About Me

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I am an avid reader, animal lover, devourer of guacamole, storyteller and the author of An Unexpected Obsession, A Dose of Reality, Witch Way, A Coven by Christmas, Love Spells, Summer Solstice (coming soon), Flirting With Death, Flirting With Murder and the rest of the upcoming Assassins Anonymous series. I attended Arizona State University (go Sun Devils!) and make my home in the Valley of the Sun with my husband and three pampered pets. I like to discuss everything funny, sexy, sassy and absurd. But mostly I like to talk about books... and shoes... and outrageously expensive purses... and Chanel sunglasses ...oooh, and anything sparkly... or fluffy! So, come on in and let's chat!

Sunday, May 29, 2011

I Love Gnomes!



I am obsessed with gnomes! My mother-in-law called me last week and asked if she could stop by (gotta love boundaries) because she had a surprise for me. The picture above is the surprise. How cute is that? I love it and it was so thoughtful of her! The hubby and I watched the movie yesterday and it was adorable. I'm so lucky to have people who love me!

Any other gnome lovers out there?

Saturday, May 28, 2011

#Sample Sunday : In Every Perfect Life, There Comes a Time for A Dose of Reality-On SALE Now for Only $.99 Through Memorial Day!


Chapter 1


I love getting packages in the mail.
Not just presents, although I especially like presents, but any box will do. It could be something silly I saw on late night TV and sleep-ordered or the latest pair of shoes from my favorite designer that hadn’t yet hit the stores. Even if it’s a power cord for my cell that I had to buy because I’d somehow misplaced the forty other ones—as long as it comes shipped to my house in a sturdy brown box, I’m a happy camper.
This particular box was heavy and I tore into the industrial strength packing tape with abandon. My thirtieth birthday was fast approaching and I just knew it had to be something wonderful. I peeled back the final flap and plunged my eager fingers into the plethora of pink packing peanuts. Finding something solid to grasp, I carefully lifted my prize into the light.
Huh?
I had to sit down to study the decomposing piece of metal that had emerged from the depths. I’m not usually the ungrateful type when it comes to gifts, but when your big brother sends you a dirty piece-of-crap sculpture for your thirtieth birthday… well, let’s just say I wasn’t overwhelmed by the warm-fuzzies. No card, of course, because that wasn’t Luke’s style. I knew it was from him; even without a return address on the label, I recognized my brother’s chicken-scratch writing style.
Happy-freaking-birthday to me.
I removed my gaze from the disappointing relic to look out the window at the snow falling lazily toward Central Park and tried not to feel sorry for myself. It was a peaceful scene and one which I normally appreciated throughout the year and especially so during the holiday season. But recently everything around me, like my latest gift, appeared tarnished.
My elite address at 15 Central Park West had been a bribe from my father, a way to get me to accept a summer-long mission of mercy on behalf of Avalon Pharmaceuticals. Spending three months in war-torn and impoverished countries all over the globe had not been my idea of a good time. Especially when my friends were spending their summer after college graduation cruising the Mediterranean on private yachts or other more leisurely pursuits.
Okay, I don’t have a lot of friends, but I have a few—alright, one—and she had certainly not been flying coach—on standby—to every hellhole on the planet.
“Daddy,” I had whined. “What if I get sick? Are you really going to send your daughter into the bowels of humanity so you can get a little publicity?”
“It’s not as if you have something more important to do. Now stop being a brat and start packing. I don’t expect much from you, but when I tell you to do something you’ll do it without question.”
“But…but Daddy, they sleep in tents! This isn’t like sharing a bathroom in the sorority house. This is serious. Why can’t we just give them the medicine we’re donating and call it even? I don’t want to go!” I had tried to look pathetic and vulnerable. It had never worked before, but I was desperate enough to resort to begging.
“Chloe,” he warned, unmoved by my display. “You will do as I ask. You will do it for me, you will do it for the company and most of all you will do it for yourself.”
I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue out as he turned to leave. “I just know I’m going to come home with malaria or leprosy, or something! You’ll be sorry when that happens!” I had shouted at his retreating back.
Fortunately—or unfortunately, as I saw it at the time—I hadn’t contracted any of the terrible diseases I had feared. But it took most of that summer to work off my mad at the unfairness of my plight. The experience had affected the way I viewed the world, not enough to deny myself the multi-million dollar piece of real estate in the heart of New York City, but it had changed me all the same.
Looking back, I should have respectfully declined the carrot and hopped right out from under my father’s controlling thumb. Because I hadn’t chosen the route that might have actually given me some character, I’d become a high-priced whore in his pharmaceutical brothel. My official title is Director of Marketing, but what that really means is I’m in charge of hiring and approving the people who actually have the talent to make the synthetic drugs we thrust upon the healthcare industry sound sexy.
Am I qualified? Who knows—and who really cares. What matters, at least to my father, is that I’m not an embarrassment to the Avalon name.  Even I have to admit that I’m a bit wishy-washy when it comes to goals—although I still don’t know why he insists heiress isn’t appropriate for my résumé.
In fact, who needs a résumé when they have a trust fund?
And that kind of thinking is exactly why you’re a worthless piece of crap, I silently chastised myself.
I may not need qualifications to maintain my financial status, but with the big 3-oh-shit rapidly approaching I was falling more deeply into a funk each day. I was turning bitter and couldn’t seem to stop myself. I felt trapped within the stereotype I’d perpetuated—an aimless, careless and socially inept spoiled little rich girl. My entire family thought I was odd. I was a disappointment to my father, a conundrum to my mother, an annoyance to my sister and irrelevant to my brother.
And the worst part about this burgeoning insight was that I couldn’t figure out a way to change any of it. It was easier to lash out and play the part of the unrepentant bitch that had taken over the person I’d wanted to become. Maybe I’d buy myself a gift for my birthday—a tiny dog to complete the image.
But that really has nothing to do with my current rant—which has everything to do with my bad-gift-giving older brother. Geesh, that statue is fugly! Where in the heck was I supposed to put it? And why on earth would Luke think I’d want it? At least my baby sister, Sophia, had the good taste to get me samples from her latest photo shoot. Luckily it was cosmetics, since she’s six inches taller than me and my left boob weighs more than her torso.
Have I mentioned I’m a tad bit envious of the genetic cards my sister was dealt?
Sophia currently sat across from me, looking at the hunk of junk like it was emitting a foul odor as well as visual flatulence. “Luke really is an ass,” she declared in a stilted British accent. “At least he gave me a weekend of indulgence at Elizabeth Arden.”
“Stop talking like that. You’re an American and everybody knows it.” I was annoyed in general, not really at Sophia in particular, but she was my sister and therefore had to put up with my moods. And she was prettier than me, so she could just suck it.
“But don’t you think it makes me seem more mysterious?”
“No. You sound like you’re mentally deficient… and possibly Chinese.”
“I know! I can’t get it right.” She kicked at my tufted brocade ottoman and sent the cardboard box flying, packing peanuts and all, straight to the newly refinished hardwood surface that had been previously unblemished. The resounding thunk had me leaping from my chair.
“Dammit, Soph! You dented my freaking floor!” The relic was heavy, at least twenty pounds, and now there was a big nick in the ebony surface.
“Sorry,” she said, looking moderately contrite. Not that she offered to help pick up the forty gazillion Styrofoam nuggets static-clinging all over the room.
I grabbed the vacuum from the hall closet and started sucking them up—only to realize the tiny holding tank on the deafening contraption was half the size of the box that had spilled. Ugh! I have very few opportunities to use the vacuum, so sue me for not figuring it out before the damn thing was completely clogged.
“Help me pick these up,” I demanded.
“I can’t. I have a shoot tomorrow and I don’t want bruises on me knees… so slutty.”
I rolled my eyes, crawling around the floor chasing the magnetized curly-cues that jumped out of reach as soon as my fingers got close. It was bad enough that I’d gotten a crappy present, but now I had to deal with this too? My life sucked.
Not really, but right then it sorta did.
When all the pieces had been collected—at least those that hadn’t run to hide beneath every piece of furniture in the room—I picked the statue up and carried it with me to the couch, wondering what to do with it. Sophia wasn’t any help, as she was busy studying her manicure. She spent as much time grooming herself as a cat, which further irritated me as apparently she had gotten the perfect nails DNA, as well as the good birthday presents. Everything was getting suckier by the second.
“Where is Luke anyway? I thought he was busy with the Levitrasis drug launch.” The package had been shipped from the Bahamas—lucky bastard. We weren’t the tightest of families, but I think I would have heard if Luke was on vacation so close to the holidays.
“How should I know? You’re more involved with Avalon than I am.”
This statement wasn’t actually true, other than the fact that my paychecks came from Avalon Pharmaceuticals. I worked from home and hadn’t set foot in the Avalon headquarters for months. The only contact I had was the occasional lunch with my father to get final approval for any new campaigns I was working on. I usually spent the time nervously stuffing my face to keep from saying something stupid while he looked on with an expression of disgust.
