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Try on for size? Book Blitz

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How Not to Fake Marry a Billionaire by @ashlee_mallory is book 2 in the How Not to Marry a Billionaire series and it’s out NOW! Get your copy today ➞ https://amzn.to/3vUV9nc⁣

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Excerpt

“Excuse me, but I’m looking for Holly Mazinski,” said someone with a distinctively British accent.

I whirled around and stared at the guy standing in the door, looking all tall and dignified and sexy—yes, definitely sexy. I blinked my eyes as if to clear them from this possible apparition. Could Colin Fitzgerald actually be standing in the doorway of my office here in Tucson? Jane’s Colin, who she’d dated as part of her operation to marry a billionaire that ended with his proposal—that’s right, for marriage—and her ultimate rejection? Twice?

As I pondered this, Colin’s gaze swept the room. When he saw me, his mouth curved into a smile that made my stomach feel like a dozen circus monkeys were flipping somersaults inside.

Yeah, so I kind of liked him. A lot.

“Holly. There you are.”

I sat frozen in my seat as he walked into the room. Our prior two meetings in Hawaii—once when he came to pick Jane up for a date and the other when I had a sort of weird double date with him, Jane, and Jane’s bartender—had both left me tongue-tied in his presence.

“Colin. Hi,” I croaked out.

It was safe to say that today was not going to be any different.

He stood in front of me, close enough that I could see the warmth in those lovely light blue eyes made lighter by the sky-blue sweater he wore. He’d had a haircut since I last saw him, shorter on the sides but a bit messy on top and swept over in a casual but sexy style. His jawline had a hint of stubble that hadn’t erased the slight indent in his chin or the perfection of those lips that any Italian artist worth his salt would beg to chisel onto a sculpture of a god.

I looked away to get my bearings, settling on the breadth of his shoulders—which might have been a mistake.

“Are you going to introduce us to your guest, Holly?” Katrina asked, poking me in the side.

Right. Introductions. “Colin, this is Katrina.”

“How do you do?” Colin said in his delectable accent and nodded in greeting.

“And that’s Remy and Julia,” I continued while each of them waved in greeting. I stopped when I reached George and Camella. George had a funny look on his face as he stepped forward and held his hand out to Colin. “George McConnell. And this is my fiancée, Camella Franklin.”

Colin turned to me and I saw a wave of understanding cross his face as he met my gaze. He’d been there in Hawaii after I heard the news of their engagement and knew how devastated I’d been.

With barely more than a nod to George, Colin trained his attention on me. “I’m terribly sorry to bother you while you’re at work, but I thought that our discussion might better be handled in person.” He checked his very expensive-looking watch. “It’s almost lunchtime. Would you care to grab something to eat?”

I blinked a few more times before Katrina jabbed me again. “Lunch? Yes, I could probably get away for a few minutes.”

“Excellent.”

I was still confused about why he would have come all the way here to seek me out. I knew that he’d arrived at Jane’s office in Legal Aid last week and renewed his marriage proposal and been shot down. I had assumed that he would have returned to England by now or wherever he usually did whatever work a billionaire did. Unlike Jane, I didn’t know much about this particular handsome billionaire and hadn’t seen any reason to, other than…

A new possibility hit me. Could he be here to discuss the email? I’d sent it last week and hadn’t heard a word since.

Well, I could sit here for another five minutes ruminating on the reason or just get my butt out of the chair and follow him.

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Author Bio

Ashlee Mallory is a USA Today Bestselling author of contemporary romance, romantic suspense, and thrillers. She currently resides in Utah with her husband and two kids. She aspires to one day include running, hiking and traveling to exotic destinations in her list of things she enjoys, but currently settles for enjoying a good book and a glass of wine from the comfort of her couch.

Keep up with all upcoming releases by following me here, or joining my Newsletter at http://bit.ly/1lPwwE3 for updates and giveaways!


Author links:

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https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7912393.Ashlee_Mallory

https://www.ashleemallory.com/

https://www.facebook.com/AshleeMalloryAuthor/

https://www.instagram.com/ashlee_mallory/

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Date? Not Me: Book Blitz

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Excerpt:

Matt could tell she’d keep filling the silence with rambling unless he stopped her. Did he make her nervous? Or was she just second-guessing one of the nicest freaking things that anyone had ever done for him?

He put a hand on her upper arm. Tried with all his might to keep it more of a casual tap, and not let it turn into a squeeze or caress. “Sorry. You caught me off guard. I didn’t know what to say. ‘Thank you’ isn’t enough. This is all way beyond thoughtful.”

Her cheeks pinked up. The flush was adorable.

It made him wonder what else could make her flush like that. And then Matt cursed his one-track mind.

“Oh, it was no big deal.” Everleigh shrugged both shoulders.

