All this time I’ve been waiting for my stepfather to release his anger at me – the anger I know he holds for me putting him in the nursing home; the anger I know he holds for believing my mother died of negligence; the anger he holds because of the loss of his independence.
I’ve been waiting for him to unleash it all on me, and today I realized…I’m the one who’s angry.
Furious, truth be told.
I never got to say goodbye to my mother.
If not for my husband rushing to her bedside when I couldn’t get there, she would have died alone. I am so furious at that.
So furious.
I’m furious she spent her life in what most would believe was a poverty state. Never having any money for anything other than the bare essentials; never doing what she wanted with her life instead of always having to find a job she could physically and mentally perform when she was so damn exhausted it was a wonder she could stand upright most of the time.
She bought clothes and shoes in the local Goodwill – shoes that were always the wrong size for her. Her foot measured at an 8 but she bought whatever she could afford, many times, squeezing into a 7. And she wondered why her feet always hurt.
I hate the fact she only saw her great-grandson once and that she’ll never meet her great-granddaughter.
I could scream at the top of my lungs about how unfair life was to her, how people took advantage of her – even those who claimed to love her, myself included. I could smash something against a wall and shatter it with the amount of fury inside me for how her own mother mistreated her for her entire life.
Who am I kidding? What I want to smash is my grandmother.
I’m so damn angry she never got to see Ireland – her dream.
I’m so damn angry she never knew how much I truly loved her – loved her – despite our tortured our relationship was at times.
And I’m so, so mad I never told her the extent of my love.
All this time I’ve been the one sitting on a mountain of anger, waiting for it to unleash.
If you haven’t read this face-paced, bodyguard trope, romantic suspense yet, now’s the right time to do so!!
Cyber-security specialist Dylan Keane is working undercover to suss out a corporate thief. When he zeroes in on Harper Vale, he thinks he’s found his mole.
Harper has a reputation as a coding savant and an introvert. Dylan’s interest is flattering, but after she’s implicated in the theft of the company’s protected software, she doubts everything he’s told her.
When a series of potentially deadly accidents occur involving Harper, Dylan wonders if she is being set up to take the fall. One thing is certain: the more time they spend together, the more Dylan realizes he’s the one who’s falling—for Harper.
Dylan Keane knew if he hadn’t been forced to walk the straight and narrow by his parents and older brothers he would have had a lucrative career as a con man instead of a private investigator.
Both professions required a large amount of personal hubris and, well, confidence in order to get people to drop their guards and divulge things they wouldn’t ordinarily give a voice to. Both required an in-depth knowledge of human nature and the ability to predict what people were willing to do to protect their secrets. And both required an exceptional ability to believe the role they were playing and lose themselves in the character.
Dylan possessed all three qualities and one more extremely important one: he was naturally likable.
The fact he’d been blessed by the Gods of good looks didn’t hurt either.
So, armed with those good looks, likability, and superior acting skills, he skirted the perimeter of the corporate lunchroom until he spotted his mark pay for her lunch and then lift her tray.
Surveilling her for the past three days told him she’d walk directly to an empty table in the corner, not establish eye contact with any of her co-workers, and settle in, facing the parking lot through the room-wide windows to eat alone.
Not today, sweetheart.
He tugged his phone from his back pocket and clicked on one of the apps. Pretending to read it, he moved towards the mark, his apparent concentration focused solely on his phone.
Apparent being the operative word, because his true attention was fixated on the woman now crossing the room on her way to her table.
She dressed for comfort, but then everyone in the tech division of Kirkpatick Industries did. Worn and aged Converse sneakers were the shoe of choice among the twenty and thirty-somethings who made up the bulk of employees, his mark no different from her coworkers. Where they did differ was in the definition of comfort. Where t-shirts and faded jeans were the norm, she routinely wore body-hugging black leggings with oversized, long-sleeved button-down shirts in varying neutral colors. No jewelry, no personal adornments. He doubted she had a drop of makeup on.
That told him she didn’t like to stand out in a crowd, but didn’t necessarily want to be a lemming, either.
Her shoulder-length wavy blonde hair was typically pulled into a messy bun or dangling in a tale down the nape of her neck.
Dylan wondered what it would look like free and flowing down her neck and back.
The few things he knew about her life he’d culled from an in-depth and barely legal digital deep-dive. An only child adopted by a couple who had long since given up on ever having biological children, she’d been the class nerd all through grade school, high school valedictorian and then graduated second in her class at M.I.T with a double degree in computer programming and engineering.
She’d been recruited by ten top tech companies while a senior but had opted to get her Master’s degree before signing on to any.
Daniel Kirkpatrick himself had recruited her after reading a paper she’d penned on the future of the gaming industry for her thesis.