Dad ruled his kingdom with absolute authority, which was another reason Luke mailing me a less-than-desirable birthday gift from a tropical locale so close to the launch of a new drug was strange. Unlike me and Sophia, Luke was the chosen heir to the Avalon throne. I’d been watching our father attempt to mold him into version 2.0 of himself for years.  
Sophia wouldn’t know or care about that though because the only contact she had was when she needed to dip into her trust fund. Not that I could fault her for that, I may have acquired a softer heart for the needy than my younger sister possessed, but a girl couldn’t pass up a new pair of Louboutin’s could she? That’s a rhetorical question, by the way.
“I’m calling Mom. She hasn’t even mentioned having dinner to celebrate Christmas and my birthday.” It had become a tradition for the family to celebrate at Elaine’s and I was looking forward to it. I grabbed my cell and punched in the number.
“Hi honey, I was just thinking about you and what happens? My phone rings.” Mom started on one of her interconnectedness rants and I phased out.
“Are we still going to dinner for my birthday?” I interrupted when she finally took a breath. I hoped I wouldn’t have to wait for her to consult her psychic—she had been on a New Age woo-woo kick recently and I wasn’t in the mood to hear it. My mother was addicted to two things—fad religions and cooking. If they ever made a Real Housewives of Connecticut, she’d provide hours of entertainment.
“Of course we are. Even with your brother off on his quest, the party must go on.”
“Quest? Where is he?”
“Oh, you know your brother. He’s off to discover the next wonder-drug.”
I had put the phone on speaker so Sophia could hear both sides of the conversation and she piped in with an annoyed, “What in the hell does that mean?”
“Darling, please don’t swear. It’s so unbecoming.”
It was hard to suppress my giggle when Sophia screwed her face up into a cartoonish sneer with her eyes crossed. I made a slashing motion across my throat at her until she went back to her previous preoccupation with her cuticles. “So where is he?” I asked.
“You know I don’t involve myself in the business, love. I overheard your father speaking to him last week, so I know it’s someplace warm. Maybe next year we should go somewhere tropical for the holidays.”
I didn’t want to go anywhere for the holidays, next year or any other. I loved the traditions we had, even if there weren’t that many. I let the comment slide because Mom was always on some kick or another and they rarely came to fruition. Besides, getting Dad away from his desk was like separating an addict from his needle. It wasn’t going to happen without medical intervention and a lot of kicking and screaming. If we wanted to be together, we did it right here, because that was the only way we’d catch a glimpse of the Dadasaurus Rex. Not that any social occasion involving my father was enjoyable.
I got to the other point of my call before she could think of some other weird topic to discuss. “He sent me a very strange birthday present. It’s a statue and it looks really old.”
“And it’s ugly too,” Sophia put in for good measure.
“Well now, that’s odd. He sent your present here because he knows you always open everything before you’re supposed to. He wanted me to give it to you at your birthday dinner.”
Sophia and I exchanged confused glances and I took another look at the weird relic that had been delivered. “Maybe he felt bad for sending such an atrocious gift, so he got you something else,” Sophia offered. She looked a bit upset by the idea. Sophia was the baby, and therefore spoiled beyond rotten. It would not be pleasant if I received two gifts to her one.
“My instructor is here,” Mom suddenly interrupted. “I’ll see you girls on Christmas Eve.” She hung up before we could say goodbye.
“I don’t even want to know what she’s being instructed in now,” Sophia quipped.
“She’s wacked,” I agreed.
“If I can’t have a British accent, then you can’t be ghetto,” she complained.
“Wacked isn’t ghetto, it’s a colloquialism.”
“Total ghetto,” she countered.
“Whatever. So why do you think Luke sent me this ridiculous statue?”
“Who cares, get rid of it before it infects your apartment.”
“It looks old. Maybe it’s valuable.”
“It could be worth a million bucks and I would still tell you to toss it in the trash. If you’re feeling generous, donate it to a museum or something.”
“Maybe it has something to do with what he’s working on and he didn’t want to send it to his empty apartment.” I have a habit of not being able to let anything go. I push and push until I have the definitive answer—which is probably why I’m not very popular in appropriate social circles where everything is sugar-coated.
“Then why didn’t he write a little note or something?” she snapped, obviously becoming bored and irritated with the topic.
“How should I know? I’m just glad it’s not my only birthday present.”
“Word.” Sophia threw me her version of a gang sign, which ended up looking like the emblem for Chanel.
“Now who’s ghetto?”
“Just keeping it real. I can’t let you be the only homegirl,” she added with a wink.
“Sophia to earth. Stop playing around. I’m getting a weird vibe from this.”
“Now you sound like Mom.”
“Not funny. Seriously, there’s something strange going on here. The base of this is pearls.” I tested my theory by scraping my teeth against the little orbs encrusting the lower edges of the statue—gritty.
“Chloe!” Sophia exclaimed in shock. “What have I told you about putting strange objects in your mouth? Go brush your teeth before your tongue falls out.”
While not the germaphobe that my sister is, I wasn’t going to argue the point. When I returned with minty breath, Sophia was holding the statue and rubbing a dishrag over the surface. “I think there’s some sort of writing on here.”
When wet,  the thick layer of corrosion covering the top portion of the statue—which looked like a dark, miniature version of the national monument—did appear to have something inscribed into its surface. “Are those hieroglyphics?”
“Beats me, it looks like a story made from tiny pictures.”
“Which is as close to the definition of hieroglyphics as you’ll ever get,” I teased.
“Whatever, brainiac.”
I hated the stereotype. When your baby sister not only looks like a super-model, but is fast on her way to becoming a household name, of course the plain older sister would be dubbed the smart one. If I could choose between beauty and brains, I would definitely pick brains—because beauty was fleeting (at least it was a reassuring thought). Unfortunately I got neither. I just happened to be more book-smart than Sophia was… not a big accomplishment. When you don’t fit in with your peers, you have a lot of empty hours left in each day. I filled mine with books.
I may have been born with a Tiffany teething ring, but so had everyone else I knew. The fact that I was an heiress to one of the largest pharmaceutical empires in the world didn’t make up for the fact that I was too curvy and too plain to compete in the Paris Hilton leagues.
“What did you get the parental units for Christmas?” I asked. A change in subject was in order or else I was in for a lecture on dressing better, showing off my ass-ets and a whole other slew of unwanted beauty tips.
“I had my last few covers framed.”
Of course she had. It was the perfect gift. My parents would love it. I’d gotten the whole family matching Christmas PJ’s. Totally lame. As if anyone other than me would actually wear them. I don’t know what I had been thinking… we’d all congregate around the tree on Christmas morning and pose in our matching flannel for a nostalgic family photo? As much as I longed for a normal family life, it was never going to happen.
Yes, I long for normal… it goes better with my wardrobe. Even with a limitless budget, it’s hard to find haute couture in a size eight.
When my ruminations went on too long, Sophia prompted, “What did you get them?”
“I can’t say because I got the same thing for everyone. I don’t want to give it away.”
I’d also had a charm made for the bracelet I’d given Sophia on her tenth birthday. The links were so full that the bracelet weighed about a hundred pounds now, but again, I clung to traditions like a spider monkey.
Sophia threw me a knowing look, basically calling me pathetic. “You got us matching pajamas, didn’t you?”
Had I mentioned it or was I really that predictable? “I can’t say, so stop guessing,” but my blush surely gave it away.
“Jesus, Chloe. When are you going to realize you’re an heiress? We’re never going to be all Little House on the Prairie and shit, no matter how hard you wish we were. And I will never understand why you’d want that anyway!”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I just wish we did more things as a family.”
“Why? It’s not as if being together is fun, or even tolerable for that matter,” she spat vehemently.
Her outburst shocked me. Our father doted on her as if the sun rose each day simply for her benefit. How could she not understand why I’d want to feel a bit of that myself? “Don’t you ever wish you’d had a mom that had taken you school shopping instead of having the housekeeper buy your supplies and a stylist deliver your wardrobe? Or a dad who actually came to your school plays or, holy hell, your graduation?” But Dad had shown up for Sophia’s graduation, so the argument would be pointless to her.
“Get over it. Family bonding is totally overrated. And you have met our mother right? Good god, I would not have wanted her dragging me through the office supply store to pick out pencils. Are you high? Was there some weird hallucinogen on that statue? I told you not to go and lick it.”
“Stop being so bitchy, I’m not suggesting we spend every spare moment together. I just wonder what it would have been like if we hadn’t grown up like we did.”
“Well stop it. I don’t want to even imagine going to Walmart to pick out my three new outfits for the year!”
“You are such a snob.”
“Whatever. I think you might be having a mid-life crisis.”
“Thirty is not mid-life,” I corrected her.
“Close enough. I noticed you have a hair on your chin that is considerably longer than the rest of the fuzz. Ever hear of a new-fangled invention called a laser?”
I was tempted to throw the ugly statue at her and wondered if there was a ‘new-fangled’ laser that would remove the giant dent I wanted to put in her head. I restrained myself because the last girl-fight we’d had, I had definitely not been the victor. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
“Are you trying to get rid of me already? It usually takes hours to piss you off to the point where you throw me out.” She must have been having an off day because she didn’t even come up with a parting shot as she left.




