Start your week with a BIG freebie, excerpts, audiobooks, and bundles!

It’s Monday. Again. Blah.

One guaranteed way to chase away the Monday Blues is diving into a good book. I have loads of hot, steamy romance for you, including Chapter One from Hasty (which releases tomorrow!)

Hasty (The Do-Over Series, Book 4) ~ releasing 7.28.20

Click here to read Chapter One (all 6,384 words of it!)

Have you preordered yet? Coming 7/28!

➜Amazon (all countries): https://geni.us/HastyAMZsm
➜Google Play: https://geni.us/HastyGPlaysm
➜Kobo: https://geni.us/HastyKOBOsm
➜BN/Nook: https://geni.us/HastyNOOKsm
➜Apple Books: https://geni.us/HastyABsm
➜BookBub: https://geni.us/HastyBBsm
➜Goodreads: https://geni.us/HastyGRsm

🎧 Audiobook preorder, narrated by Erin Mallon!

Amazon Audio: https://geni.us/Hastyamzaudio
Audible: https://geni.us/Hastyaud

Win a print copy of Hasty ~ enter on Goodreads


 

GOOD IN BED ebook is FREE July 25-29!
Amazon/KU:  https://geni.us/GoodInBed_KU

GOOD IN BED Audiobook Bundle (not free, but only one credit on Audible, and in Audible Escape)
Audible / Audible Escape: https://adbl.co/3i05isH
Amazon/ KU: https://geni.us/GoodInBed_KU

With Audie Award Winners Sebastian York, Andi Arndt and Elena Wolfe…Four standalone romance novels with heroes who are Good in Bed.

Sweet Cheeks

It all started with an invitation to my ex-fiance’s wedding.
I should have ignored it. Thrown it away. Set it afire. But I didn’t. I replied…With a plus one. Now I have to find a date. Enter Hayes Whitley, mega-movie star who’s captured the hearts of millions, my first love, and my first broken heart. I should have steered clear when he offered to take me to my ex’s wedding. But I didn’t.

Random Acts of Trust

I’m not the kind of person who gets her cell phone caught in places that require an OBGYN and a trip to the ER.
I’m also not the kind of person who spends all her time thinking about Sam Hinton, the boy I loved in high school and who disappeared with my heart. But, apparently, I need to rethink who I am. Second chances aren’t supposed to make scars disappear and hearts mend. But, apparently, they can, if you trust enough.

Iron Crowne

Byron Crowne is a heartless billionaire businessman. He’s everything I detest, but he’s awakened desires I didn’t know I had. I want to beat him in court, but when he touches me, I need him to win my body and mark it as his. Now I might be pregnant, and there’s no way he can ever prove to me he’s worthy to be a father, no matter how hard he tries.

V-Card

When you think about how easy it is to lose keys, sunglasses and your dignity on social media, you figure it’d be a cinch to ditch my V-card. You’d be wrong. Good thing I know just the man for the deflowering job – my brother’s business partner and best friend who, I’m told, is oh-so-skilled in the sack. He has seven nights to teach me everything he knows – no strings. There’s no reason this has to get complicated, right?

 


Read an excerpt from Kennedy Fox’s The Two of Us, an enemies to lovers, brother’s best friend standalone romance set in the current affairs of history in the making. Though the character’s storyline is fiction, the circumstances are very real, and we’re sensitive to this topic. This is a story about hope, love, and so much more with a guaranteed happily ever after.

Eli places the pan of food in the middle. “Orange juice?”

“Is there still some left?” I ask. 

“For one cup.” 

“You have it then.”

“Nah. It’s yours if you want it.” 

I arch a brow, grinning. 

“The juice,” he emphasizes.

Dammit.

“We’ll share it,” I say. “Half each.” 

“I can live with that.” He taps his knuckles on the table before going to the fridge. He returns with two glasses and sets them down. Then he leans in, grips my chin, and brings our mouths together.

I moan, loving the taste of him, and wrap my arms around his waist. Pulling him closer, I feel his cock growing hard against my chest, and know I’m getting to him. 

Eli grabs my wrists from behind his back and moves them away.

“I know what you’re doing, and it’s not gonna work.” 

“I’m not doing anything. I’m out of clothes and don’t know how to do laundry.” I bat my lashes innocently, grinning. 

“Is that so?” He leans back, folding his arms.

I shrug, nonchalantly. “Yep. So it’s naked central until I can find a tutorial online.” 

Chuckling, he shakes his head. “I just stuff all my clothes into the washer with the detergent. I don’t think it’s rocket science.” 

“Most of my clothes are dry clean only.” 

“You can borrow one of my T-shirts then.” 

“Seems you’re out of them too since you’re going without one.” I lower my gaze down his body, admiring how delicious he looks. He even has a happy trail going from his belly button to below his sweats. God, I want him so badly. 

“Nah. Just felt like giving you breakfast and a show.” He winks with a shit-eating smirk. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Well, I can be your dessert if you’re still hungry…”

Click here to read the full excerpt ► https://bit.ly/32nAUDf

1Click The Two of Us ► books2read.com/thetwoofus

Add to your Goodreads TBR ► https://bit.ly/3drwE8R

 


 

The Beyond Twilight Bundle – Curated by Michelle Fox: Why a Beyond Twilight bundle? It’s been more than fifteen years since Bella and Edward became household names, and while Twilight captured the imagination of a generation, today’s world is very different. From #metoo, to politics to science and culture, the world is beyond Twilight.

Vampires have evolved.

This bundle is about what’s next.

Read more about the 11 books in the bundle here, and make sure to click on each cover for a synopsis, reviews and preview of each book.

