Cover & Excerpt
It Girls Book Two
Falling in love is the ultimate faux pas.
Anything can happen in a year! Unemployed, homeless, and left at the altar, Vivia Perpetua Grant could see her future as a flannel pajama wearing spinster—or worse, a bag lady shuffling around Golden Gate Park. But for a girl obsessed with rock music, Chinese take-out, and the color pink, misfortune is another word for opportunity. Vivia has found her niche as an international travel writer and the long-distance lover of Jean-Luc de Caumont, an über-hot French literature professor and competitive cyclist.
Still, even with so much going right, Vivia can’t help but wonder if something isn’t missing. The long distance thing is taking its toll on a girl who didn’t have that many tokens to begin with. And fate seems to be tempting her at every turn, first with a hunky Scottish helicopter pilot, and then with a British celebrity bad boy... Will Vivia continue to keep it real or will she discover some old habits die hard?
Genre: Romantic ComedyPurchase link(s): Amazon ARe BAM Google iTunes Kobo B&N
Content/Theme(s): Humor, Travel, Pop Culture, Contemporary Romance
Release Date: September 29, 2015
Excerpt & More
Sex, On My Mind
By the time I teeter out of Boujis and into Poppy’s waiting limousine, I am as giddy as Gwyneth Paltrow at an Olive Farm. I have consumed enough expensive champagne to make my un-tattooed private parts feel warm and fuzzy – shit, even my non-private parts feel warm and fuzzy. I did shots with Andy Cohen and persuaded him to allow me to interview the Ladies of London. I negotiated an interview with Bishop Raine. And I have pretty much sealed the deal on an eternal and abiding friendship with Poppy Whitney Worthington.
The promised interviews have restored my battered pride and salvaged my career. Bishop’s shameless flirting has stroked my ego and left me feeling rawther horny. Who needs a British Airways flight? I am so high I could float to Paris!
We are about to pull away from the club when someone raps on the limousine window. The window magically opens and Bishop leans in, grinning and reeking of sex appeal.
“Fancy a lift, Bishop?” Poppy asks.
He doesn’t wait for the driver to open the door for him – scoring major unpretentious points with me – folding his long, lanky body into the limo and closing the door behind him.
Poppy moves to the seat opposite, leaving Bishop and I to sit together.
I can feel his hot, leather clad leg pressing against my bare thigh. Despite my rock star fixation, I’ve never felt a man in leather and it’s kinda sexy. I wonder if I could get Luc to wear a pair of leather pants?
“I’ll bet you are a Scorpio, aren’t you?”
I look at Bishop.
“Yes, how did you know that?”
“You’re mysterious, sensual, charming, and a little crazy – hallmarks of a Scorpion.” The limousine passes beneath a street lamp and golden light shines on Bishop’s shaggy, tasseled hair, making him look like a fallen angel. “And…I googled you.”
Bishop Raine googled me? How is that even possible? Maybe someone slipped a Ruffie in my Veuve Clicquot and I am stoned out of my mind. Maybe I am hallucinating. Or, maybe I am still in the pokey. Maybe another inmate shanked me and I am tits up. Maybe Bishop really is an angel and this limo is taking me to that big party in the sky.
My head suddenly feels too heavy for my neck, my eyelids too weighty to keep open. I have not been Ruffied or shanked. I am tipsy – which sounds ever so much nicer than drunk. I close my eyes, rest my head, and listen to Bishop’s hypnotic voice as he chats with Poppy. His warm leather-clad leg pressed against mine, the limo’s rhythmic sway, and the patter of raindrops on the roof lull me to a very warm, very happy place.
“Vivia? Vivia, darling, you need to wake up now,” Poppy whispers, gently shaking my shoulder. “We’ve arrived at the Rubens.”
I try to open my eyes, but I feel like Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson deadlifting four hundred pounds. My eyelids are that heavy.