Chapter 2


The first thing I did when the door slammed on her too-tiny ass was grab my tweezers and hunt down the offending whisker. Dammit! There it was, shiny and proud, sticking out like a billboard announcing I was thirty, directionless and single. I know there aren’t too many people out there who are going to feel sorry for the poor little rich girl that was me, so I sat down and cried for myself.
When the doorman announced that Hannah was on her way up, I rinsed off the remains of my pity party with cool water and met her at the door.
“Your sister is such a bitch,” she announced, walking past me and dropping onto the sofa.
“I am very aware of that fact, but what did she do to you?”
“I saw her stomping through the lobby and the skank had the audacity to look right at me and wait for me to open the door for her. Which, of course I did. Then she pirouettes around on those gorgeous boots—they aren’t even out in the stores yet—and blows me a kiss with her middle finger.”
“She’s just jealous because we’re more like sisters than she and I ever will be.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it. Sophia Avalon is jealous of me.” Hannah struck a pose.
I attempted to throw an errant packing peanut at her, but it decided it wanted to attach itself to my boob like a misshapen nipple. Perfect. “What are you doing here? I thought you were going skiing in the Alps for the holidays. Shouldn’t you have left already?”
Hannah’s face fell. “This is so embarrassing, but Daddy cut my allowance—again—and I don’t have the cash to go anymore.”
“What?” I faked my horror for her benefit.
Hannah Carlisle had been my best friend from birth, but the girl was seriously spoiled. I knew damn well that her monthly allowance was more than most Americans made in a year. And it hadn’t escaped my notice that for someone whose father was the president of a very large bank—read: serious bailout money—her spending habits over the last few years had been inappropriate.
I’d been noticing little things like that on a more frequent basis lately and really wished I could stop.
 “It’s too bad you don’t ever want to go away for the holidays. I could have crashed with you. Now I’m stuck here while the ‘rents pretend that we’re one big happy family. Hah! I’d rather chew off my own leg than drive to that mausoleum for Christmas.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to invite her to spend the holiday with us, but… traditions. And Hannah avoided any family gathering, not just her own. I did feel sorry for her though—her dad had always given me the creeps. He was like a slimy used-car salesman in a ten-thousand-dollar suit. And I’d felt that way before the twins grew big enough to hold his attention during our rare conversations. Eew.
She huffed a sigh, clearly understanding that an invitation wasn’t coming, yet conveying it wouldn’t be completely unwelcome. The statue caught her attention and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. “What’s that?”
“Luke sent it to me. I have no idea what it’s supposed to be.”
“Creepy. It looks like some sort of medieval torture dildo.”
Her observation startled a laugh out of me. “It does!”
“Is it a gift?” She stepped forward to take a closer look.
“I thought so at first, but Mom said he mailed my present to her.”
“I wonder what the inscription is,” she murmured, running her fingers over the depressions in the metal.
Like me, Hannah is passably pretty, although she downplays her better features by dressing like GI Jane. Unlike me, she is a certifiable genius. If she ever used her powers for good, she’d basically be a superhero. “Do you know hieroglyphics?” I ventured.
“No, but I bet we can find something on the internet.”
An hour later, Hannah had researched the best translation software available. After seeing the outrageous price tag, she had quickly hacked into a museum’s mainframe to “borrow” it for free.
“You should work for the CIA,” I commented.
“I might have to if Dad keeps tightening his death grip on my checkbook.” Her attention was diverted as more nonsensical information scrolled across the screen. “Get a piece of paper and a pencil.”
I snagged paper from the tray of the printer before rummaging through the desk drawers and finding a handful of pens and one lonely crayon—no pencils. “What do we need it for? Will any of these work?”
Hannah took her eyes off the screen long enough to look at the wad of writing utensils I held in my hand. “We need something soft… this will do.” She waited for me to put the others back before handing me the crayon. “Wrap the paper around the statue and rub the crayon over the surface—lightly. That should give us a pretty good transfer to scan in. Then we can let the computer do the rest of the work.”
I did as she asked, feeling pretty proud of myself when the hieroglyphics began to appear. “Here,” I thrust the paper at her.
She waved the page away. “Put it in on the scanner.”
I felt a little put out by her bossy tone, but she was trying to help me so I let it slide. After I’d once again followed her instructions, she began typing furiously and the scanner beeped and hummed to life.
“Hurry up!” she yelled, making me jump.
“With what?” I looked around for what I’d missed. “I didn’t know I needed to do anything else.”
“Not you. I think I tripped a firewall. I’ve got you set up to be a ghost, but if we’re on here too long…”
Her serious tone sent up a red flag. “How illegal is this?”
“I’ll need to borrow money for my defense,” she quipped.
“Jesus, Han! Get out now!”
“I’m holding the security off, but eventually it will find me. The pings are getting too close for comfort, but we’re not at DEFCON yet.”
My foot was tapping of its own volition and my heart was running a marathon. Hannah had almost gone to juvie in the sixth grade for hacking the school’s computer system so that she could look at porn. It was a little funny now, but at the time it had been terrifying. I’d been guilty by association and geography (I’d been by her side when the dean had caught her red-handed) and my family had done everything in their power to break our bond.
It hadn’t worked.
I tried to love my family, quirks, neuroses and all, but there was something in Hannah that drew me to her. It’s not like we’re lesbians, in fact, I think we may have been the only two girls in our exclusive boarding school who hadn’t experimented. But we were soul-sisters. She was the family I’d chosen.
 My wayward thoughts were interrupted by an alarm sounding from the computer, simultaneously followed by the printer churning out pages and Hannah issuing a girly war cry. “I’m out!” she exclaimed, hitting a few more buttons before closing my laptop with a resounding click.
I rushed to the printer and looked at the pages, reading aloud, “A piece of Imhotep is in the air we breathe, the ground upon which we walk, the sun that lightens our days and the stars that guide our journey through darkness. Life is given and taken away, but the power to conquer death is with Imhotep. Imhotep is in your hands.”
Hannah grabbed the sheets from my hands, giving me a paper cut in her rush to view the results of her hacking. I sucked on the tender wound, lazily seeping blood, leveling my best death-stare at her. “You almost cut my thumb off,” I accused.
Hannah ripped my hand away from my face and looked at the thin line. “It’s not even bleeding.”
Her dismissal pissed me off, but before I could voice my complaint the page once again caught my attention. “Are you sure you did it right?”
