BLOG TOUR & BOOK REVIEW: The Pool Boy by Nikki Sloane

From USA Today bestselling author Nikki Sloane comes a sexy, edgy new standalone in the Nashville Neighborhood series.

BOOK BLURB

Nothing says happy birthday like catching your husband in a compromising position with his boss. 

His male boss.

Why, hello, midlife crisis.

I'm starting over, but this time I'm doing it right.

Or at least I'm doing what I want.

Taking the day off from work to hang out poolside?

Yup.

Do I leave the swimsuit in my house?

Sure.

Does my very hot, twenty-something pool boy happen to catch me naked?

Oh, yeah, he does. And he likes what he sees... a lot.

My best friend keeps telling me to have a fling and get back out there.

But I'm not so sure she meant for me to do it with her son.

EXCERPT

Troy Osbourne came once a week to service both my pool and the freestanding spa. I'd hired him last year to handle closing and covering the pool for the winter, then reopening it for me last month, and the weekly visits that followed had kept the water crystal clear and the pH perfectly balanced.

My pool had never looked so good.

But Troy always came when I was at work and let himself in through the gate at the side of my fence, so I had completely forgotten his schedule. He must have gone behind the pool house and inside to fetch his supplies, and when he'd rounded the corner and discovered me topless, he'd dropped everything in his arms. 

Including the long pole with the net at the end.

It was as if someone had put their foot down on the sustain pedal of a piano, only this piano played the music of time, and the moment suspended with my long, drawn out gasp.

I was topless, and he was frozen, and holy shit, he's my best friend's twenty-four-year-old son.

It burst from my lips in horror. "Oh, f*ck!"

In my panic, I grasped at my towel to cover myself, only to struggle, hopelessly, since it was pinned beneath my body. I leapt to my feet and yanked the terrycloth up, pressing it over my naked chest.

Troy still hadn't moved. His lips were open, as if he'd planned to say something, but now he was frozen and unable to do anything. I couldn't see his eyes behind his mirrored Aviator sunglasses, but he didn't seem to be breathing. 

So, I did what any reasonable woman would when a gorgeous almost-stranger caught her naked.

I ran.

MY THOUGHTS

Genre: Contemporary / Erotic Romance 

POV: Alternating First Person 

Tropes: Divorce, Forbidden Love, Learning to Love Again, Musicians, Reverse Age Gap, Work Relationships

Overall: ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Character Development: 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨

Steam Factor: 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

I've said it before and I'll say it again -- Nikki Sloane never disappoints. I've read every book, novella, and short story she's ever published, and every book, novella, and short story has been nothing short of spectacular. 

THE POOL BOY strikes the perfect balance between steamy and heartfelt moments.

It's the perfect mix of sweetness and filth.

At the age of 42, Erika is in the best shape of her life. So, she doesn't understand why her husband's sex drive seems to be fading. That is until she catches him cheating.  

Meanwhile...

At the age of 24, Troy is stuck working for his stepdad's construction company. It's one of a few jobs, actually -- he also teaches a class at the gym, cleans the pool for Ms. Erika, and performs at local dive bars on the weekends.  

Troy has harbored a crush on Erika for years but realistically knows he doesn't have a shot with his mom's best friend.

CUE: TROY'S FANTASY COMES TO LIFE

"His mouth was the same as his singing voice.

Gentle one second and full of commanding power the next."

FINAL TAKE

Like THE DOCTOR (the first book in the the Nashville Neighborhood series), THE POOL BOY is a fun, steamy, quick read. It should come as no surprise that I loved it, as I love everything Nikki Sloane writes. She can write a sex scene like nobody's business; they are always super hot and never a touch cringe. This is no easy feat, but Sloane somehow manages it every time. THE POOL BOY is the perfect summer read!

Download THE POOL BOY today!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/39TKob6

Apple Books:https://apple.co/2BTlM5t

Barnes & Noble: https://bit.ly/2Xm61LU

Kobo:https://bit.ly/2XnDmGm

Goodreads: https://bit.ly/2Pm5tBy

USA TODAY bestselling author Nikki Sloane landed in graphic design after her careers as a waitress, a screenwriter, and a ballroom dance instructor fell through. For eight years, she worked for a design firm in that extremely tall, black, and tiered building in Chicago that went through an unfortunate name change during her time there.

