Showing posts with label Women's Fiction Blog Tours. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Women's Fiction Blog Tours. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 07, 2022

PETS OF PARK AVENUE BLOG TOUR


Pets of Park Avenue

Author: Stefanie London

ISBN: 9781335498199

Paperback Original 

Publication Date: December 6, 2022

Publisher: HQN


Book Summary: 


The perfect romcom for dog lovers! Pets of Park Avenue is the story of a self-confessed hot mess who learns that life is more fun when things don't go according to plan.

What do you do when The One is also the one who broke your heart?

Self-proclaimed hot mess Scout Myers is determined to prove she’s finally got her act together. Raised by grandparents who saw her as her wayward mother’s wayward daughter, Scout’s used to being written off. So when the opportunity for a promotion arises at Paws in the City, the talent agency where she works, Scout is desperate to rise to the occasion. With shared custody of her little sister also on the line, Scout can’t afford a single mistake…like suddenly needing a canine stand-in for an important photoshoot. Luckily (or not) she knows the owner of the perfect pup replacement: the estranged husband she walked out on years ago.

On the surface, it appears Lane Halliday’s life has been blissfully drama free without Scout, but she suspects her handsome-as-ever not-quite-ex-husband doth protest too much. Working together even feels like old times—except for all that lingering, unresolved tension. But Scout’s not sure she’s ready to confront the reasons she left Lane, and when their plans to finalize the divorce become very real, Scout starts to wonder whether second chances might be worth a little hot mess.

Paws in the City – standalone
Book 1 - The Dachshund Wears Prada


Buy Links:

HarperCollins.com 

BookShop.org

Barnes & Noble

Amazon

Books-A-Million




Social Links:

Author Website 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/1643456955872922 

Goodreads



Author Bio: 


Stefanie London is a USA Today Bestselling author of contemporary romance. Her books have been called "genuinely entertaining and memorable" by Booklist, and her writing praised as "elegant, descriptive and delectable" by RT Magazine.

Originally from Australia, she now lives in Toronto with her very own hero and is doing her best to travel the world. She frequently indulges her passions for lipstick, good coffee, books and anything zombie related.






EXCERPT

Scout Myers could think of several good reasons to be on all fours with her ass in the air, but pandering to the world’s most disagreeable cat was not one of them. Isaac Mewton—and yes, that was his real name—was a Scottish fold with the sweetest face you’d ever see. Unfortunately, despite the adorable camera-ready mug, the cat had the same disposition as those grumpy old Muppets who liked to sit on a balcony and heckle people for sport.

And Scout loved animals. One of the best things about her job at Paws in the City, New York’s premiere pet social media and talent agency, was getting to be around furry critters all day long.

Isaac Mewton, however, was officially on her shit list.


“I can see something shiny back there.” His owner pointed. “We can’t carry on without his favorite toy. He won’t sit still.”

Scout gritted her teeth and wedged her hand between the wall and a white IKEA bookcase. Cringing, she prayed none of New York’s finest creepy crawlies were hiding back there and wriggled her fingers.

“Come on,” she muttered. “Where are you?”

Eventually her fingertips brushed something hard and plastic. That had to be it. How the cat had managed to bat his toy so hard it lodged itself into such a small space was incomprehensible. Almost as incomprehensible as this client’s expectations. Seriously, how were they supposed to turn her precious kitty into a star if it wouldn’t even sit still for a headshot?

“Got it!” Her hand—and the toy—popped mercifully free.

“Great, now can we get on with it?” The client looked at Scout like this was all her fault. “I have an appointment to get to.”

Paws in the City wasn’t only Scout’s workplace; it was the brainchild of her best friend and the lifeline Scout had needed when her life couldn’t sink any lower. She came into work every day striving to do the best job possible, both for herself and her boss.

That meant pasting on a can-do smile, even when she wanted to launch a cat toy at someone’s head.