RARE STAKES by Michelle Fox

MORRIGAN’S BLOOD by Laura Bickle

THE VAMPIRE HUNTER TRIBULATIONS by Nicole Zoltack

RESIST by Tami Lund

KILLER STAKES by Michelle Fox

HARSH LINE by Ann Gimpel

WICKED IMMORTALS by K.N. Lee

TWISTED DREAMS by Marissa Farrar

VAMPIRE BAIT by Annie Nicholas

BLOOD BOUNTY by Liza Street

THE BLOOD KNIFE by Marcella Burnard

Purchase the Beyond Twilight 11-book collection:  https://storybundle.com/vampires

Read Chapter One of Hasty – a special sneak peek

Hasty, book 4 in the Do-Over series, releases 7.28.20. Read Chapter One for a preview of what awaits Hastings Monahan.

If you haven’t read the Do-Over series, it is now complete! Start with the FREE prequel, Little Miss Perfect.

 

Apple Books | Kobo | Nook | Google Play | Amazon

Audible | Amazon Audio

Win a print copy of Hasty ~ enter on Goodreads

CHAPTER ONE

Today is the best day of my life.

I know people say that, and they mean it, but they don’t mean this. My best day is better than anyone else’s. Trust me.

I know.

I’m sitting at a table at Essentialz, a five-star restaurant in San Francisco. Everyone at the table watches me as I tuck the signed paperwork away in my black Bottega Veneta woven leather brief bag.

I, Hastings Monahan, just signed a nine-figure investment deal on behalf of the venture capital firm I work for.

Full partner, here I come.

Of course, lawyers will handle the majority of this. The signatures are symbolic as much as they are legal. But the fellow diners at my carefully crafted table will go back to China with an exciting opportunity for their company, Zhangwa Telecommunications, to enter the North American market with climate-change technology projecting yields that are the best aphrodisiac ever.

As I sip from my glass of Montrachet Grand Cru, I catch the eye of Ming Bannerton, a consultant with Zhangwa whose father is a high-ranking U.S State Department official in China, a woman who has a hunger for financial success that I can spot in anyone in three seconds flat. There’s something special about a fellow hustler–and when I use the word hustler, I don’t mean it pejoratively.

People who hustle get things done.

We connect. We network. We pattern match. We ruthlessly apply what we intuitively feel to what we operationally know in order to produce optimal outcomes.

In short–we hustle.

And we win.

But in competition, there can only be one winner.

One.

Tonight, I’m it.

Her smile mirrors mine, red lips stretched over perfectly white teeth that are as straight as a new picket fence. The smile doesn’t reach her eyes, but an intensity infuses her. She’s about five years younger than me, with a knowing eye that tells me we need to stay in touch. Someday soon, she may shoot past me, and that’s where all the legwork pays off.

In this business, you network down as well as you network up, if you want to get anywhere.

And the manila folder resting in my brief bag, the one that feels like a warm gold ingot pressed against my lips? That, ladies and gentlemen, is how you get somewhere.

“Where is Burke?” Mr. Zhao Bai asks, his head at a slight tilt, a gesture of genuine curiosity as his eyes survey me, looking for information that doesn’t come directly from my mouth. He’s the youngest of the four men at the table, a fast talker who looks around the room like he’s a mob boss. Negotiating with him took a steady hand I didn’t know I possessed, but now I understand.

Burke is part of the deal, and I didn’t realize it.

The contracts are signed, though. That makes my husband an off-the-books addendum. No matter what, this is my accomplishment.

My husband, Burke Oonaj, is one of the hottest market makers in finance right now. Even he will have no choice but to be impressed by the deal I’ve just put together.

But the inquiry about my husband makes my uterus fall.

And it’s not like he’s around to catch it.

“Good question,” I say before taking another sip of wine, needing to buy myself a smidgen of space and time. I only need a split second.

Normally.

For some reason that I can’t explain, my emotions are tangling in my mind, and that’s an unpredictable variable I have to weed out.

Fast.

My heart feels strangely heavy in my chest, a sense of dread filling me that has no right to be here. This is MY night, I tell that sense of dread. This is MY deal. This is my culmination of six years of careful work, all coming together, right now.

Go away, dread.

But Mr. Zhao’s question is a good one, because Burke isn’t answering any of my texts or emails or phone calls, and hasn’t for the last three days.

My husband has disappeared.

Not literally, of course, because husbands don’t just do that. Business travel can be intense. Plenty of stretches of time have gone by without hearing from him. They involved twenty-four hours or less, though.

Not eighty-one hours and thirteen minutes.

Not that I’m counting.

I can’t admit any of this to anyone at this table, of course, so instead, I give what my pattern-matching brain tells me is the optimal answer, designed to make me look good.

“Burke’s fine,” I say with a grin, the glass of wine still full enough to make more sips look like an appropriate response. “He sends his best regards. He would have been here tonight, but… you know.”

Two of the men share a look I don’t like. It’s a fleeting glance, the type that is practiced and meant to look like nothing. You think I’m paranoid, that I’m inventing it all?

Wrong.

I’m in a state of hyperarousal.

No, not the sexual kind. Haven’t felt that in a long time, at least not with Burke. My hyperarousal is based around the stress hormones pumping through me from the excitement of what I just accomplished.

Me. Myself. Alone.

Independent of Burke.

As workday smiles stretch to become the more casual, intimate grins of people enjoying bottle after bottle of excellent wine, I loosen up. The answer I gave them sufficed. We can move on.

My body feels numb and excited at the same time. I’m on top of the world. The pinnacle.

I am Peak Hastings.

Which is why, when the maître d’ approaches my side, I don’t pick up on the gravity of his whisper. No one would. Because learning that my credit card has been declined for this business dinner is definitely not part of the plan, and the areas of my brain assigned to processing language literally can’t comprehend it.

