant aftertaste. It says a lot of things that seem very resonant and beautiful but ultimately ring hollow, and the ending is too safe. Predictable and inevitable. 

I was also bothered about Circe’s relationships with Odysseus and Telemachus as a focal point, not because they’re father and son (Greek mythology ethics : non-committal hand gesture) but because it’s the traditional “I used to like bold men but now I like... sensitive men.” Which as a character arc feels not unrealistic but very boring. You close the book and realize you’re not nine and reading your beat-up copy of Greek Myths, you’re an adult reading a New York Times Bestseller by a middle aged straight white woman.

Reservoir 13 by Jon McGregor could have been the best thing I read all year and I’m miserable at how bad it ended up being. The concept is excellent; a thirteen-year-old girl goes missing in a rural English village, and every chapter chronicles a passing year. I knew it would be slow, I like slow, but nothing happens in this book and it ends up it feeling like Broadchurch without the detectives. Plus, McGregor, you know sometimes you can take a moral stance in your story and not just make everything a grey area? Especially with subplots that deal with things like pedophilia and institutional racism?

Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl by Andrea Lawlor is about a twenty-something who moves from Iowa to San Francisco in the 90s and explores gender and sexuality through shapeshifting. It was something I really thought I would like and maybe even find helpful in my own life, but I couldn’t stand a single one of the characters or the narration so that’s on me! It does contain one of my favorite lines I’ve read in a long time though:

“And anyway, weren’t French boys supposed to be like Giovanni, waiting gaily for you in their rented room and actually Italian?”

Dishonorable mentions [there’s no saving these fellows]

The Butterfly Garden by Dot Hutchinson was supposed to be a fun easy-to-read thriller and what can I say except what the jklfkhlkj;fkfuck. It very quickly goes from ‘oh hey I read books like this when I was 15’ to ‘oh the girl who intentionally gets kidnapped by a wealthy serial killer is accidentally falling in love with his son and can’t stop talking about his eye color now huh.’ I felt like I was losing my mind; why did grown adults give this 5 stars on Goodreads.

The Beautiful Bureaucrat by Helen Phillips is supposedly surrealist horror fiction about working an office job in a new town, and reminded me of that rocky third or fourth year when I really started hating Welcome to Night Vale. All spark no substance, and even less fun because you know it’s going nowhere. I’ve also realized this past year that I cannot stand stories about women where their only personality trait is the desire to have children. People will throw the word ‘Kafkaesque’ at anything but here it was just insulting. 

The Great Believers by Rebecca Makkai alternates point of view between Yale, a gay man living in Chicago in the late 80s and watching his friends die, and Fiona, the straight younger sister of one of those friends now looking for her erstwhile daughter in 2018. It was nominated for the 2018 Pulitzer, and part of my interest was in wondering how we were going to connect the plot lines of ‘the personal cost of the AIDS crisis’ with ‘daughter lost to a cult.’

The answer is that we don’t. The book is well-researched and acclaimed beyond belief, but it is SUCH a straight story. Yale’s arc is fueled by the drama of his boyfriend cheating on him and infecting them both, Fiona is painted as a witness to tragedy and encouraged to share their stories with her own daughter. “You’re like the Mother Theresa of Boys Town” one of the men complains bitterly of her, and the claim goes undisputed. It’s a story that makes a lot of statements about love and families and art that I feel we’ve all heard before to much greater effect.

[dollsted]

Rated: T

Pairing: JarethxSarah 

Plot teaser: The Goblin King is dead...at least in Sarah's normal life he is...but what happens if that turns out to just be a rumor? Source: Archiveofourown.com/F0rce0fnatur3 

Notes:

Hello my bebes. So just a little address to those who continue to read this. I have always been a fan of the Labyrinth and I know nothing could touch on or pick up where Henson left off but I've put a lot of thought into how my version of the story should go. I hope I can give fans back some semblance of what we've been waiting for since the story came out. I have read all there is and watched behind the scenes and rare footage on my favorite movie and so characters that are within the novel, concept sketches, and other works will be put in here. There may also be minor oc's as well as one big one. So I say unto you. I hope you enjoy my version because the goblin king may be watching over all of us in the heaven's and no one can take his place...I bring him back to life here on the pages before you.

Chapter 1: Rumors 

When I was a child, I thought like a child. But I did not do childish things. In fact, I don’t think anyone could call what I went through childish. But that feels like a time long, long ago. Even now if I think back on it, my mind becomes a fog. And then one day I just---forgot entirely. I do remember the days after vividly. I graduated and parted with my drama club family. I struggled with my major but suddenly all these dreams and thoughts of harrowing tales wouldn’t stop springing to my mind like an unlimited fountain from a spring that burst and never dried up. At first I would scribble the stories down in notebooks when I was supposed to be paying attention to the lecture in front of me. Now at twenty, I’ve found my calling and have become one of the bestselling fantasy novelists of my generation. I’ve heard all the praises. To be so young and have one of the most sought after series. One scholar I met at a gala party in New York City told me fantasy novels were an elder mans game. The older the person the wiser the writing as if the pages were scrolled on ink and parchment paper itself. I gave them their props as they rightfully deserve, but I planned to hold my own. I’d rather contend with the older crowd than the young teen romance category. I had no interest following on the coattails of finding a way to weave a story about a werewolf or vampire. I’m just waiting for the mummy revolution to peak.

           Now, I stare at a blank page. My well is congested and I need inspiration but a deadline for my eager fans want a rushed job. No one asks a baker to take the brownies out of the oven because they’re clamoring to eat it before its ready, mindlessly spooning the hot batter into their mouth. I understand the impatience but this is why the good writers have one hit wonders, or a series, and then slowly peter out for indefinite hiatuses. I can’t just expunge something onto blank pages without inspiration to fuel my motivation. So I gaze out my window on the reading nook watching the city life buzz about. I wish I could just reach down and pull their thoughts from them and manage to get something cohesive enough to send to my editor. I wring my hands around my coffee cup too jittery to even take another sip, the perfume from my eight o’ clock brew souring in my stomach. I can hear the battery warning on my laptop but I’m frozen where I sit. I came up with different plots but nothing made sense. I would need to cram at least four hundred pages into the novel and when I got rolling and tried desperately to fill the pages with random ramblings it came out in cliché bits and pieces that made no sense.

           Tonight there would be another gala and this was a black and white only listing. I was prepared but that’s who I was. I was ready within seconds. If I was given three hours I would be ready in three minutes. Always itching to go. Why slow life down anymore? Maybe it was just my mindset as a writer, maybe it was the pressure from the public. I was already a book behind and itching to be at this gala, perform my part of dutiful famous author, and then slip away with a spoon of ice-cream in my mouth and my silk gray pajamas on my body. Suddenly a thought rolled over my mind making me feel suddenly ill. When had I become the mirror image of my stepmother? My insides coiled tight like a sailors knot and I couldn’t stand to have this cup in my hands any longer and be alone with my thoughts. I needed to keep busy to numb my mind and run on autopilot.

           I glanced at the one newspaper clipping I saved of mom stuck to the corner of my corkboard. Around her ideas were peppered on yellow sticky notes. I was stuck in my fantasy that worshipping an absent parent who left dad and I behind for the stage, for fame and fortune, had abandoned us took precedent over reality. Before my epiphany I lived in a world where she would come back because daughters were invisibly connected to their mother’s right? Like sons and fathers. I had dreams she would ride through our suburban neighborhood on the whitest steed---well in a white limo, and she would come out with a plume of feathers in a pink boa around her neck and her finest ball gown and she would announce she was here to storm the castle and take me away with her where we would live in riches and in the lap of luxury. That’s the word she was, luxury. But that’s all she was. She wasn’t a dream that would ever come true. A mirage. She was just a word. One everyone knew how to speak, and only the rich could afford to. When I finally grew into myself and knew she was just another selfish story I made up in my head, I put my scrapbook and pictures of her away. Even now they’re packed in boxes I doubt I’ll ever open. The article is recent, her career had slowly plateaued when younger famous musicians rose to fame and glory on the stages of Broadway. And in some way, I had to thank her for popping my bubble of dreams because I didn’t want to follow in her footsteps in reality. Or dad. Or my stepmother’s assumption of what I should do with my life. I needed to do what I wanted. What my heart and head wanted.

           But now I’m stuck. In a bog of eternal stench. I raised a brow. That was an odd way of phrasing something. What did that even mean? What did I even just think? Before I could grasp it and replay the sentence it was gone. I needed air. And possibly something to eat. Normally I would go for a jog before the night fell but I had an hour left to get ready so I did what anyone would do in my position. I took a much needed nap.

           As I scan the crowd I notice little things. Another perk of being a writer. People watching. Noticing details. I watched couples stroll in, one couple shied away barely making it through the door when they realized they had forgotten or weren’t notified by the theme of the party. Even champagne colored attire wouldn’t fly in the mayor’s presence. The women who wore their hair down had coiled them in delicately hanging curls that bounced as they floated across the marble floor. There wasn’t a straight haired woman in sight. I was thankful I chose last second to throw it up in a chignon before I left from the house. I had to admit I still hadn’t mastered the art of being able to glide like most of these women had with heels and dress trains. My mermaid style dress was all in black and the design made it hard to take a good stride. I never cared for alcohol. I never developed the taste for it. The most I would take is a glass of wine, any color, and that was on my worst days. But I felt foolish just holding onto the flute of champagne clutched in my hand. Perhaps I could discretely slip it on a passing tray or abandon it in a less frequented area. I longed for my settee, ice-cream, movie, and pajamas. Depending how the night shaped, maybe I’d skip it all and just go straight to bed. Since I wasn’t stalled in conversation or mindless babbling I stole my chance to discard the flute. As I turned I became arrested by a form. I cursed wishing I had my precious solitude back. A bulky man towered over me. His jet black hair was slicked back and went against the grain of men who wore the signature penguin suites of stark black. He was dressed entirely in pure white. His hazel eyes bore into me seeing me and not just scanning over my bodice as most of the suitors that had pursued me during the eve had been. I spent more time dodging the men in heat that I barely noticed if there were any noble guests not just looking out for the single stragglers for a one night stand.