She gave me her are you seriously doubting my mad skills look. “Not that I’m an expert or anything, but this is what the damn statue says—or as close as we’ll get to a complete translation without taking it to an expert.”
“Isn’t Imhotep that creepy guy from The Mummy?”
“Yeah, but in real life he was the Egyptian god of medicine and healing.”
I shook my head in wonder—how did she know this stuff?
“Maybe we should get a second opinion,” I suggested.
“Seriously? If you do that, my ass is in deep doo-doo.”
It took me a minute, but I finally got it. “There’s a record of what we did.”
“They won’t ever find out who ran the search unless you go waving it in their faces.”
“Dammit! Now we don’t have a way of verifying this.”
“Does it really matter?”
“I guess not. But if the translation is correct there may be some historical significance to the statue. I mean, Imhotep is in your hands? That’s basically saying we’re holding God. If whoever crafted this thing really believed that, then it should be in a museum.”
“Why? So it can be one more priceless artifact catalogued and forgotten? You remember that eighth grade field trip to the museum where they took us under the building and showed us miles of hallways with all those rooms filled with shit just like that statue. The world will keep spinning if nobody ever finds out about one ugly relic.”
“You’re missing the point. Luke sent that thing to me for a reason.”
“A reason he couldn’t be bothered to tell you about. Forget it.” Hannah tossed the pages on my kitchen table and shrugged into her jacket. “I’m hungry. Let’s go get something to eat.”
My house phone rang, but I was starving so I let the machine pick up. I listened to a computer-generated voice instructing the caller to leave a message. I keep an old-school answering machine because I like to screen my calls, and old habits are really hard to break.
The beep sounded. “Hi Chloe, this is Jagger… um, Jagger Riley—Luke’s friend. Call me back when you get a sec.” He rattled off the digits and hung up.
“Whoa. What else have you been keeping from me?” Hannah placed her hands on her hips.
“Huh?” My brain had momentarily ceased processing all information. The man’s voice lulled me like a hypnotist’s swinging pocket watch. My mind emptied of everything but decades-old memories of wanting to catch the eye of my big-brother’s bestie.
Jagger Riley was the ultimate catch. He was handsome, rich, smart—basically every woman’s dream man. I had put him on a pedestal from the first day I’d met him, following him around until Luke had taken me aside to inform me I was making a fool of myself. Just hearing him say my name, even all these years later, gave me the incredible urge to start writing Mrs. Jagger Riley on every scrap of paper I could get my hands on.
“What’s up with that?” Hannah demanded, raising an artfully sculpted eyebrow.
In a fog, I noticed that she didn’t have any errant facial hair and wondered how I had missed the bus. I forcibly snapped myself back to the present. “I’m not hiding anything from you. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Then why is Jagger Riley leaving messages on your machine asking you to call him? Hell, if I were you I’d totally be creaming my panties right about now.”
“He’s probably trying to get in touch with Luke.”
“He didn’t say to have Luke call him. In fact, he didn’t mention your brother at all.”
She was getting my hopes up when I knew my infatuation with Jagger was a lost cause. “Stop. I haven’t seen Jagger in years. I guarantee that he wasn’t calling to talk to me.”
“Well, I think you should call him back right this second. What if he’s in town and needs someone to keep him company?” She waited for me to do… anything. When I remained frozen in my tracks, she said, “If you won’t do it, I will.”
I grabbed her arm before she got her hands on the telephone and pulled her towards the front door. “Let it go. You’ll embarrass me if you call him back. It would be like sending him a note asking to check ‘yes’ if he wants to be my boyfriend for the week.”
Hannah reluctantly relented. “Fine, but you really should call him back. It’s not every day a guy like Jagger rings you up.” A mischievous gleam entered her eyes and she said, “Actually, playing hard to get might work in your favor. Letting him think you’re not interested can only make you seem that much more desirable, right?”
“Stop with the Cosmo gibberish and be real for a second. Jagger Riley is not interested in me. He never has been and never will be. I’m his best friend’s little sister and that’s all. Now let’s get out of here so I can drown my sorrows in something containing lard.”
“Like I spend my days reading Cosmo,” she scoffed indignantly. We were out the door when Hannah did an about-face. “Do you care if I take the statue home with me over the holidays? I’d like to do a little more research, see if you’re right… maybe it is important.”
I shrugged in agreement as she put the statue back in its box, tossing the printouts on top before closing it up. I didn’t really care one way or the other, but if there was something to find, Hannah was the woman to uncover its secrets.
As soon as I locked the door, the statue was pushed from my mind in deference to the much more important issue of where to eat. It took hours of self-recriminations for me to do the same with Jagger.



I hope you have enjoyed reading this sample of A Dose of Reality! It is currently on sale for only $.99 through Memorial Day. I love to hear from readers, so please feel free to leave a comment below.

Sincerely ~ Heidi

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Killer in High Heels, Another Fun Read by Gemma Halliday!

I finished reading Killer in High Heels, book 2 in the High Heels Mysteries boxed set by Gemma Halliday yesterday and have to say she once again created a really fun read! Maddie finds herself on the hunt for her father in Las Vegas, targeted by the mob and, as usual, in over her head.

Love the twist with her dad, so funny and unusual. Realistic? Nah, but that's what makes this series so great - it's a complete escape from the ho-hum of daily life. I was glad to see Ramirez was back...*Spoiler Alert**... can I just say; FINALLY! And I really want that "cell phone" (you'll know what I'm talking about once you read the book).

As I stated in my first post on this series, I purchase the first five books in this series as a set (High Heels Mysteries Books 1-5) for only $9.99 and am considering it money well-spent. Escapism at its best. I would recommend Killer in High Heels as highly as I would the first book, Spying in High Heels. A must-read for fans of Stephanie Plum and chick lit lovers everywhere!

Happy Reading!


**Disclaimer: I am not a professional literary reviewer. I do not know this author and I am not being paid or otherwise compensated for this review. The opinions stated here are mine alone.

Don't Miss Out! A Dose of Reality on Sale for a Limited Time!

In anticipation of the upcoming Memorial Day Weekend, I've decided to put A Dose of Reality  on sale for only $0.99! Stock your Kindle, Nook, iPad, etc. with a fun story of romantic suspense, perfect for relaxing by the pool.

But don't miss out, this sale is for a limited time only!



A Dose of Reality:


Product Description:

In every perfect life, there comes a time for A Dose of Reality.

Pharmaceutical Heiress Chloe Avalon has always had the best of everything. But then again, a perfect wardrobe, the swankiest address, glamorous parties and limitless trust funds are the norm when you live in the realm of the über-rich. The only problem is that all of it has become a tad bit…tedious.