Now she lives in Kentucky, is married and has two sons. She is a three-time Romance Writers of America RITA Finalist, a Passionate Plume winner, a two-time HOLT Medallion finalist, and couldn't be happier that people enjoy reading her sexy words.

CONNECT WITH NIKKI

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Facebook: http://bit.ly/NikkiSloaneFB

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Join her mailing list: https://www.nikkisloane.com/newsletter

*A big thank you to the author and her PR group for granting me the opportunity to read an advanced reader copy of this book. The thoughts expressed here are my own personal opinions and have been written in my own words.

BOOK REVIEW: Time of Our Lives by Emily Wibberley & Austin Siegemund-Broka

MY SYNOPSIS

Juniper has a chaotic life at home in Springfield, Massachusetts. She lives in a multi-generational household and yearns for the freedom an out-of-state school would provide.

Fitz lives in New Hampshire with his mom and feels a great deal of pressure to take care of her (she carries the gene for early onset Alzheimer's). Although he's resigned himself to a future attending a nearby college, he begrudgingly agrees to tour several universities in the northeast to appease his mother.

Juniper and Fitz meet each other while on their college tour and wonder if their friendship could turn into something more.

MY THOUGHTS

GENRE: Young Adult

POV: Alternating 1st Person

SETTING: Mostly NYC

TROPES: College, Coming of Age, Family Life, Love Triangle, Opposites Attract

STORYLINE: ⭐⭐💫

CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT: 🧑🏽🧑🏽🧑🏽

ROMANCE: 💑💑

TIME OF OUR LIVES had so much potential but fell far short for me. There are several plot holes and too few romantic moments to qualify as Young Adult Romance. The focus is much more on the family dynamics of each character (which is okay!) than I was expecting. 

 

Perhaps, I would have found it more enjoyable had I not been expecting an adorable, feel good romance. But I chose to read this particular book, at this particular time, because I believed it would be similar to the YA romance stories previously published by this author duo and that isn't the case.

To read my full review (spoilers included), you can find it on Goodreads >>> here.

BOOK REVIEW: The Flatshare by Beth O'Leary

BOOK SYNOPSIS

Tiffy and Leon share a flat.
Tiffy and Leon share a bed.
Tiffy and Leon have never met.

Tiffy Moore needs a cheap flat, and fast. Leon Twomey works nights and needs cash. Their friends think they’re crazy, but it’s the perfect solution: Leon occupies the one-bed flat while Tiffy’s at work in the day, and she has the run of the place the rest of the time.

But with obsessive ex-boyfriends, demanding clients at work, wrongly imprisoned brothers and, of course, the fact that they still haven’t met yet, they’re about to discover that if you want the perfect home you need to throw the rulebook out the window.

MY SYNOPSIS

When Tiffy (short for Tiffany) breaks up with her boyfriend, he understandably wants her to find another place to live but her choices are limited.

Tiffy earns diddlysquat at her job working for a craft and hobby magazine. On top of that, she owes her ex-bf a bit of back pay on rent. She loves her job and doesn't want to quit, but neither can she afford to pay for a London flat by herself. Enter Leon's advert.

Leon is as a palliative care nurse at a hospice facility, but he needs extra income to take care of a family matter. Because it isn't really feasible for Leon to obtain a second job, as he works the higher paid overnight shift, he decides the best option is to procure a flat mate. This solution seems easy enough, as he'll occupy the flat when his roommate is working and he stays with his girlfriend on the weekend anyway. 

"I have a feeling Tiffy becomes 'our girl' easily -- she's the sort of person distant relatives and absent neighbors still like to claim credit for."

Leon's new flat mate is friendly, loquacious, goofy, and tons of FUN. Tiffy's bubbly personality, tall stature (six feet!), and funky outfits grab the attention of everyone around her. Leon, on the other hand, is kind, stoic, and likes to keep to himself. He's not a man of many words, and he often settles for the status quo to avoid change. In other words, Tiffy and Leon are polar opposites!