No. He couldn’t let her dismiss such a meaningful gesture. Or not understand what an impact it’d made on him.

So Matt stroked his hand up to her shoulder. Did the same on the other side, as well, to prevent her from another shrug. And if his thumbs made contact with creamy skin due to the wide neck of her tee, well, he didn’t regret it.

“Stop. It was unnecessary. Took time and effort from your packed day. It was considerate. And I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate it. You made me feel like this really is a place I belong. That’s exactly what I need right now. Somewhere I can feel anchored.”

“Well, good. I’m relieved. I just wish there was more I could do.” Everleigh licked her lips. “To make you comfortable.”

Matt was a lot of things. A police officer. Lieutenant Commander in the Coast Guard Reserve. Son. Boss. Friend.

But he wasn’t a saint.

It had been a hell of a rough week. And it was only Wednesday. A drop-dead gorgeous woman was at 11 out of 10 on the flirt scale. If Everleigh wanted to make him feel better, what kind of a chump would he be to resist?

“Oh, I’m plenty comfortable.” Matt moved his hands up the sides of her neck until they framed her heart-shaped face. “Let’s see if the two of us can move that needle up to something way better than comfortable. For both of us.”

It wasn’t as far down to her lips as expected, because Everleigh stood on tiptoe to meet him halfway. This was no tentative first peck. No cautious easing into things.

Matt knew what he wanted. And Everleigh seemed just as eager.

They skipped over all the first kiss slowness. They skipped about five minutes ahead. Matt took her mouth like it was already his. Because she offered it so willingly. Because she molded her tight, lithe body against his.

Everleigh tasted faintly of…strawberry ice cream. And an inherent sweetness that was all her. There was warmth. Pliable softness, yet also a firmness as she returned his kiss. Equal want, equal giving. Which made it the perfect kiss.

They were swaying in tandem, almost like an unheard melody played. Or maybe it was just their pulses syncing up.

Matt tilted her head to the side a bit more. Then he unleashed the desire he’d been working so hard to ignore since their first meeting.

His tongue swept into her mouth. Immediately, hers danced and twined around his. Teasing, just like Everleigh herself. Fun, sweet, but with a backdraft of heat. Like one of those jalapeño margaritas with a kick that made you crave more.

Matt wanted so much more.

Author Bio

USA TODAY bestseller Christi Barth earned a Masters degree in vocal performance and embarked upon a career on the stage. A love of romance then drew her to wedding planning. Ultimately she succumbed to her lifelong love of books and now writes contemporary romance. Christi lives in Maryland with her husband.

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Author links:

http://www.christibarth.com/

https://www.facebook.com/christibarthauthor

https://www.instagram.com/christibarth/

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3272041.Christi_Barth

https://www.pinterest.ca/christibarth/

https://www.christibarth.com/home/newsletter/

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And the snake rattles?

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(Due to serious subject matter and mature content, please be aware that this book might be an emotional trigger for some readers.)

Excerpt

Wiping the motor oil from his hands, the mechanic looked over my shoulder to the BMW in the parking lot, then refocused on me. “You lost?”

Lost? The man had no idea.

“My car is smoking.”

The corner of his lip quirked. Something about me amused him.

“In that case, let me grab a beer and switch over to Marley.”

I rolled my eyes. My time, and patience, with this small-town country-boy was rapidly waning. “I meant—the hood is smoking. Under it, the engine, whatever, and trust me, I’m not laughing about it.”

“No, I can see that. Did you hit something? Run over anything?”

“Aside from the handful of potholes in this Godforsaken road?” I gestured past the trees to the red dirt road.

“Where exactly?”

“The middle.”

“Where in the middle of the road?”

“I don’t know.”

“What were you doing down Rattlesnake Road?”

“Driving.”

“Ma’am, I can do this all day.” Unfazed by my impatience, the man sauntered over to a rolling toolbox and picked up a Coke. Sniffing at it, he scowled and set it aside—but not in the trash can. He picked up another and sniffed with the same result. Then he grabbed a bottle of water, opened it, and chugged.

“Home.” I fisted my hands on my hips, annoyed with not only his aloofness, but also how unaffected he was by me. “I was driving home.”

The man lowered the bottle from his lips. It was the first time I saw a flicker of something other than amusement behind his blue eyes. “You live down Rattlesnake Road?”

“Yes.”

“Since when?”

“Since not long ago.”

“Alone?”

“I’m not sure that’s your business. Can you help me or not? This is a mechanic shop, right?”

He gestured to the dismantled cars.

“Then why don’t you have a sign out front?” Careful not to bring attention to my foot that was still stuck to the cement floor, I curled my toe around the thong of my flip-flop and tried to lift it from whatever the hell had stuck it in place. No luck.

“Don’t need a sign.”

“All businesses need signs. People don’t realize it’s a mechanic shop.”