But life starts to get a little too interesting when her brother, Luke, sends her an ancient relic—and promptly vanishes. A mysterious voicemail from Luke’s oldest friend (and Chloe’s girlhood crush) adds a new layer of intrigue. Then, on the eve of her 30th birthday, things really begin to fall apart.

From Southampton to New York to a private island in the Caribbean, Chloe plunges into a dangerous race against an enemy she never expected and discovers there really are some things that money just can’t buy.

*This is a full length novel at 96,500 words or approximately 386 printed pages. The publisher gives this book a PG-16 rating.

 

Have a great, long weekend and, as always, Happy Reading!

~Heidi

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Spying in High Heels by Gemma Halliday, a Fun Read!

I just finished reading Spying in High Heels, Book 1 of the High Heels Mysteries by Gemma Halliday and thoroughly enjoyed it. This is a "just for fun" type of series, but it was definitely entertaining. Light read, but not too short with some seriously funny situations. As was stated by other reviewers on Amazon, this series is very similar to the Stephanie Plum Novels written by Janet Evanovich (number seventeen is out now, I'm just waiting for the price to go down).

Some of the similarities were a little too familiar. The Latin cop boyfriend, the meddling mother, the outrageous best friend all resembled Janet Evanovich's characters in a way. But I didn't have an issue with the comparisons because the story was too fun.

I bought the boxed set and immediately began reading book 2 as soon as I finished Spying in High Heels. At $9.99 for the 5-book series, it was an absolute steal. Well worth the price and time invested, that's for certain! I was a bit hesitant at first, because when I first started reading on Kindle I had downloaded a book by Gemma Halliday for $2.99 and read the entire thing in under twenty minutes, so I worried that these would be short stories as well. Have no fear! These are full-length novels and not even on the skimpy side at that.

If I had to pick my least favorite aspects of the book it would be the lack of sexy scenes for the main character. She thinks about sex often enough, but I would have like a few, ahem, more fulfilling situations - this is a personal preference though.

All-in-all, this is a must-read for fans of chick-lit and humorous romance. I highly recommend it!

Happy reading!

**Disclaimer: I am not a professional literary reviewer. I do not know this author and I am not being paid or otherwise compensated for this review. The opinions stated here are mine alone.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

A Practical Use for a Cactus? My "Green" Tip of the Day.

Okay, so I'm sitting out on my back patio (as usual...it is basically my office after all) and I discover I have a problem. A stubborn piece of the delicious reheated carne asada chimichanga that I had for lunch has lodged itself between my molars and no amount tooth-sucking is doing the trick.

I look to my left, and beside me is an Octopus Agave in a pot. Hmm, I think, remembering an episode of some survival show that explained how one might use the pointy tip as a needle by pinching it off and when you pull, there is built-in "string" attached. I shrug my shoulders and decide, "Why not? I'm too lazy to get up, walk inside and hunt down some dental floss."

Holy cow! It works as described! I could use this method to fix a button on the fly, sew up a wound, or, hey, get this meat out of my teeth. As a bonus, no dental floss was harmed (nor was the cactus). Now that is embracing "Going Green."

I feel much better now.

Happy Mother's Day- A Little Known Fact About The Author of An Unexpected Obsession and A Dose of Reality

Mother's Day is always bittersweet for me.

As a child I had a very clear idea in my head of what I wanted out of life: I was going to become a doctor, known throughout the universe as "Doctor, Doctor." I had no interest in getting married (product of divorce and all that. Besides, boys are yucky when you're five). And I was never having kids.

Fast-forward to modern times and I find myself an author, married to a wonderful man... and still no children. The childless aspect turned out to be a wicked twist of fate though. You see, I wanted to be a doctor because when I was young I was bitten on the abdomen by a Brown Recluse spider. Living in Oregon, where the Brown Recluse is rare (or was at the time), it took a while to diagnose the spreading, pulpy mass that was growing under my skin as venom. I spent six months in the hospital. Doctors made me feel better and therefore, I was going to be a doctor too.

A few years later, I was rushed to the emergency room with what was assumed to be a ruptured appendix. Surgeons opened me up and found a healthy appendix that had poison pustules attached (from the spider bite years before). One had burst, causing a massive infection. My healthy appendix, along with the bad stuff, was removed and I was once again a happy, healthy little girl.

I married at twenty-eight, and by that time my husband and I were definitely exxcited about the prospect of raising a family together. Fun times. Until we realized it wasn't working. Off to another doctor, this one a fertility specialist who performed all the standard tests and concluded we were both happy and healthy adults who might need a little boost.

Drugs. Not the illegal kinds that make you feel good, good, good. The hormonal kind that make you fat and cranky and basically a person nobody wants to be around. Still no baby.

More in-depth tests were performed and, oh, wait... we see something. The doctor gave me a strange look and asked if I'd ever had VD! What? I'd never even had a yeast infection (sorry boys, we are talking about the female reproductive system though). My entire medical history was pulled and the doctor noticed the anomoly with my appendectomy.

Diagnosis: a tiny spider had effectively ended any chance of my having a family of my own without major - and expensive - intervention. The ruptured pustule and resulting infection had caused damage to my fallopian tube and while one was healthy, the corresponding ovary didn't produce those neccessary little eggs to create a little bundle of joy. Crap.

Go into debt or accept our fate? We've been married for nearly a decade and talk rarely strays into the realm of what-if's anymore. So, Mother's day is bittersweet for me, but my hubby always tries to make me feel better by celebrating the holiday for what it represents in our lives... I'm a great kitty-mommy.

Our "babies" have become a fluffy chocolate persian who is entirely ornamental and a stray that adopted us and has become the family snuggle-bug. This isn't a sad day for me or my husband. He still coaches peewee football and I am a second mother to my bff's little girl. The world still turns and we have a lot of time to be best-friends instead of roommates with a child to raise, as many of our closest friends have become.

I suppose it's a tradeoff. We get to spoil ourselves and I have tons of free time to write, but you might notice a recurring theme in my books... in my happy endings, children are always a big part of the equation. I try not to envy the baby bumps I see and only go a little ballistic when I see a pregnant teen smoking a cigarette. I suppose this is a reminder for those harried mother's out there to be thankful for the hellions Mother Nature blessed you with.

Happy Mother's Day!

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Sweet Valley Confidential - Not as Sweet as I'd Hoped

Nostalgia can be sweet, but not so much with Sweet Valley Confidential. Admittedly, it has been a few years since Elizabeth and Jessica Wakefield held a prominent place in my reading library, but I don't remember them being this mind-numbing. I really, REALLY wanted to enjoy this book, but it was more of a chore to read than a pleasure.

I found it ironic that author Francine Pascal attempted to intersperse words that required a dictionary with a plot that was less than extraordinary. I never even felt the need to turn another page because I already knew what would happen. And honestly, I didn't enjoy the final destination most of the time.

At $9.99, the price was steep. Would I buy it again, knowing what I do now? Probably. There was a funny sense of closure with the book that I would have never gotten if I knew it was out there, but had never read it. I remember the series being much more fun and this book was a tad depressing. I saw/read an interview where Francine was saying how early readers were upset that the characters they loved were portrayed in adult situations (having one-night stands, cheating, etc.). I actually felt the book needed more reality, more adult situations, more... something.

One conundrum that doesn't have anything to do with the quality of the book, but bothered me anyway, was their ages. Without admitting my own, the Sweet Valley High series is old. Elizabeth & Jessica should have been in their forties - maybe even older than that. Possibly the author is anticipating continuing the series at a later date and didn't want to age them too quickly, but I doubt this is the case as there was an in-depth "where are they now" recap of the entire cast of characters in the epilogue.