           I shrunk into myself and flushed tearing away from his gaze giving a slight curtsy. As much as the restriction of my dress would allow me to bend my knees. And then I felt even more awkward because I did that. I felt my brows knit and I mentally threw myself out a window before grounding myself. I expected him to start the conversation but perhaps I was being vain. Not everyone knew about me even if I lived in a city packed with my fair share of fans. I was used to having others pounce on me with immediate greetings and questions. To stop my internal suffering I chose to open my mouth and end my misery of turning into an awkward child and reminding myself that I was an adult. Am one. Speak!

           “Good evening.” Oh good, I just used the opening line to every gothic and creepy character would use. I really floundered instead of thrived in large gatherings. I wanted to wipe the slate clean, I hadn’t realized half of my champagne had been slugged back. I became aware of the stinging in my ankles and the pain on my feet as I balanced on my heels. He parted his lips revealing pearly whites. I could see his dimples and I found my hand busying itself by brushing a stray strand that had come lose from the chignon behind my ear.

           “It is.” His smile was warm and inviting. But I was on high alert none-the-less. I wasn’t sure how to further this conversation. I’d give anything to have my joggers on so I could shift my weight side to side. It was my tell that I was uncomfortable. But I was restricted in these damn stilts.

           “Are you here accompanying the mayor in his entourage?” Aside from the orchestra playing at the base of the stairs I could hear the soft chuckle in his throat.

           “Unfortunately no. I was a plus one with the Matthew party.” I had no idea who they were but I nodded in agreement as if I did. “What about you, lady?”

           “I only got my invitation because of my status. I’m a hot ticket item until my success runs its course and someone else comes along to claim the limelight.” I whisked my flute in the air toasting to my misery and draining the glass abandoning it on the wide railing. I was drowning. I wished for my friend from college to be at my side. She was excellent at steering conversations away from my failings.

           “That’s usually how fame works. May I ask, what your profession is now?” ‘Now’? It was an odd way to say something but I disregarded it as a slip of the tongue.

           “I’m a novelist.”

           “Fancy.” He waggled his brow and now it was my turn to laugh. It came out more like a bark.

           “Mind if we speak more but actually participate in this party by dancing?” I felt my face pale. I was meant to be a statue. One that showed up, soaked up the atmosphere, and then left without being drawn into something complicated. Like dancing. That was complicated. Especially in the prison I handpicked for myself. He offered his arm and I gratefully took it stepping as if I was made of china. I literally took baby steps painfully listening to the stairs announce our decent when the butt of my heel ricocheted in the scoop of the room. I could barely get one foot in front of the other, my dress demanding my steps be smaller.

           He blessedly closed his stride into small boxy steps allowing me to move with him. He lead, and I floated in the weight of his arms. His palm spanned over my entire back horizontally. I felt like a small hill up against a mountain. The tempo slowed, the musician’s skill amazed me. They could transition from fast pace to slow and sensual within the beat of a note. Before I knew it, we too had slowed, the only glimmer of having been keeping in step to the upbeat rhythm was my fast beating heart and the bead of sweat on the back of my neck. Somewhere between that transition, his body had mingled closer to mine and now his lips were at my ear in a gentle whisper. My eyes widened. I was confused. What did he just say? Was that really what he meant to say? I felt my world splinter. I felt like a dark void inside my heart was going to swallow me whole and I would be rid of all the people and buildings around me.

           I somehow made it back to my flat on the top floor. I slipped off my shoes, wormed my way into my pajama’s and when I came back to myself I was curled up in bed holding myself not caring that my chignon was half tamed and half wild. I didn’t even bother to wipe away my lipstick, clean the eyeshadow off with the liner above my lashes. I barely got my arm into the sleeve of my shirt. I hadn’t bothered to turn the lights on or button the shirt closed. My covers lay neglected at my back, my pillow barely touching the top of my head. I was staring into the black hole hiding the corner of my wall. Tears welling in my eyes. Why was I so tore up about this?

           I felt the hot coals roll over my cheeks staining my silk sheets. My muscles were stiff, my circulation numb from sitting so still. Why was I feeling all these things that made no sense to me? The thing the man said didn’t even make sense. It sounded like a joke or something he stole out of a novel. What did he mean when he said ‘The Goblin King is dead?’ and why was my heart breaking?

           I pulled my phone from the belly of my clutch opening up the web browser searching for anything that could connect me to those words. How was I supposed to react to that? Why was it even affecting me?! My mind was screaming. I found forums with geeks talking about video game references. Millions of results were nothing more than mindless ramblings of geeks and nerds. Broken phrases about movies, books, television, games. There was no viable information present. Frustrated I threw my phone against the wall but heard it hit my vanity instead shattering the mirror. I gasped at my own failings sliding off the bed to clean up my mess. My flat was empty. It was full of things that adorned the walls and filled the spaces so it didn’t look barren but---the truth was it was just me alone living here. I got to work brushing the pieces into the dustpan pausing when I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a giant ragged shard.

           Hadn’t those words meant something at one time? A title? I had an odd hazy thought that I was meant to remember something. Something significant. But my work took precedence. What that man said was nothing. If it was a message it fell on deaf ears. Maybe it was just highbrow humor I forgot to gloss in the New Yorker. But that was a business magazine and no imagination or right brained people were allowed to even grace those pages. I got the vaguest of feelings that I had been on the other side of this mirror once. A fleeting thought. I disposed of it climbing back into bed regretting the ruin of my mirror and phone. I was a person meant to be on call any time of day especially for my editor. I would rush first thing in the morning to the store to get a new phone and hastily set up my mailbox.

           I stretched arching my back like a cat reveling in the warmth my flat offered through the central air system and gazed out to the skyline barely looking back at my with a slit eye of pinks and purples. No signs of orange yet. Coffee time. The heavens answered my thoughts. I heard the timer chime awake and the maker got to work gurgling the water I poured the night before come alive. All I would need to do is feed it creamer and retrieve my mug. I tapped a key on my laptop forgetting momentarily that the battery warned me the night before I needed to charge its juice. It wouldn’t matter. There would still be a blank page and a blinking cursor angrily ticking to remind me my own time was slipping away to start a draft. I couldn’t get what the stranger whispered to me out of my head. I paced feeling the ache in my feet from my heels from the night before. I had darted from the party wanting to stretch that space between me and my dance partner. Away from his words. Away from the mocking eyes that gave me a headache and dejavu.

           It would’ve been easier to hail a cab but I felt like the world was crumbling down on me. I was choking and I needed to breach the surface and gulp lungful’s of air. And then I practically fell into the lobby before the doorman or desk clerk could barrage me with questions. I knew I was disheveled. I didn’t need to be prodded or gawked at. I clambered into the elevator fishing the key to activate my penthouse suite on the top floor. I wanted to get home. I needed my bed before I passed out here. Fifty stories up and I stumbled into my room listening to the whirling gears of the elevator haul itself back to earth while I stayed floating in space.

           I escaped the footmen who were busy busing in luggage and packages of other residents. My main focus needed to be a new phone. With my laptop dead I needed access to the internet now more than ever. I knew my editor would be trying to get ahold of me. I tried to keep my thoughts singular but after I began setting up everything on the little device I found my curiosity drawing me back to the same spot I fled from. Who was the man that approached me and I danced with? Why did he single me out? Did he know me? Was he using code that I should know? Was it a password to get into somewhere?

           All my thoughts were spinning in a jumbled mess worse than a tornado at level five and I wanted answers but only gained more questions.  

[nations-health-magazine-blog]

8 Books Millennial Success-Craving Women Should Read

In the 21st century, most women no longer have dreams of being housewives who prepare home-cooked casseroles, plan weekly play dates and live for afternoons of gossiping with the neighborhood moms. Today, women are striving for more: they want to be supermoms who are also self-made entrepreneurs or hold corporate positions at Fortune 500 companies.

Here, you will find a list of books every success-craving woman should read. Some are curated for specific goals, while others are designed to fit each professional woman. Whether you’re a recent college graduate or well into your career, it’s always the right time to read of proven ways you can reach your life-long goals.

1. Dare: Straight Talk on Confidence, Courage, and Career for Women in Charge

Any woman who plans to become the CEO or CFO of a large company will find this book to be an incredibly beneficial read. Author Becky Blalock along with 28 other female leaders in corporate America offer indispensable advice and personal experiences on how they earned top positions in companies predominantly ran my men.

2. #GIRLBOSS

Perhaps one of the most popular female success books amongst young millennials, Nasty Gal founder and CEO Sophia Amoruso shares her story of how she went from selling vintage clothing on eBay to owning a multi-million dollar business. It’s a success story that not only inspires, but reassures that you don’t have to be perfect to become a powerhouse. While some imagine this book to just be a hipster fluke, there are invaluable key points that can be taken away from the print.

3. Ask For It: How Women Can Use the Power of Negotiation to Get What They Really Want

In a world where women are making 77 cents to the man’s dollar, it’s nice to be assured that women can have whatever they want. Authors Linda Babcock and Sara Laschever give step-by-step instructions on how speaking up, realizing you’re competent, and emphasizing your strengths can give you the power you desire in the workforce—and the salary you feel you deserve.

5. Nice Girls Don’t Get the Corner Office: Unconscious Mistakes Women Make That Sabotage Their Careers

It’s important to know what works, but it’s equally important to know what doesn’t. This New York Times bestseller encourages women to take charge of their career, pointing out that being a nice girl has never gotten anyone what they’ve wanted. Being well aware of the unconscious mistakes women make will undoubtedly create space and opportunity for smart choices parallel to the ones you’ll read here.

6.  The Well-Spoken Woman: Your Guide to Looking and Sounding Your Best

A key to success and leadership is knowing how to speak. Whether you anticipate reaching large audiences or a small conference room of employees, refined public speaking skills are imperative. From knowing what to wear to learning what and what not to do with your hands, author Christine K. Jahnke—a communicator who has advised such prestigious women as Michelle Obama and Hilary Clinton—offers her advise on how to attain the overall package of being a well-spoken woman.

