GOLDDIGGER NEWS AND EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT …

golddiggersfbbanner

Greetings, my lovelies.

The GOLDDIGGER short stories of half hour reads are rocking with my editor and proof reading team who are laughing and crying (in a good way).

The first story, ELLIE, is released on FRIDAY 28th October 2016. Her pre-order is out now and available HERE.

I’m offering EXCLUSIVE content of behind the scenes sneak peeks of GOLDDIGGER life to readers who sign up to my mailing list HERE. 

Each story is a stand alone romance. No cliffhangers. Each story is set in the GOLDDIGGER world.

And to get you in the mood, here’s a taster of MILLIE who will land in your eReader on FRIDAY 4th of November 2016.

 

millie-1

iBOOKS pre-order links are going up very soon!

 

MILLIE

“Money. Fame. Success.

Honey, I’m a GOLDDIGGER.

I’m truly walkin’ in high cotton.

I have it all.

Sure, I’ve gone through real hard times and made mistakes along the way.

Who hasn’t?

I’m not a perfect person.

But success comes with a price.

Seems I have a stalker.

Since I’m his object of desire, the notes detailing what he’s gonna do to me have gotten everyone from the police to my boss’s knickers in a knot.

You might ask, am I scared?

’Scuse me, sistas. I’m from Texas. I learned to shoot a gun before I could walk.

A nut job don’t worry me none.

Remember I mentioned a past mistake?

Well, the mistake just walked through the door.

Cole Buchanan’s always been too good looking with a hot bod and sultry bedroom eyes. Once upon a time, Cole and I did a lot of messin’ up the straw in my daddy’s hayloft.

These days, he’s an ex-navy seal, runs a personal protection business, and looks like a man straight out of central casting for the Men in Black, complete with the shades and piss poor attitude.

And he’s here to protect me.

(Hang on a minute while I stop laughing).

But then a tragic secret from the past comes back to bite my ass, and both our lives are changed…

Forever.”

Dear readers, I’m so excited to bring you the GOLDDIGGERS and having THE best time writing key moments in the girls’ lives. I figure if I’m having fun then so will you.

Remember, I’m introducing the Irish showgirl, Pousse-Cafe (a.k.a Katherine Mary Kennedy) and her GOLDDIGGER troupe in SEAN, where Katherine brings him to his knees. Again, my editor and team are doing a happy dance with the story. They love the chaos and love in the Ferranti household, too.

You can grab SEAN’S pre-order links HERE.

SEAN is out in three short weeks, on September 30th! and I’ll be giving you exclusive excerpts on this blog page, so stay tuned.

Love and hugs,

Christine X

 

New Release – ADAM – Book four of The Vampyre Legal Chronicles is out today

ADANRELEASEDAY

iBOOKS    NOOK   AMAZON   KOBO

Hi guys,

For all you paranormal romance lovers out there, I’m thrilled to announce that Book four of The Vampyre Legal Chronicles, ADAM, is out today.

 

Here’s the blurb:

“We must not be defeated…”

Each night her dreams of him keep the nightmares of her visions at bay. All she sees is his face. All she hears his voice. And she foretells of his death.

Tonight, in a world gone mad, foreseer Mhari MacDonald will behold the man who is both light and dark, redemption and seduction.

He is Adam Gillespie – Vampyre Prince.

And he is hers.

Tonight, Mhari will meet the man doomed to be her mate…

 the man her love will destroy…

 

EXCERPT:

 

Mhari raced into the bedroom, and hauled open the closet door.

She pulled on thick black thermal leggings, a long-sleeved thermal beneath a warm sweater, thick socks, waterproof boots of soft rubber, all topped off by a thick duck down jacket the color of bleached bone. The jacket had a hood, but she crammed a beanie on her head and thrust thermal gloves into the pockets. She sped into the kitchen, grabbed a banana and a couple of apples, stuffed them inside her jacket. She didn’t need water. The Grampian Highlands in Scotland were covered in snow and had plenty of teeming burns.

Heart beating fast and her mind racing even faster, she sped across the sitting room to the open French doors to peer over the balcony to the ground three floors below.

She had no money, not even a credit card, but she didn’t care.

Far in the distance she recognized a couple of Munros, mountains over three thousand feet high. The trek home through deep snow might be tricky. But it wasn’t far, maybe fifteen miles, maybe less, and when she hit a main road she could do it. Once she was home, she’d never let Adam Gillespie anywhere near her.

