Think you would never date a married man? ... Think
again!
Rebecca Hardy isn't a naturally deceptive
person, but it seems her boyfriend might be—and when she theatrically catches
him cheating, she decides she’s had it with these modern-day men who can’t
commit. She has even less regard for these immoral modern day women, who don’t
hesitate to prey on men in committed relationships. What is wrong with them?!
Don't they care that they're breaking hearts and destroying lives?! Rebecca,
with her high morals and family values, would never even consider dating a
married man. Which is why her friends are so shocked when Rebecca finds herself
doing exactly that—albeit at the fervent request of that man’s very own wife,
the notorious Isabella Coombs.
At first, Rebecca likes to think of it as
helping someone out—female camaraderie, and all that. But she doesn't expect
Isabella’s husband to be quite so charming…or for things to go quite so
far.
BUY LINKS:
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Excerpt:
Wheelers, was an
average enough, discreet British pub, on an average enough discreet City
street, and was also Jeremy’s choice location for a not so discreet illicit
tryst.
“Look, would you be
ordering something or not lass?” the barman asked me with a slight Irish
accent.
Shoo shoo shoo I had wanted to
say, but for fear of him drawing any more attention to me, and in light of the
fact that he was actually blocking my view of Jeremy and Miss Thingy, I quickly
deduced that I had in fact better order something. “Coke please,” I snapped
off, throwing down a fiver.
“Diet or regular?”
Oh for chrissakes,
will you just move! Aargh! “Regular!”
“Ice?”
“No!” rolling my
eyes. He actually seemed to be enjoying this little exchange. Maybe he knew
Jeremy and knew what both he and I were up to?! No. Not possible.
“Lemon?”
“Look, can you get me
a coke or not?” I hissed.
“OK, OK, keep yer
knickers on,” he said smiling cheekily and finally turned to go get me a drink.
I quickly realigned myself to get a better view over the bar and through the
window to the courtyard where Jeremy, the bastard, and Thingy were sitting
extremely close to each other and laughing easily at this point. Still not
incriminating evidence, but the night was young. I saw Jeremy lean into her and
started talking into her ear. I would’ve said ‘whispering’ but he didn’t know
how to whisper sweet nothings at the best of times let alone after he’d had a
few, which by the way his face was flushed and his tie, usually perfectly
positioned, was loosened and off centre, he obviously had.
“There you go now.
Coke and change,” said the barman. I ignored him and continued fidgeting with
my camcorder, hidden behind by handbag, whilst still keeping a sharp eye on the
fornicators. “Pity you don’t get to catch the conversation with those things
from a distance.”
“Excuse me?!”
“You need to get up
real close to them to record conversation.”
“I haven’t the
foggiest idea what you’re talking about,” I said turning beetroot, and started
to scuffle about with the camcorder, desperately trying to stuff it back into
my bag.
“Oh,” he leaned back
comfortably against the bar, folded up his arms and nodded toward Jeremy and
Thingy. “I thought for a sec you were spying on that pair.”
“I beg your
pardon?!” trying my best to sound alarmed but at the same time careful not to draw
any attention to myself…
“Oh, it’s no skin off
my nose either way,” he said, “but let’s assume you were spying on that pair.”
“Which I am most
definitely not!” I said furiously, whilst still trying to shove my camcorder
back into my bag, but what, with my current state of panic and the fact that
every time my head bent down my wig was starting to slip forward, I couldn’t
quite manage it.
“Ah, but, if
you were, you’d be doing it all wrong.” I looked up at him from
under the fringe of my wig. “You’re too far away to even know what’s going on.”
“As I’ve already told
you, I am not spying on anyone. But IF I were, I am able to
see quite clearly exactly what’s going on.”
“Ah jaysus, you can’t
tell a thing from what you see. They could just be having a great crack, with
nothin’ in it at all.”
“Oh he’s having a
crack all right.” I slumped on the bar, completely fed up, with the camcorder
sticking out recklessly from my bag. I’d given up trying to tuck it away, just
as I’d given up trying to film them. He was right of course. The barman. The
footage I’d so painstakingly gathered proved nothing at all. Jeremy would be
able to talk his way out of this one in a nano-second, and I knew that I’d
believe whatever he would tell me, as per usual, because although I had doubts,
many, many doubts, I never ever had any real concrete evidence of any
disloyalty. We watched them silently for a few seconds, but when Jeremy slipped
his hand up Miss Thingy’s skirt and started talking into her ear again, I just
squeezed my eyes shut so I wouldn’t have to see, and so the barman couldn’t see
the tears of humiliation that were starting to well up.
“Look, just pass it
here,” he said reaching out his hand to me.
“What?”
“The camcorder. I’ll
get up close and record what they’re saying for yer.” I gave an incredulous
stare and opened my mouth to say something, then as if on autopilot, I handed
him the camcorder. “Ah, you can thank me later,” he said with a wink. And was
off. Headed in their direction with the camcorder hidden underneath a bar towel
on a tray. My heart started hammering against my ribcage and I wanted to dive
under the bar and hide as he got to their table and started hovering,
collecting glasses, wiping, and re-placing ashtrays. I half expected Jeremy to
look up and wave at me but he didn’t even notice the barman floating around.
Too engrossed in impressing Miss Thingy, which by the way she was giggling and
batting her false eye lashes at each word he uttered, seemed easy enough to do.
About the Author:
Luckily I was born and
raised in a City I love living in: London, UK. And it’s just as well, as I can
barely afford to go on a camping holiday much less move. I have a gorgeous 9yr
old daughter, yeah, I’m a single mom, (judge me later), and I like to think of
myself as a yummy mummy, when in reality I’m still working on shifting this
damn cellulite of my ass. I do actually make it into the gym from time to time,
but mainly to appreciate the…ahem …view :)
So what kinda stuff do I write?
Well, I write what I love reading, Romantic Comedy and
the original kinda British ChickLit. I don’t do vampires, werewolves, or
horror, because sheesh, I wanna sleep at night. In my bed. Not underneath it.
So if you like Bridget Jones or Shopaholic, then you might dig my stuff.
My heroines are women in their late twenties / early
thirties. My heroes are hot, cute and not too hunky. My stories are about life,
love and friendship, with a few twists and turns and tons of fun. They’re not
particularly deep, nor meaningful, they’re a lighthearted, easy read, that go
well with a glass of wine and a few chocs, and just might make you laugh out
loud.
Connect with the author :
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