“I don’t want to go to the crappy old Rubens. Please don’t make me. They’re a bunch of meanies.” My words come out tangled, my tongue thick and furry like I inhaled Poppy’s faux fur shrug in my sleep. “Can’t I just sleep in your limousine?”
Bishop laughs. A bloody, booming laugh.
When I open my eyes I realize why Bishop’s laughter sounded so unusually loud. My head is resting on his shoulder - and I have drooled, a little.
No! This isn’t happening. This. Is. Not. Happening. I sit up and lift my head off of Bishop’s shoulder.
Sober now. Completely sober.
Well, almost sober.
“Sorry about that,” I mumble, making a quick swipe of my damp chin.
“Not at all,” Bishop grins.
“Bishop, be a darling, won’t you?” Poppy opens her door and raindrops plop on the leather upholstery. “Help me walk Vivia to her room.”
Bishop opens his door, hops out, and holds his hand out to me. I stare at his long, slender, beringed fingers and wonder what the mega-Zen, sober star thinks of my sloppy antics. My bruised pride will not let me take his hand. I have my dignity.
“Thanks,” I say, looking up at him. “I’ve got this.”
Bishop steps back and I step out of the limo.
Either I drank more tonight than I realized, or London’s Public Works Department installed moving sidewalks while I was in Boujis.
I step out of the limo, but miss the curb completely. Bishop wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me to him, saving me from making a humiliating face-plant on the moving sidewalk.
Sweet Christian! What a sight that would have made – me spread eagle on the sidewalk, Louboutins kicked off, sparkly dress around my waist, while Buckingham Guards secretly snapped pictures from the palace windows.
“Steady on, California Girl,” Bishop whispers, his whiskers lips brushing against my ear. “Maybe you should have stuck to lime water.”
His whiskers tickle and I giggle.
“Right then,” Poppy says, linking her arm through mine. “Onward and upward.”
I am still giggling when I spot a tall, muscular man standing in the rain, collar of his black trench coat turned up, framing his angled, handsome, dark face. A raindrop pelts my right eyeball, the world turns blurry, and I blink until the Mr. Gorgeous Trench Coat comes back into focus.
“Luc!” I pull out of Bishop’s grasp and stumble over to my boyfriend, throwing myself into his arms. “What are you doing here? I didn’t expect you.”
Luc hugs me and then steps back. His gaze flicks from me to Bishop and back to me again.
If the shock of finding my boyfriend standing in the rain outside my hotel wasn’t sobering enough, his cool, pseudo-accusatory tone is like having a bucket of ice water poured on my face. Now this is a right royal cock-up.
“Luc,” I say, gesturing towards Poppy and Bishop. “These are my friends, Poppy and Bishop.”
Did I just classify Bishop Raine as a friend?
“Hey mate,” Bishop says, holding out his hand. “You must be the Frenchman.”
Thank you, Bishop!
Luc shakes Bishop’s hand.
“Viv, is barking mad for you,” Bishop says, winking at me. “You’re all she talked about tonight. Luc. Luc. Luc.”
Viv? Shut up, Bishop! Shut up!
Luc smiles, but it is one of his tight, I-am-tolerating-you-for-propriety’s-sake expressions. Luc is unfailingly polite and polished. Sometimes, it makes me feel gauche.
“A pleasure to meet you, Luc.” Poppy links arms with Bishop and pulls him back to the limo. “We’ll leave you two alone. Talk to you soon, Vivia.”
Luc wraps his arm around my waist to steady me. We walk into the hotel, cross the lobby, and get into the lift. I expect Luc to pin me to the wall and give me a little love in an elevator, but he just stands beside me staring at the control panel.
I peek at him out of the corner of my eye and my heart dips to my heels. Damn, he’s fine. His hair, damp from the rain, is tousled. I want to reach over and brush the hair from his tanned forehead.
“I missed you,” I say, reaching for his hand and lacing my fingers with his. “A lot.” His hand is so cold. “Were you waiting a long time?”
I look at him full-on and my heart dips again.
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