Abruptly, the searing ache in her heart told her it didn’t want her to leave Adam.

And it was that single and incredibly foolish thought that hooked her leg over the balcony.

With her booted foot, she carefully shoved snow off the stone ledge.

Hanging onto the railing, she bounced a little to test her weight on the ledge. It didn’t budge, so she carefully shuffled to the left, and finally took a breath when her hands clutched metal.

The downpipe was sturdy.

The climb down had a couple of hairy moments that brought her heart into her mouth.

If she slipped the fall would surely kill her, or at the very least break a few bones.

The thought entered her mind that if Adam could see her, he’d go ballistic, but she didn’t want to think of him. Not now.

 

Her feet hit solid ground.

And she was off.

Her breath was sucking freezing particles of air into lungs that felt too tight. And all the while her ears strained to catch the first shout of alarm she fully expected to hear behind her. She ran. As she dug in to climb up, up, the steep hillside, it wasn’t long before her thigh muscles were burning.

Once, twice, three times, she tripped and fell flat on her face in the snow, hidden stems trapping her ankles and bruising her shins, her knees and elbows.

Scrambling to her feet again and again, Mhari literally threw herself into a thick forest of Scots pine trees.

Only once did she risk a look back, to catch her breath, to gaze at the castle far below.

Dear God, it looked stunningly beautiful, like something straight out of the Brothers Grimm, as it sat nestled in a glen on the edge of a wide loch, surrounded by mountains and hills. A dark winding tar macadam road going in the other direction had been cleared of snow. It was tempting to take the easy route home. But she knew Adam would have everyone looking for her, once he found her missing. She’d taken time to close the French doors behind her and now she was thankful for her quick thinking. He’d never consider she’d climbed out of the window, not until it was too late and she was long gone.

She hoped.

The thought of him and the way her mouth still throbbed, swollen, from his kiss had her tongue run over her bottom lip. Mhari could still taste him there. The scent of him, of man, seemed to cling to her skin. The ache in her chest, in the region of her heart, made her stiffen her resolve. Her heart still belonged to her. He might have stolen a part of it, but her heart wasn’t broken. And she was determined her heart was going to stay that way.

For a moment, she panicked, her clear footprints left in the snow would alert Adam and his Centuri to her escape route, but the thought had no more entered her head when thick flakes began to drift down from a leaden sky.

It seemed someone in the universe was looking after her.

She sent up a quick prayer of thanks.

Turning her back on the castle, and on the creature she felt sure had captured a tiny piece of her heart, Mhari’s ears listened to the stillness and the utter silence behind her, and heard nothing.

She was free.

 

End of Excerpt.

Please remember that all my books stand alone with no cliffhangers.

For exclusive content and more information about deliciously handsome vampyres and the women who bring them to their knees, you can sign-up for my Vampyre Legal Chronicles Newsletter HERE!

Next in the series will be book five, CONSTANTINE, due in February 2017.

Enjoy!

Much love,

Christine X

Vampyre Legal Chronicles, ADAM, pre-order now

adam1 copy

 

 

iBOOKS   AMAZON  KOBO  NOOK

Hi guys!

I can’t believe book four of The Vampyre Legal Chronicles, ADAM, is out on June 28th 2016. I’ve had the best time writing Adam and Mhari’s story. They are an amazing couple who challenge each other every single step of the way on the path to true love.

Here’s the blurb:

This Book Stands Alone – No Cliffhanger

“We must not be defeated…”

Each night her dreams of him keep the nightmares of her visions at bay. All she sees is his face. All she hears his voice. And she foretells of his death.
Tonight, in a world gone mad, foreseer Mhari MacDonald will behold the man who is both light and dark, redemption and seduction.
He is Adam Gillespie – Vampyre Prince.
And he is hers.
Tonight, Mhari will meet the man doomed to be her mate…
the man her love will destroy…

Excerpt:

She’d have killed for a hot bath. A big, deep whirlpool of rose scented oil and foam, or failing that a man with good hands. Hands that knew how to give an exceptional shoulder and neck rub.

Mhari MacDonald passed the time fantasizing about both, while she waited for her boss, Professor Redford, to wind down. Bubbles up to her chin, her hair piled up as she lay her aching head on a soft cushion, and let all the cares of the world simply float away.