“Why don’t you get him to play with it?” Scout said, handing over the hard plastic ring, which was clear and suspended with glitter. “He might be more receptive if it comes from you.”

The woman crouched in front of the cat and attempted to engage him with the toy. But he immediately batted it across the room, where it slammed into the wall and bounced onto the floor.

The photographer, who had shown a level of patience that should make her a shoo-in for sainthood, raised an eyebrow. This was going nowhere. Isaac Mewton sat on a velvet pouf with an artfully arranged bookshelf behind him that Scout and the photographer had prepared for his portrait, staring down everyone in the room like an angry king.

It was time to try something new. Scout retrieved a feather toy from their stash in the office. She needed to get these photos done now. Isla was due back in less than five minutes and they hadn’t gotten a single decent shot of the cat.

Let’s be real, what client would want to work with such a demanding, fussy model anyway?

Still, Scout didn’t want it to look like she didn’t have things under control.

“He doesn’t like those.” The cat’s owner shook her head and pointed at the feather toy. “It won’t work.”

“Well, we’ve tried all the toys you brought with you, so maybe a Hail Mary is exactly what we need,” Scout replied tightly, her smile turning brittle. Lord give her strength to deal with this woman! The cat was a pain, sure, but animals were animals. They couldn’t be blamed for their behavior. Their human counterparts on the other hand…

Click!

Isaac Mewton had gone still, his eyes on the new toy, and the photographer seized the moment to start snapping. Scout moved the feather in gentle sweeping motions, and the cat’s eyes followed with intense focus. He raised one paw and batted at it, ignoring the steady click, click, click of the camera.

So much for him not liking it.

Scout shoved the snarky inner comment to one side and focused on getting the cat to engage so they could wrap up the meeting as quickly as possible. Next to her, the owner huffed in annoyance as though she couldn’t believe her darling Isaac had proven her wrong.


When they were done and the woman and her cat had left the Paws in the City office, Scout’s shoulders sagged in relief. She was a people—and an animal—person at heart, but she had a pet peeve, no pun intended, about entitlement. Call it a leftover from her childhood. Her mother’s legacy was little more than a collection of emotional scars and personal quirks, but she had taught Scout one very important lesson.

Nobody owed her anything. Whatever she wanted in life, she would have to earn it.

“Are all your clients like that?” the photographer asked as she packed up her equipment. “The woman seemed to think her cat was royalty.”

Scout shook her head. “Most clients are lovely and happy to have our assistance. But there’s always the rare few who think they’re superstar material, without being willing to put in the work.”

“How long have you been open now? Only a few months, right?”

“Six months.” Scout couldn’t help her beaming smile. It might not be her business, but she was damn proud to be part of it. “And we’ve already signed over twenty clients.”

“Including Miss Pain in the Rear and her angry feline overlord?”

“We’ve had several requests for cats lately, and he was by far the cutest we’ve seen.” Scout sighed. “Let’s hope he’s in a better mood when it comes time to front up for a paying job.”

Paws in the City represented clients with four (and six) legs. They provided social media coaching to the humans running the accounts, worked on brand strategy and generally acted as a go-between in brokering sponsorship deals and other types of opportunities. They also booked animal talent for commercial shoots, both of the print and television variety. Every day was different. Scout managed the operational parts of the 

job, like booking appointments, supervising headshots, fielding media enquiries and consulting with the freelancers, such as photographers and grooming specialists. Plus any other random bits and bobs, like making sure they hadn’t run out of dog treats or pods for their coffee machine.

Isla always said their mission was to make the internet a happier, furrier place, and Scout loved that sentiment.

A few minutes after Scout bid the photographer farewell, the front door swung open. Though cute, their office wasn’t much bigger than a postage stamp, so Scout’s desk was situated in the waiting area and therefore doubled as their reception desk.

Isla breezed in, a wool coat slung over one arm and her long dark hair bouncing around her shoulders in soft curls. She was dressed in a pale blue blouse, fitted black pants and a killer pair of silver stilettos—a much fancier outfit than what she usually wore in the office. Black, though it was one of Scout’s favorite colors, was not the best when working with their furry clients.

