Meet the Heroine

More excerpts from my clean romantic suspense novel Baker's Dozen

Meet Andy Miller, an investigative journalist in my clean romantic suspense novel, on sale for $2.99 until May 25, 2018. Buy link here.

Men lie. They lie about how many women they’ve been with, their alcohol tolerance, and the size of their, uh, paycheck. Which was exactly what Jack, sitting across from Andy Miller, was lying about.
He tapped his coffee mug with the tip of his finger, stretching his lean body against the booth at Ronney Dell’s. “Ninety grand this year alone,” he claimed.
Closer to fifty grand, according to his secretary. Though maybe he was taking into account all the vehicles he had sabotaged before fixing which weren’t on the books.
But Andy didn’t contradict him. Instead, she demurely batted her lashes and smiled into her shoulder. “Ninety grand,” she cooed, snapping her gum. “I don’t believe it!” she said.
And that was the truth.
Andy brushed back the bleached wig of her “Mary Lou” persona covering her natural brown hair. Brown as the Mississippi mud, her dad always said. She fingered a necklace just above the plunging neckline of a tank top and Daisy Dukes combo. Oh, the depths she sank to for a story. But to avenge poor, old Mrs. Wheyland, it was worth it.
“It’s been all this overtime, you know.” He gave her a crusty smile. It had been too long since he’d seen the inside of the toothpaste cap.
“Are you going in to work tonight?”
She wanted one more peek at Jack’s books. Something was amiss, something more than the sabotage. After doing some research on how much small repair shops made, she wanted to recalculate the figures.
“I’m just about to finish up your BMW. Want to come?”
She nodded. “Watching you work gives me such a thrill.”
Andy smiled in anticipation of sharing all seventeen of Jack’s dishonest dealings with her ten thousand Twitter followers @BakersDozen. And if there was a bigger story in the books, it would be the cream on top of all the corruption and scandal. Lies à la mode.
“Let’s go.” He tossed his head.
He gulped one last swig of coffee. Andy slid from the booth, arms jangling with bracelets, her stiletto boots nearly entangling in the table legs. At the register, Jack patted his back pockets, then his shirt pockets, and swore.
“Forgot my wallet in my other pants. Mary Lou, will you?”
Andy flashed a tight smile as she did some mental math. She had paid for dinner five of the six times they’d been out. If this had been a real date with a real boyfriend, Andy would have left him to wash dishes for their meal. At least Jack was a tax deduction. She slid her wallet from her red weekender tote. “Sure, hon.”
“Last time, I promise,” he whispered in her ear. This was the only truth he’d uttered their entire relationship. He didn’t even know how true it was.


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