A wave of fatigue threatened to floor her, but Mhari kept her eyes straight ahead, and remained standing to attention in her nurses’ uniform; black rubber clogs, navy pants, and a navy blue cotton tunic edged with white piping which denoted her rank. The sleeves were short. Her skin felt tight and raw from the chemical scrub. Her pores reeked of disinfectant, too. She shivered. Jeez, the room was freezing. Seemed the people who ran the Western General Hospital in Edinburgh had cut back on heating for staff offices.

Mhari waited for the axe to fall.

She didn’t have long to wait.

Professor Redford, a tyrant at the best of times, tossed her pen on the desk.

She sat back in her chair, and peered at Mhari over the top of black framed reading glasses.

“You’re one of my best nurses, and now this? I will not accept it,” she said in a high-pitched nasally voice. Today the tone grated on Mhari’s nerves. Nerves shot to hell with the stress and strain of fighting a losing battle with an airborne Ebola virus that had spun out of control. Since Mhari reckoned she had nothing to say in response to the Professor’s statement, she kept her mouth shut.

The only sound in the room was the relentless tick, tick, tick, from the clock on the wall. Another endless moment of being considered by cold grey eyes over the top of those damn glasses, and Mhari MacDonald was barely holding on to patience with her fingernails.

After four weeks as a head triage nurse running a team working hard to contain a disease that scythed without mercy, man, woman and child, Mhari felt she’d learned a lot more than patience. She’d learned the bitter lesson no matter how much a person cared, no matter how much experience and dedication a person brought to bear, there were some battles dedicated medical care and science could not win.

The Ebola virus was one of them.

Mhari shifted from one sore foot to the other.

She’d covered three shifts, which meant thirty-six hours on her feet.

And two hundred and forty-one dead.

Her heart clenched.

In her mind her patient’s heartfelt pleas for help as they passed from life into death broke more than her heart.

She tried not to think of the number.

No human being should die as a number.

Three hours ago, she’d used a permanent marker to write the number on the forehead of a nine-month old baby boy.

Her mind flew back to the precise moment, to the reason why she was standing in front of her boss instead of lying face down on her bed.

 

Inside the sealed suit, which filtered air into her hazmat headgear, the suck and exhale of her breath had sounded too loud. Two days ago, she’d wept when she’d lifted the desperately ill little body from his dead mother’s arms. When he’d been conscious, Mhari’s face behind the clear plastic helmet had terrified the child. She’d rocked him, held him close as he’d taken his last breath. A child who was one of many in a ward over-filled with the dying. Inside the suit she couldn’t smell bodily fluids. But Mhari imagined she could. Blue plastic shoe covers stuck to human waste on the floor. The progression of the disease that was Ebola; flu like symptoms, headache, fatigue, fevers, and then an escalation into delirium with bleeding from eyes, nose and ears, as internal organs liquefied, which made the corpse and anything it touched incredibly infectious.

After pictures of the dead were taken, the bodies were burned.

In an attempt to speed up the process and control the spread of disease, the authorities had automated body disposal. Crematoriums with vast ovens burning twenty-four-seven had been built in the grounds of every hospital. The sweet smoke of death was a pale grey murk over every city in the land. There wasn’t time to read last rites, or say a prayer. Robots, prototypes made in Japan, lifted and placed the deceased onto a conveyor belt leading directly into the ovens. The dead were cremated with an efficiency not seen since the second world war.

When she’d used a black marker to write two hundred and forty-one on the child’s forehead, Mhari’s eyes had stung.

Her throat closed.

Her hands had been shaking uncontrollably as she’d taken pictures.

But when she’d handed the baby to a robot, that was when Mhari knew she couldn’t do this.

And something inside her cracked.

Broken.

Fractured.

 

Now standing in front of her boss, Mhari lifted hands that trembled from exhaustion, and rammed a loose hairpin into her throbbing scalp.

She welcomed the hurt.

The pain told her she was alive.

The pain told her she was one of the lucky few.

 

Professor Redford, head of infectious diseases at the Western General Hospital, was a martinet for tidiness and order. Hair was not permitted to touch the shoulders of her nurses. The woman herself was neat, and a stickler for the rules.

She reflected it was a pity Mhari was a regular breaker of said rules, disorganized and so far from neat, it wasn’t funny. Her hair was a case in point, and seemed to symbolize her lively personality. There were a variety of shades from a delicate ash blond to rich brown to a vivid red gold. It was long and heavy and hated confinement of any kind. A bit like Mhari herself, it was disobedient and obstinate, yet soft and appealing.

It had been the appeal of Mhari’s somewhat unconventional looks and personality that had prompted the Professor to hire her in the first place. That and her talent of dealing with difficult and complicated cases, plus the way she ran a team.