I don't know, maybe I'm being too harsh. I loved Sweet Valley High as a young girl and possibly my expectations were simply too high. Have you read it yet? I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Happy Reading!

~Heidi

**Disclaimer: I am not a professional literary reviewer. I do not know this author and I am not being paid or otherwise compensated for this review. The opinions stated here are mine alone.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Sample Sunday - An Unexpected Obsession, Chapter 1

Chapter 1



Cameron Sloane was spotted boarding a private plane this afternoon, destination unknown. After the phenomenal success of recent back-to-back blockbusters, the heartthrob is said to be taking some time off from big budget franchise films to prepare for his next role as Mason Ford. The role has Sloane playing a quirky literary recluse whose own fame came after his death. All we can say is; if Cameron Sloane is in the movie, we’re watching it.
We hope he doesn’t stay away too long.
-Gossip Magazine Online

I am not an obsessive personality. I just want to make this clear from the beginning. I like my life just the way it is. Happily content with the status quo, that’s me. I’ve never gone crazy over rock stars or designer shoes. I didn’t even hang posters of teen idols on my wall or devour copies of Tiger Beat as a teenager. So my reaction to the man walking into my classroom was completely out of character. Love at first sight? Nah, but there was definitely a heavy dose of lust running through my bloodstream with that first glance.
I had been forewarned that my class was being audited by an actor in preparation for his latest role. I knew that I was to ignore his presence and keep the students in line when he was discovered—and with the level of celebrity he had risen to, there was no way he would go unrecognized for long.
I’d heard his name of course, but really, I don’t get out much so I had Googled him immediately. Hot, was my first thought, followed closely by, he’s way too young for you! Regardless, I’d rented his first two blockbusters and could see the allure of his character—a tough assassin with a conscience and a protective streak a mile long. What girl doesn’t want to feel safe in the arms of a sexy, yet dangerous, man? And he certainly looked tasty on film. But oh baby, in person the guy was absolutely magnificent! Makeup and special effects were superfluous when a man was that flawless. Even from a distance, his perfection was mesmerizing.
Get your head in the game, I silently chastised myself, turning back to the eager students waiting to hear what I would say next. They sat patiently, unaware of the phenomenon that had just entered their sphere. I continued with my lecture, hoping my voice had not changed in pitch, but sure they would become aware of the subtle drop in tone.
I would ask you to allow me to introduce myself, but since you are reading this, I will assume you want to know my story.
My name is Ava Scott and I teach an elective course at Arizona State University called Literature Realities three nights a week. I do hold a doctorate in literature, because I’m one of those weirdo’s who actually liked school and didn’t really have a clue what I was going to do with my life after graduation. I’m not completely sure I’m qualified to lecture on any subject, but that’s most likely because I am also a writer and like many artists, I’m terribly unsure of myself.
Everything in publishing is so subjective. It still surprises me that my books have actually been published, much less purchased. But since I am a published author of children’s fiction, I try to gear my course toward the real world aspects of becoming a writer. My own career would have probably never gone anywhere if my mom—yes, my mom—hadn’t taken the initiative to send my first manuscript to an agent she knew, thereby jump-starting the machinations that I now attempt to teach.
So here I am and every year my class size grows and another of my books hits the shelves—and sometimes the best-seller list—apparently I am doing something right. And even though I make more than enough money from my writing, I come back year after year in an attempt to guide hopeful young authors through the beginning of their fledgling careers.
Deep down I think I do it mostly for the ego boost. I’ve always been a bookworm, shy and a bit awkward in social situations. A late bloomer, I still find it hard to reconcile the woman in the mirror with the gawky child I had been.
Bottom line, I’m a repressed, slightly neurotic nerd who is conquering her social awkwardness issues by standing in front of a room full of teenagers three nights a week. And I had been doing a pretty good job at it. But on that otherwise average Monday night, the sight of a movie star walking through the door of my classroom blew my train of thought so completely I nearly let my students go home early just to avoid making a fool of myself.
Was I drooling?
I actually brought a finger to my lips to check. As if reading my thoughts (or probably my body language), his lips quirked in a grin that made millions of women swoon. I, on the other hand, felt an incredible urge to crawl in his lap. So wrong, on so many levels!
It took considerable effort to keep myself from staring at him, drinking in every aspect of his awe inspiring beauty. Silly, but there really is not a better word to describe him, the man is beautiful. Amazingly, I think I actually made it through the entire class without giving myself away and at the end of the hour the students began packing up their backpacks to go home as if everything were normal.
“See you Wednesday,” I reminded the students as they began to file out. Most waved or replied in some way to me as they departed. One good thing about teaching in a higher education environment is that, for the most part, the students actually want to be there.
I waited for the room to vacate, expecting the man to be mobbed at any moment. I was surprised when the area emptied of all but the two of us with him completely unmolested—until I realized he had strategically placed himself in a corner of the room that would not bring him to anyone’s attention as the students focused on their exit. His head was also buried in a notebook and a baseball cap hid his famous locks along with most of his face, there was no disguising that jaw line though.
His latest role involved a struggling novelist and his producer apparently recommended my class for research. I am honest enough to admit that I was flattered and a little excited by the prospect of meeting a real-life celebrity. And as an added bonus, a Hollywood producer actually knew who I was, yea me! I can also admit that it really worried me to think of the disruption his presence could cause to the students here to actually learn something that would aid them in their quest to become an actual published author. Yes, I know, I’m a bit repressed. I’ve already admitted that.
I was studiously putting away my notes when his voice, that lovely voice, said, “I apologize for being tardy. I wasn’t sure how you’d want to handle things and it seemed less disruptive if I wasn’t sitting here while everyone was finding a seat.” He surprised me with his nearness. The man moved like a ghost, fluid and without sound, utterly graceful.
I’m pretty sure my heart was no longer beating. It took several seconds, definitely a noticeable gap, to reply.
“I appreciate your courtesy.” God, could I sound any more uptight? And why couldn’t I work up the nerve to look at him?
