Thursday 23 March 2017

Excerpt Reveal: Walk of Shame by Lauren Layne

Click the above image to follow the Excerpt Reveal.


Walk of Shame
Love Unexpectedly #4
By: Lauren Layne
Releasing April 18, 2017
Loveswept


Walk of Shame

Love Unexpectedly Series

Sparks fly between a misunderstood New York socialite and a cynical divorce lawyer in this lively standalone rom-com from the USA Today bestselling author of Blurred Lines and Love Story.
Pampered heiress Georgianna Watkins has a party-girl image to maintain, but all the shopping and clubbing is starting to feel a little bit hollow—and a whole lot lonely. Though Georgie would never admit it, the highlights of her week are the mornings when she comes home at the same time as her uptight, workaholic neighbor is leaving to hit the gym and put in a long day at the office. Teasing him is the most fun Georgie’s had in years—and the fuel for all her naughtiest daydreams.
Celebrity divorce attorney Andrew Mulroney doesn’t have much time for women, especially spoiled tabloid princesses who spend more time on Page Six than at an actual job. Although Georgie’s drop-dead gorgeous, she’s also everything Andrew resents: the type of girl who inherited her penthouse instead of earning it. But after Andrew caps one of their predawn sparring sessions with a surprise kiss—a kiss that’s caught on camera—all of Manhattan is gossiping about whether they’re a real couple. And nobody’s more surprised than Andrew to find that the answer just might be yes.

Georgie
Tuesday morning
Let’s talk about five a.m. for a second.
Also known as the worst hour of the day, am I right?
Here’s why:
If you’re awake to see five in the freaking morning, it means one of a few things, all of them heinous.
Scenario one: You’re on your way to the airport for an early morning flight. Heinous.
Scenario two: You’ve been out all night, and now your vodka buzz is fading, and you’re just sober enough to realize that the rest of your day will likely involve Excedrin, carbs, and indoor voices. Heinous.
Scenario three: You’ve got a crap-ton on your mind, and you’re lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, hating your life. Maybe hating yourself a little bit, I dunno, who am I to judge? Heinous.
Now brace yourself, because scenario four is the most heinous of them all: You’re awake at five a.m. because you’re an uptight prick whose schedule is even more rigid than your posture, and your life is an endless string of working out, the corner office, repeat. You’re also likely the type of person who subsists on protein shakes and kale smoothies, and you have been known to utter the phrase the body is a temple, thus solidifying what we already knew about you.
You have no friends.
But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself.
See, it’s five a.m., and I, Georgie Watkins, am . . . kind of excited about it.
I know. I know. Four months ago I’d have bet my favorite vintage Chanel bag that there was exactly zero chance I’d actually look forward to the ghoulish hour of five in the morning.
And yet here we are.
I guess you could say there’s a scenario five on reasons to be up this early.
Good morning, Ramon,” I sing, pushing through the revolving doors of the luxury high-rise on 56th and Park, the place I call home.
The concierge/security guard/all-around good guy glances up and gives me a friendly smile. “Ms. Watkins. Good morning.”
Usually the massive front desk is a bustling, busy affair. Starting at around seven, an army of well-dressed concierges will be smoothly facilitating the needs of impatient residents, as tiny dogs let out sharp, high-pitched barks of greeting from their Louis Vuitton carriers.
But that’s later.
Right now, the luxurious lobby is mostly silent, with just the lone overnight guy working the front desk, holding down the fort until the day guys arrive to handle the morning crush.
My new Tory Burch clutch tucked into my armpit, I hold up the box in my hands and waggle my eyebrows. “Brought you something.”
Ramon’s smile grows wider, brown eyes lighting. “My wife says you’re going to make me fat.”
Tell Marta that the dad bod is totally in style right now,” I say, setting the box of donuts on the counter and lifting the lid. “Unless, of course, you don’t want a maple bacon donut?”
Ramon is already reaching inside the box, shaking his head in reverence as he lifts the sugary treat. “Still warm.”
Well, technically the shop doesn’t open until five, but I’m such a loyal customer, they let me in a bit early,” I say, surveying the array of donuts and trying to decide if I’m in a chocolate kind of mood or if I want to risk the powdered sugar one.
Since my Alexander McQueen minidress is black (the archnemesis of powdered sugar), I reach for the chocolate as I set my clutch on the counter and fish out my phone: 4:58 a.m.
Two more minutes.
How’s Marta dealing with the pregnancy of baby number three?” I ask, taking a bite of the donut and shifting attention back to Ramon, who’s already polished off his donut and is contemplating a second. I nudge the box toward him.
She’s good,” he says. “Excited that we’re finally having a girl.”
A girl!” I say, reaching across the counter and squeezing his massive forearm. “Congratulations, I hadn’t heard!”
Just found out yesterday,” he says with a happy smile, apparently deciding that the occasion calls for another donut.
Oh my gosh, I have the perfect baby gift,” I say, nibbling at a piece of my donut. “I saw this adorable Burberry onesie in Bergdorf’s the other day, with this precious little red bow—”
Yes, because that’s what every infant needs,” a low voice interrupts. “A four-hundred-dollar piece of fabric that needs to be dry-cleaned. Don’t be ridiculous, Georgiana.”
I don’t have to look at my clock to know what time it is.
Five o’clock.
On the dot.
Not even bothering to turn around, I roll my eyes as my red nails tear off another piece of donut and pop it into my mouth. “Ramon, do you think you could talk to maintenance about adjusting the temp? It just got a little cold in here.”
Ramon’s been working here long enough to know my request isn’t for real. He’s not even paying attention to me. He’s already set his donut aside and has straightened up, practically saluting the newcomer.
Mr. Mulroney. Good morning, sir.”
Mr. Ramirez.” The voice is low and serious, a touch impatient, although not quite rude.
You know that adage that you catch more flies with honey? I’m not so sure it’s true. I bring donuts to the front desk guys just about every morning, and they adore me. I know they do.
But they respect him.
Giving in to the inevitable, I finally let my eyes flick to the side, my gaze colliding with a stern brown scowl.
I put on my widest, sparkliest smile, only because I know it drives him crazy.
As always, I see a muscle in his jaw twitch as I flutter my eyelashes.
Good morning, Andrew,” I say sweetly.
Georgiana.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Only my late grandmother has ever called me that, and I’m pretty sure that’s because I was her namesake. Everyone else calls me Georgie. Well, okay, not everyone. Ramon and the other guys still insist on calling me Ms. Watkins, but I’m working on it. See: daily donuts.
I smile wider and push the box in Andrew’s direction. “Donut?”
His lip curls. In case you haven’t already gotten a read on this guy, he’s the type that sneers at donuts.
He lifts a boring black travel mug. “Already have my breakfast.”
Blended-up quinoa sprinkled with a few bits of spinach and pretension?” I ask.
Whey powder protein shake.”
Sounds immensely satisfying.”
He takes a sip of the nastiness and watches me with cold brown eyes. “The body is a temple, Georgiana.”
There it is.
Full circle to my above commentary about what sort of people are up and about at five a.m.