Professor Redford recognized a natural ability which had the potential to put her department on the map. With the male contingent on her team, Mhari’s face and body were undoubtedly a plus, too. Mhari just had to bat those thick lashes and junior doctor’s rushed to do her bidding. The Professor couldn’t really in all good conscience call Mhari beautiful, but she was spectacular. The girl’s features were sculpted and pointed and undeniably highborn. Fine brows curved over wide, lidded eyes that seemed too big for her narrow face, were a stunning pale violet.

“I refuse to lose you. You are one of the most valuable members of my team.”

In response, the girl’s hands were shaking as she unpinned her little badge of silver wings, a sign of her seniority, and laid it on the desk.

It appeared her nurse was stubborn, too.

Eyes fixed on Mhari’s, she picked up her letter of resignation and ripped it into shreds.

The Professor might be neck deep in a crisis, and have a hospital to run, but she was well aware Mhari had reached the end of her tether. However, she was not prepared to let one of her best nurses walk away when she knew the girl would live to regret it. What Mhari needed was a break. Fair enough. She’d give her one.

On the whole the Professor was pleased with Mhari’s enthusiasm, her intelligence and her energy, but she had a distressing habit of letting her mind drift at times. It gave a sort of other-worldly quality to her features. Plus, she’d soon discovered that in spite of appearances, Mhari had an unfortunate tendency to forget her place, and re-write the rules whenever it suited her. More than once she’d come upon Mhari giving spirited and unwarranted advice to a junior doctor too dazzled to question the girl’s apparently infinite wisdom. When Mhari was reminded of who was the boss here, her smile gave the distinct impression she was enjoying a private joke. Whatever her shortcomings, Professor Redford refused to lose her.

Meanwhile, blissfully unaware of the Professor’s thoughts, Mhari did what she invariably did when her mind wasn’t busy. She let it drift back to the last vision she’d experienced and tried, uselessly as it turned out, to understand the meaning behind it.

Since she’d been a small child, flashes of scenes from the future had occupied her mind. Details of her visions came to her in spurts and starts, and out of time order. With her maternal gramma as teacher, she’d studied her gift, or curse, of foresight. At twenty-one she’d been left without family and virtually no money in the bank. However, she’d continued to work her way through her nursing degree, and supplemented her small income with a variety of odd jobs from a bottle tossing bartender in one of Edinburgh’s hot spots, to a professional dog-walker. She had an affinity with animals. Between her education and employment, Mhari had been left with few moments of free time. Even those had been set aside to work on her gift.

To Mhari, the gift of foresight was a vocation. Her entire life had been guided by a grandmother who, like her granddaughter, was fey. Her gramma used to say they’d been touched by an angel. Mhari didn’t know about that, but she’d had no time for attachments of a personal nature. She was twenty-three now, and people simply fascinated her, but there were very few with whom she could say she’d ever got close to. Her busy brain seemed to enjoy understanding and analyzing complex relationships, and yet her personal understanding of them came about exclusively second-hand. Her gift of foresight gave her work with the sick a quality of keen observation and a surprising depth of empathy, together with an emotional intelligence often lacking in a medical profession more concerned with ticking boxes and achieving unrealistic targets. For the greater part of her life, Mhari’s emotions had found their release in her vocation of caring for others and helping them cope with their pain, be it physical or psychological.

But putting herself last had taken a heavy toll.

The psychic energy needed to help souls cross over the bridge from life to death was depleted.

Mhari MacDonald’s emotional well was bone dry.

She needed to get away from the pain and grief she dealt with every second of every hour of every day.

The world as she knew it and the people in it, her friends and loved-ones, all gone.

There was nothing she could do about it or give hope and solace to those suffering.

This broke her heart, and lowered her spirit.

So she was following her intuition, her gut.

She’d already packed a car with her few personal possessions.

This evening she was planning to head north into the snowy-capped Grampian Highlands of Scotland, to find respite in the tiny bothy that had been in the MacDonald family for hundreds of years.

She was going to find her destiny… and, perhaps, the man who filled her dreams.

It was time.

“I’m sorry, Professor, but I need to go.”

When her boss nodded and smiled, Mhari blinked in surprise.

There was not a lot of love lost between them.

So when the Professor stood, picked up the silver Angel’s wings, walked around the desk and pinned it on Mhari’s lapel, the gesture of support was so unexpected it brought a sting to her eyes.