7. The Little Black Book of Success: Laws of Leadership for Black Women

Specifically written for African American women, The Little Black Book of Success gives every black girl in the workplace a guide to crossing barriers and truly breaking through the glass ceiling. Packed with critical tips and strategies women can use to drive their success and defeat stereotypes, this book is valuable to women of any color who simply want to beat the odds.

8. The Path Redefined: Getting to the Top on Your Own Terms

Entrepreneur Lauren Maillian Bias writes a text perfect for any woman who wants to be one too. This ambitious book targets aspiring female business-starters who desire having to answer to no one but themselves. Lauren shares her experiences as she journeyed into the world of entrepreneurship and became a successful business owner before the age of 30. She gives her advice on what it takes to start from the bottom and how living life on your own terms can be a recipe for success.

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

Eternity Springs-The McBrides-Tucker by Emily March

The McBrides of Texas #2

Walking down the road in red with sky-high-high-heels without a clue to location or how to get home, Gillian Thacker keeps moving forward. Tucker McBride, recently free from military commitment is on that road, sees the woman in red, realizes she needs help and stops to...help.

And thinking that was the hook, and it was, I had to WAIT because the two were not destined to move on from rescued maiden to happily ever after immediately. Nope, they had to deal with a pesky fiance that was a no good low down rather useless waste of space guy that should have been dropped by Gillian MUCH earlier. Again...Nope...I had to wait. I think Tucker knew he was attracted but he was still dealing with a bit of detritus from his past and being a good guy that did not poach, well, the moving on together thing had to wait.

What I liked:

* Tucker: what a wonderful man this one was! Smart, rugged, focused, ready to settle down, opening up a new business, a great friend, wonderful with family, all that a woman could ask for...and so much more

* Gillian:  a bit of an emotional mess but working to improve. Her sense of trust (of self and others) shaken and unwilling to believe in herself. I liked her but at times wanted to shake her and say...”wake up”...glad she did...eventually.

* Hints of previous characters in book in this and related series. Made me want to find those books and reread them again

* The S.U.R.V.I.V.A.L. and L.I.V.I.N.G. acronym portions and how they helped Gillian cope and grow

* Haley’s porti.on with Tucker

* The cave...what fun and what an impact it made on the story...along with the whole survival thing

* Boone’s situation – kind of curious how that will work out for him as he deals with whether or not to be the guardian of a child and how that will impact his life and how he will find hit partner.

* The play on words that cropped up here and there and mad me think while also making me smile

*The significance and power of red

* Just about everything except..

What I did not like:

* Jeremy: bottom feeder, user, cheater, etc – not worthy of licking Gillian’s boots

* Gillian’s dithering, insecurity and inability to trust her ability to truly know her feelings

* The bridezillas

Did I like this book? Yes

Would I read more in this series? Definitely

Thank you to Net Gally and St. Martin’s Paperbacks for the ARC – This is my honest review.

4.5 Stars

BLURB

From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Emily March comes the second book in the Eternity Springs: The McBrides of Texas trilogy, TUCKER (St. Martin’s Paperbacks, February 25, 2020, $7.99). Two business owners come head-to-head in a feud with tulle and grit in this passionate story. This tale shows that even when life changes from the stress of a military career to working next to a wedding planner, love always finds a way to begin, even if it was never thought possible.

Meet Gillian Thacker. Her business: Bliss Bridal Salon. Her passion: Weddings. Her own wedding: It’s complicated. Life isn’t turning out like she’d planned. The last thing she wants is for a real-life hero to ride to her rescue, but an unexpected event puts her entire future in Redemption, Texas, at risk. So what’s a broken-hearted bridal expert to do? Maybe a new set of survival skills is exactly what she needs…

Tucker McBride has been proud to call himself a U.S. Army Ranger. But now that his days of service are over, he’s decided to put his expertise to use by founding a wilderness skills training school. He sets up shop in Redemption, next to Bliss Bridal, and so begins life: Part Two. Marriage has been pretty low on his agenda, but as soon as he meets Gillian, Tucker can’t help but contemplate the ultimate challenge: Convincing the reluctant bride to take his hand and leap into the adventure of a lifetime . . . until death do them part.

EXCERPT

Chapter Two

Tucker was a sixth-generation Texan, small-town born and bred. Certain behaviors were stamped into his DNA. A real man tipped his hat to the ladies, opened doors for females of any age, and never, ever failed to stop and assist a woman in distress.

So, of course, he had to turn around.

That this particular woman in distress was a total smoke show dressed in fire-engine red only made playing the role of Texas gentleman that much sweeter. He wondered how she’d managed to find herself out here in the middle of nowhere, no car in sight, not a house anywhere around, and the closest town a good ten miles away. Unfortunately, hot looks and a bright mind didn’t always go together.

He pulled to a stop beside her and flipped up the visor of his helmet. His assessing stare met a wary gaze shining from big, periwinkle-blue eyes that were swollen and red-rimmed with tears. She had an abrasion on her cheek just above her chin. Had someone hit her? When his quick visual sweep of her body revealed additional redness on both of her arms, he reconsidered. Airbag deployment, most likely. “Do you need some help, ma’am?”

He watched her intently and saw her quietly repeat the word ma’am. After a moment’s hesitation, she licked her lips, swallowed hard, and said, “Well, um, I, um. May I borrow your phone?”

Her voice was smooth as Tennessee whiskey with just enough Texas in her drawl to sound like home to ears too far away for too long. “Yes, ma’am.”

She took a small step backward as he set his kick- stand and climbed off his bike. She’s scared of me.

It was a perfectly natural reaction and showed some sense, but Tucker didn’t like scaring women, so when he pulled off his helmet, he was scowling. Her eyes widened, she took another step back, and he realized he’d made the situation worse. Well, hell.

He reached deep inside him for the charm that had grown rusty with disuse, made a stab at a reassuring smile, and addressed the elephant in the cotton field. “Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you. I came back to see if I could help. That’s all. I give you my word, and a McBride’s word is his bond.”

“That’s so old-fashioned,” she said.

“Yes, well, that’s how we roll. Now, I’m going to reach into my pocket and pull out my phone.”

Her gaze dropped to his hand, and she gave a nervous little laugh. “No gun?”

“No gun.” That was in a different pocket.

Tucker unzipped his jacket and reached into an inner pouch for his phone while trying his best to look unthreatening. Their fingers brushed as he handed it over. Her fingernail color matched her dress.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome. My name is Tucker.”

“I’m Gillian.” Her teeth tugged on her bottom lip as she stared at the phone. “Do you have Google maps? I need to send a pin of my location to my—”

She broke off abruptly, and her head came up. Those glittering blue eyes—puffy and swollen from tears and framed by long, thick lashes—went round and big. Distracted, he fell into them. “Tucker Mc- Bride? Your name is Tucker McBride?”

He blinked and pulled slightly away. Now it was his turn to be wary. “Yes.”

She gave him a once-over, and some of the stiff- ness melted from her spine. “I know Jackson. Boone too. You’re the third cousin, aren’t you?”

Well, this was unexpected. “Yes, Boone and Jack- son are cousins of mine. Have we met?” He didn’t think so. He’d damned sure remember her.

“No.”

“I’m surprised you’d connect me to them. We’re a long way from Redemption.”

“Are we?” She gave a short, strained laugh. “I wouldn’t know. I’m lost. But you look just like them, and Tucker McBride is an unusual name. Plus, I re- member when the three of you arrived in Redemption the first time. You all rode motorcycles. My friend Maisy laughed that you had your own little McBride gang, so you were perfect for Ruin.”

Tucker grinned. “If you only knew.” He extended his hand toward her for a handshake. “Nice to meet you, Gillian . . . ?”

“Thacker. Gillian Thacker.” Her grip was firm, her smile filled with relief. “I’m a friend of Caroline Carruthers. Are you on your way to visit Redemption?”

Caroline was the woman Jackson was seeing, Tucker knew. He nodded. “Yes, I am. So now that you know I’m not a serial killer, want to tell me what you’re doing standing in a cotton field in a sundress and stilettos? Not exactly apparel for farming.”

She glanced down at her feet. “Technically, I’m not in the field but on the shoulder of a road. A narrow, two-lane, never-ending road. And no, cotton is not my thing. I’m all about satin and lace.”

Satin and lace? A vision of Gillian in lingerie the same shade of red as her dress flashed in Tucker’s mind as she continued, “I sell wedding gowns at a bridal shop in Redemption. Bliss Bridal Salon on Main Street.”

He tore his thoughts from the fantasy and listened when she began babbling about a pig and a pecan and a purse without a phone charger. When she finally wound down, she left Tucker shaking his head at her foolishness. He held up his hand. “Let me get this straight. You weren’t joking about being lost? You literally don’t know where you are?”

“No. Not exactly.” She lifted her chin, and her voice sharpened defensively. “I know I’m still in Central Texas. I’m somewhere between I-35 and I-45. I’m north of Austin. I think.”

He slowly shook his head. “Where is your car?

How far have you walked?”

“That way.” She hooked her thumb over her shoul- der. “Maybe two or three miles. I’ve been walking a while.”

“In those shoes?”

She gave a rueful smile.

Copyright © 2020 by Geralyn Dawson Williams.

AUTHOR BIO

Emily March is the New York Times, Publishers Weekly, and USA Today bestselling author of over thirty novels, including the critically acclaimed Eternity Springs series. Publishers Weekly calls March a "master of delightful banter," and her heartwarming, emotionally charged stories have been named to Best of the Year lists by Publishers Weekly, Library Journal, and Romance Writers of America.

A graduate of Texas A&M University, Emily is an avid fan of Aggie sports and her recipe for jalapeño relish has made her a tailgating legend.

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[bookloversreviewer]

"Absolutely SWOON-WORTHY! Sweet and sexy and so romantic! Prepare to be swept away by Andrew and Grace!" - A.L. Jackson, New York Times bestselling author

Unexpectedly Yours, an all-new sizzling hot office romance from USA Today bestselling author Rebecca Shea, is available now!

One night of unbridled passion.

It was the only thing Andrew McPherson and Grace Morgan could afford.

Intense.

Sexy.

Unforgettable.