“You did.”

“What’s your name?”

“Declan. What’s yours?”

“Are you a mechanic?”

“Where are you from?”

“What does that matter?” I asked. “You gouge prices on tourists?”

He took another sip of water, eyeing me over the rim. A thin trail trickled from his chin, wetting his T-shirt. He didn’t bother wiping it.

“How do you know I’m not from around here?” I asked.

“Because a local would’ve already unwedged themselves from the gum that’s got you stuck in place.”

“This is no ordinary gum.”

“You’re right. It’s watermelon Bubblicious.”

“I didn’t know six-year-olds worked on cars.”

He grinned. “You’re a Yankee, aren’t you?”

“As much as I’m enjoying this little tit-for-tat, can you help me or not?”

“I don’t know.” Declan downed the rest of his water, then tossed the plastic bottle into an overflowing recycle bin in the corner. “Oil leak, yep, I can fix, but it depends on what else I find under that hood.”

“Look now.”

His eyes narrowed with the first sign of disapproval of my attitude. He picked up a towel and wiped his hands, then grabbed a handful of paper towels from a roll sitting next to a tin cup oozing with something. He strode toward me, his gaze on mine.

The man truly was massive. My instinct was to back up, but thanks to the damn gum, I was stuck in place. My stomach tickled as he knelt at my feet. A waft of air enveloped me, scented with fresh soap and that musky scent of man, with a motor oil finish.

The tickle turned to butterflies.

A strong grip slipped my ankle from my shoe, sending a wave of tingles over my skin. After sliding the paper towel under the shoe, Declan pried my flip-flop from the floor, then twisted the gum and rolled it into the paper towel.

As I balanced on one foot, he carried the shoe to one of the many sinks and dabbed a towel in something that resembled nuclear waste. After a few scrapes of the bottom of my shoe, he returned, kneeling again to grab my ankle and slip my gum-free flip-flop back onto my foot.

I felt like a redneck Cinderella.

Heat mixed with the tingles this time—followed by total humiliation when I remembered I hadn’t shaved my legs in a week.

“My, uh, razor’s . . . broken.”

He pushed to his feet. “I’ve got a bush hog out back.”

My jaw dropped.

He grinned widely. “All right. Let’s have a look-see at this smoking silver car of yours.”

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

Winking, Declan strode past me and I got the feeling I’d just met my match.

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Oh please! Blitz

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Excerpt 1

“You looked so sexy in those wellies,” he murmurs, referring to my rubber boots. “Do you think I could get a private viewing of you in those and…let’s say nothing else?”

“Nothing else? Sebastian Huntington-Ross, I am deeply outraged.”

“Are you now?” he asks with a laugh that rumbles through me.

“I didn’t know you’ve got a thing for gardeners.”

“Actually,” he says with another kiss that has my head spinning, “I’ve got a thing for my hot Texan wife.”

“I’m guessing you’ll want me to team a ten-gallon hat with those wellies, huh?”

“Now we’re talking.”

As he reaches under my top and slides his hands up my bare back, sending a jolt of anticipation through me, I hear the creak of the door and look up in surprise to see not only Sebastian’s mom, but his granny with disapproving look on her lined face.

Not that this is anything new. The day that woman gives me a look that’s not disapproving I think I might faint from shock.

I instantly dismount Sebastian and readjust my top in an attempt not to appear as though we were about to engage in, well, marital activity. We might be a newly married couple who do what newly married couples do, but getting caught out by my mother-in-law and judgmental grandmother-in-law still puts a halt to proceedings pretty quick. As you would expect.

“Mother, Granny,” Sebastian says in a surprisingly steady voice as he rises to his feet. I’ve had to get used to that here. Sebastian always stands whenever his mom or grandmother enter a room. It’s super formal and weird to me. Where I’m from, you only got up to go fetch another Coke.

“Don’t let us interrupt, you two,” Jemima trills in an unnaturally high voice. She must be feeling about as comfortable as I am right now. “Come, Geraldine. Let’s, err…go for a stroll in the garden.”

Geraldine scoffs. “Jemima, it’s after nine at night and it’s raining cats and dogs out there. Have you gone completely mad?” She clunks her way across the room with the aid of her cane and sits down carefully on one of the seats facing us. “It’s fortuitous that we found you in such a position.”

I blink at her in disbelief. It is?

Jemima is still hovering by the door, clearly uncomfortable. “What about the library, Geraldine? There’s a book collection I thought you might be interested in. I only came across it a few weeks ago, and I think you’ll find it quite fascinating. It’s about the history of bridges in the British Isles, which is a thoroughly enthralling topic—”

“Oh, Jemima,” she scolds. “I haven’t got the least interest in bridges. Take a seat, will you?”

“But—”

“Now.”