“Take a break. Let’s say a month or two. And then return to us rested and ready. Do not lose faith, child. A cure or treatment will be found.”

Not soon enough for baby number two hundred and forty-one, Mhari wanted to say.

Instead, she nodded.

“I can’t promise anything.”

The Professor smiled again, this time a curve of the lips that seemed to hold a secret.

A smile Mhari would remember.

Finito

To sign up for my Vampyre Legal Chronicles mailing list, CLICK HERE:

As a busy author, I’m working on The Vampyre Legal Chronicles, book five, CONSTANTINE, as well as a couple of other projects.

My next release will be SEAN, book ten, of The Ludlow Hall Romances (with plenty more to come). And a super-secret project released after SEAN, which I’m incredibly excited about and will share the details as soon as I am able.

 Hugs,

Christine X

WHAT’S NEW PUSSYCAT?

Hello my darlings,

What on earth is this, I hear you cry? Well, along with working on five books – yes five – I’m almost finished the first story of a new venture called LUDLOW NIGHTS. This will be an Exclusive for a short time to my MAILING LIST  six part story. And the first part of the story is called His Rules.

new1 copy

Ambitious, workaholic Anastacia Morgan runs Ferranti Communications with a cool-head and an iron will. Her latest project is ensuring sports star Olivier Conti does what he’s told in a series of adverts. Olivier is impossible with an huge ego she’s made up her mind to ignore. His smile may do wonderful things to her libido, but Ana is determined to succeed where other women fail and resist the gorgeous soccer star.

However, in this game there are no rules and Olivier’s never missed a penalty, yet.

EXCERPT:

“A footballer, Nico?” Anastacia shoved heavy curls the colour of jet over her shoulder, sat back in her butter-soft leather chair, and raised imperious black brows. “You cannot be serious?”

“I hope that is a rhetorical question,” Nico Ferranti returned mildly. His wife Bronte always said that good things came in small packages. Well, Anastacia Morgan was a size zero, five foot two inches in her size four bare feet, and a prime example of how good things did indeed come in a small package. She was dressed in an immaculately tailored business suit the colour of bone, personally designed for her. A suit that fit in all the right places. He knew for a fact Ana wore the fashion equivalent of stilts to boost her height. He also knew those stilts were even now discarded under her desk. At the moment she resembled a very angry angel. Nico wasn’t worried. He’d had plenty of experience of dealing with angry angels. He had two of them at home.

Now she was glaring at him over the reading glasses perched on her small nose.

She read the look on his face, uncompromising, and tossed down her silver pen in disgust. Her behaviour reminded Nico forcibly of his three year old daughter, Sophia, throwing a temper tantrum.

Dark eyebrows shot into her hairline.

“Can he speak in declarative sentences?” she wondered in a droll voice that made him raise his own brows.

“Tsk, tsk, Ana. Sarcasm is not a good look on you,” Nico told her in a very soft voice. A voice that made heat rise in her cheeks and told him his rebuke had been received loud and clear. “Just think of the nice fat fee you will make.”

The look Ana sent Nico was her own version of uncompromising.

She could stare down the Queen of England with that look, but not Nico Ferranti.

At thirty-six Nico was head of a global business that spanned hotels, and digital technology. A business he’d begun with a legacy from his paternal grandfather, brains and balls. Nico ran things his way, and everyone who worked for him knew it. Including the tiny angel who was showing her fangs and glaring at him out of navy blue eyes.

Four years ago he’d taken a big chance on Anastacia Morgan.

And he’d never regretted it.

One of Nico’s greatest skills was recognising raw talent in another. In Ana he’d seen a creative ambition, and a need for a financial freedom that matched his own. Ana was twenty-six and one of the top brand manager’s in the business. And since he knew that Anastacia Morgan cared as much for the Ferranti brand as he did, Nico had Ana on a very long leash.

Then Ana pulled out the big guns and gave him the death stare.

Nico waited.

After another minute had passed, Ana gave up.

“Okay. You’re the boss. But Nico… a footballer?” The last two words were said in a whine that made Nico bite down hard on his bottom lip. And Ana wasn’t finished, “What’s wrong with Tobias Aidin? He’s the next big thing. Dontcha watch prime-time TV? In less than six weeks he has over five hundred thousand followers on twitter. Not only does his voice make women’s toes curl, he can take direction and…” She stopped when Nico’s brows rose. He had to admire the way she took a breath and battled on. “Sportsmen, especially soccer stars, freeze, or take the piss when a camera’s rolling.”