“It’s what?” I whisper, standing carefully, legs still steady, my alcohol consumption measured, even if my tablemates have made their way through more wine than an entire wedding party back home.

The maître d’, José, gives me a wide-eyed but polite look. “I’m sorry, Ms. Monahan. This has never happened before when you’ve dined with us. But the credit card company was very firm. You cannot use this one.”

Mr. Zhao gives me an inquiring look. My stomach sinks. Did he overhear?

“Will you all excuse me?” I tell them, hating the disruption, my legs turning into two steel beams covered in chilled skin.

“Something must be wrong with the credit card processor,” I snap at the maître d’ as I hurry away from my group. I want to get the taint of this failure out of the way and get back to my stellar success.

Once we’re out of sight of my table, I rifle through my purse and find another business credit card. “Use this one. And let me be very clear, to you and to your boss, that this is absolutely, abjectly unacceptable.”

He inserts the card, chip side in. “I realize this, Ms. Monahan, but we cannot…”

Beep.

He stares at the credit card terminal.

I read the display upside down. “Declined!” I hiss. “This is impossible! That card has no limit!”

“Perhaps you’ve had your identity stolen, or there are fraud alerts on your account? Perhaps you’re the victim of a financial crime?” José suggests.

“I can’t be the victim of a financial crime!” I snap at him. “I’m a financial expert! This doesn’t happen to people like me. Here!” I shove a third company card at him. This one better work.

I only have one more.

My mind races ahead, conjuring contingency plans, even as my cheeks burn with shame.

Shame.

Why would I feel shame for someone else’s mistake? And yet, there it is, and I have to override it fast. Because if I don’t, it gets a toehold.

And that is the fastest way to lose your edge.

José closes his eyes and lets out a sigh through his nose, a split second before the display terminal beeps.

Again.

“Your computer system is down,” I declare, pulling out the fourth card and my phone, texting my office manager. Maybe something went wrong. Maybe José is right. Maybe we were hacked. But this is surreal enough to let the dread come inside me and have a seat, as it decides whether to become an overnight guest.

It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m staring at a mid-four-figure bill that I owe, right now, and have no way to settle.

This cannot be happening.

As he runs the fourth card, the main door opens. My spine straightens, calves stretching tall, and not just from the five-inch heels I’m wearing.

I know that man.

I hate that man.

And he’s the last person on Earth I want to see in the middle of this debacle.

Ian McCrory cannot see me like this.

“You need to fix this!” I hiss at José, whose demeanor is rapidly changing.

“Ms. Monahan,” he says, “this does not appear to be a credit card machine malfunction. This appears to be a credit card account malfunction.”

Our eyes meet, his with a challenge I am unaccustomed to experiencing. Because I am unaccustomed to my credit cards being declined.

“Hastings!” Ian says, walking toward me with the casual confidence of a man who has it all. Yes, ‘the man who has it all’ is a cliché, but clichés exist for a reason.

And Ian McCrory is a walking cliché. He’s hot. He’s rich. He’s smart. He’s charming.

And he’s alpha to the core.

All of that works against me as I find myself in the least favorable position ever.

And if I were to choose a position with Ian, it wouldn’t be this one.

Fury at my husband for not answering my calls and texts and emails for days rises up in me, tangling with the anger I feel at the inevitable attraction toward Ian, combining with my deep embarrassment.

There’s a lot happening inside this toned, successful body.

Ian comes in for the requisite hug, holding it a little longer than he has before.

“You’re trembling,” he says, his voice textured and nuanced, the concern something I’ve never heard in past encounters. We’ve sparred at conference tables that feel like they’re the size of football fields. I’ve lost countless deals to him, some of them reasonable, some of them not. Ian’s a favorite of the old boys’ network.

Me? Hastings Monahan is not exactly an old boy.

Then again, neither is Ian.

His cologne cuts through the low-grade panic that I’m trying to hide from him as José continues to stare me down. It must be a custom blend. I can pick out notes of cherry, burnt oak, and something spicy. Inhaling the air around him is like experiencing the bouquet of the finest bottle of Screaming Eagle cabernet you’ve ever tasted, at a private retreat, with people who know how to live.

Like me.

His suit fabric under my hand is a weave that can only come from a tenth-generation tailor, the kind whose DNA has been honed by craft and time. Deep brown eyes, so close to the color of his hair and brows, make a ring of chocolate around the edge, the opposite of most people’s irises. Even Ian’s body doesn’t follow the rules.

Ian is the exception in everything, even in how God constructs eyes.

“I’m just worried,” I say, deflecting. “I haven’t heard from Burke in days, and—”

“Burke!” His entire stance changes, tension filling his body. “Is he here?”

“No. Why would he be here?”

“Aren’t you two doing a deal?”

“I’m doing a deal.” I bristle inside at the implication that I need Burke for anything.

Ian peers around me, instantly making eye contact with Ms. Bannerton at my table. His eyebrows shoot up. “You scored that deal?”

“Yes. Ink’s on the papers.” I glance distractedly at the credit card still in my hand.

“Congratulations.” Now his eyebrows are in a different position, one corner of his mouth curling. I know that feeling. He knows he can’t win all the deals.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t fantasize about them.

“Thank you.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised. I worked my ass off on the regulatory issue. Zhangwa Telecom couldn’t get past that until I pulled some strings with elected officials.”

“You groomed the path,” I say smoothly, knowing damn well he did forty-nine percent of the work on this. “But you couldn’t close.”

“Let me guess. I got them close, but you took it all the way.” His eyes narrow. “How many personal contacts did you work to get port access for Zhangwa?”