Defeated, Jemima replies, “All right.” She slinks into another one of the armchairs and shoots us an apologetic smile.

“We thought you were both out for the evening,” Sebastian begins.

“We’re back,” Geraldine replies, pointing out the obvious.

“How are you this evening, ma’am?” I say to Geraldine as she steadily lowers herself into a seat by the fire with the aid of her cane. It has a brass handle in the shape of a wolf, which appropriately casts her as a Bond villain. All that’s missing is the hairless cat.

“I’ve told you before, Emma. In England ‘ma’am’ is what we call the Queen. Please remember to call me ‘Granny’ now that you’re family. You’re no longer on your Texas ranch here.”

I open my mouth to reply and shut it again. Having grown up in a modest house in inner-city Houston, the only time I’ve been on a Texas ranch was when I was filming Dating Mr. Darcy. “I forgot…Granny. Habit, I guess. You can take the girl out of Texas, as they say.”

Geraldine purses her lips in obvious distaste. “Quite. Now. I have something I must say to you both.”

Must she?

“It’s gratifying to see you’re still engaging in what is characteristically considered the honeymoon phase of a marriage.”

Sebastian’s eyes find mine briefly before he replies, “Thank you?” Because what do you say to that? Yes, we’re at it whenever we get the chance. Can’t get enough of it, actually. We’re at it like the proverbial rabbits. Our room, the living room, the garden, even your room when you’re out at the opera (okay, we’ve never actually done it in Geraldine’s room, and nor do we plan to, but you get the picture).

She steeples her fingers, fixing us with her glare. “An heir. That’s what we need.”

“An heir?” I swallow. She’s already made it abundantly clear that as Lady Martinston, it’s my duty to provide the family with the next generation. The first time she mentioned it, in fact, we’d literally been married less than three minutes. You’ve got to admire the old girl’s tenacity, I guess.

“Yes,” she snaps, “an heir. How often are you engaging in marital relations?”

“Mummy, I hardly think—” Jemima protests as Sebastian’s eyes widen at me.

“Let them answer, Jemima,” she quips. “It’s been a year and still not even a sign. You’re not getting any younger, you know, Emma. I’m certain your fertility has already begun to wane. When I was your age, I’d finished having my children.”

I offer her a weak smile. That was because it was the 1800s and there was no TV.

“Granny, we haven’t even had that conversation yet,” Sebastian says. “Give us a chance, please.”

“What’s the delay? You’re clearly raring to go if that little display earlier is anything to go by. Make it mean something, my dear boy.”

I suck in air, every part of me cringing. The mood has gone from sexy rubber boot fun to creating an “heir” in two minutes flat.

Could this get any more awkward?

“Thank you for your concern, Granny, but when Emma and I decide we’re ready to start a family, we will be sure not to tell you until we actually have something to tell you.”

“Does that mean you’re already trying?” Jemima asks, a healthy dollop of hope in her voice. “Because we can leave right now and let you get on with it if you like.”

Oh, no. Awkward!

Jemima rises to her feet. “Can’t we, Geraldine?”

“I suppose,” Geraldine grumps.

I squeeze my eyes shut, fantasizing that I’m not in the living room with my mother- and grandmother-in-law, my clothes and hair disheveled next to my husband as they discuss our sex life.

“Good-bye, you two,” Sebastian says with a tone of finality in his voice.

Jemima bustles over to the door, clearly keen to get far away from this whole thing as quickly as possible, while Geraldine rises from her seat onto her creaky bones as though she’s an arthritic sloth in no hurry to get anywhere.

It takes forever, stretching the awkwardness out to a breaking point.

Eventually, she reaches the door and turns back to us. “Missionary position. That’s the best for procreation. That’s all your grandfather and I ever did, and we had all the children we wanted.”

Why did she have to put that image into my head. Why?

“Good-bye, Granny,” Sebastian says firmly, and thankfully, she leaves the room, closing the door after her.

Alone once more in the cavernous room, we catch one another’s eyes and instantly dissolve into peals of embarrassed laughter. Catching his breath, Sebastian says, “I’m so sorry about that, Brady. The word awkward doesn’t even begin to describe that exchange.”

“Missionary position?”

Sebastian’s shoulders shake as he laughs. “Granny can be very direct when she wants to be.”

I think of the way in which she announced that I wasn’t good enough for her grandson and that I would be doing everyone a big favor if I just simply disappeared. “Ah, yes. That’s very true.”

He laces his fingers in mine and claims my lips with a kiss. “Brady, I have an idea. How about we grab those wellies of yours and head up to our bedroom away from any prying eyes.”

“And lock the door?” I ask.

His eyes sparkle as his face pulls into his sexy grin. “Lock it, bolt it, and hide the key.”