Without comment, Nico focused on brushing a speck of dust from the sleeve of his immaculate grey suit.

“As you are aware, the new Boutique hotels specifically target young business executives and tourists who demand quality, cleanliness, and value for money. We need a well-known face and a name that resonates world-wide.”

I’ve never even heard of Olivier Conti,” Ana threw back.

“Every soccer fan in the world has heard of Olivier.”

She shrugged off his comment.

For a moment Nico wondered just who was the boss here.

“We’re selling a lifestyle here, Nico. Not flashy cars and even flashier women,” she said with a sneer that made him again bite down on his abused lip.

Little devil.

“Seven goals in the world cup in Brazil,” Nico went on relentlessly. “He’s the leading goal scorer in the Seria A.” He shook his head at her blank stare. “The Italian football league, for four consecutive seasons. Two of the top clubs in the Premier league are prepared to pay over one hundred million pounds for him.”

Ana narrowed her eyes until they were blue slits.

“How come you’ve got the skinny? Since when do you follow football?”

“Ana, cara mia,” Nico drawled. “Soccer is in my DNA. I am Italian.”

She couldn’t help but grin at the way his voice deepened, the way his accent grew stronger.

“Since he’s in such high demand, how the hell can we afford him?”

Nico unfolded his tall frame from the skinny chair.

“Let us just say the boy owes me a favour. Do not make plans for this evening. A car will pick you up at six-thirty. I have tickets for the game tonight. Milan against United.”

“Who?”

Nico gave the question and the cranky tone in which it was delivered, the attention it deserved, none.

He strolled towards the door.

“Hang on just a minute there, buster.”

Nico opened the door, turned to look at her over his shoulder, and almost burst out laughing at the unspeakable scowl on her face.

“Si?”

Ana sat back, and in an dazzling move that belonged to ballet, stretched up a long leg, pointed to a soft leather platform shoe with five inch heels. “These shoes and this suit are Victoria Beckham. How is this a good look for a football game? I’ll need time to go home, get changed into skinnies and a T-shirt that says, ‘Hump Me.’

“Nothing wrong with standing out from the crowd. The clothes and shoes are fine. If I were you, I would spend the next few hours boning up on the offside rule,” Nico advised before he closed the office door behind him.

With language that turned the air blue, Ana spun her chair around to stare unseeing over the city of London and Tower Bridge. Vast glass structures, tall buildings and clogged traffic, with a river running through it. In her past, she’d had other views of the city, but they’d been at street level. These days she gazed down upon the city from the fifteenth floor. And one day, Ana promised, she’d look down from the top floor.

One day.

Anastacia Morgan only looked forward, certainly not at the past. The past was behind her now, thank God.

Ana shoved back her hair. Hair that was too long, too curly, and it drove her nuts. However, her hair had become something of a trademark. It hung past her waist in glossy curls the colour of rich ripe chestnuts. A gleaming brown shot through with a rose gold that her friends told her was gorgeous.

Her friends also told her that her eyes were the darkest blue they’d ever seen. A couple of men had also said they felt they could drown in them.

At the moment Ana could care less about her hair or her eyes or her looks. All she cared about was the Ferranti brand, which encompassed the five star hotels, spas, and resorts world-wide. And now the new boutique hotels. Working for Nico Ferranti meant there was never a dull moment… but football? Her wide mouth was marred by the sneer on her full lips.

Then Ana remembered how much she owed Nico Ferranti. Four years ago, in the middle of the worst recession in living memory, she’d marched into Ferranti Enterprises with a marketing degree, a gut-searing desperation for a job and a smart mouth. And twenty pounds in her purse. Never look back, she reminded herself. Nico had taken a chance on her and she would never, ever forget it. Ana wanted only the best for the Ferranti brand. If that meant working with a football player, then she’d make damned sure the prima-donna (weren’t all footballers drama queens?) did the job.

Determined, she spun back to her desk.

Ana snatched up the phone, jabbed buttons.

“Linda, get me everything you can on Olivier Conti. Oh, and find me someone who can explain to me in words of one syllable the soccer off-side rule. No, I’m not being funny.”

*****

So that’s a tiny taster of part one! Want more? I need the promise of your first child, and chocolate and wine for a year!!  Kidding!! All y’all need to do is to subscribe to my mailing list either on the top right hand of the blog or on the link!

Easy peasy.

Big hugs,

Christine XX