That had been eight years ago. By all appearances, she was a diligent worker, wicked smart, and had perfect performance reviews. She was also a loner and hadn’t moved up the corporate ladder as one would have expected given her educational pedigree, something that alone was suspect.
With a flick of his finger across the screen, giving the impression he was engrossed in what he was reading, Dylan moved with ease and finesse across the lunchroom until he bumped into his mark, clipping her lunch tray and causing it to fall flat on the floor.
“Oh, Jeez. I’m so sorry.” He reached out to grab her forearm when it looked like she was about to follow the tray. A jolt of surprise surged through him when his work-roughened hand met skin spun from silk. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Nothing hot spilled on you, did it?”
Brows the color of unmined gold pulled together over eyes a hue his mother would have dubbed fresh basil. Sitting behind oversized glasses that hid their natural beauty, those eyes now squinted as she peered up at him. Annoyance flicked in the moisture coating them.
Glancing down to where the contents of her ruined lunch sat and then back up to him, she shook her head. “Lucikly, no.” Irritation spilled through the words.
“I’m really sorry,” he repeated. “I was so engrossed in reading an article I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“There’s a reason you shouldn’t walk and read,” she said, testily. Squatting, she grabbed the tray and began placing the spilled contents back on it.
The subtle chide had him smiling on the inside because it sounded like something his mother would say. And in exactly the same pissed-off tone.
“Here, let me do that.” He bent and took the tray from her. “There’s nothing salvageable here,” he said, inspecting the now-ruined salad. “Let me buy you another one since I’m the reason this one is toast.”
Intrigued? I certainly hope so, LOL. IF you like Dylan, you’ll like his brothers – the rest of the Brothers, Inc. bodyguards in the PRIDE OF BROTHERS series.
I could actually write this blog any day of the week but since I like the alliteration of Monday musings, today seems worthy.
I’m at the point in my writing career – if you could call it that – where I thought I would be seeing a return on all the hard word I’ve been doing for the past 8 years. I’m not.
Let me e’splain.
Yesterday I put together all my receipts for the year so far because my hubby will be wanting to start our taxes soon. I have an entire folder of everything I’ve paid for regarding my writing this year – advertising, conferences, buying books from Amazon ( author copies), all things related to the fact I can have WRITER written on my occupation line on the tax form.
Then I went through my income for the year. Sales, royalties from publishers, KDP royalties, VEllA income.
Income vs expenses for the year? Not even close.
In fact, so disparate, it’s laughable. Or in my case, cryable.
If I weren’t married I wouldn’t be able to support myself on what I write. The national poverty level for a single income in 2023 is $14,580. This number is so much closer to my expenses than my income that – again – cryable.
I don’t think I’m the only writer experiencing this disparity in finances. In fact, most of the people I know who write are in a fairly similar boat to me.
So, why do we do it? Why do we take a loss year after year? Why do we bang our heads against our laptops when advertising dollars go up but the reward of those spent dollars goes down?
The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.
Okay, maybe writers are a little insane. But aren’t most creatives? LOL
For me, writing is a luxury I am afforded because I have a husband who can support the two of us, so I devote my entire workday to writing. That’s not the case with most writers. They have jobs outside the home in order to pay for an existence that will allow them to do what they truly want to: write.
If I were forced to support myself I would. No debate about it. And I would still write. Long into the night, early into the morning, on work breaks, whatever, simply because I must.
That’s the answer to the above questions. Why do we do what we do? Because we must.
Cyber-security specialist Dylan Keane is working undercover to suss out a corporate thief. When he zeroes in on Harper Vale, he thinks he’s found his mole.
Harper has a reputation as a coding savant and an introvert. Dylan’s interest is flattering, but after she’s implicated in the theft of the company’s protected software, she doubts everything he’s told her.
When a series of potentially deadly accidents occur involving Harper, Dylan wonders if she is being set up to take the fall. One thing is certain: the more time they spend together, the more Dylan realizes he’s the one who’s falling—for Harper.
So this is my 11th year participating in National Novel Writing Month ( Nanowrimo.) I just looked at my stats from past years and the very first book I wrote in 30 days in 2013 was THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME, the second book my MacQuire Women Series. That book and every other one since I’ve written in the month of November during the challenge has gone on to be published.
Yay!
These are my five top reasons why I love love love doing NanoWrimo each year for today’s edition of the Friday Five.
doing the challenge forces me to write every single day. I don’t get a chance to slouch off like I routinely would during the other 11 months.
doing the challenge fosters habituation. If I write every day for a month, it becomes a habit in my brain and I want to continue doing it after November ends.
I see instant progress daily as my word count increases because I never edit until the book is finished.
I get to meet new authors on my buddy list
I get to encourage and motivate other authors in the challenge
Are you a writer who participates in Nano? If so, drop a comment and tell me why you love it – or hate it!!