They promised they would never see each other again, but fate had other plans. Andrew’s entire life has been spent working toward one goal—to own the top advertising and public relations company in the world. He’s driven, ruthless when it comes to business, never letting anything stand in his way…until Grace.

Grace has worked hard to build her advertising career. She’s fiercely talented and dedicated to her clients. Grace has no interest in getting involved with a man when she knows her focus should be on her career and paying off her mounting debt.

Andrew knows better than to get involved with a woman who is completely off limits, but he never backs down from what he wants, and he won’t stop until Grace is his…only this might cost him more than he’s willing to give.

Download your copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

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Enter the giveaway for a Kindle Fire, Amazon gift card and signed paperbacks of Unexpectedly Yours, Fault Lines and Dare Me!

http://bit.ly/36tnBjG

Excerpt

There’s a loud knock on the conference room door that startles both Jamie and me. She jumps up and opens the door, just as Eddie pops his head inside.

“Sorry to interrupt, ladies,” he starts. “We have the conference room reserved for a client meeting in five minutes.”

I glance at my watch and see that it’s almost nine o’clock. Jamie and I have been in here for almost an hour.

“Shit,” I mumble, grabbing my empty coffee cup. “I have to get to work.”

“Me too,” says Jamie, following me from the conference room back toward our desks.

I stop abruptly, causing Jamie to run into my backside when I see Drew standing in my cube, staring out my window over a cloudy, rainy Manhattan. His hands are shoved into his pockets and his dress shirt is rolled up to his forearms. Tan, muscular arms stick out from under that crisp dress shirt. Even casual, he looks like the powerhouse CEO that he is. My heart rate kicks up a notch at the sight of him.

As Jamie nudges me forward, I clear my throat as I do my best to look unaffected by his presence.

“Mr. McPherson,” I acknowledge him, but don’t look at him. I slide into my desk chair and enter the password to my computer, bringing the screen back to life.

“Good morning,” he says from behind me and I still keep my eyes trained on my computer. “And good morning, Jamie,” he says, acknowledging her.

I glance up at Jamie and see her smile at him knowingly. Dammit, Jamie.

“Morning, Mr. McPherson. Busy weekend getting to know New York City?” she asks him with the kind of innocence only a skilled liar could pull off. I’m going to fucking kill her. I narrow my eyes at her and she winks at me.

I spin around in my chair to look at Drew, whose eyes jump back and forth between us, and I can see he’s picked up that I’ve filled her in. I hang my head in shame and shake my head.

“It was a wonderful weekend,” he tells her honestly.

“Do anything exciting?” she asks, her tone snarky and her questions intruding. “Or anyone?” she says under her breath and I choke.

“Are you okay?” Drew asks me.

“Fine,” I cough out, tossing a glare at Jamie, who giggles and slides into her desk chair. I pick up a pen off my desk and throw it at her. It hits her back. She bursts into laughter and Drew shakes his head in amusement at us.

He leans over my shoulder and whispers into my ear, “I missed you last night.” His warm breath causes me to shiver and catch my breath. “I didn’t like waking up and you not being there,” he continues, knowing the effect he has on me.

I shift in my chair and sit up straight, trying to drown out the throbbing that has started between my legs.

I spin slowly toward him and stop, his face mere inches from mine. “I slept remarkably well,” I tell him.

He smiles. “Liar.”

“I’m not lying,” I whisper.

“You are.” He brushes a knuckle over my top lip and my skin breaks out in goosebumps. “When you lie, your upper lip twitches.” Jesus Christ, this man has me all figured out.

I hold his gaze and my heart stammers in my chest. Looking at him, I can’t help but feel that I’ve missed him too.

“I’d like to meet with you later to go over a few things,” he says, standing up. “How does eleven thirty in my office sound?”

“Sounds fine,” I muster out.

“See you then, Gracie.”

Drew saunters out of my cube and down the hallway. I can’t help it as my eyes follow him as he walks through the rows of cubes until he reaches his office. I notice Jamie watching him too before she spins around in her chair and faces me.

“Holy fuck,” she hisses. “That man has it bad for you.” I look back at Drew’s office and watch the door close before I look at Jamie again.

“I know.” And sadly, I have it just as bad for him.

About Rebecca Shea

Rebecca Shea is the USA Today Bestselling author of the Unbreakable series (Unbreakable, Undone, and Unforgiven), the Bound & Broken series (Broken by Lies and Bound by Lies) and two stand alone novels, Dare Me and Fault Lines. She has also co-written two books with her friend, A.L. Jackson, The Hollywood Chronicles: One Wild Night and One Wild Ride

​

She lives in Phoenix, Arizona with her family. From the time Rebecca could read she has had a passion for books. Rebecca spends her days working full-time and her nights writing, bringing stories to life. Born and raised in Minnesota, Rebecca moved to Arizona in 1999 to escape the bitter winters.

When not working or writing, she can be found on the sidelines of her sons football games, or watching her daughter at ballet class. Rebecca is fueled by insane amounts of coffee, margaritas, Laffy Taffy (except the banana ones), and happily ever afters.

Connect with Rebecca

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Website: https://www.rebeccasheaauthor.com

[skkgagnon]

Handle With Care, an all-new romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Helena Hunting is coming August 27th, and we have a sneak peek!

 HE WANTS TO LOSE CONTROL.

Between his parents’ messed up marriage and his narcissistic younger brother, Lincoln Moorehead has spent the majority of his life avoiding his family. After the death of his father, Lincoln finds himself in the middle of the drama. To top it all off, he’s been named CEO of Moorehead Media, much to his brother’s chagrin. But Lincoln’s bad attitude softens when he meets the no-nonsense, gorgeous woman who has been given the task of transforming him from the gruff, wilderness guy to a suave businessman

SHE’S TRYING TO HOLD IT TOGETHER.

Wren Sterling has been working double time to keep the indiscretions at Moorehead Media at bay, so when she’s presented with a new contract, with new responsibilities and additional incentives, she agrees. Working with the reclusive oldest son of a ridiculously entitled family is worth the hassle if it means she’s that much closer to pursuing her own dreams. What Wren doesn’t expect is to find herself attracted to him, or for it to be mutual. And she certainly doesn’t expect to fall for Lincoln. But when a shocking new Moorehead scandal comes to light, she’s forced to choose between her own family and the broody, cynical CEO.

  Pre-order your copy today!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2VGJ83p

AppleBooks: https://apple.co/2VXTyvK

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/HandleWithCare

Nook: http://bit.ly/2FmIv9x

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 Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2FgCXxX

  Excerpt from Chapter One

  Chapter One

 What Have I Gotten Myself into?

 Wren

 I slip onto the empty bar stool beside the lumberjack mountain man who looks like he tried to squeeze himself into a suit two sizes too small. He’s intimidatingly broad and thick, with long dark hair that’s been pulled up into a haphazard man bun thing. His beard is a hipster’s wet dream. His scowl, however, makes him about as approachable as a rabid porcupine. And yet, here I am, sidling up next to him.

He glances at me, eyes bleary and not really tracking. He quickly focuses on his half-empty glass again. Based on the slump of his shoulders and the uncoordinated way he picks up his glass and tips it toward his mouth, I’m guessing he’s pretty hammered. I order a sparkling water with a dash of cranberry juice and a lime.

What I could really use is a cup of lavender-mint tea and my bed, but instead, I’m sitting next to a drunk man in his thirties. My life is extra glamorous, obviously. And no, I’m not an escort, but at the moment I feel like my morals are on the same kind of slippery slope.

“Rough day?” I ask, nodding to the bottle that’s missing more than half its contents. It was full when he sat down at the bar an hour ago. Yes, I’ve been watching him the entire time, waiting for an opportunity to make my move. While he’s been sitting here, he’s turned down two women, one in a dress that could’ve doubled as a disco ball and the other in a top so low-cut, I could almost see her navel.

“You could say that,” he slurs. He props his cheek on his fist, eyes almost slits. I can still make out the vibrant blue hue despite them being nearly closed. They move over me, assessing. I’m wearing a conservative black dress with a high neckline and a hem that falls below my knees. Definitely not nearly as provocative as Disco Ball or Navel Lady.

“That solving your problems?” I give him a wry grin and tip my chin in the direction of his bottle of Johnnie.

His gaze swings slowly to the bottle. It gives me a chance to really look at him. Or what I can see of his face under his beard, anyway.

“Nah, but it helps quiet down all the noise up here.” He taps his temple and blurts, “My dad died.”

I put a hand on his forearm. It feels awkward, and creepy on my part since its half-genuine, half-contrived comfort. “I’m so sorry.”

He glances at my hand, which I quickly remove, and refocuses on his drink. “I should be sorry too, but I think he was mostly an asshole, so the world might be better off without him.” He attempts to fill his glass again, but his aim is off, and he pours it on the bar instead. I rush to lift my purse and grab a handful of napkins to mop up the mess.

“I’m drunk,” he mumbles.

“Well, I’m thinking that might’ve been the plan, considering the way you’re sucking that bottle back. I’m actually surprised you didn’t ask for a straw in the first place. Might be a good idea to throw a spacer [CD3] in there if you want tomorrow morning to suck less.” I push my drink toward him, hoping he doesn’t send me packing like he did the other women who approached him earlier.

He narrows his eyes at my glass, suspicious, maybe. “What is that?”

“Cranberry and soda.”

“No booze?”

“No booze. Go ahead. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

He picks up the glass and pauses when it’s an inch from his mouth. His eyes crinkle, telling me he’s smiling under that beard. “Does that mean Imma wake up with you beside me?”

I cock a brow. “Are you propositioning me?”

“Shit, sorry.” He chugs the contents of my glass. “I was joking. Besides, I’m so wasted, I can barely remember my name. Pretty sure I’d be useless in bed tonight. I should stop talkin’.” He scrubs a hand over his face and then motions to me. “I wouldn’t proposition you.”

I’m not sure how to respond. I go with semi-affronted, since it seems like somewhat of an insult. “Good to know.”

“Dammit. I mean, I think you might be hot. You look hot. I mean attractive. I think you’re pretty.” He tips his head to the side and blinks a few times. “You have nice eyes, all four of them are lovely.”

