Today I’m excited to share the release of Love Me Not (Bad Boys Gone Good Book 2). From the instant I wrote The End on Making the First Move (which I hadn’t planned as part of a series) I knew that Jamie Charles, the best friend character, deserved her own story.
In writing that first book I became completely enamored with Jamie’s character. When we meet her we know that she’s a gritty character. Yet, she’s already gone through a transformation that softened her and tamped down the anger she’d been carrying around most of her life.
But I needed to know more about her.
What had caused her to be so hard in the first place? How was it that Miles Copeland–her love interest–was able to help her overcome her deep, abiding mistrust and give her heart to him?
Of course, I’d written the backstory for this character. But it wasn’t enough. I needed to see it all play out. To feel her pain. To celebrate her growth. So I went back and told her story.
I fell hard for these characters. Like waking up the next day wondering how they hell you got that bruise on your forehead hard.
Jamie Charles is more than a little rough around the edges, but with good reason. Miles Copeland is the stuff swoony book boyfriends are made of. I just wanted to hug him. (Which is weird because…you know…he’s not real.) Then there’s the cast of secondary characters with their quirks, wisdom and drama. This is contemporary romance, but with New Adult attitude.
Tortured artist, Jamie Charles’ life is a careful balance between flashes of brilliance and self-loathing. Her art is as dark and dramatic as her painful past. Her resentment of the biological parents—who were too preoccupied with their addictions to bother with her—fuels her ambition to succeed as an artist, but also takes a heavy, personal toll.
Miles Copeland climbed to the top of his advertising agency because he isn’t afraid of taking risks and because he has something to prove to the father who betrayed his family. But when he falls for a moody, Gothic beauty with zero interest in anything but a purely physical relationship, he finds himself in dangerous territory.
Jamie prefers living hard and fast without the complications of love, but finds it impossible to resist the stunningly handsome, yet incredibly sweet man who is determined to have every piece of her–including her heart. Miles shows Jamie the beauty of being loved madly and deeply, but is it enough to make her finally learn to love herself, and open her heart to him?
Love Me Not Excerpt
“Rough night, huh?”
Jamie looked at the man who’d taken a seat at the bar. He wasn’t one of the usuals. She’d never seen him before. But he was the type. Tahlia’s wasn’t a dive bar, like the ones she’d worked at in the past. It was an upscale bar and grille that catered to affluent tastemakers. In fact, the only reason they’d given her a shot, with her jet-black hair, penchant for black leather, tattooed arms and nose piercing was because Tahlia Vega was a friend of a friend of Ellie’s. She’d landed the job because she was good.
The man flashing his brilliant white teeth at her definitely fit the bill. Ridiculously gorgeous—like every line of his face had been precisely chiseled from stone by Michelangelo himself. A nose befitting a Greek god. A faint moustache was perched above his upper lip and a barely there beard crawled its way along a jawline with just enough of a pleasing curve to prevent it from being described as square. His hair—a sandy brown just a shade or two shy of venturing into blondiewood—was slicked down on the sides, with the top longer in a fairly conservative faux hawk. But those eyes…they were the color of pristine Caribbean waters. So blue they made a girl want to get naked and go for a swim in them. He was wearing a navy linen blazer with a crisp white shirt beneath it. The large face of the stainless steel TAG Heuer on his wrist nearly matched the color of those eyes.
Rich, gorgeous and probably spoiled. The only thing missing was the rail-thin model-type hanging on his arm. He was definitely the Tahlia’s type. He just wasn’t hers.
“Everything’s great,” she said to him. “I was just thinking about…I was making sure we had enough lemons, that’s all. Can I get you something?”
“You take your citrus inventory very seriously, I see.” An animated smile spread across his handsome face, and his eyes flickered with amusement as they followed her movement. “Well, I for one appreciate your dedication.”
She bit her lip and wiped the counter with a rag. If she’d still been working at Chuck’s Biker Bar, she’d have told this guy to go fuck himself. But at Tahlia’s, the customers were far more delicate. They didn’t appreciate being cursed out by the help. “If I can get you anything, let me know.” She turned to walk away.