AUTHOR BIO:

Visit kateokeeffe.com and sign up to her newsletter so you never miss out on new releases and great book deals again! Follow her on Bookbub to learn about deals on her books. Just cut and paste this link into your browser: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/kate-o-keeffe

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Kate O’Keeffe is a bestselling author of fun, feel-good romantic comedies. She lives and loves in beautiful Hawke’s Bay, New Zealand with her family, two scruffy dogs, and a cat who thinks he’s a scruffy dog too. He’s not: he’s a cat. When she’s not penning her latest story, Kate can be found hiking up hills (slowly), traveling to different countries, and eating chocolate. A lot of it.

Visit kateokeeffe.com to sign up to her newsletter to keep up to date on new releases, great deals on books, and more.

Author links:

http://kateokeeffe.com/

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https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8195990.Kate_O_Keeffe

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And when you text:

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Ben

Once I’m dragged off into the Green Room with all the gorgeous women, I sneak a peek at myself in one of the full-length mirrors propped against the wall. Who am I? And where is astrophysicist Ben Williams under all that hair gel and bronzer? This is going to be the single most humiliating experience of my life. Not only am I dressed like a banana for his first day of school, my manhood is on display like it’s about to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. How is anyone going to take me seriously? 

They won’t. That’s how. 

Not to mention, everyone I know, including my co-workers, will be watching. NOOOO!!! I have to stop this. Panic starts to build inside of me until my chest cavity feels like it’s about to explode.  

The bossy woman who made me take my underwear off loudly declares, “You all look great! This is going to be an amazing show!”

I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I don’t have time to ask because someone else comes in and says, “You’re on next. Follow me.”

I tug at these ridiculous pants in hopes they’ll magically grow three sizes and turn black. Or a nice brown, even. That would be good too. Although I don’t know if brown would go with this awful green vest. 

Oh, for pity’s sake, Ben, it doesn’t matter! Your pants aren’t going to change color so forget it. Unless …what if I change into normal pants? Yes, that’s the answer. As we march down the hall and pass my dressing room, I decide I’m going to put on my own clothes no matter what anyone says. As I open the door to dressing room three, I hear Serafina demand, “Where are you going?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she takes my hand and leads me to the third spot in line. “There. You’re right behind our Taurus.” 

Grinning broadly, she says, “Okay, everyone, you look fabulous. Just get out there and strut your fine selves.” 

Strut my fine self? What in the world is she talking about?

“Listen, I-I think there’s been a mistake,” I call out to her.

“I know, the pants aren’t exactly the right fit, but you can really get away with it, trust me.” She boldly winks which causes me even more distress. 

“No, not that …”

That Justin intern rushes over and says, “Ms. Lopez, you’re on!”

I try to get his attention, but he disappears, leaving me with no one to ask for help. I wait for what feels like forever, but I’m sure is only a couple of minutes, before Justin comes back and starts to lead us backstage. “When I point to you, walk onto the stage, turn left at the X, strut down the catwalk toward the studio audience. Pause for a count of two, then spin back around and go out the other way.”

He points to the woman in front of me. As she goes, I watch her carefully, trying to memorize what she’s doing. Okay, that doesn’t look so hard. It’s just walking, right? I can walk. Do they introduce all of their guests like this? My confusion equals my horror. I should have watched an episode of this show, so I knew what I was getting into.

When the woman turns back my way, she’s not smiling. Are we not supposed to smile? Do we pout? Yes, pouting seems right. How do you pout? 

Turning to the woman behind me, I say, “Does this look right?” then I push my lips out and try to look like I’m really angry about something. Which is actually true because I’m going to lose it on Dev when I see him. 

She wrinkles up her nose and answers, “You look like you’re trying to poop.”

Well, that was rude. I’m trying to learn. I give her a glare and she snaps her fingers. “Perfect! Now you’ve got some serious smolder going on.”

“Gemini Guy! Gemini Guy!” Justin whisper-yells. 

I spin around, realizing he means me. He points to the stage wearing a completely disgusted look. As I walk by, I hear him say something about models with rocks for brains into his headset. Models? I’m not a model.

My heart is thumping like a rabbit surrounded by a pack of bears as I walk, trying to keep time with the music which is some airy-fairy crap that doesn’t even have a beat. That bossy Serafina person is sitting on a chair next to the show’s hosts talking … about me … it turns out. 

“Geminis absolutely love to be the center of attention, almost to a fault. They’re known to be intelligent, passionate, fun, but also sometimes unreliable and are even called flighty.”

I keep walking toward center stage while I glare at her, causing me to miss the big X on the floor. 

“As you can see, our model truly is a flighty Gemini. He just missed his mark.” 

I hate this woman. I hate her with every cell of my being.

Hal lets out a laugh. “Other way, buddy!”

“Wow, those are some tight pants!” Lacey inserts. “I can see his center of attention!”