This time I laugh—for real—and point to the bottle. “I think you might want to tell your date you’re done for the night.”

He blows out a breath and nods. “You might be right.” He makes an attempt to stand, but as soon as his feet hit the floor, he stumbles into me and grabs my shoulders to steady himself. “Whoa. Sorry. Yup, I’m definitely drunk.” His face is inches from mine, breath smelling strongly of alcohol. Beyond that, I get a whiff of fresh soap and a hint of aftershave. He lets go of my shoulders and takes an unsteady step back. “I don’t usually do this.” He motions sloppily to the bottle. “Mostly I’m a three drink max guy.”

“I think losing your father makes this condonable.” I slide off my stool. Despite being tall for a woman, and wearing heels, he still manages to be close to a head taller than me.

“Yeah, maybe, but I still think I might regret it tomorrow.” He’s incredibly unsteady, swaying while standing in place. I take the opportunity for what it is and thread my arm through his, leading him away from the bar. “Come on, let’s get you to the elevator before you pass out right here.”

He nods, then wobbles a bit, like moving his head has set him off balance. “That’s probably a good idea.”

He leans into me as we weave through the bar and stumbles on the two stairs leading to the foyer. There’s no way I’ll be able to stop him if he goes down, but I drape one of his huge arms over my shoulder anyway, and slip my own around his waist, guiding him in a mostly straight line to the elevators.

“Which floor are you on?” I ask.

“Penthouse.” He drops his arm from my shoulder and flings it out, pointing to the black doors at the end of the hall. “Jesus, I feel like I’m on a boat.”

“It’s probably all the alcohol sloshing around in your brain.” I take his elbow again, helping him stagger the last twenty feet to the dedicated penthouse elevator.

He stares at the keypad for a few seconds, brow pulling into a furrow. “I can’t remember the code. It’s thumbprint activated though too.” He stumbles forward and presses his forehead against the wall, then tries to line up his thumb with the sensor, but his aim is horrendous and he keeps missing.

I settle a hand on his very firm forearm. This man is built like a tank. Or a superhero. For a moment, I reconsider what I’m about to do, but he seems pretty harmless and ridiculously hammered, so he shouldn’t pose a threat. I’m also trained in self-defense, which would fall under the by any means necessary umbrella. “Can I help?”

Read the rest of Chapter One: http://bit.ly/2ZBt0RL

      About the Author:

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She's writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy. 

Connect with Helena: Instagram: http://instagram.com/helenahunting Twitter: https://twitter.com/HelenaHunting Facebook: http://on.fb.me/Zt1xm5 Facebook Fan group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/385795934890523/ Website: http://www.helenahunting.com/ Never miss an update! Subscribe to Helena's mailing list: http://bit.ly/2MlRKq6

[anitabyars]

Handle With Care, an all-new romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Helena Hunting is coming August 27th, and we have a sneak peek!

HE WANTS TO LOSE CONTROL.

Between his parents’ messed up marriage and his narcissistic younger brother, Lincoln Moorehead has spent the majority of his life avoiding his family. After the death of his father, Lincoln finds himself in the middle of the drama. To top it all off, he’s been named CEO of Moorehead Media, much to his brother’s chagrin. But Lincoln’s bad attitude softens when he meets the no-nonsense, gorgeous woman who has been given the task of transforming him from the gruff, wilderness guy to a suave businessman

SHE’S TRYING TO HOLD IT TOGETHER.

Wren Sterling has been working double time to keep the indiscretions at Moorehead Media at bay, so when she’s presented with a new contract, with new responsibilities and additional incentives, she agrees. Working with the reclusive oldest son of a ridiculously entitled family is worth the hassle if it means she’s that much closer to pursuing her own dreams. What Wren doesn’t expect is to find herself attracted to him, or for it to be mutual. And she certainly doesn’t expect to fall for Lincoln. But when a shocking new Moorehead scandal comes to light, she’s forced to choose between her own family and the broody, cynical CEO.

Pre-order your copy today!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2VGJ83p

AppleBooks: https://apple.co/2VXTyvK

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/HandleWithCare

Nook: http://bit.ly/2FmIv9x

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2M09aKC

Google Play: http://bit.ly/2RRkyh8

Amazon Paperback: https://amzn.to/2C9AeCB

Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2FgCXxX

Excerpt from Chapter One

Chapter One

What Have I Gotten Myself into?

Wren

I slip onto the empty bar stool beside the lumberjack mountain man who looks like he tried to squeeze himself into a suit two sizes too small. He’s intimidatingly broad and thick, with long dark hair that’s been pulled up into a haphazard man bun thing. His beard is a hipster’s wet dream. His scowl, however, makes him about as approachable as a rabid porcupine. And yet, here I am, sidling up next to him.

He glances at me, eyes bleary and not really tracking. He quickly focuses on his half-empty glass again. Based on the slump of his shoulders and the uncoordinated way he picks up his glass and tips it toward his mouth, I’m guessing he’s pretty hammered. I order a sparkling water with a dash of cranberry juice and a lime.

What I could really use is a cup of lavender-mint tea and my bed, but instead, I’m sitting next to a drunk man in his thirties. My life is extra glamorous, obviously. And no, I’m not an escort, but at the moment I feel like my morals are on the same kind of slippery slope.

“Rough day?” I ask, nodding to the bottle that’s missing more than half its contents. It was full when he sat down at the bar an hour ago. Yes, I’ve been watching him the entire time, waiting for an opportunity to make my move. While he’s been sitting here, he’s turned down two women, one in a dress that could’ve doubled as a disco ball and the other in a top so low-cut, I could almost see her navel.

“You could say that,” he slurs. He props his cheek on his fist, eyes almost slits. I can still make out the vibrant blue hue despite them being nearly closed. They move over me, assessing. I’m wearing a conservative black dress with a high neckline and a hem that falls below my knees. Definitely not nearly as provocative as Disco Ball or Navel Lady.

“That solving your problems?” I give him a wry grin and tip my chin in the direction of his bottle of Johnnie.

His gaze swings slowly to the bottle. It gives me a chance to really look at him. Or what I can see of his face under his beard, anyway.

“Nah, but it helps quiet down all the noise up here.” He taps his temple and blurts, “My dad died.”

I put a hand on his forearm. It feels awkward, and creepy on my part since its half-genuine, half-contrived comfort. “I’m so sorry.”

He glances at my hand, which I quickly remove, and refocuses on his drink. “I should be sorry too, but I think he was mostly an asshole, so the world might be better off without him.” He attempts to fill his glass again, but his aim is off, and he pours it on the bar instead. I rush to lift my purse and grab a handful of napkins to mop up the mess.

“I’m drunk,” he mumbles.

“Well, I’m thinking that might’ve been the plan, considering the way you’re sucking that bottle back. I’m actually surprised you didn’t ask for a straw in the first place. Might be a good idea to throw a spacer [CD3] in there if you want tomorrow morning to suck less.” I push my drink toward him, hoping he doesn’t send me packing like he did the other women who approached him earlier.

He narrows his eyes at my glass, suspicious, maybe. “What is that?”

“Cranberry and soda.”

“No booze?”

“No booze. Go ahead. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

He picks up the glass and pauses when it’s an inch from his mouth. His eyes crinkle, telling me he’s smiling under that beard. “Does that mean Imma wake up with you beside me?”

I cock a brow. “Are you propositioning me?”

“Shit, sorry.” He chugs the contents of my glass. “I was joking. Besides, I’m so wasted, I can barely remember my name. Pretty sure I’d be useless in bed tonight. I should stop talkin’.” He scrubs a hand over his face and then motions to me. “I wouldn’t proposition you.”

I’m not sure how to respond. I go with semi-affronted, since it seems like somewhat of an insult. “Good to know.”

“Dammit. I mean, I think you might be hot. You look hot. I mean attractive. I think you’re pretty.” He tips his head to the side and blinks a few times. “You have nice eyes, all four of them are lovely.”

This time I laugh—for real—and point to the bottle. “I think you might want to tell your date you’re done for the night.”

He blows out a breath and nods. “You might be right.” He makes an attempt to stand, but as soon as his feet hit the floor, he stumbles into me and grabs my shoulders to steady himself. “Whoa. Sorry. Yup, I’m definitely drunk.” His face is inches from mine, breath smelling strongly of alcohol. Beyond that, I get a whiff of fresh soap and a hint of aftershave. He lets go of my shoulders and takes an unsteady step back. “I don’t usually do this.” He motions sloppily to the bottle. “Mostly I’m a three drink max guy.”

“I think losing your father makes this condonable.” I slide off my stool. Despite being tall for a woman, and wearing heels, he still manages to be close to a head taller than me.

“Yeah, maybe, but I still think I might regret it tomorrow.” He’s incredibly unsteady, swaying while standing in place. I take the opportunity for what it is and thread my arm through his, leading him away from the bar. “Come on, let’s get you to the elevator before you pass out right here.”

He nods, then wobbles a bit, like moving his head has set him off balance. “That’s probably a good idea.”

He leans into me as we weave through the bar and stumbles on the two stairs leading to the foyer. There’s no way I’ll be able to stop him if he goes down, but I drape one of his huge arms over my shoulder anyway, and slip my own around his waist, guiding him in a mostly straight line to the elevators.

“Which floor are you on?” I ask.

“Penthouse.” He drops his arm from my shoulder and flings it out, pointing to the black doors at the end of the hall. “Jesus, I feel like I’m on a boat.”

“It’s probably all the alcohol sloshing around in your brain.” I take his elbow again, helping him stagger the last twenty feet to the dedicated penthouse elevator.

He stares at the keypad for a few seconds, brow pulling into a furrow. “I can’t remember the code. It’s thumbprint activated though too.” He stumbles forward and presses his forehead against the wall, then tries to line up his thumb with the sensor, but his aim is horrendous and he keeps missing.

I settle a hand on his very firm forearm. This man is built like a tank. Or a superhero. For a moment, I reconsider what I’m about to do, but he seems pretty harmless and ridiculously hammered, so he shouldn’t pose a threat. I’m also trained in self-defense, which would fall under the by any means necessary umbrella. “Can I help?”