But Isla had been at an important networking event today, so there was no need to worry about dog fur.

“Those shoes,” Scout gasped. “Wow!”

“They’re gorgeous, but they’ve been killing me all day.” She dropped onto one of the pink velvet seats lining the far wall and kicked off the shoes, groaning in relief.

“That’s a rookie move,” Scout replied. “Now your feet are going to puff up and you won’t be able to get them back on.”

“I don’t care if I have to meet Theo barefoot tonight, there’s no way I was keeping them on a second longer than necessary.”

“Hmm, barefoot to a white-tablecloth restaurant. Classy.”

Isla grinned. “Theo loves me as I am, blisters and all.”

It was true. Scout wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a man so in love.

Not even on your own wedding day?


Scout shoved the unpleasant reminder to one side. The last thing she needed right now was for her mood to take a dive, thinking about inconvenient things like the fact that she was still married.

Or that she hadn’t seen her husband in five years.

 

Saturday, September 17, 2022

THE BOOK HATERS' BOOK CLUB BLOG TOUR


 The Book Haters’ Book Club

Author: Gretchen Anthony

ISBN: 9780778333067

Publication Date: September 13, 2022

Park Row Paperback Original

Book Summary:

 

Filled with humor, family hijinks, and actual reading recommendations, The Book Haters’ Book Club features a messy group of people trying to save their local Indie bookstore --  and who might just save each other along the way. This heartwarming, wildly entertaining novel is both a celebration of found family, and a love letter to booksellers and librarians everywhere.

Elliot, co-owner of Over the Rainbow Bookshop in Minneapolis, started The Book Haters’ Book Club—a newsletter of reading recommendations for the self-proclaimed “nonreader” – because he believed that it only takes the right book to turn a Book Hater into a Book Lover. Now, after they’re all reeling after Elliot’s sudden death, his business partner, Irma, has agreed to sell Over the Rainbow to a developer. When Irma breaks the news to her daughters, and Elliott’s romantic partner, Thom, they are aghast. Especially since Irma won’t explain why she’s so intent on selling.

Irma’s daughters and Thom conspire to save the bookshop. Even if it takes some snooping, gossip and (minor) sabotage, they won’t give up without a fight.


Buy Links:

HarperCollins.com

BookShop.org

Barnes & Noble

Amazon

Books-A-Million

IndieBound


Author Bio:


 

GRETCHEN ANTHONY is the author of Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners, which was a Midwestern Connections Pick and a best books pick by Amazon, BookBub, PopSugar, and the New York Post. Her work has been featured in The Washington Post, Medium, and The Write Life, among others. She lives in Minneapolis with her family.

Social Links:

Author Website

Twitter: @granthony

Facebook: Gretchen Anthony

Instagram: @gretchenanthony.writer

Goodreads



EXCERPT    

Thom Winslow swept through the glass doors of Vandaveer In­vestments a titan. “Good afternoon,” he announced to the re­ceptionist, his voice bold, his tenor unwavering. “I’m here for the Over the Rai-iin-bow—” He faltered as the word “rain­bow” indiscriminately, and most unpleasantly, stuck to his throat like jelly, leaving him no choice but to clear it with a sickening “HUUCCHH!”

“I’m here for the meeting about the bookstore.” This he said with the voice of a defeated man, aware that his too-narrow shoulders and pigeon neck were rapidly deflating in shame. Damn his rehearsed confidence.

The receptionist barely paid attention, his focus on the tablet attached to his hand. (Was it glued there?) “You’re meeting in the Lake Minnetonka conference room. I’ll escort you.”

Irma Bedford, co-owner of the Over the Rainbow Book­shop with Thom’s recently deceased partner, Elliot, was already inside, waiting. Seeing her, Thom felt a second blow, his vision for today’s meeting all but stomped dead. He’d arrived early to be the first one in the room—he’d read it was a power move—and yet here she was, extending her hand.