“I did nothing untoward, Ian.”

His eyes comb over me. Creepy guys abound in our business, but Ian’s gaze is anything but gross. In fact, I like it.

Like it too much.

I’m a very married woman, thank you. I don’t stray. Vows matter, even when my husband ignores me for days on end and doesn’t sleep with me for…

Far more than a few days.

“I’m sure you were completely above board and legal in every action you took, Hastings. But I also know you have a mind like a steel trap and a nose for gossip. How much dirt did you have to collect on adjacent property owners to guarantee port access?”

All I can do is grin.

It feels remarkably good to have someone understand me so well. Emotion swells in my chest, raises my temperature, makes my pulse quicken, a high of accomplishment spreading throughout my body.

It’s unfamiliar.

It’s unbounded.

And it’s Ian McCrory who is eliciting it from me.

“Good work. That’s taken you…” his voice fades out as he thinks, “…six years.”

“Yes. Yes, it has. And now it’s done.”

“Nice little deal you’ve made.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Little. This is anything but little, Ian. Don’t act like this deal is some sort of a consolation prize for me because you decided you didn’t want it enough.”

“Don’t tell me what I want, Hastings.”

Suddenly, it’s clear we’re not talking about business.

The sound of a man clearing his throat makes us both turn to look at José, who cocks one eyebrow, gives Ian a glance, and then looks at me pointedly.

Ian’s not stupid. “Is something wrong?” he asks José, instantly protective. The tone change is one that I would normally admire, but right now, panic is scrambling all of my sensors.

“Ms. Monahan and I were dealing with a business matter, Mr. McCrory. Your room is reserved in the back. Most of your party is there already.” José’s smile is ingratiating. I can feel the shift in how he treats me versus how he treats Ian in my salivary glands. A bitter taste fills my mouth as I realize I’ve been instantly relegated to some social trash heap as a result of a computer glitch.

Their glitch.

Ian bends down to kiss my cheek, startling me, his clean-shaven face so smooth, hot, and dry, making my pulse skip.

“Congratulations, Hastings. A job well done. Give my best to Burke when you see him next.” He opens his mouth slightly, as if to say something more, and then shuts it quickly. I want to ask him what he started to say, but I know that no matter what, he’s sealed up tight, like a drum.

Men like Ian McCrory don’t equivocate. If he changed his mind, his mind is changed.

I can’t help myself as he leaves, my eyes taking in the back of his body, that bespoke suit jacket perfectly molded along the lines of his tight, wide shoulders. His legs are long, shoes shined, a deep Italian richness that you can’t buy with just money.

You need taste, too.

Real taste.

José’s eyes jump from Ian, to me, back to Ian. The man is clearly making decisions based on social importance. If I am important to Ian McCrory, then upsetting me could upset the alpha.

Social calculations take microseconds for people like me, Ian, and even José. You can’t be the maître d’ at one of the hottest restaurants in one of the hottest cities in the world and not be people smart. Emotional intelligence isn’t just for softhearted church ladies, preschool teachers, and therapists.

We need every advantage we can get in this world.

“Isn’t Ian wonderful?” I murmur as I bring José into my space with a confidante’s wink. “We go back ages.”

José’s eyes narrow. He’s trying to figure out if by ages, I mean we’ve slept together. It can’t hurt to pretend that’s the case, so I lean in and lower my voice. “He’s a good friend to have. Comes through when you need him. I’ll bet he’s a great tipper, too.”

That elicits a chuckle, something in my gut unclenching at the sound.

“Will you excuse me?” I say to him, my hand on his. “While you figure out the computer glitch, I need to get back to my guests.”

As if I weren’t deflecting, I give him a flirty smile and move away quickly… but not too quickly. I can’t be…

Hasty.

“Is there a problem?” Ms. Bannerton asks, batting dark eyes at me that make it clear she knows damn well there’s a problem and wants to watch me squirm.

“No problem. Just dealing with—” I hold up my phone and jiggle it. “You know. The husband.”

“Everything’s okay with Burke, I hope?” Mr. Wang Min asks. He’s the senior person from Zhangwa and his silence thus far has been a great contrast to Mr. Zhao.

That same strange look passes between him and Mr. Zhao, though.

“Oh, he’s fine. Just had a personal-life question. You know. Marriage.”

“My wife texts me twenty times a day when I’m on trips,” Mr. Zhao says, lips pressed in a tight smile. “And she doesn’t care about time zones, so I get the texts at two in the morning.”

“Mine pretends I’m dead when I’m gone,” says Mr. Wang. Everyone halts. He laughs. “Not literally. She decided that it’s easier to have no contact when I’m away than to have only a little. As long as I bring her back real maple syrup from Vermont, she’s fine with all the travel I do.”

“It’s not as if she has a choice,” says Mr. Zhao. That comment elicits the heartiest laugh from the men at the table.

Ms. Bannerton and I give each other sympathetic looks, but not too sympathetic, because we can’t telegraph weakness in a crowd like this.

Suddenly, the men all stand in unison, Ms. Bannerton struggling to join them in her high heels. My skin breaks out in gooseflesh as I realize something has changed.

Pressing my palms into the arms of my chair, I rise to my feet and turn.

Even before I see him, I know exactly who is drawing this reaction from them.

“Ian!” Ms. Bannerton says, her lips spreading in a grin of joy, eyes devouring him. She bypasses all of the men to launch herself into the arms of the ninth richest man in the world. Mr. Zhao and Mr. Wang are only ranking in the high ’teens these days.

Ian accepts her hug with the gracious formality of a man who knows exactly what to do, then works the table, shaking hands. When he’s done, he turns to me, arms stretched out in a gesture of gentlemanly acknowledgment, and says, “I don’t need to hug you.”