Read the rest of Chapter One: http://bit.ly/2ZBt0RL

About the Author:

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She's writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.

Connect with Helena:

Instagram: http://instagram.com/helenahunting Twitter: https://twitter.com/HelenaHunting

Facebook: http://on.fb.me/Zt1xm5

Facebook Fan group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/385795934890523/

Website: http://www.helenahunting.com/

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http://bit.ly/2MlRKq6

[dargeereads]

Handle With Care by Helena Hunting

“Lincoln and Wren had me flipping through the pages frantically, begging for more. Their chemistry was explosive, their love story both hilarious and tender.”- L.J. Shen, USA Today bestselling author

Handle With Care, an all-new romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Helena Hunting is available now!

HE WANTS TO LOSE CONTROL.

Between his parents’ messed up marriage and his narcissistic younger brother, Lincoln Moorehead has spent the majority of his life avoiding his family. After the death of his father, Lincoln finds himself in the middle of the drama. To top it all off, he’s been named CEO of Moorehead Media, much to his brother’s chagrin. But Lincoln’s bad attitude softens when he meets the no-nonsense, gorgeous woman who has been given the task of transforming him from the gruff, wilderness guy to a suave businessman

SHE’S TRYING TO HOLD IT TOGETHER.

Wren Sterling has been working double time to keep the indiscretions at Moorehead Media at bay, so when she’s presented with a new contract, with new responsibilities and additional incentives, she agrees. Working with the reclusive oldest son of a ridiculously entitled family is worth the hassle if it means she’s that much closer to pursuing her own dreams. What Wren doesn’t expect is to find herself attracted to him, or for it to be mutual. And she certainly doesn’t expect to fall for Lincoln. But when a shocking new Moorehead scandal comes to light, she’s forced to choose between her own family and the broody, cynical CEO.

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Excerpt: 

“You have a suit fitting tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning? I have lots of suits; I’ll make one of those work.”

“Are they like the ones you wore to the funeral?” I ask.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, they may have fit you five years ago, but they certainly don’t fit you now. I’ll text you the details and add them to your personal calendar.”

“You can’t do that without my cell number.” His smugness would be grating if I wasn’t two steps ahead of him.

I flash a fake smile. “I already have all of your personal details, Lincoln. Right down to your shoe size. And you can’t be late like you were this morning, so it might be a good idea to avoid the scotch tonight so you’re less bear and more human. You’ll need to use these things called manners. I can email you a refresher on what those are, should you need it.”

“Sarcasm is a weapon of the weak.”

My ears are on fire as he heads for the door. Jerk. I was being witty, not sarcastic. “Thanks so much for offering to help clean up the mess you made.” I turn to address the crinkled papers scattered on the floor.

It’s common courtesy to offer assistance if you’re the one who made the damn mess. Even Armstrong, who is the most epic of douches, has some manners. Usually he’ll try to look up a skirt or down a shirt while he’s being polite, but it’s better than this.

I turn to retrieve the papers when two things happen, a power surge ramps up the box fans—it happens at least twice a day, and at the same time Lincoln pulls the door open again. The simultaneous actions create a vortex of air inside my office, and my skirt flutters into the air. Like I’m Marilyn Monroe and I’ve stepped onto one of those subway grates. The fabric rises quickly, and a breeze hits me right between the legs, which is the exact moment I remember that I’m not wearing panties. Because they were covered in the coffee Armstrong spilled in my lap.

I drop the papers and battle the fabric back down. It’s fruitless, though, the wind tunnel whirls through the room like Dorothy’s freaking tornado, and the back of my dress goes up. I meet Lincoln’s gaze from across the small room. All it takes is a second of eye contact before those ridiculously blue eyes pull me in, and weird, inappropriate things start happening to my body. It’s irritating as hell. I don’t even like this guy, but my body seems as if it hasn’t gotten the same memo as the rest of me. Even more aggravating is the realization that based on his expression, he totally caught an eyeful of cooch.

Lincoln stands frozen at the door, eyes wide and fixed on my crotch, mouth hanging open.

“Close the damn door!” My voice is siren high. And loud.

“Right. Yes. I’m going. Now.” He steps out of my office, pulling the door closed behind him.

My dress settles around my knees. “Dammit.” I drop into my chair, which is probably what I should’ve done as soon as the wind tunnel started, but clearly I’d been too panicked to think straight.

On the upside, I went to see my waxer last week, so he’s seen my girl bits when they’re looking their finest.

On the downside, my project for the next six months has seen my naked girl bits.

   About the Author:

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She's writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.

Connect with Helena: Instagram: http://instagram.com/helenahunting Twitter: https://twitter.com/HelenaHunting Facebook: http://on.fb.me/Zt1xm5 Facebook Fan group: http://bit.ly/340v5tQ Website: http://www.helenahunting.com/ Never miss an update! Subscribe to Helena's mailing list: http://bit.ly/2MlRKq6

[cathygeha]

Have you Pre-ordered THE SURVIVING GIRLS by Katee Robert yet?

  “This is a must read summer read!” —Book Him Danno

 “Robert takes the story to an unexpected revelation of who the real killer is and the trip there is highly entertaining in a hang on to your chair kind of way. Every Robert book I’ve read has been filled with well defined, gritty characters and a well-paced plot. The women aren’t Cinderallas and the Princes Charming have an edge to them. Just the way I like it.” —Jeep Diva

 Pre-order THE SURVIVING GIRLS and add it to your TBR pile on Goodreads! Then keep reading to get a sneak peek and your chance to enter the giveaway for a $25 Amazon gift card or books from Katee Robert!

  Title: The Surviving Girls

Author: Katee Robert

Series: Hidden Sins #3

Genre: Romantic Suspense

Release Date: May 29, 2018

Publisher: Montlake Romance

Print Length:  282 pages

Format: Digital and Paperback

ISBN: 978-1503902442

  Synopsis:

 A fierce survivor and a fearless FBI agent battle a copycat serial killer in a gripping thriller from New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Katee Robert.

 Twelve years ago, Lei Zhang and her friend Emma Nilsson miraculously lived through the notorious Sorority Row Murders that left twenty-one of their sisters dead. Still wrestling with the trauma but finally out of the limelight, Lei and Emma are now devoted to helping other victims find closure. But most disturbing for Lei—beyond the gut-wrenching survivor guilt—is that the killer was her boyfriend. He’s behind bars, but she’ll never lower her guard again.

 When a copycat killer targets Lei and Emma, FBI Agent Dante Young is put in charge of anticipating the sociopath’s every move. But what he doesn’t expect is his immediate and overpowering attraction to Lei. The closer they get to each other, the more desperate and terrifying the questions become: Who wants to finish what the killer started—and why?

 Now Agent Young vows to protect Lei at all costs. If they have any chance of a future together, first they have to stay alive…

 On sale May 29th!

Amazon:  http://bit.ly/TheSurvivingGIrlsAmazon

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 Enter to win a grand prize of a $25 Amazon Gift Card or three (3) runner-up copies of a backlist eBook from Katee Robert!

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The Surviving Girls Excerpt

Copyright © 2018 Katee Robert

 Watching the women interact was fascinating on a level Dante wasn’t prepared for. He’d known Lei and Emma lived together, but he hadn’t had the opportunity to take a step back and consider the implications of that arrangement. Emma teetered on the edge of a breakdown and used Lei to pull herself back from the ledge . . . everything made a lot more sense.

They’d formed a symbiotic relationship, of sorts.

There wasn’t much data concerning situations like this one, mostly because they rarely arose, and each case was too individual to tie together in nice, easy studies. It stood to reason, though, that coming out of that sorority house as the only two survivors would send these women into one of two futures. In one, they never saw each other and pretended the other didn’t exist rather than be faced with the perpetual reminder of what they’d gone through.

In the other, they realized that no one would ever know what they went through as intimately as the other person who survived—and leaned on each other as result.

Lei was the one who finally met his gaze, and hell if her inky-dark eyes didn’t take his breath away despite the circumstances. Clarke had pulled both women’s photos on the way over there, but they were old—from their sorority days. Both beautiful in their own way, though they were a study in opposites. Emma had the sweet southern thing going for her, all blonde hair, big innocent blue eyes, and curves that suggested southern cooking. He couldn’t tell if her soft tone was practiced or natural, but it pricked at him every time she spoke.

Lei . . . She was something else altogether. She was petite in a way that should have read frail but reminded him of a blade waiting to be unsheathed. There were muscles beneath her light-brown skin, and he guessed that she’d have no problem keeping up with the monster dog at her feet during a search. Her straight black hair was pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail, which left her features in stark relief. Beautiful, but doesn’t like to draw attention to it. Might as well have tried to hide the sky.

Fuck, get it together. You’re here to interview them, not to lose your damn mind over Lei Zhang.

Yes, she was beautiful, but he’d dealt with beautiful women before without jeopardizing his professional persona. Dante didn’t know what it was about this woman that called to something in him, but he had to shelve it.

He couldn’t afford to be distracted.

She clasped Emma’s hand but turned her body to face him more fully. “The night of the murders, I let Travis Berkley into the Omega Delta Lambda house. We’d been dating four months and he told me he had a surprise.” Her lips twisted. “It was against the rules, but girls broke the rules all the time.”

He noted her knuckles whitening where she held Emma’s hand, but her voice maintained its steady tone. “We had sex. Approximately an hour later, something changed. I still have problems putting it into words. Travis just . . . shifted. It was like he’d taken off a mask and I didn’t recognize the man beneath. He hit me. A few times.” She absentmindedly touched the little hooked scar on her cheekbone. From Travis’s ring. “I passed out. When I woke up, he’d barricaded my door shut and I could hear their screams.”

Lei’s breath hitched, and it was almost as if she inhaled and Emma exhaled. The blonde lifted her chin. “I was in the basement studying when it started. Finals were coming up, and I was struggling in history and needed the extra study time. The first sign of something wrong was Travis hauling Sarah—” She cut herself off and flinched. “I’m sorry. It’s hard to say their names, even now.”

Clarke huffed out a breath. “You don’t have to name every single girl he killed. We know their names. We know their stories. We just want to hear how it all went down from your perspective.”