The audience laughs as I scramble to find the damn X. It’s actually quite large and is in bright green tape, so it’s pretty hard to miss. I stalk down the catwalk feeling like a piece of poorly-dressed meat. The audience—mainly older women—start to hoot and whistle and, I swear to God, one woman is waving a five-dollar bill at me. 

How the hell did I end up here? I have my PhD. I work for NASA.

I head back toward the hosts while that awful Serafina woman talks about astrology. I’m so busy trying to make sure I land on the X this time I almost don’t hear Hal say, “Geminis really must be flighty because our other guest, Dr. Ben Williams, didn’t bother to show up for Star Day. I understand he’s a Gemini as well.”

I stop in my tracks and stare at him, sweat trickling down my back. 

Hal looks at me while making a scooting gesture with his hands. “You can go now.”

Astrology girl gives me an urgent head nod toward the exit. Now is my only chance to fix what has gone terribly, terribly wrong. “I’m Ben Williams.”

All three of them stare at me like I’ve just said I’m from planet Zorbits. Lacey gives me a sympathetic look, as though she feels so bad for the male model who’s so dumb he doesn’t know his own name. “Um, no. Ben Williams is a rocket scientist. You’re a model.” She says this slowly like it’s the only way I’ll be able to understand her. 

I wait while the audience has a good laugh at my expense while ignoring Justin and some other woman with a headset who are frantically waving at me. “I’m not a rocket scientist.”

Giving me a condescending look, Hal says, “We know you’re not, buddy. But you’re still special, okay? Now, off you go!”

The fashion show music stops, and the audience becomes so still you’d think they were waiting for me to perform a magic show. Off to the side, I see two security guards at the ready. I swallow hard, then keep going. “There’s no such thing as a rocket scientist,” I say. “What you’re thinking of is actually called an aeronautical engineer or an astronautical engineer. Rocket scientist is a dumbed down word for the job.” 

“Wow,” Lacey says, blinking at me. “You know a lot about rocket science.”

I shut my eyes at her inane statement, then open them and say, “That’s because I’m an astrophysicist.” 

The astrology “expert” (and I’m using that term lightly) seems to be the first one of the three geniuses to figure out who I am. “Wait, if you’re Dr. Williams, why are you masquerading as a male model?”

***************************

Serafina

“What did you do with my model?” I hiss at Ben Williams as soon as he’s seated next to me.

He rolls his eyes. “Obviously I murdered him and stuffed his body in the closet so I could make my lifelong dream of coming on national television as a complete ass come true.”

Before I can slay him with a witty comeback, Lacey waves her hands frantically to shut me up. Then she turns to the camera and gushes, “Welcome back to Wake Up America! In case you’re just joining us, we have astrophysicist Dr. Ben Williams on today, here to talk about NASA’s Earth Two project. But before we get to Dr. Williams, Serafina Lopez, creator of the smashing Live for Your Star Sign app, is going to give us a fashion-forward look for your star sign.”

Hal continues, “We had a surprise model in the form of Dr. Williams here. Tell us, Ben, are you really a Gemini?”

“I have no idea.”

“According to our research, you are,” Lacey hurries to say. “You’d think you’d know that, being a rocket scientist and all.” 

Dr. Grumpy Pants pauses, then slowly explains, “Science is the systematic, logical, and relentless pursuit of knowledge to help us better understand the universe and all things in it. Astrology is the pursuit of unsuspecting people’s money through trickery, predictions so vague they could apply to anyone in any given location, and blatant insensitivity to empirical evidence.” He glances at me, then turns back to Lacey. “For you to presume I should possess the knowledge of which utterly irrelevant category I land in based on my date of birth is about as useful as knowing which house I’d fit into at Hogwarts. It’s meaningless. It’s nothing more than a party game.”

“A party game?” I blurt out. “I’ll have you know that the practical use of astrology dates back to the third millennium BC. It is rooted in the calendrical system as a predictor of seasonal shifts and even helped drive the development of modern-day astronomy.”

“Please, that’s like saying the first grunt from an Australopithecus is responsible for modern literature.”

“Australo-what-a-cus?” Hal asks, hamming it up for the audience.

“Australopithecus—the first ancestor of man.”

I jump in, righteous indignation bubbling in my chest. “I would argue that the first grunt from an Australopithecus is the origin of modern literature and speech.”

“You’d be wrong. Just because ancient astrologers looked into the sky, doesn’t mean they had the first clue what they were seeing.” He gives me a satisfied smile that I’m tempted to slap off his face. Then, turning away from me as if I’ve been dismissed, he leans closer to Lacey. He smiles at her and shrugs his eyebrows in a sleazy fashion. “What’s your sign? Can I buy you a drink?”