“Thom.” She stood when he entered. “They’re running a few minutes behind.”

She was rumpled. He hadn’t expected that. Of the few things  Thom appreciated in Irma, it was her easy chic, a style that never failed to impress—well-ironed jeans, crisp white shirt, flawless foundation and knockout lips. Today they were an unfortunate shade of coral.

“Here.” He plucked a tissue from a box on the side table. “Lipstick. On your tooth.”

She accepted it and turned discreetly to fix herself. There was a stain on her back pocket, the flowering blue swell of ink that would never come out, and before realizing, he said, “I’ll walk behind you when we leave so no one can see that spot on your slacks.” It was a kindness she perhaps did not deserve, and yet he couldn’t help himself.

Irma smiled, gratefully. “Before they come,” she began to say but hadn’t finished before James and Trevor Vandaveer, fa­ther and son, walked through the door and started the hand­shaking and back-patting portion of the afternoon. Trevor, the younger, pulled out chairs for Thom and Irma, as if they were elderly, joints too swollen with arthritis to do it themselves. Or in Thom’s case, enfeebled by a set of useless-looking shoulders.

“Will your daughters be joining you, Irma?” Trevor asked.

“Laney’s flight was delayed.” She nodded toward the glass wall behind him. “But here’s Bree now.”

Bree Bedford exited the elevator, armpits sweating through her shirt, the voice in her head hyperventilating about what a stupid mistake she’d made by not having worn a blazer, as usual failing to avoid even one of the mini disasters that, together, comprised her average day.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” The clock on the wall above the crystal water pitcher that looked too fancy to touch read 2:58 p.m., two minutes early. But the energy in the room said she was embarrassingly late. She slipped silently into a chair next to her mother and pulled her planner from her purse for notes. The clasp snapped loudly, echoing against the room’s hard sur­faces. “Sorry. Again.”

 

She and Trevor Vandaveer had graduated high school to­gether, and twenty years on, he looked just as much the tailored son of privilege as he always had, wearing a suit that probably cost more than she was comfortable thinking about. His father, whose first name she kicked herself for not being able to remem­ber, remained the only one standing. She sensed he spent too much time in the sun—though his cheeks and forehead were shiny and taut as if fresh from the dermatologist, the wrinkles on his hands betrayed his age, all but undoing the medical il­lusion up top.

“We waiting for more?” he barked.

“Just Laney,” Irma, Bree, and Thom said in unison. Irma added, “She texted me a few minutes ago. She’s on her way from the airport.”

It had been upon learning that Laney was flying in from Cali­fornia that Bree began to feel anxious about what she might learn at this meeting. Their mother had only said, “With Elliot gone, I’ve enlisted an outside firm to help me make some decisions about the Rainbow.” Bree was more or less the bookshop’s assis­tant manager—it made sense for her to attend. Her sister, Laney, though, never flew in for store matters. In fact, she almost never flew in for personal matters, either. Their mom’s best friend and business partner, Elliot, had died several months ago and Laney hadn’t flown in for his funeral. She hadn’t flown in when their mom’s late-in-life boyfriend, Nestor, passed away unexpectedly last year, and she hadn’t spent a Christmas or Thanksgiving in Minneapolis for as long as Bree could remember. Laney didn’t come home for things, and yet she was coming home for this.

The receptionist opened the door a third time. “Laney Hart­well,” he announced.

Before stepping through, Laney pulled her baseball cap low and made a wish to whatever god, genie, or fairy watching over her that Old Man Vandaveer would keep on talking. The sooner this was over, the better. She was tired. She didn’t need to be here. It was too big of an ask.

“What are you doing over there?” Mr. Vandaveer saw her choose a seat in the corner and, grossly offended, slapped his notes on the table with a violent, outsize thwak!

She rubbed at the back of her neck, her hair at full attention. “I’m trying not to interrupt.”