Ms. Bannerton’s eyebrows shoot up.

“We already took care of the intimacies earlier,” he adds.

Normally, that sort of comment would get him a high-heeled spike through that beautiful Italian leather on his size fourteen (I’m guessing) feet, but I’m grateful tonight. It cuts through the tension of my declined credit cards and gives everyone at the table something to whisper about later, long after this dinner is over.

On the other side of the group, José appears, making eyes at me. My heart jumps up into my throat, clawing its way into my sinus cavity, beating like it’s in the Tour de France and about to wipe out at the bottom of a steep hill.

I reach for my purse, the universal gesture of going to the ladies’ room, and I step away, grateful for Ian’s presence. He’ll keep them all busy as I go and untangle this very private mess.

My phone buzzes. I look at the text, hopeful.

It’s a reminder from my carrier to pay my cellphone bill.

Dammit, Burke. Where are you?

Those words have rushed through my brain hundreds of times in the last three days. He’s never gone this long without answering, even if it’s just a single letter, “K,” when I ask him if he’s alive.

I find my way back to the concierge desk, where José is now standing with even less warmth than he had before Ian appeared.

“This is not a credit card machine failure, as I suspected,” he informs me. “You need to pay the bill.”

“I’m a good customer. I’m sure this is some sort of an error. Can’t I just—”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Monahan. You have to settle the bill immediately. Do you have a debit card?”

“Oh! My personal account. Of course! I can pay it, and I’ll have my company reimburse me once this is all sorted out. There’s plenty of money in our personal accounts.” I pull out the debit card and hand it to him, relieved to have been given an out, still furious to be in this position at all.

He runs it. I stare at the machine. At the same moment, my skin does that prickly thing again, goosebumps everywhere. If I weren’t in this state of abject terror that I’m working so hard to cover, I would think that I was aroused.

Aroused in the most delicious of ways.

Ian McCrory’s entirely at fault.

The light on the machine turns red, the word looking like Hebrew, although at this point I know damn well what “decline” looks like upside down.

“Hastings,” Ian purrs in my ear, his hand resting between my shoulder blades. His eyes flit down to take in the machine, then the cards gripped in my hand. He looks at José. An extraordinary expression of sympathy that makes me want to rip my own liver out and eat it in front of him covers his face.

“Oh, Hastings. I had no idea.”

That is the exact moment I learn how much I hate Ian McCrory.

“Had no idea of what?” I challenge.

He looks at the debit card as if it were a limp penis. “That you and Burke were in financial trouble.” The words come out of his mouth as if they’re in slow motion, in free fall, BASE jumping without a parachute.

“We are not in financial trouble,” I snap, hating the edges of my words, how they vibrate out into the waiting area. Two people turn, microscopic shifts in the way that their ears tilt. I know full well about eavesdropping on other people’s drama–and I know damn well that I don’t want to be someone else’s funny story for later. “We’re fine. This is some kind of computer glitch.”

“Ma’am, you have now attempted four credit cards, all from different issuers, and your personal debit card. Everything has been declined,” José says, completely obliterating my cover story.

The shift from Ms. Monahan to Ma’am is the worst.

The spray of shock that radiates through my body as his words hit me makes it hard to breathe. Something really is wrong. How can the greatest moment in my entire life implode like this?

“José,” Ian says to him, making himself a human shield between the prying eyes of my dinner party and me, “put it on my account.”

“You can’t do that!” I protest.

“I am doing that.”

“But this is my dinner. This is my responsibility. And my contract,” I growl.

“I’m not trying to take your contract away from you, Hastings. I’m trying to save you from embarrassment.”

“I don’t need you to rescue me.”

“It sure as hell looks like you do.”

“This… this isn’t… I’ll pay you back,” I hiss, furiously grateful, but filled with more fury than gratitude.

“Of course you will.”

“And–I’m not in financial trouble.”

“Of course you’re not.”

Condescension is my kryptonite. It’s what I use against other people as a weapon, a cover for my insecurity.

Yeah, yeah, I’m not supposed to be that self-aware. I went through enough therapy to know I don’t give a damn what other people think about me, but I certainly give a damn about how I feel when someone else perceives me as weak.

And that’s exactly what Ian’s doing right now.

“First of all, you’re a jerk. Second of all, thank you.”

“That’s the worst thank you I’ve ever received in my life.”

“I’m sure you’ve been subjected to worse.”

“Well, there was that one time in Sydney when I was in bed and—”

“I don’t want to hear about your sex life!”

Especially when mine is non-existent.

“Look,” Ian says, grabbing my upper arm gently, pulling me out of the view of my dinner guests. “I don’t want you to win this contract any more than you want me to win the ones that I take from you.”

“You admit it? I’m a competitor of yours?”

“You’re an annoyance, Hastings.”

“Annoyance?”

“You’re so much smarter than you give yourself credit for, and you’ve attached yourself to that slimy piece of overblown ego masquerading as a finance expert.”

“How dare you talk about my husband that way!”

José’s eyes narrow. He’s trying to figure out if by ages, I mean we’ve slept together. It can’t hurt to pretend that’s the case, so I lean in and lower my voice. “He’s a good friend to have. Comes through when you need him. I’ll bet he’s a great tipper, too.”

That elicits a chuckle, something in my gut unclenching at the sound.

“Will you excuse me?” I say to him, my hand on his. “While you figure out the computer glitch, I need to get back to my guests.”

As if I weren’t deflecting, I give him a flirty smile and move away quickly… but not too quickly. I can’t be…

Hasty.