Lacey doesn’t seem to gather that he’s being facetious because she winks back and answers, “How about if you take me for a ride on your rocket ship?”

“Okay, there, Lacey,” Hal laughs nervously. “We don’t want to get sued for sexual harassment.”

“Then Dr. Ben shouldn’t have worn those pants,” Lacey says.

The audience laughs appreciatively, and one woman even calls out, “Stand up and show us your rocket ship again!” This of course leads to more hilarity. 

Dr. Jerkface grins, before instructing, “Eyes up here, ladies.”

Oh great, now they’ve burst into applause and are hooting. How did this become the Dr. Ben show? I need to take back control of this segment before I lose the viewers’ interest in my app. So, I do the only thing I can think of. I stand up to draw attention to myself and loudly say, “If you’ll start the music again, I’d like to introduce Cancer!”

The mystical flute soundtrack I chose for this segment starts to play as a forty-something model with long silver hair and rose-colored sunglasses sashays out. She’s wearing a flowing batik-patterned summer dress, “Our celestial hippy chick likes to be comfortable while showcasing her innate psychic abilities. Just don’t cross her or she might pinch you like the crab from her astrological symbol.”

Lacey gushes, “I would so wear that dress! I love how you paired it with sandals that lace up the calves. Really chic.”

“Cancer thrives while displaying their carefree fashion sense,” I tell her brightly.

“No, they don’t,” Dr. Jerky McIHateHimFace mutters. “Because that’s not a thing.”

“Yeah, it is,” I tell him as my Cancer model finishes her walk. When she’s offstage, I announce, “Leo is the royalty of the zodiac.” My model is in her twenties, and she has bright orange curls that are slightly teased around her head like a lion’s mane. She’s wearing a gold lamé evening gown that only has one strap, the other shoulder is completely bare. “Leos love to strut their stuff, so if this is your star sign, going bold with your fashion is going to help bring you to your best life.”

“I doubt that very much,” Dr. Ben grumbles. “I can tell you for a fact I wouldn’t be living my best life in these ridiculous banana pants.”

When my Leo model reaches the end of the catwalk and walks back toward us, Hal growls like a lion while gesturing with his hands like he’s the aforementioned cat about to pounce. “Rooooooar! I like that one. She looks like a queen!”

“Who’s getting sued for sexual harassment now?” Lacey seemingly jokes. I say seemingly because I don’t think Hal and Lacey actually like each other. I’m guessing a good deal of their success as a hosting duo is based on discord as it keeps everyone on their toes. Even so, I would absolutely hate to work with someone I couldn’t stand on a regular basis. Talk about upsetting my sense of balance.

******************************

Serafina

Standing in the wings of the Wake Up America! set, I listen while Hal says, “When we come back from commercial break, Serafina and Ben will tell us all about their trip to the Kennedy Space Center!” The live audience claps like they’ve just been promised a brand-new Buick, Oprah-style.

As soon as I hear, “We’re in commercial.” I hurry out on set and sit down. There are four chairs instead of two, which is the tip-off that Hal and Lacey are going to be sitting in. 

As Ben takes the seat opposite mine, I whisper to Lacey, “I didn’t think you guys were going to be sitting in on our segments anymore.”

“Just this once. The producer said something about having concerns about you and Ben?”

“What concerns?” I demand. So help me, if Ben ruins this publicity opportunity for me, I’m going to send daily glitter bombs. Speaking of which, I can’t help but smile when I see some shiny flecks coming from his hairline. Looks like my first offering has already arrived. 

“We’re back in five, four, three …” someone off set counts.

“Welcome back to Wake Up America!” Lacey practically shouts. “Serafina and Ben are back from their trip to Cape Canaveral, and they have a lot to tell us. Isn’t that right, Ben?”

“Sure,” Ben says but doesn’t offer anything more. 

“Tell us about it,” Hal encourages.

“It was hot.” Ben looks beyond annoyed.

I decide to do my part to keep the conversation rolling. “As you know, Hal and Lacey, Florida is a steamer this time of year, but the Space Center didn’t fail to deliver its one-of-a-kind, out-of-this-world excitement.”

They both turn to me while Ben stares daggers at me. I continue, “I, for one, have been there no fewer than a half a dozen times and I can’t get enough.”

“What do you like about it most?” Hal asks.

“When you see all of those rockets and shuttles and realize they’ve all been to outer space, it’s, well, it’s just awe-inspiring.” I’m playing my part of the happiest woman on the planet. My face is so frozen into place, my cheeks are starting to cramp.

“I think something else happened in Florida too, am I right?” Lacey asks with a secretive smile on her face.

Damn, I thought Waltraut was going to tell the producers the kiss tape was off limits. I decide to play dumb on the off chance she’s talking about something else. “What are you referring to, Lacey?” Then I shoot her a panicky look that doubles as a plea not to do her job and show the tape of our kissing. 