“Wait. Actually, I would like something. I’d love a Satan’s Whiskers. It’s—”
“One ounce gin, one ounce orange juice, half an ounce of dry vermouth, sweet vermouth and Grand Marnier, a dash of bitters and a twist of orange peel. Or would you prefer it curled rather than straight?” Teeth clenched, she pressed her lips into a hard smile. Maybe she didn’t look like the dainty little bartenders he was used to, but she knew her shit.
“I apologize.” He ran his hands through his spiked crown, giving his hair a tousled, just-tumbled-out-of-bed-and-I-wasn’t-alone look. “I didn’t mean to imply that—”
“Forget it. Anything else?”
“You guys serve food, too, right?”
“Absolutely, would you care for a table? I can—”
“Actually, I’d like to eat right here at the bar, if that’s okay—” he leaned in closer and squinted at her name tag, “—Jamie. I think I’d prefer your company to eating alone.”
Don’t do me any favors, buddy. She surveyed the man, struck by how his blue eyes danced when he smiled at her. Her knees wobbled slightly. She was glad he couldn’t see them.
“If that’s what you’d like.” She reached behind her and handed him a bar menu. “Just let me know when you’re ready. Would you like your drink now or with your meal?”
“With my meal, please. Until then, how about a glass of water? I’ll take it with one of those lemons.” His devilish smile widened.
Was he making fun of her, or just trying to piss her off? If it was the latter, it was working. “Coming right up.” She forced the words through a smile so fake it’d give Barbie a run for her money. She grabbed a glass, dumped in a scoop of ice, filled it with water then put a lemon on the side. “Here you go. Just call me when you’re ready.”
“Sure thing.” He pulled out his phone. “But I’ll need your number first.”
The overwhelming desire to punch the dude in the face subsided the moment she saw that big, stupid grin. He was a harmless flirt. She could deal with that, no problem. “Ha-ha.” Her face remained expressionless as she tucked the rag into her apron.
He laughed. “Okay, that was pretty corny. I apologize. I’m usually far more clever than this, but today…I got nothing.”
“Rough day, huh?” She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.
“Touché. And yes, it has been a challenging day.” Lifting his chin slightly, he stroked his beard, regarding her with amusement. “But things are beginning to look up.”
Leaning against the bar, she shifted her weight as she surveyed his expensive haircut and clothing. She’d bet anything he was wearing a pair of overpriced loafers the kind of guys she preferred had never even heard of, and that he drove an “entitlement” car. If she talked to him for a few more minutes she’d be able to determine whether he drove a Beamer, Benz or Bentley and could make a reasonably accurate guess as to the color.
The guy might be goofy and slightly aggravating, but he had the potential to be a good tipper. No matter how irritated she was, she knew better than to fuck that up. Jamie took a deep breath and gave him a dead-eyed smile that skirted civility without encouraging further interaction. “Maybe you’ll feel better if you tell me about it,” she said. “After all, isn’t that why you came here?”
“Hmm…I’ll bet you get that all the time. Rich bozos sitting here whining about their wives, mistresses and tennis elbow.”
She choked back the laugh rising in her chest before it could escape her lips. Covering her mouth, she cleared her throat and managed a straight face. “My customers are not bozos.”
“How politically correct of you to say so.” He tapped the bar lightly with his index finger. “But I have an idea. How about we turn the tables tonight? Tonight, why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”
This guy was really beginning to bug her. Since when did a complete stranger give a damn about what was bothering her? Where was this guy from anyway, Mayberry?
A regular came in and sat at the bar. She was glad for the distraction. “I’ll be right with you, Pete,” she told him before turning back to the man who’d managed to get under her skin. “Excuse me—”
“You called him Pete, right? Well, I’m Miles. Miles Copeland. It’s nice to meet you.”
She cleared her throat, her jaw tight. “I’ll be back to check on your order in a few…Miles.”