When Tiffy moves into the flat, they find creative ways to communicate and soon realize they've found an unexpected ally in each other.

MY TAKE

"There's more emotion here than at an airport arrivals lounge.
Love Actually was missing a trick."

Leon and Tiffy are utterly charming, adorable, and unique. In fact, unique is the perfect word to describe this book.

The plot is unique.

The characters are unique.

The writing format is unique.

Even their jobs are unique.

And, that's what really tipped the scales and made it a real winner for me. It's always refreshing to find a book with a unique storyline, especially when it comes to romance novels. 

MY RATING

OVERALL: ⭐⭐⭐⭐

CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT: 👥👥👥👥👥

STORYLINE: 📚📚📚📚📚

CHAPTER REVEAL: Handle With Care by Helena Hunting

I'm a big fan of Helena Hunting's trademark romantic comedies, so I'm excited to share a sneak peak of her upcoming novel, HANDLE WITH CARE (available August 27, 2019).  

New York Times bestselling author of SHACKING UP and I FLIPPING LOVE YOU Helena Hunting mixes humor and heart in this scandal-filled romantic comedy.

HE WANTS TO LOSE CONTROL.

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

SHE’S TRYING TO HOLD IT TOGETHER.

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

Enjoy this preview and pre-order your copy of HANDLE WITH CARE >>> here. 

CHAPTER 1

WHAT HAVE I GOTTEN MYSELF INTO? 

WREN

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

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

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

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

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

“That solving your problems?” I give him a wry grin and tip my chin in the direction of his bottle of Johnnie. His gaze swings slowly to the bottle. It gives me a chance to really look at him. Or what I can see of his face under his beard, anyway.

“Nah, but it helps quiet down all the noise up here.” He taps his temple and blurts, “My dad died.” I put a hand on his forearm. It feels awkward, and creepy on my part since its half-genuine, half-contrived comfort. “I’m so sorry.”

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

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

“What is that?”
“Cranberry and soda.”
“No booze?”
“No booze. Go ahead. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

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

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

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

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

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

This time I laugh—for real—and point to the bottle. “I think you might want to tell your date you’re done for the night.” He blows out a breath and nods. “You might be right.” He makes an attempt to stand, but as soon as his feet hit the floor, he stumbles into me and grabs my shoulders to steady himself. “Whoa. Sorry. Yup, I’m definitely drunk.”

His face is inches from mine, breath smelling strongly of alcohol. Beyond that, I get a whiff of fresh soap and a hint of aftershave. He lets go of my shoulders and takes an unsteady step back. “I don’t usually do this.” He motions sloppily to the bottle. “Mostly I’m a three drink max guy.”

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

He’s incredibly unsteady, swaying while standing in place. I take the opportunity for what it is and thread my arm through his, leading him away from the bar. “Come on, let’s get you to the elevator before you pass out right here.” He nods, then wobbles a bit, like moving his head has set him off balance. “That’s probably a good idea.”

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

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

“It’s probably all the alcohol sloshing around in your brain.” I take his elbow again, helping him stagger the last twenty feet to the dedicated penthouse elevator.  He stares at the keypad for a few seconds, brow pulling into a furrow.

“I can’t remember the code. It’s thumbprint activated though too.” He stumbles forward and presses his forehead against the wall, then tries to line up his thumb with the sensor, but his aim is horrendous and he keeps missing.

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

He rolls his head, eyes slits as they bounce around my face. “Please.” I take his hand between mine. The first thing I notice is how clammy it is. But beyond that, his knuckles are rough, littered with tiny scars and a few scabs, and his nails are jagged.

“Your hands are small,” he observes as I line his thumb up with the sensor pad and press down. “Maybe yours are abnormally big,” I reply. They are rather large. Like basketball player hands.

“You know what they say about big hands.” I fight not to roll my eyes, but for a brief moment, I wonder if what’s in his pants actually matches the rest of him. And if he’s unkempt everywhere, not just on his face. I cut that visual quickly because it makes me want to gag. “And what do they say?”

His eyes crinkle again, and he slaps his own chest. “Something about big hands, big heart.” I bite back my own smile. “Pretty sure you’re mixing that up with cold hands, warm heart.” His brow furrows. “There’s a good chance.”