“Is there a problem?” Ms. Bannerton asks, batting dark eyes at me that make it clear she knows damn well there’s a problem and wants to watch me squirm.

“No problem. Just dealing with—” I hold up my phone and jiggle it. “You know. The husband.”

“Everything’s okay with Burke, I hope?” Mr. Wang Min asks. He’s the senior person from Zhangwa and his silence thus far has been a great contrast to Mr. Zhao.

That same strange look passes between him and Mr. Zhao, though.

“Oh, he’s fine. Just had a personal-life question. You know. Marriage.”

“My wife texts me twenty times a day when I’m on trips,” Mr. Zhao says, lips pressed in a tight smile. “And she doesn’t care about time zones, so I get the texts at two in the morning.”

“Mine pretends I’m dead when I’m gone,” says Mr. Wang. Everyone halts. He laughs. “Not literally. She decided that it’s easier to have no contact when I’m away than to have only a little. As long as I bring her back real maple syrup from Vermont, she’s fine with all the travel I do.”

“It’s not as if she has a choice,” says Mr. Zhao. That comment elicits the heartiest laugh from the men at the table.

Ms. Bannerton and I give each other sympathetic looks, but not too sympathetic, because we can’t telegraph weakness in a crowd like this.

Suddenly, the men all stand in unison, Ms. Bannerton struggling to join them in her high heels. My skin breaks out in gooseflesh as I realize something has changed.

Pressing my palms into the arms of my chair, I rise to my feet and turn.

Even before I see him, I know exactly who is drawing this reaction from them.

“Ian!” Ms. Bannerton says, her lips spreading in a grin of joy, eyes devouring him. She bypasses all of the men to launch herself into the arms of the ninth richest man in the world. Mr. Zhao and Mr. Wang are only ranking in the high ’teens these days.

Ian accepts her hug with the gracious formality of a man who knows exactly what to do, then works the table, shaking hands. When he’s done, he turns to me, arms stretched out in a gesture of gentlemanly acknowledgment, and says, “I don’t need to hug you.”

Ms. Bannerton’s eyebrows shoot up.

“We already took care of the intimacies earlier,” he adds.

Normally, that sort of comment would get him a high-heeled spike through that beautiful Italian leather on his size fourteen (I’m guessing) feet, but I’m grateful tonight. It cuts through the tension of my declined credit cards and gives everyone at the table something to whisper about later, long after this dinner is over.

On the other side of the group, José appears, making eyes at me. My heart jumps up into my throat, clawing its way into my sinus cavity, beating like it’s in the Tour de France and about to wipe out at the bottom of a steep hill.

I reach for my purse, the universal gesture of going to the ladies’ room, and I step away, grateful for Ian’s presence. He’ll keep them all busy as I go and untangle this very private mess.

My phone buzzes. I look at the text, hopeful.

It’s a reminder from my carrier to pay my cellphone bill.

Dammit, Burke. Where are you?

Those words have rushed through my brain hundreds of times in the last three days. He’s never gone this long without answering, even if it’s just a single letter, “K,” when I ask him if he’s alive.

I find my way back to the concierge desk, where José is now standing with even less warmth than he had before Ian appeared.

“This is not a credit card machine failure, as I suspected,” he informs me. “You need to pay the bill.”

“I’m a good customer. I’m sure this is some sort of an error. Can’t I just—”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Monahan. You have to settle the bill immediately. Do you have a debit card?”

“Oh! My personal account. Of course! I can pay it, and I’ll have my company reimburse me once this is all sorted out. There’s plenty of money in our personal accounts.” I pull out the debit card and hand it to him, relieved to have been given an out, still furious to be in this position at all.

He runs it. I stare at the machine. At the same moment, my skin does that prickly thing again, goosebumps everywhere. If I weren’t in this state of abject terror that I’m working so hard to cover, I would think that I was aroused.

Aroused in the most delicious of ways.

Ian McCrory’s entirely at fault.

The light on the machine turns red, the word looking like Hebrew, although at this point I know damn well what “decline” looks like upside down.

“Hastings,” Ian purrs in my ear, his hand resting between my shoulder blades. His eyes flit down to take in the machine, then the cards gripped in my hand. He looks at José. An extraordinary expression of sympathy that makes me want to rip my own liver out and eat it in front of him covers his face.

“Oh, Hastings. I had no idea.”

That is the exact moment I learn how much I hate Ian McCrory.

“Had no idea of what?” I challenge.

He looks at the debit card as if it were a limp penis. “That you and Burke were in financial trouble.” The words come out of his mouth as if they’re in slow motion, in free fall, BASE jumping without a parachute.

“We are not in financial trouble,” I snap, hating the edges of my words, how they vibrate out into the waiting area. Two people turn, microscopic shifts in the way that their ears tilt. I know full well about eavesdropping on other people’s drama–and I know damn well that I don’t want to be someone else’s funny story for later. “We’re fine. This is some kind of computer glitch.”

“Ma’am, you have now attempted four credit cards, all from different issuers, and your personal debit card. Everything has been declined,” José says, completely obliterating my cover story.

The shift from Ms. Monahan to Ma’am is the worst.

The spray of shock that radiates through my body as his words hit me makes it hard to breathe. Something really is wrong. How can the greatest moment in my entire life implode like this?

“José,” Ian says to him, making himself a human shield between the prying eyes of my dinner party and me, “put it on my account.”

“You can’t do that!” I protest.

“I am doing that.”

“But this is my dinner. This is my responsibility. And my contract,” I growl.

“I’m not trying to take your contract away from you, Hastings. I’m trying to save you from embarrassment.”

“I don’t need you to rescue me.”

“It sure as hell looks like you do.”