“I know we can’t keep my being here a secret for long,” he said on a sigh, making it sound like a death sentence.
I finally looked up into his face and felt that fist of lust hit me with a force a thousand times that of the first glance. I heard an intake of breath and it took a moment to realize the breath hadn’t come from me and that his eyes were locked on my face, wide with surprise. He was so beautiful, wearing a look of innocent wonder curiously mixed with a touch of fear on his face. His reaction was so unexpected that I reached out to comfort him.
“What is it?” I asked.
His composure returned quickly and he immediately covered up the expression with a sexy grin. “I’m Cameron,” he said and reached out his elegant hand. “I just realized that I expected you to recognize me. How conceited is that?”
His laugh made me want to push the hand aside and jump him right there and then. And that thought, so utterly inappropriate, startled a laugh from me. “But I did recognize you, so it can’t really be considered conceited if it’s true, can it?” I asked, taking the offered hand.
Background time again; Cameron Sloane is the hottest new actor in the world. You don’t have to take my word for it, IMDB him and see for yourself. I did. I seriously doubt there is a woman—actually his largest (but certainly not his only) audience may be a wee bit young to be considered women—alive who has not seen his face, watched his movies, and felt a need for sex immediately. Okay, maybe I’m the only one who needs sex immediately, sue me, it’s been awhile. And here is where the ‘wrong on so many levels’ first comes into play…he is twenty-five-years-old. He’s practically a baby. And no matter how masculine and mature he may look, he’s still twenty-freaking-five-years-old! Cripes! I’m old enough to be his mother—well, maybe not, but still…
I am thirty-five-years-old. Not old enough to be considered a cougar, but for some reason the fact that I had thought of having dirty, raunchy sex with him at least seventy times since he had entered the classroom made me feel a bit like a pedophile. And then there’s the fact that I am technically his professor—I say technically because Cameron is here to audit my class only. He will not receive a grade. He is not looking for a degree, but to understand my area of expertise for a part he will be playing. Still, I think the school would definitely have something to say about me engaging in sexual congress with the kid, no matter that he is above the age of consent. And why is any of this even running through my mind? I might be blessed with his presence, but that didn’t mean the guy was going to become my personal playground. In fact, I’m pretty sure my contract states ‘no form of sexual contact allowed between an employee of this institution and a student’ or something to that effect.
And yes, I know I previously stated that he wasn’t technically a student, but in my sex fogged mind I wasn’t in any condition to be making the distinction.
So…I was basically screwed, and not in the good sense of the word, and needed to get my nearly middle-aged mind out of the gutter.
But then Cameron did something that literally stole every thought from my mind. He took my hand, his eyes never leaving my face, and slowly raised it to his lips. The earth stopped spinning as I waited. Then he turned my hand over and placed the softest, sweetest lips I had ever felt in the center of my palm.
Unconsciously, I moved into his touch. I searched his face for an explanation of what was happening. Was this just his way? He has been in the news enough that I seem to remember hearing that he was exceedingly debonair, especially for someone his age. Then I felt an insane stab of jealousy at the very idea that those lips had ever touched another woman’s flesh. Okay, now I’m jealous and irrational.
He swore softly, his breath cooling the moist remnants of his gesture. Then he began to apologize. “I’m sorry, totally inappropriate, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he declared, shaking his head.
I shook my own head and dropped my gaze to the floor, too many emotions and inappropriate thoughts bombarding me to think coherently. “That was an experience,” I stated. Lame, but I wasn’t exactly Mensa material at the moment.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Still lacking the ability to string two brain cells together, I answered inanely, “Professor Ava Scott.”
His bark of laughter echoed throughout the empty classroom. I raised my eyes to decipher the source of his amusement, but couldn’t get past the perfection of his chiseled jaw line. “I know your name. I received the syllabus for your class after all. I’m just wondering why you are having this insane affect on me.”
That snapped me out of my stupor. I was affecting him? I’m not stupid, or blind, so I know that I’m attractive, but he has been filmed, up close and personal, with leading ladies who grace the covers of magazines and are revered for their beauty. Then there’s the fact that I’m kind of bitchy when I have full use of my mental faculties and tend to go around with a look of strained patience on my face that makes me appear constipated. In addition, I’m not very good in social situations, tending to feel claustrophobic and out of place. Did he really expect me to believe that he was somehow so overcome by all those lovely qualities that it was affecting his behavior? Not likely!
Suddenly, I was angry—by his comment and by the way I was reacting to him. My natural bitch instinct reared its ugly head. Was he practicing his next character on me? Was I to be his diversion while stuck on location in the middle of the desert? Once again; not likely!
 There were plenty of beautiful, young coeds who would be more than willing to fill those shoes and they wouldn’t have to worry about losing their job and professional reputation over a brief affair. And why did that thought cause another wave of insane jealousy rushing through me, making me even angrier at this divine creature standing in front of me? And why was my mind going straight from ‘He’s really pretty’ to ‘I want to get with that’?
I stepped back, far enough to ensure I couldn’t reach out to reclaim the warmth of his body. The maneuver unfortunately backfired, as my ass was now pressed firmly against the desk I had been using to organize my notes. If I retreated any further, I would be on top of the desk and wouldn’t that be perfect. Well…
Hmm, I’d never had sex on a desk.
Oh my God! When had I turned into a pervert?
Incredibly, his eyes seemed to reflect my own deviant thoughts right back at me. I saw his intent to move closer and meant to reach out my hand like a traffic cop in the international gesture for ‘stop’, I really did mean to, but somehow that same hand grabbed a fistful of his t-shirt and pulled him to me. My mind completely disconnected from the rest of my body and without reason another instinct I keep deeply buried took control. Hello, Mrs. Robinson. You always hear people say something is surreal, but this really was. I don’t act like this and movie stars don’t blurt out strange declarations to me on a regular basis—read: never.
His blue eyes locked onto mine and I could smell the spearmint gum on his breath. His lips were slightly parted and he used his tongue to moisten them, drawing his lower lip between his teeth. He had really red lips, the bottom lip fuller than the top and unbelievably kissable. I moaned—don’t judge, you would have too! The most alluring man in the universe was inches from me, sizing me up like some decadent dessert, and we were only moments away from…something delicious.