The elevator doors slide open. He pushes off the wall with some effort and practically tumbles inside. He catches himself on the rail and sags against the wall as I follow him in. I honestly can’t believe I’m doing this right now.

He doesn’t have to press a button since the elevator only goes to the penthouse floor. As soon as we start moving, he groans and his shoulders curl in. “I don’t feel so good.” Please don’t let him be sick in here. If there’s one thing I can’t deal with, it’s vomit. "You should sit.”

He slides down the wall, massive shoulders rolling forward as he rests his forehead on his knees. “Tomorrow is going to suck.” I stay on the other side of the elevator, in case he tosses his cookies. “Probably.”

It’s the longest elevator ride in the history of the world. Or at least it feels that way, mostly because I’m terrified he’s going to yak. Thankfully, we make it to the penthouse floor incident-free. On the down side, now that he’s in a sitting position, getting him to stand again is a challenge. I have to press the open door button three times before I can finally coax him to his feet.

In the time between leaving the bar and making it to the penthouse floor, the effects of the alcohol seems to have compounded. He’s beyond sloppy, using the wall and me for support as we make our way to his door. There are two penthouse apartments up here. One on either side of the foyer.

He leans against the doorjamb, once again fighting to find the coordination to get his thumb to the sensor pad. I don’t ask if he needs my assistance this time since it’s quite clear he does. Once again I take his clammy hand in mine. 

“Your hands are really soft,” he mumbles. “Thanks.” The pad flashes green, and I turn the handle. “Okay, here we go. Home sweet home.”

“This isn’t my home,” he slurs. “My cousin’s family owns this building. I’m crashing here until I can get the fuck out of New York.”

I scan the penthouse. It an eclectic combination of odd art and modern furniture, like two different tastes crashed together and this is the result. Aside from that, it’s clean to the point of looking almost like a show home.

The only sign that someone is staying here is the lone coffee cup on the table in the living room and the blanket lolling like a tongue over the edge of the couch. I’m still standing in the doorway while he sways unsteadily. He tries to shove his hand in his pants pocket, but all he succeeds in doing is setting himself off-balance. He nearly stumbles into the wall. “Thanks for your help,” he says.

He’s back in his penthouse, which means my job is technically done. However, I’m worried he’s going to hurt himself, or worse, asphyxiate on his own vomit in the middle of the night, and I’ll be the one catching heat if that happens. I’ll also feel bad if something happens to him. I blow out a breath, annoyed that this is how my night is ending.

I heave his arm over my shoulder and slip mine around his waist again, leading him through the living room toward what seems to be the kitchen. There’s a sheet of paper on the island, but otherwise it’s spotless.

“What’re you doing?” he asks. We pause when we reach the threshold. “Which way is your bedroom?” He looks slowly from right to left. “Not that way.” He points to the kitchen. It’s very state of the art.

I guide him in the opposite direction down the hall, until he stumbles through a doorway, into a large but simply furnished bedroom. Once we reach the edge of the bed, he drops his arm, spins around—it’s drunkenly graceful—and falls back on the bed, arms spread wide as if he’s planning on making snow angels. “The room is spinning.”

“Would you like me to get you a glass of water and possibly a painkiller for the headache you’ll likely have in the morning?” I’m already heading for the bathroom. “Might be a good idea,” he mumbles.

I find a glass on the edge of bathroom vanity—which is clean, apart from a brand new toothbrush and tube of toothpaste. I run the tap, wishing I had a plastic tumbler, because I’m not sure he’s in any state to deal with breakable objects. I check the medicine cabinet, find the pills I need, shake out two tablets, and return to the bedroom.

He’s right where I left him; sprawled out faceup on a massive king-size bed, legs hanging off the end, one shoe on the floor beside him. I cross over and set the water and the pills on the nightstand.

I make a quick trip back to the bathroom and grab the empty wastebasket from beside the toilet in case his night is a lot rougher than he expects. I tap his knee, crossing my fingers he’ll be easy to rouse. “Hey, I have painkillers for you.” He makes a noise, but doesn’t move otherwise.

