Christmas, 2016
SENT ADRIFT, a new novel by NY Times, USA Today best-selling author Beth Alexander should be just that, sent adrift! A heroine who is SOOO perfect is bor-ing. Jo Dee is a master chef, karate expert, and has an advanced degree in quantum mechanics. Next she’ll perform a triple bypass on Detective Ryan’s heart. Oh, that would mean he had one. OMG he’s just plain stupid! He has as much depth as a puddle of water on a hot New York City sidewalk in the summer. Thank goodness for Jo’s Irish Setter, Brandy. The dog has more personality then her hero. SPOILER ALERT. If you’ve read any of Ms. Alexander’s last eight books just change the location and the villain’s name and you’ve read this one. Then there’s talk, talk, talk, gibberish, gibberish, no romance whatsoever, sounds like the author’s life, doesn’t it? Beth, darling, stop writing gibberish and TRYING TO PASS IT OFF as romance, call your writing what it is GIBBERISH!! Take a lesson from JD Watson’s Jack Daniel series. Now there’s an author who knows how to write.
“Ouch.” Beth Alexander stood at the writing table in her favorite room at the Havenport Inn. She loved the dark green and white chintz with slick black furniture. It created a modern yet cozy atmosphere. But the warmth drained from the room. She read the review again. The words sliced through her with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel. Her hand trembled at her throat to protect what was left of her jugular. This wasn’t her first bad review, and it wouldn’t be the last. Strong feelings about a story and their characters were fair game, but this personal attack had little to do with her book.
“Only a small minded, unprofessional—” She couldn’t think of enough adjectives. Who would assault her through her writing? She scanned the article and at the bottom of the page her offhanded attitude took a hundred-eighty degree turn. She gasped for air and released the paper. It fluttered to the table. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the reviewer’s name. It was seared into her brain as if it were branded. Roberta.
Three months ago, Beth found herself on a live chat with JD Watson, and had attempted to be cute with the new romance writer who had made a big splash on all the lists. Maybe she had let the chat get out of hand. Everyone who knew her understood her sense of humor. Okay, so the banter came out more sarcastic and condescending. In retrospect, she could have kept the bitchy bits under control. But really, how often would she have the opportunity to chat with Watson? Still, the shit storm caught her off guard. Even JD rose to her defense, but couldn’t defuse the situation. She stood by helpless as her fan base shrunk on all her social media networks.
But Roberta.
She wasn’t a faceless fan. Roberta was flesh and blood. She was her friend.
Roberta’s on-line newsletter, The Romance Review Circle, with its wide circulation, became a mecca for romance readers who wanted to connect with authors. In three years the newsletter became the go-to publication for quality information on new books. Since Beth’s first book, Roberta had become her most avid fan, and the brains behind Beth’s Brood. The unique fan club supported her book signings and always arrived armed with a box of home baked cookies and her favorite treat, a bag of jelly beans.
A one-woman show, Roberta organized book themed parties for her new releases. And Beth took care of her. She made sure she sent swag and gifts. If she couldn’t appear in person she’d call or web cast in, which always caused a flurry of excitement. Roberta helped name Beth’s characters and suggested settings for her stories. Jeez, she picked out Brandy’s breed.
She should’ve seen the shit storm coming. It started with Roberta’s scathing public note calling her out for her attitude during the chat. Nothing she did would calm Roberta. She apologized. Even published a clarification on all her social media platforms, but the damage was done. The incident happened in September, almost three months ago. The uproar had quieted and her fans trickled back. Things had been rocky but now they were back to normal.
Evidently not.
Beth reread snippets of the review. An agonizing moment ticked past, and the reality of Roberta’s opinion sunk in. She shuddered. Roberta had betrayed her—again.
Fisting her hand, she crumpled the review and threw it at the wastebasket. The ball of paper hit the rim and bounced onto the floor, no score, like her book. She let out a pained sigh. At least the review wouldn’t impact her release-week sales stats.
Brush it off, move on. It’s just one review. She pulled her computer out of her carry-on bag and started it up. It wouldn’t take long to shoot off a response. The voice in her head, the one AWOL during the live chat, bellowed a loud, no. She glanced into the mirror and knocked her head with her knuckle. “Hello, anybody home in there? Go ahead. Dig yourself into a deeper hole.” She let out a snort. Hole? Damn, bottomless pit described it better.
Her laptop whirred, chimed, and opened to her calendar. A reminder flashed. Jean Fedderman, her agent, would call today to let her know where she hit on this week’s New York Times and USA Today lists. Her early books in the Jo Dee series made one of the top three spots on their respective launches, but since her ninth book in the series the launches had only reached number six. Her last book fell to number ten. She winced. It would be good to be back in one of the top three spots.
The second alarm chimed. Eric, her former roommate, had programmed the reminder before he left three years ago, right after she cemented her position as a top romance writer. She had her dream and Eric had his—to live among an uncivilized tribe in New Guinea. Really? She understood dreams, but Eric had his priorities; hot showers, Starbucks coffee, and five-star restaurants. The night he told her of his plan she practically fell off the bar stool. He never watched National Geographic, he didn’t like adventure movies. Hell, he didn’t like camping. But he sold what he wasn’t taking, packed the rest, and left without a backward glance.
They weren’t lovers. Oh no. She wanted to wash that picture out of her mind. They had a mutual respect. Best friends since college. He had encouraged her writing, critiqued her work, and his quirky sense of humor and timing was the inspiration behind Detective Ryan, the recurring hero in her series.
They tried to keep in touch, but with unreliable communication they promised to touch base every year before Christmas. She’d sent her note two weeks ago and eagerly waited for his.
The muffled sound of, “Your brother is trying to reach you on your cellular device,” called from her handbag. She rummaged for her phone and swiped the display. “Hi, Brian.”
“Beth, it’s Linda. You get in all right? We’ve been glued to the weather channel all morning. There’s snow all around the area.”
“Yes, I’m safe and sound in Havenport. My luggage is another story. It’s off on its own vacation—to Boston.”
“You’re so matter-of-fact about these things. I’d be ranting.” Not completely true. Her sister-in-law knew how to deal with emergencies. A cardiologist’s wife and a physics professor at MIT, her mathematical mind craved structure and organization. She made order out of chaos.
“I called to make sure you got our text. Brian had an emergency.” Being late to family functions was par for the course. As the head of cardiology at Mass General, he rarely got to any event on time.
“I’ve checked with your brother and sister. Beau’s running late refereeing a karate match, and Bernice is catering a private party tonight. None of us will get to Havenport until tomorrow. There’s one key and we have it—”
“That’s all right. I got your text. I’m checked into the Inn. When you speak to Bernice, make sure she brings the marshmallows. I can’t wait for her cordon bleu s’mores.”
Linda chuckled on the other end. Everyone teased Sissy, the family’s pet name for Bernice, about her desserts. A fantastic pastry chef, she made delicious, elaborate treats. The family taste tested every new creation and awarded each with a s’mores rating. She never scored below four—the family’s running joke.
“I’ve already put the fixings in the car.” They both laughed and the sting from the review faded. “We’re set to pick up Beau at his dojo and Sissy at her apartment on our way through Providence. We’ll be there in time for the signing. It’s been three years since we’ve all been together at the house. I can’t wait.”
“Me neither.” Beth said her good-byes and ended the call.
So far this homecoming had its hiccups. She had imagined her luggage arriving with her, the family happily together, and her career back on track. She sucked in a deep breath. Mom said things happened in threes. She’d had hers. The rest of the holiday should be smooth sailing.
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