She was nervous. It was in the way she twined her fingers together and then unclasped them a few times. No old robe tonight, just the same clothes she’d worked in. The monkey slippers were on her feet, though, and he grinned down at them.
“My sister, Abra, had a pair of slips like yours when she was in high school. Hers were purple cats, though. She claimed they were the most comfortable things she’d ever worn.”
Julia nodded, still not making eye contact. Michael decided it was time to find out why.
“Are you mad at me?”
Her head snapped up and finally – finally – she looked at him. Those delicate, platinum brows tugged together, a thin, deep line forming between her eyes.
“Mad? No. No, not at all.” Her head shook with the declaration.
Michael stayed still, his body resting against the jam. He nodded. “Okay, if not mad, then…what? You haven’t looked at me for days. Whenever I have to speak to you, you acknowledge I do without ever saying a word back or looking at my face. Makes me feel I did something to hurt or insult you.”
Years of being a silent observer to the behaviors of his sisters taught him many things. Most importantly, when they said the word fine they were anything but, and if they gnawed on any body part – especially one on their faces – it meant they were upset about something.
Julia fit into the lip-chewing category.
A hot burst of lust exploded in his midsection when she pulled a corner in tight, and bit down.
How was it possible to be jealous of teeth?
“I’m…sorry.” Her gaze dropped to the floor as she shook her head.
“There’s no need to apologize. Just talk to me, Julia. What’s going on? Is the schedule too much for you? Do you need some time off? Or is your asshole ex still bothering you?”
“No, it’s none of those.” Her body folded in on itself with a sigh and she moved to sit at the table. Michael joined her.
“Talk to me.”
She stared down at her hands for a few beats. Then, “Did you ever feel like despite everything you were doing, you were never making a dent in anything?”
“Every single second of the past week.” He snorted.
Her head shot up, that delicate quirk in her brow showing itself again.
“Don’t look surprised,” he said. “It’s not a secret I’m drowning here. I had to stoop way below my comfort level today and ask my sisters for help. Believe me, that’s no easy thing to do, especially with Abra. She’ll never let me live it down.”
His joking tone finally had her relaxing. Her torso slid backward in the chair and she unwrapped her fingers from one another.
“I truthfully do not know how my mother does everything she does, every day, and still manages to remain upright when she turns the open sign to closed every evening.”
A grin split the mouth she’d been gnawing moments before. “Your mother is amazing,” she said. “And the kindest person I’ve ever met.”
“Truth. So tell me, why are you feeling like you’re on the down escalator when you’re trying to go up?”
Julia blinked a few times. “That’s a fairly accurate analogy.”
“Wish I could take the credit but I read it in one of Abra’s books. It stuck with me because I feel that way more than I’d like to admit.”
She studied him, her gaze drifting across his face, down to his mouth, then shoulders. He had the insane notion to sit up straighter, like he was back in school and being graded on good posture.
The breath she let loose was as pregnant as his sisters.
“Remember when I told you about Jeff and…everything?”
He nodded.
“Everything he did had a short-term and a long-term consequence. Short term, he stole from me and left me with no available savings. Long term, I now have legal fees for lawyers I needed to hire to get me out of the financial mess he put me in. Unraveling every account he opened in my name, then drew funds from, has made my credit score plummet. I need to pay back a portion of what he took. There are legal ramifications if I don’t. My lawyer is trying to get all the penalties waved since I was the victim of identity theft, but that takes time. And money for court fees. Money I don’t have.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t know if you know this but your mother is letting me live here for free. If she didn’t I’d be in a shelter somewhere with Blake because I can’t afford housing.”
“What about your parents? Wouldn’t they take you in?”
The thin, harsh line her beautiful mouth pulled into told him the answer.
“My parents want nothing to do with me or Blake. They blame me for bringing Jeff into their lives and question my judgment about people. In truth they weren’t big fans of my husband, Tony, either. But at least he was honest. The worst thing he ever did was die, in their opinion, and leave me nothing but medical bills. Which I paid off, in full. I sold our house, paid off the mortgage and then used the remainder for the hospital and care bills, leaving me with nothing. I was just starting to get back on my financial feet again when I met Jeff.”
“And we know how that ended.”
He wasn’t surprised his mother had given her a place to stay, free of charge, or a job. Which had him asking, “Is waitressing something you’ve done before?”
Did you know I have my own Holiday Web store where you can order books directly from me to give as gifts – or to keep for yourself?
The store is only open until 12.15.2023 and only for Continental US readers ( Sorry, Canada and Hawaii! Shipping costs are prohibitive.)
If you’d like one of the titles listed of my titles, just indicate which one(s) and fill out the sheet – and remember: you can also purchase my handpainted bookboxes if you’re giving the book as a gift. I can hand design any cover title I offer. It’s a beautiful way to present it to the romance reader on your list.
Peggy Jaeger, Author 