I tap his knee again. “Lincoln, you need to wake up long enough to take these.” I cringe. I called him by name, and he didn’t offer it to me while we were down at the bar. Here’s hoping he’s too drunk to notice or remember. His name is Lincoln Moorehead, heir to the Moorehead Media fortune and all the crap that comes with it. And there’s a lot of it.

One eye becomes a slit. “Every time I open my eyes, the room starts spinning again.” “If you drink this and take these, it might help.” I hold up the glass of water and the pills.

“’Kay.” It takes three tries for him to sit up. He tries to pick the pills up out of my palm, but keeps missing my hand.

“Just open your mouth.” He lifts his head. “How do I know you’re not trying to roofie me?” I hold up the tablet in front of his face. “They don’t say roofie, so you’re safe.”

He tries to focus on the pill and then my face. I have my doubts he’s successful at either. His tongue peeks out to drag across his bottom lip. “The cameras in the hall will catch you if you steal my wallet.”

I laugh at that. “I’m not going to steal your wallet, I’m going to put you to bed.” “Hmm.” He nods slowly and opens his mouth. I drop the pills on his tongue and hand him the glass, which he drains in three long swallows. “Would you like me to refill that?”

“That’d be nice.” He holds out the glass, but when I try to pull away, he covers my hands with his. His shockingly blue eyes meet mine, and for a moment they’re clear and compelling. Despite how out of it he is, and how much he resembles a mountain man, or maybe because of it, I have a hard time looking away.

“I really wish I wasn’t this messed up. You smell nice. I bet your hair is pretty when it’s not pulled up like that.” He flops a hand toward my bun. “Not that it’s not pretty like that, but I bet if you took it down, it would be wavy and soft. The kind of hair you want to bury your face in and run your fingers through.” He exhales a long breath. “I haven’t had sex in a really long time, but I feel like I would have zero finesse if I tried right now.”

I smile and turn away. In the time it takes for me to refill his glass, he’s managed to get one arm out of his suit jacket. He’s made it most of the way onto the bed, feet still hanging off the end, but he’s on his back, which is not ideal. I set the glass on his nightstand, along with a second set of painkillers, which I’m assuming he’ll need in the morning, and give him another nudge. “Hey.”

This time I get nothing in the way of a response. I poke him twice more, but still nothing. He can’t sleep on his back with how drunk he is. He needs to be on his side or his stomach with a wastebasket close by. I can’t in good conscience leave him like this. My options are limited. I shake my head as I kick off my shoes and climb up onto the bed with him. This is not at all what I expected to be doing when I brought him back up here.

I stare down at his sleeping form. His lips are parted, they’re nice lips, full and plump, even though they’re mostly obscured by his overgrown beard. His hair has started to unravel from its man bun, wisps hanging in his face. He has long lashes, really long actually, and they’re thick and dark, the kind women pay a lot of money for. His nose is straight and his cheekbones— what I can see of them—are high. With a haircut, a beard trim or complete shave, and a new suit that actually fits, I can imagine how refined he’ll look. More like a Moorehead than a mountain man lumberjack. I shake my head. “I need you to roll onto your side, please,” I say loudly.

Nothing. Not even a grunt. I pull on his shoulder, but he’s dead weight. Leaning over him, I make a fist and give him a light jab approximately where his kidney is. “Lincoln, roll over.”

And roll he does, knocking me down and turning over so he’s right on top of me. We’re face-to-face. Good God, he’s heavy. His bones must be made of lead. He shifts, one leg coming over both of mine. I push at his knee, but his arm swings out and he wraps himself around me on a low groan, pinning my arm to my side. He’s like a giant human blanket.

“How did this become my life?” I say to the ceiling, because the man lying on top of me is apparently out cold. I try to wriggle free, I even yell his name a bunch of time before I give up and wait for him to roll off me. And while I wait for that to happen, I replay the conversation with his mother, Gwendolyn Moorehead, that took place forty-eight hours ago and put me in this awkward position underneath her drunk son.

I’d been standing in Fredrick’s office, still digesting the fact that he was dead. It was shocking that a massive heart attack had taken him, since he was always so healthy and full of life. Gwendolyn, his wife—now a widow—stood stoic behind his desk, papers stacked neatly in the center.