**Please note that An Unexpected Obsession contains sexual content that may be offensive to some readers.

Sample Sunday - A Dose of Reality, Chapter 2

Chapter 1 is available on this blog from a previous #SampleSunday post if you haven't read the first chapter.

Enjoy!

Chapter 2


The first thing I did when the door slammed on her too-tiny ass was grab my tweezers and hunt down the offending whisker. Dammit! There it was, shiny and proud, sticking out like a billboard announcing I was thirty, directionless and single. I know there aren’t too many people out there who are going to feel sorry for the poor little rich girl that was me, so I sat down and cried for myself.
When the doorman announced that Hannah was on her way up, I rinsed off the remains of my pity party with cool water and met her at the door.
“Your sister is such a bitch,” she announced, walking past me and dropping onto the sofa.
“I am very aware of that fact, but what did she do to you?”
“I saw her stomping through the lobby and the skank had the audacity to look right at me and wait for me to open the door for her. Which, of course I did. Then she pirouettes around on those gorgeous boots—they aren’t even out in the stores yet—and blows me a kiss with her middle finger.”
“She’s just jealous because we’re more like sisters than she and I ever will be.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it. Sophia Avalon is jealous of me.” Hannah struck a pose.
I attempted to throw an errant packing peanut at her, but it decided it wanted to attach itself to my boob like a misshapen nipple. Perfect. “What are you doing here? I thought you were going skiing in the Alps for the holidays. Shouldn’t you have left already?”
Hannah’s face fell. “This is so embarrassing, but Daddy cut my allowance—again—and I don’t have the cash to go anymore.”
“What?” I faked my horror for her benefit.
Hannah Carlisle had been my best friend from birth, but the girl was seriously spoiled. I knew damn well that her monthly allowance was more than most American’s made in a year. And it hadn’t escaped my notice that for someone whose father was the president of a very large bank—read: serious bailout money—her spending habits over the last few years had been inappropriate.
I’d been noticing little things like that on a more frequent basis lately and really wished I could stop.
 “It’s too bad you don’t ever want to go away for the holidays. I could have crashed with you. Now I’m stuck here while the ‘rents pretend that we’re one big happy family. Hah! I’d rather chew off my own leg than drive to that mausoleum for Christmas.
It was on the tip of my tongue to invite her to spend the holiday with us, but… traditions. And Hannah avoided any family gathering, not just her own. I did feel sorry for her though—her dad had always given me the creeps. He was like a slimy used car salesman in a ten-thousand dollar suit. And I’d felt that way before the twins grew big enough to hold his attention during our rare conversations. Eew.
She huffed a sigh, clearly understanding that an invitation wasn’t coming, yet conveying it wouldn’t be completely unwelcome. The statue caught her attention and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. “What’s that?”
“Luke sent it to me. I have no idea what it’s supposed to be.”
“Creepy. It looks like some sort of medieval torture dildo.”
Her observation startled a laugh out of me. “It does!”
“Is it a gift?” She stepped forward to take a closer look.
“I thought so at first, but Mom said he mailed my present to her.”
“I wonder what the inscription is,” she murmured, running her fingers over the depressions in the metal.
Like me, Hannah is passably pretty, although she downplays her better features by dressing like GI Jane. Unlike me, she is a certifiable genius. If she ever used her powers for good, she’d basically be a superhero. “Do you know hieroglyphics?” I ventured.
“No, but I bet we can find something on the Internet.”
An hour later, Hannah had researched the best translation software available. After seeing the outrageous price tag, she had quickly hacked into a museum’s mainframe to “borrow” it for free.
“You should work for the CIA,” I commented.
“I might have to if Dad keeps tightening his death grip on my checkbook.” Her attention was diverted as more nonsensical information scrolled across the screen. “Get a piece of paper and a pencil.”
I snagged paper from the tray of the printer before rummaging through the desk drawers and finding a handful of pens and one lonely crayon—no pencils. “What do we need it for? Will any of these work?”
Hannah took her eyes off the screen long enough to look at the wad of writing utensils I held in my hand. “We need something soft… this will do.” She waited for me to put the others back before handing me the crayon. “Wrap the paper around the statue and rub the crayon over the surface—lightly. That should give us a pretty good transfer to scan in. Then we can let the computer do the rest of the work.”
I did as she asked, feeling pretty proud of myself when the hieroglyphics began to appear. “Here,” I thrust the paper at her.
She waved the page away. “Put it in on the scanner.”
I felt a little put out by her bossy tone, but she was trying to help me so I let it slide. After I’d once again followed her instructions, she began typing furiously and the scanner beeped and hummed to life.
“Hurry up!” she yelled, making me jump.
“With what?” I looked around for what I’d missed. “I didn’t know I needed to do anything else.”
“Not you. I think I tripped a firewall. I’ve got you set up to be a ghost, but if we’re on here too long…”
Her serious tone sent up a red flag. “How illegal is this?”
“I’ll need to borrow money for my defense,” she quipped.
“Jesus, Han! Get out now!”
“I’m holding the security off, but eventually it will find me. The pings are getting too close for comfort, but we’re not at DEFCON yet.”
My foot was tapping of its own volition and my heart was running a marathon. Hannah had almost gone to juvie in the sixth grade for hacking the school’s computer system so that she could look at porn. It was a little funny now, but at the time it had been terrifying. I’d been guilty by association and geography (I’d been by her side when the dean had caught her red-handed) and my family had done everything in their power to break our bond.
It hadn’t worked.
I tried to love my family, quirks, neuroses and all, but there was something in Hannah that drew me to her. It’s not like we’re lesbians, in fact, I think we may have been the only two girls in our exclusive boarding school who hadn’t experimented. But we were soul-sisters. She was the family I’d chosen.
 My wayward thoughts were interrupted by an alarm sounding from the computer, simultaneously followed by the printer churning out pages and Hannah issuing a girly war-cry. “I’m out!” she exclaimed, hitting a few more buttons before closing my laptop with a resounding click.
I rushed to the printer and looked at the pages, reading aloud, “A piece of Imhotep is in the air we breathe, the ground upon which we walk, the sun that lightens our days and the stars that guide our journey through darkness. Life is given and taken away, but the power to conquer death is with Imhotep. Imhotep is in your hands.”
Hannah grabbed the sheets from my hands, giving me a paper cut in her rush to view the results of her hacking. I sucked on the tender wound, lazily seeping blood, leveling my best death-stare at her. “You almost cut my thumb off,” I accused.
Hannah ripped my hand away from my face and looked at the thin line. “It’s not even bleeding.”
Her dismissal pissed me off, but before I could voice my complaint the page once again caught my attention. “Are you sure you did it right?”
She gave me her are you seriously doubting my mad skills look. “Not that I’m an expert or anything, but this is what the damn statue says—or as close as we’ll get to a complete translation without taking it to an expert.”
“Isn’t Imhotep that creepy guy from The Mummy?”
“Yeah, but in real life he was the Egyptian god of medicine and healing.”
I shook my head in wonder—how did she know this stuff?
“Maybe we should get a second opinion,” I suggested.
“Seriously? If you do that, my ass is in deep doo-doo.”
It took me a minute, but I finally got it. “There’s a record of what we did.”
“They won’t ever find out who ran the search unless you go waving it in their faces.”
“Dammit! Now we don’t have a way of verifying this.”
“Does it really matter?”
“I guess not. But if the translation is correct there may be some historical significance to the statue. I mean, Imhotep is in your hands? That’s basically saying we’re holding God. If whoever crafted this thing really believed that, then it should be in a museum.”
“Why? So it can be one more priceless artifact catalogued and forgotten? You remember that eighth grade field trip to the museum where they took us under the building and showed us miles of hallways with all those rooms filled with shit just like that statue. The world will keep spinning if nobody ever finds out about one ugly relic.”
“You’re missing the point. Luke sent that thing to me for a reason.”
“A reason he couldn’t be bothered to tell you about. Forget it.” Hannah tossed the pages on my kitchen table and shrugged into her jacket. “I’m hungry. Let’s go get something to eat.”
My house phone rang, but I was starving so I let the machine pick up. I listened to a computer generated voice instructing the caller to leave a message. I keep an old-school answering machine because I like to screen my calls, and old habits are really hard to break.
The beep sounded. “Hi Chloe, this is Jagger… um, Jagger Riley—Luke’s friend. Call me back when you get a sec.” He rattled off the digits and hung up.
“Whoa. What else have you been keeping from me?” Hannah placed her hands on her hips.
“Huh?” My brain had momentarily ceased processing all information. The man’s voice lulled me like a hypnotist’s swinging pocket watch. My mind emptied of everything but decades-old memories of wanting to catch the eye of my big-brother’s bestie.
Jagger Riley was the ultimate catch. He was handsome, rich, smart—basically every woman’s dream man. I had put him on a pedestal from the first day I’d met him, following him around until Luke had taken me aside to inform me I was making a fool of myself. Just hearing him say my name, even all these years later, gave me the incredible urge to start writing Mrs. Jagger Riley on every scrap of paper I could get my hands on.
“What’s up with that?” Hannah demanded, raising an artfully sculpted eyebrow.
In a fog, I noticed that she didn’t have any errant facial hair and wondered how I had missed the bus. I forcibly snapped myself back to the present. “I’m not hiding anything from you. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Then why is Jagger Riley leaving messages on your machine asking you to call him? Hell, if I were you I’d totally be creaming my panties right about now.”
“He’s probably trying to get in touch with Luke.”
“He didn’t say to have Luke call him. In fact, he didn’t mention your brother at all.”
She was getting my hopes up when I knew my infatuation with Jagger was a lost cause. “Stop. I haven’t seen Jagger in years. I guarantee that he wasn’t calling to talk to me.”
“Well, I think you should call him back right this second. What if he’s in town and needs someone to keep him company?” She waited for me to do… anything. When I remained frozen in my tracks, she said, “If you won’t do it, I will.”
I grabbed her arm before she got her hands on the telephone and pulled her towards the front door. “Let it go. You’ll embarrass me if you call him back. It would be like sending him a note asking to check ‘yes’ if he wants to be my boyfriend for the week.”
Hannah reluctantly relented. “Fine, but you really should call him back. It’s not every day a guy like Jagger rings you up.” A mischievous gleam entered her eyes and she said, “Actually, playing hard to get might work in your favor. Letting him think you’re not interested can only make you seem that much more desirable, right?”
“Stop with the Cosmo gibberish and be real for a second. Jagger Riley is not interested in me. He never has been and never will be. I’m his best friend’s little sister and that’s all. Now let’s get out of here so I can drown my sorrows in something containing lard.”
“Like I spend my days reading Cosmo,” she scoffed indignantly. We were out the door when Hannah did an about-face. “Do you care if I take the statue home with me over the holidays? I’d like to do a little more research, see if you’re right… maybe it is important.”
I shrugged in agreement as she put the statue back in its box, tossing the printouts on top before closing it up. I didn’t really care one way or the other, but if there was something to find, Hannah was the woman to uncover its secrets.
As soon as I locked the door, the statue was pushed from my mind in deference to the much more important issue of where to eat. It took hours of self-recriminations for me to do the same with Jagger.