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Tuesday, July 18, 2017

Murder By Dummies Available NOW For Early Download!

Woo Hoo! 

Go get it! Book One in the new Marilyn Club Series, Murder For By Dummies, is available right this very moment for early download!!!

Place your pre-order at the Totally Bound website and download your copy TODAY.  If you have already placed your pre-order, your copy is available NOW!


So, go…don’t delay…hurry…order your copy of Murder For By Dummies now and get the download today--almost a month before everyone else on the general release date of August 15, 2017.

And just to whet your whistle, here is a new excerpt…ENJOY!

Murder For By Dummies
By Kayce Lassiter

Emily Redfeather

The office door swung open and slammed against the wall.   I jumped an inch off the chair and almost toppled backward, chair and all.  With both my feet straight out in front of me, and arms wind-milling, I struggled to save myself.  As I barely avoided a very humiliating upset by regaining my balance, I stared hard at my boss, waiting for an explanation.

“Could you come to my office?  I need to talk to you.”  He wouldn’t make eye contact.

Not a good sign.

I took a deep, measured breath and mentally counted to ten as he hurried from my office.  Annoyed, I dragged my poor, tired body across the hall and into his office, and slumped into the first chair I came to.

“Is this going to take long?”  I was too frayed to hide my annoyance.

He raised his brows.  “It might.  Are you in a hurry?”

“Sort of.  It’s Friday afternoon and I’ve got almost eighty hours in this week.  I’m exhausted and there’s a family emergency brewing.  I just want to go home and curl up on the couch with a glass of wine and pray for good news.  Can it wait?”

George stared at some loose papers on his desk, still not making eye contact—which wasn’t unusual.  He was a short, bald man with absolutely no people skills and beady little eyes that were always sneaking peeks like he expected to catch someone doing something wrong.

“Uh, no.  This can’t wait, and I’m afraid you’re not going home early.  We’re downsizing and you’re being RIF’d.”

The clock on the wall slowly ticked away the seconds as the silence hung thick in the air between us.  After a few moments, the wheels began to slowly turn in my mind.

“RIF’d?  What do you mean, RIF’d?”

“A Reduction In Force—job cuts.”

I stared at him as my heart began to pound.  “I know what it means.  Why me?”

“Like I said, the company is downsizing.  Your department is being outsourced.  Your project is cancelled.  We’re sending the work offshore.”  Before I could respond, he hurried on.  “Don’t worry.  You’ll be compensated.  We’ll give you a severance package and help you update your resume.”

“Severance package?  Help me update my resume?”  My voice pitched higher as I slid closer to the edge.  “Do you know what I’m dealing with right now?”

Sarcasm coated his words.  “I’m sorry if this comes at a bad time.”  He rolled his eyes and sighed.  It’s nothing personal, just a cost saving measure.”

Wow.  That was heartfelt.

My stomach knotted tighter as I felt my foot slip over the mental edge.  “Nothing personal?  Are you kidding me?  This is my freaking job.  It’s pretty damn personal to me.  I’ve given this company two hundred percent for the last four years and this is the thanks I get?”

RIFs happened and they weren’t always selective, but some part of me always believed if I worked hard and did a good job, I’d be rewarded.  I never expected to give so much of myself to my career, only to get kicked in the teeth.

Unreasonable rage bubbled up from somewhere deep inside and I began to shout.  “You think a few lousy months’ pay and some re-training will compensate for having this prestigious career of facilitating the movement of garbage ripped out from under me?”
On a roll now, my propensity for sarcasm kicked into high gear as I leaned forward in my seat.

“You think that’ll even begin to compensate me for being thrown out of my corner cubicle and being barred from the county dump?  For the humiliation of being supervised as I pack my personal belongings into the one box I’m allowed to carry out?  For the loss of my insurance and the huge pension I was counting on when I’m old and shriveled?  You think you can come up with enough compensation for all that?”

He stammered, apparently at a loss for the right words, “Actually, it’s only two weeks’ pay, and no training.  But there are outplacement services.”

“Two weeks’ pay?  That’s it?”  Hanging off the edge of sanity by my fingernails, I surged to my feet and stormed to the door.  I jerked it open, stepped through, and turned to glare at him.  “Outplacement services?”

Heads popped up all over the groundhog farm as everyone struggled to see and hear everything.

“You’ve got to be kidding.  You’re offering me outplacement services?  After four years of weekends, late nights, working overtime until I couldn’t see straight, you tell me outplacement services and two weeks’ severance is all I get?  Are you freaking nuts?  Well, you can kiss my outplacement services!”



Sunday, July 16, 2017

THE DUCHESS AND THE HIGHWAYMAN by Beverley Oakley with a $10 Amazon GC and an eBook!

The Duchess and the Highwayman
By Beverley Oakley 

Beverley is giving away a $10 Amazon Gift Certificate and an ebook The Mysterious randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour. Please use the RaffleCopter below to enter. Remember you may increase your chances of winning by visiting the other tour stops. You may find those locations here.