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Lauren Layne is the New York Times bestselling author of over a dozen romantic comedies.
A former e-commerce and web marketing manager from Seattle, Lauren relocated to New York City in 2011 to pursue a full-time writing career.
She lives in midtown Manhattan with her high-school sweetheart, where she writes smart romantic comedies with just enough sexy-times to make your mother blush. In LL's ideal world, every stiletto-wearing, Kate Spade wielding woman would carry a Kindle stocked with Lauren Layne books. 
 WEBSITE   |   FACEBOOK  |   TWITTER  |   GOODREADS
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New Release Spotlight: The Bad Boy Next Door by Jody Holford



The plan was to start over, not fall in love...

🌸The Bad Boy Next Door🌸
 by Jody Holford 



Shay Matthews moved to Boston for a fresh start…new apartment, new job, new routine. After too many years being coddled by her overbearing older brothers, Shay’s ready for some freedom and maybe a nice, easygoing guy. She wasn’t expecting to literally run into the scowling, brooding, (and unfairly smoking hot) guy next door.

Fresh off a haunting undercover assignment, detective Wyatt Daniels is jaded about life, relationships, and especially happily-ever-after. But there’s something about the independent and beautiful Shay that makes him want to dig deeper. Or stay away, which is definitely the smarter option of the two.

But the more Shay tries to convince herself that her sweet building manager, Brady, is the guy for her, the more Mr. Completely Wrong-for-Her Wyatt invades her mind and her heart.





Amazon     Paperback     B&N     iBooks     Kobo     Amazon UK     Amazon CA     Amazon AU


What were they doing here? It was some weird version of chicken, and at the moment, neither of them were blinking.
I don’t need you to take care of me.” Best to remind them both of that.
I know,” he said, his tone both serious and solemn.
His hand stretched out, and his fingers caressed her cheek. Shay let her eyes drift closed while she breathed
slowly through her nose. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and stepped back. She didn’t mean it as an invitation, but that’s how he took it. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it.
I told you I was going to be shit at this friend thing.”
Shay clasped her hands together to keep them from reaching out and stroking his body. They very much wanted to do that because they didn’t understand, the way her brain did, that it would be a worse idea than him being here.
You’re actually very good at it. You’re funny and kind. A bit overprotective, but I think that’s got as much to do with your job as your nature,” she said.
Wyatt’s lips pursed together like he was holding back a sarcastic retort. “Thanks. I guess I meant I’m not very good at it with you.”
Her heart skittered to a stop. “Oh.”
Had he come to tell her he didn’t even want friendship? He clearly didn’t want more, since he’d all but turned away from her when she kissed him.
I can actually see your brain turning over a bunch of wrong ideas.”
Crossing her arms in front of her, as if that gesture could protect her heart, she continued to stare at him.
He stepped closer. “I don’t want to be friends.”
Like a knife through a tire, his words slashed her heart. “Fine.”
Another step. Shay took one backward as he warned, “I’m no good for you.”
Her hands dropped to her sides. “So you’ve said.”
Friends don’t generally think about each other nonstop.”
How did he know she did that? Or did he mean him? “I don’t think about you that often. You’ve got a big ego.”
Another step forward for him and another back for her. His lips tipped up in amusement. “I mean me. I’m not
thinking of you like a friend.”
Shay paused mid-step. “Oh? Just like an annoying neighbor?”
He smiled now. “No. Not that either.”
They were standing in the hallway center. If she moved to the right, they’d end up in her living room. The left would lead them to her bedroom.
She stood still. “Then what?”
I’m not sure yet, but you should probably tell me to get lost.”
Shay’s lips twitched. “I don’t want to,” she admitted.
This time, when he stepped forward, she didn’t move. “I don’t want you to.”
The air between them was a heavy blanket of lust she wanted to crawl underneath.





Jody Holford is a multi-published author who has a soft spot for happily ever after. So much so, she tattooed the words on her arm. She’s a mom and a wife, a friend, sister, daughter, teacher, and book-lover. Her stories have a little bit of heat and a lot of heart. And maybe, some swoon-worthy moments that will make you smile.


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