It’s going to be a normal, busy work day around these parts, but I’m excited release day is *finally* here, thanks to the hard work of my publisher, The Wild Rose Press. They’ve been awesome (shoutout to my editor, Leanne!) helping me get Yours Truly (re)ready for publication.
If you’re so inclined, here’s where you can purchase Yours Truly:
I have no idea why it’s not at Barnes and Noble, but you can find the epub version at any of the above, except Amazon. Obviously. 😀
Izzie Greene never wanted the limelight. As a caterer for Poe, the top-rated U.S. TV show, she had background player down pat. Her main focus was to spoil the cast and crew and fantasize about her celebrity crush, Scotsman Cardwell Bennett, while navigating the daily chaos.
Izzie’s professional life takes a sharp left turn when her ex-boyfriend unexpectedly arrives on set. Her personal life spirals into Hell when she runs afoul of an unethical paparazzo. Thrust into the public eye, her notoriety is fueled by equal measures of constant scrutiny, speculation, and half-truths. Her rumored romance with Cardwell further stokes the flames.
Held captive by the media, accident-prone Izzie struggles to keep her privacy, secrets, and sanity intact—not to mention her sense of humor. With help from her best friend Delly, her temperamental cat Edgar, and unexpected backup, Izzie might withstand the onslaught. And survive the season.
Not to be deterred, I shoved a pile to the floor, sat in the small space I’d created, and burst into tears. My hand jerked spasmodically, and coffee sloshed onto my lap.
“Jeez, Izzie.” Delly took the cup and the mutilated donut and set them next to the laptop. “Please tell me you’re not wasting any more emotional space on Ritchie.” She threw an armful of the clothes I’d bulldozed to the floor in a box and crammed the top shut, glancing up long enough to see me shake my head. “Then what’s the problem?”
My breath hitched in a succession of gasps. “I knew this would happen.”
The sound of packing tape stopped mid-scritch. “Knew what would happen?”
“That he would finally decide I wasn’t good enough.”
Delly’s eyes narrowed. “You said this wasn’t about Ritchie.”
“It’s not,” I choked out. “This is what always happens. I’ll live the rest of my life single. Alone. With dozens of cats.”
“You only have one.”
“There’s still time. I’m like Typhoid Mary. A carrier of the dysfunctional relationship gene. I. Am. A. Pariah.” More clothes tumbled to the floor, propelled by my kicking feet, before I curled into a ball.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” The tape clattered to the floor. Delly grabbed my arms and pulled until I was back upright. “Your biggest problem isn’t that the men you choose to date don’t think you’re worth the effort. You’re just dumb enough to believe it.”
I threw her my most hateful look. “Screw you!”
Delly stomped her foot. “Damnit, Izzie Greene, you listen to me. You are amazing. You’re smart and beautiful and funny.”
“You’re my best friend. You’re supposed to love me.” My bottom lip jutted out, quivering.
“And you’re an incredible baker.” Her voice rose smugly over my protestations. “Cardwell B. loves your chocolate and cranberry scones.”
“That’s rich.” I snorted my disbelief. “If Ritchie doesn’t think I’m good enough, then Cardwell’s sure as shit not going to.”
“Don’t be stupid. Cardwell is nothing like Ritchie. He’s a nice guy.”
“Riiiiiight.” Nice guy didn’t translate to much in my dictionary. Ritchie had been nice, too…once upon a time.
Delly ignored my sarcasm. “No joke, Izz. He cornered me yesterday while everyone scrambled for that stupid bird, raving about those damn scones.” She shoved a fistful of tissues into my hands. “I know you’re upset, but get your shit together.”
I teared up again and motioned to the clothes-covered futon. “I was trying.”
“Feeling sorry for yourself isn’t trying.” Delly sat next to me and threw her arm around my shoulder. “Let’s finish packing. Then we’ll have girls’ night. Tomorrow morning, we’ll work the gig then head to the shop, and you’re prepping scones to bake first thing on Monday morning. They’ll be freshly made. Hot and steamy. Butter will drip off those scones.”
“Only you could make food sound like porn.” I sniffled and wiped my nose.
“Would porn with Cardwell really be bad?” She jabbed at my bare feet with the toe of her boot, forcing me to tuck them out of harm’s way.
I shot her a death glare.
“What?” Delly pulled her innocent face. “At least he can act.”
In the instance of something I find really cool, I stumbled across the following this morning. Any fans in Japan? 🙂