“I’m so very for your loss, Gwendolyn. If there’s anything I can do. Whatever you need.”

The words poured out, typical condolences, but sincerely meant because I couldn’t imagine how my mother and I would feel if we lost my father. Gwendolyn’s fingers danced at her throat as she cleared it.

“Thank you,” she whispered brokenly and dabbed at her eyes. “I appreciate your kindness, Wren.”

“Let me know what you want me to handle, and I’ll take care of it.”

She took a deep breath, composing herself before she lifted her gaze to mine. “I need your help.”

“Of course, what can I do?”

“My oldest son, Lincoln, will be returning to New York for the funeral, and he’ll be staying to help run the company.”

A hot feeling crept up my spine. I’d heard very little about Lincoln. Everything from Armstrong’s mouth was scathing, Fredrick’s passing references had been with fondness, and my interactions with Gwendolyn had been minimal as it was Fredrick himself who hired me, so this was first I’ve heard of Lincoln through her.

“I see. And how can I help with that?”

I could only imagine how difficult Armstrong would be if he had to share the attention with someone else, particularly his brother.

“Transitioning Lincoln.” Gwendolyn rounded her desk. “You’ve managed to turn around Armstrong’s reputation in the media during the time you’ve been here. I know it hasn’t been easy, and Armstrong can be difficult to manage.”

Difficult to manage is the understatement of the entire century where Armstrong is concerned. He’s a cocksucker of epic proportions. He’s also a misogynistic, narcissistic bastard that I’ve had to deal with for the past eight months on a nearly daily basis—sometimes even on weekends.

My job as his “handler” has been to reshape his horrendous reputation after his involvement in several scandalous events became very public. It wasn’t a job I necessarily wanted, and I was prepared to politely reject the offer, but my mother asked me to take the position as a favor to her since she’s a friend of Gwendolyn.

Beyond that, my relationship with my mother has been strained for the past decade. When I was a teenager, I discovered information that changed our relationship forever. Taking the job at Moorehead was in part, my way of trying to help repair our fractured bond. The financial compensation, which was ridiculously high, also didn’t hurt. Besides, Gwendolyn is on nearly every single charitable foundation committee in the city, and since that’s where my interests lie, it seemed like a smart career move.

“Since you’re already working with Armstrong and things seem to be settled there for the most part, I felt it would make sense to keep you on here at Moorehead to work with Lincoln. He’s been away from civilized society for several years. He’s nothing like his brother, very altruistic and focused on his job, rather than recreational pursuits, so he should be easier to manage.”

I fought a scoff at the last bit, since “recreational pursuits” was a reference to the fact that Armstrong couldn’t seem to keep his pants zipped when it came to women.

Gwendolyn pushed a set of papers toward me. “It would only be for another six months. And of course, your salary would reflect the double work load, since you’ll still have to maintain Armstrong in some capacity while you assist Lincoln in transitioning into his role here.”

“I’m sorry, what—”

Gwendolyn pulled me into an awkward hug, holding onto my shoulders when she stepped back. Her eyes were glassy and red-rimmed.

“You have no idea how much I appreciate your willingness to take this on. As soon as your contract is fulfilled, you have my word that I’ll give you a glowing recommendation to whichever organization you’d like. Your mother told me you’re interested in starting your own foundation. I’ll certainly help you in any way I’m able if you’ll stay on a little longer for me.” She dabbed at her corner of her eyes and sniffed, then tapped the papers on the desk. “I already have an agreement ready and an NDA, of course. Everything is tabbed for signing.”

I’m pulled back into the present when Lincoln shifts and one of his huge hands slides up my side and lands on my breast. At the same time, he pushes his nose against my neck, beard tickling my collarbone. He mutters something unintelligible against my skin. I’m momentarily frozen in shock. Under any other circumstances, I would knee him in the balls. However, he’s not conscious or even semi-aware that he’s fondling me. Thankfully, now that he’s moved, I have some wiggle room.