Ben seems to finally clue into what’s about to go down, because he jumps to his feet and starts to babble, “I’d like to take a moment and tell our viewers about the fantastic opportunity to send their kids to space camp. The program includes a full week of space activities, like the anti-gravity simulator. All meals and snacks, and even a graduation ceremony and certificate, are provided at no additional cost!” He sounds like he’s trying to sell blenders on late night television.

Hal interrupts him, “I hear you two got to actually suit up and visit the moon. That had to be fun.”

Rats, here we go. We watch the television monitor off-set, the same one I know they’ve cut to on camera. Ben and I are hand-in-hand, walking toward the photo op. Video Ben says, “I can’t wear that. How long has it been since it’s been cleaned?” The audience laughs. When he says “You can’t wear loafers in space,” they’re in near-hysterics. 

Then, as expected, they’ve spliced the tape together to show us against the green screen, followed by the photographs we were given at the end—us in the space shuttle, floating in space, and on the moon. As I watch, I feel like a defendant in a courtroom waiting for the jury to come back with a death sentence.

Lacey looks into the camera and announces, “Just when you think Ben and Serafina will never like each other …” We all turn to look at the screen as our first kiss is unveiled right there on national television. Words escape me. That is one hot kiss and even though I’m annoyed it ever happened, my skin still heats up like I’m a pig on a spit. 

The audience oohs and ahs, whistles and claps. Hal interrupts them by asking, “Is there something you two kids want to tell us?”

I merely look down and stare at my hands while shaking my head. 

Ben, on the other hand, announces, “I’ll tell you what happened. Serafina here laid on the charm super thick during our trip and I momentarily lost my mind.”

“Are you saying that what we just saw was a one-off?” Lacey asks. 

I say, “Yes,” at the same time Ben gives a firm, “NO!”

Author Bio

Whitney Dineen loves to laugh, play with her kids, bake, and eat french fries — not always in that order.

Whitney is a multi-award-winning author of romcoms, non-fiction humor, and middle reader fiction. Basically, she writes whatever the voices in her head tell her to. 

She lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest with her husband, Jimmy, where they raise children, chickens, and organic vegetables.

Gold Medal winner at the International Readers’ Favorite Awards, 2017.

Silver medal winner at the International Readers’ Favorite Awards, 2015, 2016.

Finalist RONE Awards, 2016.

Finalist at the IRFA 2016, 2017.

Finalist at the Book Excellence Awards, 2017

Finalist Top Shelf Indie Book Awards, 2017

Author links:
https://whitneydineen.com/
https://twitter.com/whitneydineen
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8145525.Whitney_Dineen
https://www.instagram.com/whitneydineenauthor/
https://www.facebook.com/Whitney-Dineen-Author-11687019412/

image 24 - And when you text:
image 25 - And when you text:





Melanie Summers also writes steamy romance as MJ Summers.

Melanie made a name for herself with her debut novel, Break in Two, a contemporary romance that cracked the Top 10 Paid on Amazon in both the UK and Canada, and the top 50 Paid in the USA. Her highly acclaimed Full Hearts Series was picked up by both Piatkus Entice (a division of Hachette UK) and HarperCollins Canada. Her first three books have been translated into Czech and Slovak by EuroMedia. Since 2013, she has written and published three novellas, and eight novels (of which seven have been published). She has sold over a quarter of a million books around the globe.

In her previous life (i.e. before having children), Melanie got her Bachelor of Science from the University of Alberta, then went on to work in the soul-sucking customer service industry for a large cellular network provider that shall remain nameless (unless you write her personally – then she’ll dish). On her days off, she took courses and studied to become a Chartered Mediator. That designation landed her a job at the R.C.M.P. as the Alternative Dispute Resolution Coordinator for ‘K’ Division. Having had enough of mediating arguments between gun-toting police officers, she decided it was much safer to have children so she could continue her study of conflict in a weapon-free environment (and one which doesn’t require makeup and/or nylons).

Melanie resides in Edmonton with her husband, three young children, and their adorable but neurotic one-eyed dog. When she’s not writing novels, Melanie loves reading (obviously), snuggling up on the couch with her family for movie night (which would not be complete without lots of popcorn and milkshakes), and long walks in the woods near her house. She also spends a lot more time thinking about doing yoga than actually doing yoga, which is why most of her photos are taken ‘from above’. She also loves shutting down restaurants with her girlfriends. Well, not literally shutting them down, like calling the health inspector or something–more like just staying until they turn the lights off.

She is represented by Suzanne Brandreth of The Cooke Agency International. 


Author links: 

https://mjsummersbooks.wordpress.com/

https://www.instagram.com/mj_summers_author/

https://www.facebook.com/MJSummersAuthorPage

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17105602.Melanie_Summers

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