“This… this isn’t… I’ll pay you back,” I hiss, furiously grateful, but filled with more fury than gratitude.

“Of course you will.”

“And–I’m not in financial trouble.”

“Of course you’re not.”

Condescension is my kryptonite. It’s what I use against other people as a weapon, a cover for my insecurity.

Yeah, yeah, I’m not supposed to be that self-aware. I went through enough therapy to know I don’t give a damn what other people think about me, but I certainly give a damn about how I feel when someone else perceives me as weak.

And that’s exactly what Ian’s doing right now.

“First of all, you’re a jerk. Second of all, thank you.”

“That’s the worst thank you I’ve ever received in my life.”

“I’m sure you’ve been subjected to worse.”

“Well, there was that one time in Sydney when I was in bed and—”

“I don’t want to hear about your sex life!”

Especially when mine is non-existent.

“Look,” Ian says, grabbing my upper arm gently, pulling me out of the view of my dinner guests. “I don’t want you to win this contract any more than you want me to win the ones that I take from you.”

“You admit it? I’m a competitor of yours?”

“You’re an annoyance, Hastings.”

“Annoyance?”

“You’re so much smarter than you give yourself credit for, and you’ve attached yourself to that slimy piece of overblown ego masquerading as a finance expert.”

“How dare you talk about my husband that way!”

“You knew instantly who I was talking about, though, didn’t you?”

We’re both breathing harder than we should be, and a flush of heat wanders around my body like it’s looking for something to burn.

I straighten my spine and let out a deep sigh. “I am not having this conversation with you.”

“Actually, you are. We’re literally exchanging the words right now.”

My phone buzzes in my hand. I look at it. It’s from Burke. It’s two words:

I’m sorry.

My eyebrows drop, my face twisting with horror. “I’m sorry?” I whisper.

“That’s better.”

“Not you! I’m reading my text from Burke–‘I’m sorry’? At least he’s finally contacting me, so I can stop worrying.”

A second text follows:

Don’t tell them anything.

I frown. Before Ian can rudely ask me what the new text says, his phone buzzes, too. Over at the table, everyone’s phone buzzes at the same time.

The timing is too coincidental.

A snake begins to uncurl along my tailbone, rising up my spine between my shoulder blades to the base of my neck, splitting in two and going to each ear, crawling up over the crown of my head.

Something is terribly wrong.

Burke doesn’t apologize for anything.

Behind me, the door to the restaurant opens, bringing with it a cool blast of evening air that should be refreshing but feels more like death. The sound of heavy steps makes me turn, and a clink-clink-clink that is distinct and unfamiliar.

“Hastings Monahan,” says a man behind me. He’s not asking if I’m her.

Because he knows.

I look at Ian. His eyes are wide, hand gripping his phone, thumb on the unlock position already. When I turn around, I’m faced with uniformed police officers and men and women in black, all of them wearing weapons and expressions of doom.

“Yes?”

What happens next is a blur. Words float into my brain, like under arrest and charged with as Ian punches the glass screen on his phone like a jackhammer on concrete, barking orders to some person named Irene on the other end. My purse is taken out of my hands, my wrists pulled behind me. I catch Ms. Bannerton’s eye, and her whole expression melts into one of mocking delight.

The men at the table do not move, do not defend me, do not protect me, do not interfere in any way.

I can’t blame them.

Ian, on the other hand, the Ian McCrory, my biggest competitor, my outright nemesis, reaches through the molasses of the moment as my hands are zip tied behind my back, forcing my breasts out, my feet teetering on the platforms of my shoes, my soul slithering out of my body.

“I’m getting lawyers on this. Whatever’s going on, I’ve got you, Hastings,” he says grimly, the stark emotion in his voice cutting through the horror of what unfolds.

“You what?”

“I’ve got you.”

And those are the last words anyone says to me as police officers remove me from the restaurant, my perp walk the ultimate free-fall from Peak Hastings to Freak Hastings.

Less than an hour has passed since we signed the contract for my nine-figure deal.

The only pen in my life now is going to be a holding pen.

Order your copy today!

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12 FREE Billionaire eBooks – today only!

 

I’ve joined up with some amazing authors to bring you this fabulous list of FREE billionaire romances, but grab these freebies TODAY as part of JULY’s Trope-a-Palooza!
 
MINE FOR THE WEEK by Erika Kelly 
SECRETS* by Aleatha Romig
UNDERCOVER BILLIONAIRE by Amy Andrews 
HOT BILLIONAIRE FOR HIRE by Cat Johnson 
DIAMONDS AND DIRT ROADS by Erin Nicholas 
BROKEN LIES by Gina Azzi 
THE RENEGADE by Jennifer Bernard 
PLAYING DIRTY* by Kelly Jamieson 
PRIMAL PASSION by Mari Carr and Lila Dubois 
THE PAWN* by Skye Warren 
DATING GAMES* by T.K. Leigh 
 
*Free on all platforms
Note: Some of these books are available for free in exchange for signing up for the author’s newsletter. Click on the link for each book to determine which options are available for that specific title.
Happy downloading – stuff your ereader!
<3
Julia
p.s. Hasty is coming in just 5 days. Preorder now!

Perky and Hasty as BFFs? It could happen…

Hasty, the older sister everyone loves to hate, releases July 28th. She has a long road to finding her happy ending, with a lot of entertaining stops along the way. While Fluffy, Perky, and Feisty all have a problem with Hasty, of the three, she’s most at odds with Perky.

In what crazy universe is there any possibility of them speaking civilly, let alone agreeing to let bygones be bygones?

You’ll have to read Hasty to find out. Order your copy today!

In the meantime, pick up Perky for just 99¢. Whispersync the audio for $7.49 when you own the ebook or enjoy it as part of Audible Escape.