I elbow him in the ribs, which probably hurts me more than it does him. At least it gets him to move away enough that I can slip out from under him. I roll off the bed and pop back up, smoothing out my now-wrinkled dress. My stupid nipples are perky, thanks to the attention the right one just got. Probably because it’s the most action I’ve seen since I started working for the Mooreheads eight months ago.

I hit the lights on the way out of the bedroom, pause in the kitchen to grab a glass of water and check out the sheet of paper on the counter. It’s a list of important details regarding the penthouse, including the entry code. I nab my purse, snap a pic, and head for the elevators. I have a feeling this is going to be a long six months.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Helena Hunting

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

BOOK REVIEW: Violent Ends by Jessica Hawkins

WOW.

WOW.

WOW.

WOW.

WOW.

This series is SO *&$@#! GOOD that I'm legit at a loss for words.

There are no words.

VIOLENT ENDS, the second book of the White Monarch trilogy by Jessica Hawkins, is a nail-biting, page-turning, gripping-your-hair-out-of-frustrated-anticipation kind of good. 

VIOLENT ENDS picks right back up where VIOLENT DELIGHTS left off -- with my jaw on the floor. Natalia Cruz, the sheltered and naïve daughter of one of the most powerful drug lords in all of Mexico, has just been betrayed by the man she loves. To protect her family and everyone she loves, Natalia sacrificed her future happiness and agreed to a wedding that felt more like a funeral. By accepting her role as the wife of a powerful cartel kingpin, she is now legally and spiritually bound to the one thing she so desperately wanted to escape.

When Natalia finds out that Cristiano is not the man she expected, she struggles to sort through her warring emotions. As lines continue to blur, Natalia isn't sure if she should fear or hate her new husband, or if she should feel something else entirely. The only thing she knows for certain -- she will never stop searching for the answers to her questions. 

There is so, so, so, so much that I love about this book. The simmering heat. The power struggle. The witty banter. 

ALL. THE. FEELS.

"I lost my breath at the sight of his ass. I could've flicked a quarter at it and ducked as it ricocheted right back at me. Smooth with bronze, concave cheeks, it had more definition than his top-of-the-line TVs."

But man... that cliff hanger is brutal.

I don't know how to survive the next few months without knowing how it all ends. I can only hope and pray, and cross my fingers and toes, that the title of book three, VIOLENT TRIUMPHS, means the end will be a triumphant one. 

LOVE. LOVE. LOVE. LOVE. LOVE.

Trust me, you need to read this book. 
You can thank me later.

Amazon ➜ http://smarturl.it/violentendsamz

Apple Books ➜ http://bit.ly/violentendsapple

Google Play ➜ http://bit.ly/violentendsgp

Nook ➜ http://bit.ly/violentendsnook

Kobo ➜ http://bit.ly/violentendskobo

Add on Goodreads ➜ http://bit.ly/whitemonarchgr

Audible Alert ➜ http://bit.ly/videaudioalert

Book 1 ➜ https://www.jessicahawkins.net/violentdelights.html

Listen to my self-curated Violent Ends Playlist on Spotify >>>

Violent Ends Playlist on Spotify

Unfoolish - Ashanti
Bad Boyz - Shyne
Mr. Wrong - Mary J. Blige (feat. Drake)
Head Above Water - Avril Lavigne
Poison & Wine - The Civil Wars
Tragic Endings - Eminem (feat. Skylar Gray)
Let Me (Acoustic) - Belle Mt
Wreck Me - Chord Overstreet
Kiss Me - Ed Sheeran
Electric - Alina Baraz (feat. Khalid)
Never Be the Same - Camila Cabello
Hate to Love You - The Revivalists
Never Let Me Go - Florence + the Machine
Worth of You - Plested
Sail - AWOLNATION
Live or Die - Noah Cyrus & Lil Xan
Hold On - Chord Overstreet

My review of VIOLENT DELIGHTS (White Monarch, #1) can be found >>> here.

RATING: ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

SUSPENSE: 😬😬😬😬😬

STEAM: 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

*An ARC of this book was provided to me by the author in exchange for my honest review. The thoughts and opinions expressed on Life as a Jane Doe are solely those of the blog owner (me) and have been written in my own words.