“Laney.” Her mother tapped the chair beside Bree. “There’s plenty of room right here.”

“It’s a big table,” Old Man Vandaveer barked, a man show­ing off his territory—big office, big voice, big dude-jewel ring rapping on his big table’s glass top. “Alright, brass tacks.” He returned to his agenda. “Ms. Bedford, on behalf of Over the Rainbow Bookshop, LLC, has entered into a contract for sale of said business with Vandaveer Investments. Per her request, we’ve agreed to brief you all, her stakeholders, on the terms.”

Trevor handed each of them a slick folder adorned with the firm’s green-and-gold logo. Laney accepted hers, placed it un­opened on the table, and set her brain free to wander. It was strange, flying in from her grown-up life in Oakland, only to come face-to-face with a kid she’d graduated with, now an adult with a tailored suit and a haircut too slick for his conservative, monochromatic tie.

“Let’s begin with the Terms of Sale,” Trevor said. The words entered the air, floated around the room. Laney didn’t try to catch them.

“‘…will be paid by the Seller in full upon closing in the form of certified check, agreed to by both Buyer and Seller…’”

Bounce. Bounce.

He had a tiny blue dot above his lip. She’d thought it was an ink spot, a rogue pen leaving its mark. But the more she watched, the more she became convinced. Trevor had a perfect dot of a mole above his lip.

“‘—six weeks,’” the mole said.

 

“I’m sorry?” Bree’s voice cut through Laney’s foggy thoughts.

“Yes, July 1,” Trevor said. “When Irma signed the Statement of Intent, we agreed to an expedited, six-week timeframe. We’ll sign the final closing documents at the end of the month.”

“But that’s only three weeks from today.” Bree double-checked the date. She was correct. “You sold the shop three weeks ago and you’re just telling us now?” A panicked chill seized her; she didn’t think she could lift her arms. “What about all our customers? What about the neighborhood? We’re the only independent bookstore left in Lyn-Lake.”

“I admit the timeframe is less than ideal.” Her mother did not sound remotely apologetic. “I needed time to get Laney here.”

Bree dug her fingers into the edge of the glass tabletop to keep from crying. Three weeks until her life came to a crash­ing halt, until the bookshop that had first been her refuge, then family, and then career, ceased to exist. “I don’t understand.” Tears slipped from her chin to the table. “How can you close the Rainbow?”

Irma didn’t respond.

“If you’ll turn to page seventy-nine,” Trevor said, apparently anxious to move the meeting along, “you may understand more after hearing the details.”

“Take a look at the offer price,” his father said. “That oughta dry your boo-hoos.”

Thom pushed the tissue box down the table toward Bree. That Irma was only now telling her daughters of the sale did not surprise him. She was a beauty with fangs, and he’d known from the very beginning it was dangerous to get too close. She and the bookshop had consumed Elliot, and just as a new chap­ter of their lives was to begin, just as Elliot had agreed to cut back on his work there, to consider retirement, to refocus on his life with Thom, he’d died. In a flash. Gone without warn­ing or goodbyes.

Thom turned to the correct page and looked for the price Irma had received for the beloved Over the Rainbow, aware that no amount of money would ever dull the resentment he’d sharpened for the woman and her bookstore over so many years. Trevor was now spewing gibberish, a tactic meant to blunt the impact of what he could see with his very own eyes: Irma had sold Elliot’s life’s work for practically nothing.

“Oh, Mom,” Bree cried. “Is that all the Rainbow means to you?”

Laney flipped her page, assuming there had to be more on the other side. “So, is this just the first installment or what?”

Thom felt his jaw, followed by stoic resolve, go slack. “Irma,” he hissed.

The woman didn’t flinch. “These are the terms the Vandav­eers offered, and I’ve accepted them,” she said, her back an iron rod. “If you have questions, please direct them to our hosts.”

Thom looked at the sale price again, convinced they’d mis­placed a comma.

Bree shifted from being quietly tearful to a sobbing soap opera star.

Laney checked her watch.