 

One hundred years ago when I was young and impulsive (okay, it was five, alright? Five years ago…) I let my boyfriend take, let’s just say…compromising pictures of me.

(Shut up. It made sense at the time).

Surprise! The sleazy back-stabbing jerk posted them on a website and, well, you can guess what happened.

That’s right.

I’m a meme. A really gross one.

You’re seen the pictures. And if you haven’t – don’t ask. And don’t look!

As face recognition software online improves, I get tagged on social media whenever anyone shares my pictures. You try getting a thousand notifications a day, all of them pictures of your tatas.

So. I’m done.

It’s time for revenge. Let him see how it feels! But how do you get embarrassingly intimate pictures of your jerkface ex who double-crossed you five years ago?

Especially when he’s a member of the U.S.House of Representatives now?

Getting sweet between the sheets with a congressman is pretty much every political roadie’s dream, right? I’m one in a crowd.

Except to this day, he swears he didn’t do it. Pursued me for months after I dumped him five years ago. Begged me to take him back.

And I almost did it. Almost. I was weak and stupid and in love a hundred years ago.

Okay. Fine. Five.

But I still have the upper hand. Second chance romance has all the emotional feels, doesn’t it?

I can’t wait to punch him in the feels.

All I need to do is sleep with him once, take some hot-and-sweaty pics of him in… delicate positions, and bring him down. That’s it. Nothing more.

Pictures first. Revenge after. And then I win.

At least, that’s how it was supposed to happen. But then I did something worse than sexting.

I fell in love with him. Again.

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I never thought my perp walk would lead to true love.

Then again, I never thought I’d be arrested on RICO charges and hauled away in zip ties on camera for the world to see, minutes after closing the most amazing deal of my career.

And all of it in front of my biggest rival, billionaire wunderkind Ian McCrory.

I am broke.

I am disgraced.

I am alone.

I am a sucker.

But the worst part? I have to go back to my hometown and live in my bedroom filled with relics from my childhood.

Lisa Frank never made me so mad before.

Just when I needed a rescue, I got one — in the form of help from my biggest rival.

He can’t bring back my money.

He certainly can’t bring back my reputation or my pride.

But there’s one thing he can bring back to me.

A sense of hope.

Maybe even love.

Ian sees something in me no one else does, and he’s relentless about making me see it, too. As we grow closer, I’m starting to see that while my entire life used to be a lie, the truth is staring me in the present — and it’s a truth I like very, very much, hot eyes and gorgeous smile and all.

But I have to be careful.

I can’t be too —

That’s right.

Hasty.

The final book in the USA Today bestselling Do-Over Series (Fluffy, Perky, Feisty), as Mallory’s sister, Hastings “Hasty” Monahan gets her turn at a happily ever after that starts off with an arrest.

Hers.

And ends with a surprisingly cheesy happily ever after.

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Win a print copy of Hasty ~ enter on Goodreads

NEW TO THE DO-OVER SERIES? Download the prequel, Little Miss Perfect, for FREE!

NEW RELEASE!! Did you know Darla writes shifter novels?

This week was a super-weird release day for me, as DarkNight of the Moon released everywhere.

Er… Darla. It’s “Darla’s” release.

Darla Josephine Jennings, aka “DJ Jennings,” is the main female character in my Random series (which starts with the book Random Acts of Crazy). “She” started writing shifter romance novels a while ago.

In 2014, when Random Acts of Hope came out (my 4th Random book… book #11 comes out in August, so WOW!), I made an inside joke in the book about Darla writing shifter romance novels. She and her friend Amy have a conversation about it, and after Random Acts of Hope came out, readers started asking for “Darla’s shifter romance.”

So, for fun, I decided “Darla” would write one.

In 2017, “Darla” published her first shifter romance novel, Owl Be Bear For You.

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Amazon AU

Amazon CA

Nook/B&N

Apple Books

Kobo

Google Play

In 2019, “she” published her second, You Shook Me Howl Night Long.

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Amazon AU

Amazon CA

Apple Books

Nook/BN

Google Play

Kobo

And this week, “she” published book 3 in the Camp Shifter world, DarkNight of the Moon.

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Amazon AU

Amazon CA

Apple Books

Nook/BN

Google Play

Kobo

Camp Shifter is a wild world, a mashup of ideas where shifters are known to all, and you find out you’re a shifter between the ages of 18 and 25 (either by your first shift, called The Morph, or by receiving The Letter).

You then spend a month at Camp Shifter, which is run by Danielle, Travis, and Josh (hmmmmm, who could that triad really be in a parallel, real world? Darla/Trevor/Joe from the Random series) and where new shifters learn how to be, well…

Shifters.

I have a LOT of goofy fun with this series. It’s so different from my other books that “DJ Jennings” is the author, so plenty of readers miss it.

Here’s your chance not to miss it. 😉

All three books have audiobooks coming, too (narrated by the fabulous team of Jeffrey Kafer and Heather Costa). The books are slowly making their way into various channels, but right now, you can get ALL THREE new releases on:

Chirp

Google Play

Audible

and more places will have audio, including Apple Books, as soon as their systems put them out!

So… have fun with my – er, “Darla’s”, Camp Shifter series. If you’re looking for a true escape, this is it. When you see the list of workshops campers go through to learn to be a shifter, like Naked in Public 101, or Fated Mates and Other True Myths, and meet the teachers at Camp Shifter, the fellow staff members, the campers, and experience the conflicts and tensions — and love, of course — I hope you get to sink into something that takes your mind off daily life and makes your heart race, your mind imagine, and your face smile.

<3

Julia… er, Darla. 😉