It’s a very exciting time for Isabella Louise Anderson – her debut novel, The Right Design is soon to launch. But first, here’s the cover reveal for it, the blurb and an excerpt too. Drum roll please …
Pretty huh?! And now for the blurb…
Interior designer Carrie Newman’s day starts out perfectly. For their sixth anniversary, her boyfriend, Roger, gives her diamond earrings, but the sparkle is lost later that same day when she catches him in the act with another woman. Heartbroken and in disarray, Carrie chooses to leave the past behind, possibly forever. She lands in ritzy Palm Beach, Florida where a new job and a new client leave her wondering if THE RIGHT DESIGN for her life has finally been found.
And to tempt you even further, an excerpt…
To celebrate, Mary Ann took her to lunch and they toasted Carrie’s nomination with a glass of champagne. Only one glass wouldn’t hurt, she thought. Besides, if she was going to go through with what she’d planned for Roger, the liquid courage would be helpful.
After lunch, Mary Ann signaled for the check. “So,” she started, reaching into her purse. “Do you think Roger’s going to propose tonight?”
Nearly choking on her last bit of champagne, Carrie shook her head. “Well, we’ve talked about it and I wish he would, but we’ve been together so long, I feel married to him already. I don’t need a piece of paper to make it official.” She traced the outline of her new earrings with the tips of her fingers. “Besides, I already have my diamonds.”
Mary Ann shook her head and laughed as she signed the check. “You’re more patient than I’d be. That’s why two years after George and I had started dating, I told him it was now or never.” She looked at the simple gold band on her left hand. “And we’ve been together for over twenty years now.” Taking a sip of her drink, she continued. “Roger really must think you’re a saint. Most women would push the marriage topic until he put a ring on that bare finger, especially since you two have been together for so long. He’s a very handsome man, Carrie.”
“Believe me, I know.” Carrie thought back to how sexy he’d looked when they’d made love the night before. She loved how Roger’s handsome body hovered over hers in the dim light, how his face had lit up as he pleasured her.
“Does he know how good his life is?” Mary Ann stood up and Carrie followed. “Most men would kill for that kind of life.”
“Oh, Roger knows,” she giggled. “Believe me, he knows.”
When they went back to the office, Carrie started counting down the two hours she had left when her office phone rang and Roger’s name flashed on the screen.
“How’s my beautiful girl?”
“Great, but busy as ever. Oh, and I have some wonderful news.” She twisted the phone cord, thinking of all the surprises that she had in store for Roger.
“Do you care to share?”
“I want to tell you in person.”
“Okay, sounds good. Hey, is there a chance of you getting off early? I need to see you.”
“I’m sorry, love, I’m so busy.” She tried to make her voice sound tense and overwhelmed.
All Roger said was, “Okay,” his voice sounding low and let down.
“Babe, like I told you this morning, I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
“Okay,” he repeated. “Don’t forget that we have seven o’clock dinner reservations at Patetico’s.”
“I can’t wait. I’ll meet you home at six-thirty?”
“See you then.”
“Roger, I love you.”
“I love you more,” he said, and then hung up.
When four o’clock came around, Carrie was out the door and headed to Neiman’s to pick up the necessities. She’d finally got enough guts to make one of Roger’s fantasies come true—for her to seduce him wearing nothing but heels, a negligee, and a trench coat. This, by far, wasn’t high on her fantasy list, but since she’d had a glass of champagne at lunch, she felt more relaxed with the idea. In the lingerie department, she tried on four negligees. They all fit nicely against the toned body she’d worked hard for. Carrie settled for a black baby doll gown made of silk, edged with lace.
In the jacket department of the store, Carrie picked a bright red trench coat that reminded her of the movie Dick Tracy.
Trench coat, check.
She’d wear the same sexy Alexander McQueens she had on, so she didn’t bother shopping for shoes.
Now that Carrie was prepared, she drove home to set the mood for Roger’s arrival. She’d have candles, champagne, and strawberries with whipped cream (which she had already bought and hidden outside in their garage refrigerator) waiting for him for when he walked through the door. Carrie hadn’t forgotten even the smallest detail in creating the perfect evening and couldn’t wait to see Roger’s face when he saw that his fantasy had become a reality.
As she made her way down their street, Carrie blinked twice, confused and a little disappointed to see Roger’s car already in the driveway. She looked at the clock on her dashboard, noticing that he wasn’t due home yet.
Quick, think of something, she thought, turning off the car, contemplating what to do. She glanced down the left side of the street and the right, then into the rear view mirror. When all was clear, Carrie quickly took off her clothes, including her red lace thong, slipped on the negligee, and then the coat. She applied lip-gloss and pinched her cheeks, giving herself a hint of more color. After a deep breath, Carrie felt ready. It was show time.
She got out of the car and didn’t bother to lock it, afraid her car alarm signal would ruin the surprise. Carrie hurried up the steps, slipped her key in the door, and twisted the knob. When she pushed the door open, her heart raced with anxiety and excitement, until she heard moans coming from inside the house.
Carrie stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, not believing what she saw. Roger had a redheaded woman bent over the island in their kitchen and was screwing her from behind. As she watched Roger and the other woman together, her blood turned cold and her mouth went dry. She stood frozen with rage and anger, not knowing what to do. Her keys left her hand and clashed loudly, hitting the marble floor. Instantly, Roger and the woman stopped in their tracks and looked at Carrie.
“Carrie!” Roger yelped in shock as his eyes oozed with guilt. Pulling out of the other woman like he was on fire, he reached for his jeans that lay carelessly on their wooden table and struggled to put them on. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
Carrie glared at him, sending daggers into his eyes. Trying to ignore the other woman who stood against their countertop with crossed legs and hands folded over her breasts, Carrie began yelling at Roger as she forced herself not to cry. “What am I doing here? This is my home, too! But if you must know, I came here to surprise you.”
He let out a heavy sigh and closed his eyes. Moments later, he walked closer to Carrie and tried to reach for her hand, but she jumped. “This not what you think it is.”
“Don’t you dare touch me.” Carrie cocked her head toward him and placed her hands on her hips, in disbelief. “Explain this, Roger. Who the hell is that tart, and why is she still here?” Carrie narrowed her eyes at the woman.
“I’m not a tart,” the young coquette (who looked barely twenty) chimed in with a Spanish accent.
“Roger, you’d better start talking!” Above feeling angry and hurt, her heart raced, and she tried to swallow the bile that had risen from her stomach. She wanted answers and wanted them now.
Instead of saying or doing anything, Roger stood there with his head hung down and tail between his legs, looking like his body had been caught in another woman’s cookie jar. Finally, his mouth opened but nothing came out.
“You have nothing to say? I gave you everything you ever wanted, served to you on a silver platter. I was there for you when your parents died. I stood by your side when your siblings didn’t give a damn during your cancer scare.” She took a breath while tears began to cloud her eyes. She waited for any sign of explanation, but he had none. “Happy freakin’ anniversary, Roger.” Carrie picked up her keys and ran out of their house without taking anything, sickened that the past six years had been nothing but a lie.
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