They wouldn’t find anything new here. Dante knew it, and he suspected Clarke knew it, too. These two women had told their stories countless times over the years, and if there was information they hadn’t shared before now, he highly doubted this would be the time it’d magically come out.

Hearing the story through their own voices was a whole hell of a lot more jarring than reading it in the file, however.

Emma took them through it. How Travis Berkley brought the entire house of girls into that basement, how he was charming and terrifying and told them that he’d let them go one by one . . . if they did exactly as he asked. It wasn’t until the night was over and no one had come to save them that the remaining girls realized what was happening, and even then, they were too afraid to try to overpower him.

Herd mentality. Travis had to have known he could manipulate the whole group as long as he got them scared and in a single place. They believed the pretty lie because the truth was impossible to wrap their minds around.

Emma’s voice shook. “There were still . . . ten of us left when I realized I wasn’t getting out of that house alive—that none of the girls had gotten out alive like he’d promised. When he took the next girl, I hid under the couch.”

“None of those girls saw you hide?” Clarke frowned. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I don’t know. I don’t . . .” She dropped her gaze as if she couldn’t bear to hold her head up any longer. “We were in shock at that point—just sitting there, lost in ourselves. We didn’t talk. We didn’t even look at each other. We just sat there and . . . contemplated the fact we were going to die. I don’t know if they even noticed I was gone. I hid until every single one of them was gone. And he just . . . walked out.”

“He came for me. I guess it was then.” Lei didn’t shrink in on herself. She seemed to grow taller, sit straighter. “I heard him removing the barricade and I panicked. After listening to that all night . . .” She shook her head. “I knew what would happen if he got back into my room, so I climbed out the window.”

Clarke went still. “I saw the list of your injuries. You had a broken arm, your knee was so fucking swollen you shouldn’t have been able to walk, and you had several head wounds and a handful of broken ribs on top of that. How the hell did you climb out a window?”

Lei shrugged on shoulder. “He would kill me if I didn’t. I figured falling to my death was preferable to letting Travis have me, so I took my chances.”

It was only sheer dumb luck that it was late enough in the morning that a student jogging past saw Lei. By the time he’d come back with help, Lei was unconscious in the flower bed and Travis was gone.

Dante sat back, going over the story again in his head. As he suspected, there was no new information, but they’d have been remiss if they didn’t go over it one more time. He exchanged a look with Clarke. The killings in Seattle held some key differences. He didn’t think any of the girls had willingly let the unsub in, and he had carved his message into their bodies when he was through.

A message that might or might not have been meant for Travis Berkley. Hard to believe that someone who’d gone through the trouble of researching the murders would get the killer’s name wrong, but the alternative was that the girls’ deaths were meant as tribute to someone else. Both possibilities stretched the realm of belief and didn’t make a damn bit of sense.

The tension in the room grew like it was a living thing, coiling and snapping between the four of them. Once Dante and Clarke left, things would move quickly. They had to talk to Berkley. They had to head back to Seattle to go over things again with Detective Smith and the ME. They had to track down this bastard before he continued with whatever plan he’d begun with those girls’ deaths.

Dante, at least, would have the comfort of motion to keep him distracted from the scenes that he’d witnessed. Lei and Emma wouldn’t have even that. He leaned forward, catching Lei’s attention. “We can assign a protection detail. I don’t think you’re in any immediate danger, but if it would help ease your mind, I’ll make some calls.”

Lei’s lips quirked up at the edges, but the smile never came close to reaching her eyes. “Dante—Agent Young—we were in immediate danger the second that asshole singled Travis out as someone he wanted to emulate. We’re more than capable of taking care of ourselves.”

Praise for The Hidden Sins Series

 “…a captivating read, made all the more rewarding when good triumphs.” —Washington Post on The Devil’s Daughter

 “Robert shows off her impressive versatility in this fast-paced and inventive new Hidden Sins series. The small-town setting is a masterful blend of quaint and oppressive, which ratchets the menace and thrill factor. The protagonists carry the full weight of their pasts with them, making their growing relationship as compelling as the mystery element in The Devil’s Daughter. With plenty of twists and betrayals, this is a book that is sure to earn Robert a wealth of new fans.” —RT Book Reviews on The Devil’s Daughter

 "Katee Robert has definitely picked up the romantic suspense genre and made it her bitch. I can’t wait to see what we get next. Given some of the books I see she’s been using for research, I know it’s going to be frightening and amazing at the same time." —Goodreads Review

“Every bit as complex as book one but with a totally different storyline, The Hunting Grounds once again proved Katee Robert is more than capable of spinning a thrilling romantic suspense tale that will keep readers on their toes.” —Harlequin Junkie on The Hunting Grounds (recommended read)

 “Filled with suspense and lot of unpredictable twists and turns…Gripping.” —Life at 17on The Hunting Grounds

 Other Books in the Hidden Sin Series

 THE DEVIL'S DAUGHTER

Get more information at:  Goodreads  | Amazon | Barnes & Noble

 THE HUNTING GROUNDS

Get more information at: Goodreads | Amazon | Barnes & Noble

  About Katee Robert

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Katee Robert learned to tell her stories at her grandpa’s knee. Her 2015 title, The Marriage Contract, was a RITA finalist, and RT Book Reviews named it 'a compulsively readable book with just the right amount of suspense and tension."  When not writing sexy contemporary and romantic suspense, she spends her time playing imaginary games with her children, driving her husband batty with what-if questions, and planning for the inevitable zombie apocalypse. 

Connect with Katee at: Website | Facebook | Twitter| GoodReads | Instagram

http://www.barclaypublicity.com/

[bookloversreviewer]

"Absolutely SWOON-WORTHY! Sweet and sexy and so romantic! Prepare to be swept away by Andrew and Grace!" - A.L. Jackson, New York Times bestselling author

Unexpectedly Yours, an all-new sizzling hot office romance from USA Today bestselling author Rebecca Shea, is available now!

One night of unbridled passion.

It was the only thing Andrew McPherson and Grace Morgan could afford.

Intense.

Sexy.

Unforgettable.

They promised they would never see each other again, but fate had other plans. Andrew’s entire life has been spent working toward one goal—to own the top advertising and public relations company in the world. He’s driven, ruthless when it comes to business, never letting anything stand in his way…until Grace.

Grace has worked hard to build her advertising career. She’s fiercely talented and dedicated to her clients. Grace has no interest in getting involved with a man when she knows her focus should be on her career and paying off her mounting debt.

Andrew knows better than to get involved with a woman who is completely off limits, but he never backs down from what he wants, and he won’t stop until Grace is his…only this might cost him more than he’s willing to give.

Download your copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

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Enter the giveaway for a Kindle Fire, Amazon gift card and signed paperbacks of Unexpectedly Yours, Fault Lines and Dare Me!

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Excerpt

There’s a loud knock on the conference room door that startles both Jamie and me. She jumps up and opens the door, just as Eddie pops his head inside.

“Sorry to interrupt, ladies,” he starts. “We have the conference room reserved for a client meeting in five minutes.”

I glance at my watch and see that it’s almost nine o’clock. Jamie and I have been in here for almost an hour.

“Shit,” I mumble, grabbing my empty coffee cup. “I have to get to work.”

“Me too,” says Jamie, following me from the conference room back toward our desks.

I stop abruptly, causing Jamie to run into my backside when I see Drew standing in my cube, staring out my window over a cloudy, rainy Manhattan. His hands are shoved into his pockets and his dress shirt is rolled up to his forearms. Tan, muscular arms stick out from under that crisp dress shirt. Even casual, he looks like the powerhouse CEO that he is. My heart rate kicks up a notch at the sight of him.

As Jamie nudges me forward, I clear my throat as I do my best to look unaffected by his presence.

“Mr. McPherson,” I acknowledge him, but don’t look at him. I slide into my desk chair and enter the password to my computer, bringing the screen back to life.

“Good morning,” he says from behind me and I still keep my eyes trained on my computer. “And good morning, Jamie,” he says, acknowledging her.

I glance up at Jamie and see her smile at him knowingly. Dammit, Jamie.

“Morning, Mr. McPherson. Busy weekend getting to know New York City?” she asks him with the kind of innocence only a skilled liar could pull off. I’m going to fucking kill her. I narrow my eyes at her and she winks at me.

I spin around in my chair to look at Drew, whose eyes jump back and forth between us, and I can see he’s picked up that I’ve filled her in. I hang my head in shame and shake my head.

“It was a wonderful weekend,” he tells her honestly.

“Do anything exciting?” she asks, her tone snarky and her questions intruding. “Or anyone?” she says under her breath and I choke.

“Are you okay?” Drew asks me.

“Fine,” I cough out, tossing a glare at Jamie, who giggles and slides into her desk chair. I pick up a pen off my desk and throw it at her. It hits her back. She bursts into laughter and Drew shakes his head in amusement at us.

He leans over my shoulder and whispers into my ear, “I missed you last night.” His warm breath causes me to shiver and catch my breath. “I didn’t like waking up and you not being there,” he continues, knowing the effect he has on me.

I shift in my chair and sit up straight, trying to drown out the throbbing that has started between my legs.

I spin slowly toward him and stop, his face mere inches from mine. “I slept remarkably well,” I tell him.

He smiles. “Liar.”

“I’m not lying,” I whisper.

“You are.” He brushes a knuckle over my top lip and my skin breaks out in goosebumps. “When you lie, your upper lip twitches.” Jesus Christ, this man has me all figured out.

I hold his gaze and my heart stammers in my chest. Looking at him, I can’t help but feel that I’ve missed him too.

“I’d like to meet with you later to go over a few things,” he says, standing up. “How does eleven thirty in my office sound?”

“Sounds fine,” I muster out.

“See you then, Gracie.”

Drew saunters out of my cube and down the hallway. I can’t help it as my eyes follow him as he walks through the rows of cubes until he reaches his office. I notice Jamie watching him too before she spins around in her chair and faces me.

“Holy fuck,” she hisses. “That man has it bad for you.” I look back at Drew’s office and watch the door close before I look at Jamie again.

“I know.” And sadly, I have it just as bad for him.