A duchess disguised as a lady’s maid; a gentleman parading as a highwayman.  
She’s on the run from a murderer, he’s in pursuit of one…  

In a remote Norfolk manor, Phoebe, Lady Cavanaugh is wrongfully accused by her servants of her brutal husband’s murder.  

There’s little sympathy in the district for the duchess who’s taken a lover and made clear she despised her husband. The local magistrate has also vowed revenge since Lady Cavanaugh rebuffed his advances.  

When Phoebe is discovered in the forest wearing only a chemise stained with the blood of her murdered husband, she persuades the noble ‘highwayman’ who rescues her that she is Lady Cavanaugh’s maidservant. Hugh Redding has his own reasons for hunting down the man who would have Phoebe tried and hanged for murder. He plans to turn ‘the maidservant with aspirations above her station' into the 'lady' who might testify against the very villain who would see Phoebe dead.  

But despite the fierce attraction between Phoebe and the 'highwayman', Phoebe is not in a position to admit she's the 'murderous duchess' hunted across the land.  

Seizing an opportunity to strike at the social and financial standing of the man who has profited by her distress, Phoebe is drawn into a dangerous intrigue.  

But when disaster strikes, she fears Hugh will lack the sympathy or understanding of her unusual predicament to even want to save her a second time.  

Buy Links:  Amazon | All other buy links ~*~*~*~*~*~  

   It was an evening like any other: dull with a hint of menace and tension so thick Phoebe imagined slicing a neat hole in it and disappearing magically into a new life.
   Any would do.
   The company had retired to the dim, close drawing room, gentlemen included, following a gluttonous dinner. By the fireplace Phoebe worked at her embroidery, glad to be ignored though she knew that wouldn’t last for long.
   The reprieve was even briefer than she’d anticipated. Brutus exhaled on a shuddering snore truncated by a yelp as he chased rabbits in his dreams; this caused James the footman, who was stooping over Ulrick in the act of offering his master a drink, to jump in fright and deposit a snifter of brandy upon her husband’s waistcoat. Not that it would concern Ulrick who was snoring more loudly than Brutus and whose waistcoat was already stained with drool.
   The footman cast the mistress a sideways glance as he unwound his lordship’s stock and dabbed at the sticky mess but Phoebe held her tongue and made do with a dispassionate look. She’d never liked James. She was certain he’d conspired with Ulrick on more than a few occasions to put her on the back foot and to tarnish her name below stairs. Despite her obvious disdain, she was afraid of the power he wielded.
   “That will be all, James.” She rose with a dismissive wave and the rustle of silken skirts. “I’ll attend to my husband. Please see Mr Barnaby and Sir Roderick out.”
   Sir Roderick, that most unwelcome of neighbours, appeared before her, bony and wraithlike; malevolent as ever. “I believe your dog that needs more attention than Lord Cavanaugh.” His thin mouth turned up in a parody of amusement as he wafted a fastidious hand about his nose, indicating Brutus’s greater guilt than his master’s snoring.
   Phoebe offered Sir Roderick a cold smile. On the other side of the room Ulrick’s two other guests conversed in low voices by the window.
    She inclined her head as she ignored his attempt at levity. “Good night, Sir Roderick.”
   Sir Roderick straightened his spare, weedy frame, which she saw trembled with supressed outrage at being so summarily dismissed by the lady of the house.

   Phoebe refused to turn away from his challenging gaze. Sir Roderick was another who couldn’t wait until the doors of Blinley Manor were closed against her the moment Ulrick breathed his last. She’d offended his honour, having bitten his lip and kneed him in the groin six months before when he’d accosted her in a dimly lit corridor and suggested in lewd terms how he might assist in the creation of an heir for the already ailing Ulrick. An heir that would ensure Phoebe kept a roof over her head.


  Author Info:

   Beverley Oakley was seventeen when she bundled up her first her 500+ page romance and sent it to a publisher. Unfortunately drowning her heroine on the last page was apparently not in line with the expectations of romance readers so Beverley became a journalist.
   Twenty-six years later Beverley was delighted to receive her first publishing contract from Robert Hale (UK) for a romance in which she ensured her heroine was saved from drowning in the icy North Sea.
   Since 2009 Beverley has written more than thirteen historical romances, mostly set in England during the early nineteenth century. Mystery, intrigue and adventure spill from their pages and if she can pull off a thrilling race to save someone’s honour – or a worthy damsel from the noose – it’s time to celebrate with a good single malt Scotch.
   Beverley lives with her husband, two daughters and a Rhodesian Ridgeback puppy the size of a pony opposite a picturesque nineteenth century lunatic asylum. She also writes Africa-set adventure-filled romances tarring handsome bush pilot heroes, and historical romances with less steam and more sexual tension, as Beverley Eikli.
   You can get in contact with Beverley at:

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