Ironically, it all starts with a popular book about BDSM. When Angelina Jameson steps into her boss’s office armed with an acid article about ‘Billionaires, BDSM and Blah-blah-blah’, she thinks her career will take off. But her career aspirations drop into second place when she finds herself face to face with her nemesis.
Blade Spencer is the new editor-in-chief of Unabridged—the literary magazine where his ex-lover Angelina works. For three years, since she fled small town Jamestown without a word of explanation, they haven’t heard from one another. Now, when they meet again, the past and all the feelings they once had between them come rushing back, making them realize their love has never died. But can they reconcile their new circumstances and the changes that have occurred during the three years they were apart? Neither is the person the other used to know.
Then there is the faceless shadow who hunts them from the dark, driven by obsession and greed…
*This book contains strong language and explicit descriptions of sex.
I always like to surprise you, to experiment with words and genres whenever I write a new love story.
With Unabridged I decided to try my hand at Romantic Comedy, and the result is a chicklit hybrid abunding in humor, but which doesn’t lack introspection.
Personally I adore this story, not only because of the mega-sexy hero, Blade Spencer, but also because of the hillarious incisiveness of some of the more spicy theories of Angelina’s, and of the mysterious character Zorro Kalashnikov. You may not agree with their opinions, but I’m sure you won’t be able to resist their charm. And if you don’t share their views regarding ‘BDSM, Billionaires&Blah-blah-blah’, please remember this is just fiction.
Chapter One Excerpt
Ironically, it was E.L. James’s Fifty Shades that started everything.
I strolled to my office building—located in a skyscraper in downtown Seattle—at ten a.m. holding my briefcase, which sheltered the precious article I thought would make my career. When I first got the idea, it occurred to me I’d probably make enemies for life by mocking the subject treated in said book, which seems to have more partisans than the Bible. But I waved that thought away. I have the right to express my opinion freely and to hell with anybody who doesn’t share it. After all, it’s a free country, right?
I hoped Howie would share my views, and as a plan B I had prepared an entire speech on why this article should appear in Unabridged—the literary magazine I work for. Howie Stewart is my boss, a fact that never fails to annoy us both. He’s a small, paunchy man with shoulders forever sprinkled with dandruff, and bad breath. The only reason he hired me is because I have excellent writing skills and useful connections all over the city and beyond. That doesn’t diminish our mutual dislike for each other or his opinion of me—which is that I’m an overachieving overly-feminist hunting his job.
Well, it is true, up to a point. I don’t want his job. Being editor-in-chief isn’t my life’s dream at the moment. I’m contented with being a simple editor, because that gives me the chance to make my own schedule most of the time and freelance whenever I have something interesting to pursue.
I glided through the glass doors and headed straight to the elevators, miraculously finding one that was empty. I pressed the button for the seventh floor, then turned to study my reflection in the sideway mirror. My black smart business suit had absolutely no wrinkles, and combined with the magically deceiving powers of a class A pushup bra, made me look like a bombshell. My rather ordinary light-brown-dark-blonde hair has finally grown past my shoulders. The temptation to dye it is still strong, but I keep it under control by repeatedly remembering my last attempt to add blonde streaks at home. That resulted in smoke literally coming out of my head and a very short haircut—enough to keep me satisfied with its natural color and currently healthy appearance.
My eyes are green, but most people mistake them for blue, especially when I use dark-brown eye shadow, like this morning. All in all, at twenty-five I don’t look half bad, if I do say so myself. My nose is a bit long and my chin is a tad pointy, but I have nice lips and white non-bleached teeth to compensate for that.
When the elevator doors opened, I took a deep breath and headed straight to Howie’s office, not giving myself time to reconsider approaching him. Isabelle—my coworker and best friend—had left her office door ajar. I could see her on the phone through the crack—a tiny, 5 feet frame of curly, blonde cuteness—but I didn’t pause to say hi. I continued down the hall to Howie’s office and stopped right in front of the door.
I cleared my throat, took another cleavage-expanding breath and knocked twice. Without waiting for a reply, I burst in and said, in a sing-song voice, “You’re gonna love me!”
“I did, once.”
About the Author
Not long ago, to my surprised delight, somebody described me as being “charming, witty, supremely talented and dangerously fun”. I don’t know how accurate this description is, but I’m curious if the readers will find some of these features reflected in my writing. Speaking of my writing, I must mention that living in Romania – which is considered a projection of the enigmatic and much controversial Shambala, the supposed spiritual center of the Earth – is quite a source of inspiration. I have a native inclination to the occult and paranormal, to mystery and philosophy. The woman in me is a romantic and sensual creature. All these considered, I could describe my writing as being captivating, intriguing, sensual in places and, on the whole, a surreal experience. Enjoy!
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