About Rebecca Shea

Rebecca Shea is the USA Today Bestselling author of the Unbreakable series (Unbreakable, Undone, and Unforgiven), the Bound & Broken series (Broken by Lies and Bound by Lies) and two stand alone novels, Dare Me and Fault Lines. She has also co-written two books with her friend, A.L. Jackson, The Hollywood Chronicles: One Wild Night and One Wild Ride

​

She lives in Phoenix, Arizona with her family. From the time Rebecca could read she has had a passion for books. Rebecca spends her days working full-time and her nights writing, bringing stories to life. Born and raised in Minnesota, Rebecca moved to Arizona in 1999 to escape the bitter winters.

When not working or writing, she can be found on the sidelines of her sons football games, or watching her daughter at ballet class. Rebecca is fueled by insane amounts of coffee, margaritas, Laffy Taffy (except the banana ones), and happily ever afters.

Connect with Rebecca

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Website: https://www.rebeccasheaauthor.com

[stopkingobama]

"People of the Lie" ~ When the end justifies the means, whatever it takes.

I’ve written about The Big Lie many times over the years, and it’s more in evidence today than ever before in our nation’s capital.  Shock and disgust over sexual harassment in government, Hollywood, and the corporate world is a Big Lie.  Tax reform is a Big lie.  Social Security is a Big Lie.  Global warming is a Big Lie.  Braying over the plight of so-called Dreamers is a Big Lie.  And, of course, any government solution to the healthcare crisis is a Big Lie.

The Big Lie is a tool used by high-level, professional liars, those who are so morally flawed that they are able to apply their craft with a straight face — as in, “I did not have sexual relations with that woman, Miss Lewinsky.”

These accomplished liars understand that the key to effectively utilizing The Big Lie is to refuse to give ground even when the facts threaten to expose you.  On the contrary, effective tellers of The Big Lie are masters at feigning indignation, adopting a sanctimonious posture, and quickly going on the offensive when challenged.

The most masterful perpetrators of The Big Lie are those who wear personality masks intended to deceive.  They are, in the words of M. Scott Peck, “People of the Lie.”

A few examples include:

Media personalities who posit themselves as professional commentators while relentlessly pushing their hate-inspired agendas. They are, in fact, People of the Lie.

Politicians who cast themselves as champions of “women’s rights,” defenders of the “middle class,” or protectors of “the poor” in an effort to win votes. They are, in fact, People of the Lie.

Those who justify the use of violence by claiming to be in hot pursuit of “social justice.” They are, in fact, People of the Lie.

Et al.

People of the Lie have always been with us and will continue to be with us so long as the human race exists.  They do and say whatever they believe is necessary to accomplish their ends, which almost always includes achieving power over others.  In fact, in most cases power is the end.  In his book 1984, George Orwell, through his character O’Brien, underscored this reality when he said:

Now tell me why we [the Party] cling to power?  What is our motive?  Why should we want power? … The Party seeks power entirely for its own sake.  We are not interested in the good of others; we are interested solely in power. … We know that no one ever seizes power with the intention of relinquishing it.  Power is not a means; it is an end. … The object of power is power.

It’s worth noting that power and force are not mutually exclusive ends, because a person can use his personal power to act either constructively or destructively, and the ultimate destructive use of power is force.  Force is the use of physical or intellectual power to compel or restrain, thus force robs other people of their power.

In bygone days, the civilized world did not hesitate to use overwhelming, retaliatory force to destroy People of the Lie who tried to establish power over massive numbers of people through the use of force.  Despots like Hitler and Mussolini were crushed without ceremony.  Nevertheless, it is obvious to all but the sleepwalkers among us that People of the Lie are in positions of power more than ever before and are taking ever-greater control of world events.

Sadly, this will not change any time soon.  You and I do not have the means to rid the world of lying tyrants, but we can control how People of the Lie affect us on a personal level by being vigilant, well informed, and willing to face up to the truth about who these people are when they cross our paths.

If it’s obvious that someone is wearing a psychic mask — i.e., trying to represent himself to be someone other than who he really is — it’s almost always a big mistake to try to convince yourself that it’s your imagination.  In my experience, when someone hisses like a snake and slithers like a snake, he always turns out to be a snake.

By all means, you should give family, friends, and seemingly well-meaning people who come into your life the benefit of the doubt.  But when it comes to those whom you suspect of being be People of the Lie, giving them the benefit of the doubt can be an invitation to a snakebite.

In other words, at the first sign of dishonesty, it’s wise to resist the temptation to be naïve.  Do you really believe the teller of The Big Lie is going to respond to your presentation of facts by saying, “Gee, I hadn’t really thought about it in that way before.  I guess I was wrong.”  Forget it.  People of the Lie actually thrive on telling The Big Lie; it’s what they live for.

What I’ve learned through all too much firsthand experience is that the most rationally selfish way to handle People of the Lie is to respond with my feet.  Plain and simple, you do not have an obligation to allow a person of questionable character to enter, or remain in, your life.

And what about People of the Lie who roam the halls of Congress?  While it may not be possible to completely extricate yourself from government busybodies who seek ever more control over your life, it is possible to lessen their control by making a conscious effort to steer clear of them.

How does one go about doing that?  First and foremost, by not looking to People of the Lie in Washington to solve his problems.  As recent events in the nation’s capital have clearly demonstrated, the freeloading charlatans in Washington cannot even solve their own problems.

That said, I would suggest it’s a good idea to keep in mind Ronald Reagan’s admonition that government is not the solution to our problem, but, rather, government is the problem.  Then, once this reality is firmly entrenched in your mind, the challenge is to plan your life accordingly.

+Robert Ringer is an American icon whose unique insights into life have helped millions of readers worldwide. He is also the author of two New York Times #1 bestselling books, both of which have been listed by The New York Times among the 15 best-selling motivational books of all time. Copyright 2017 Reproduced with permission from here. 

[anitabyars]

What happens when you meet the girl of your dreams and she lives halfway across the world?

Thinking About You, a standalone contemporary romance in the Forever Series by New York Times bestselling author Monica Murphy is live!

One minute I’m minding my own business at a party and the next I meet this woman who blows my mind. She’s beautiful. Smart. Funny. A little shy. I’m immediately drawn to her. We make an instant connection.

The problem?

Lady Susanna Sumner lives in London.

I live in California

I play professional football.

She works part-time at an art gallery and lives off her family’s money.

Her family is nobility. I come from a single mom who always scraped to get by.

Susanna and I should have nothing in common. But when we’re together, it’s…

Electric.

What are we supposed to do? Can we really make this work? I can’t give up my career. And I can’t ask her to move to California for me. All I know is, I want her in my life.

Desperately.

A standalone, contemporary romance

Download your copy today!

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Excerpt:

“I’m thinking about how beautiful you are,” I answer Susanna truthfully. She really is stunning, in that classic, elegant way some women are. She’s just very…refined? Is that the right word? Her cheekbones and jaw are sharp, her nose is straight, her blue eyes are extra bright and her full lips are the color of a classic red rose.

Her cheeks are the color of pink roses, thanks to the compliment I just gave her.

“Thank you. That’s very sweet of you to say,” she murmurs, casting her gaze downward for a brief moment before she lifts her head. “I can’t believe we’re here. Together.”

“Why do you say that?” I feel the same way, but want to hear her reasoning first before I make any confessions.

“You’re not my type,” she blurts, covering her mouth after the words escape for a brief moment before slowly dropping her hand. “Not that there’s anything wrong with you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Gee, thanks.”

Her cheeks turn redder. “Oh goodness, I’m not trying to insult you, I just—I’m making a mess of this, and I apologize. What I meant to say is…” She takes a deep breath, exhaling loudly before she continues. “You’re not the type of man I normally date, but there’s something good to be said in that.”

She’s not the type I normally go for either, that’s for damn sure. She’s too prim, too proper, too sweet. “Like what?”

“There’s nothing wrong with trying something a little different sometimes. Clearly who I’ve been dating in the past hasn’t worked, since I’m still single,” she says with a self-depreciating laugh.

“I thought Dickie was your ex-boyfriend,” I point out with a wince. That is the damn worst name on the planet, I swear.

“Oh, it was never too serious with Dickie.” She waves a hand. Laughs again. “That was a long time ago, though.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know. Six months? Nine?” She tilts her head, as if she’s quietly counting back the months. “Eight months, actually. During the winter. He told me I was a bright light on a cold, dreary day once. That was nice.”

For some godforsaken reason, jealousy rises within me, making me clench my fists in my lap. “I guess he’s a goddamned poet.”

I would never think to say something like that to a woman. I’m not one to say a bunch of flowery nonsense to get between a woman’s legs. I’m a little more direct.

She seems startled by my response. “Oh, he wasn’t a poet. Not at all. That was probably the nicest thing he ever said to me while we dated.”

Huh. Well, I guess that makes me feel a little better, but not much.

And why the hell do I care what her ex-boyfriend said to her? This is a one-shot deal. I’ll take her to dinner, hopefully kiss her a little bit in the back of an Uber, maybe even feel her up a little bit too, and then we’re done. I’ll play my game tomorrow, we’ll win because that’s what we do, and then head back home.

End of story.

The server returns to the table with our drinks, making an elaborate show of popping the cork on the bottle of Veuve Clicquot before pouring us each a glass. I didn’t want any champagne, but when Susanna lifts her glass toward me in a toast, I grab mine and clink our glasses together.

“To new friends,” she says, smiling prettily.

“New friends,” I agree, downing most of the champagne in one swallow.

About Monica:

Monica Murphy is the New York Times, USA Today and #1 international bestselling author of the One Week Girlfriend series, the Billionaire Bachelors and The Rules series. Her books have been translated in almost a dozen languages and has sold over one million copies worldwide. She is both self-published and published by Random House/Bantam and Harper Collins/Avon. She writes new adult, young adult and contemporary romance.

She is a wife and a mother of three who lives in central California on fourteen acres in the middle of nowhere along with their one dog and too many cats. A self-confessed workaholic, when she's not writing, she's reading or hanging out with her husband and kids. She's a firm believer in happy endings, though she will admit to putting her characters through angst-filled moments before they finally get that hard won HEA.

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