Anyway, when it comes to digital media and marketing, I feel like Rob Morrow as he enters the bathroom: on the verge of an entire new world of possibilities!
Like many writers who struggle to fit writing into an already overflowing schedule (day job, family, keeping the fridge stocked and the bills paid), I need to prioritize how to spend my time. Do I work on my next book or market the ones that are already out? Do I tweet, post on Facebook, or blog? And how about promotion? So many services! Blink, and a new one pops up. Which are worth the investment of time and money?
I don't know what the right mix is, and would be happy to hear from more experienced writers about their thoughts.
In the meantime, I'll continue to fly by the seat of my pants. Always a little behind. Always trying to catch up. Bear with me, and I promise to eventually get it right!
Today, I'm trying something new. Sample Sunday - where a writer puts up a sample of her latest work for readers to enjoy. It's Sunday night (actually, 1:28 am Monday morning--do you sense a theme here?), and this excerpt is from This Time for Keeps (Doctors of Rittenhouse Square, Book 3). Each book in this series can be read as a stand-alone, though some characters do overlap.
And now, without further ado...
This Time for Keeps
(Doctors of
Rittenhouse Square, Book 3)
By
Jill Blake
A
random act of violence...
When a senseless act of
violence shatters her perfect world, Dr. Isabelle DiStefano struggles to
rebuild:
new life, new job, new man.
A second chance at love...
But sometimes the past can
be hard to let go of, especially when old flame Luca Santoro reappears in her
life and decides he wants to start over
...this time, for keeps.
Prologue
Suspect Still at Large After Deadly Clinic
Shooting
May 5 | 7:45 pm
Philadelphia (Reuters) — Police are requesting the public's help in apprehending the suspect in today's deadly shooting at the Women's Health Clinic in the Fairmount section of Philadelphia.
The man
entered the building at 10:30 Thursday morning and shot two staff members and a
patient before fleeing. A single 9mm handgun was recovered from the scene.
The
shooter, identified by police as Lamar Jones, was described as being 5’ 10”,
about 190 pounds, with black hair and brown eyes. He was last seen driving a
2011 silver Ford Focus. According to authorities, Jones was arrested for
domestic violence in March, but was released without any charges being filed.
He was previously convicted for cocaine possession and aggravated assault with
a deadly weapon, for which he was sentenced to six years.
Police
spokesman Lt. Tom Sanford said during a news briefing that the suspect was
believed to be the estranged boyfriend of one of the victims, who was
critically wounded and died en route to the hospital. Her name is being
withheld, pending notification of the family.
The
woman’s doctor, Isabelle DiStefano, was also shot. A specialist in obstetrics
and gynecology, Dr. DiStefano had been volunteering at the clinic on a regular
basis since she was a medical student. She was transported to the Hospital of
the University of Pennsylvania (HUP), where she underwent surgery, and is
listed in stable condition.
The
third victim was Michelle Alvarez, who worked at the clinic as a nurse. Ms.
Alvarez was treated at a local emergency room for minor injuries and released.
Staff
and patients at the federally funded clinic were still in shock hours after the
facility lockdown was lifted.
“You
never expect a tragedy like this,” said Dr. Tameka Washington, the site’s
medical director. “Especially when the well-being and safety of our patients
and staff have always been our highest priority. We’ve been in this community
ten years, providing health services to women who might not otherwise have
access to affordable medical care. We are all greatly saddened by this terrible
event.”
Authorities
are asking for the public’s help in finding Lamar Jones. Police have set up a
tip line at (215) 555-7192. A reward of $25,000 is being offered for any
information leading to the gunman's arrest.
September, two and a half years earlier
Isabelle
DiStefano closed her eyes and pressed the sweating glass of Long Island Iced
Tea to her forehead. The throbbing techno-beat and pulsing strobe lights did
nothing to ease her headache. Maybe arranging this ladies’ night jaunt to a
strip club—or male revue, according
to the website—hadn’t been the smartest thing she’d ever done.
At
the time when she’d made the reservations, she’d thought it would be a blast.
Worth it just to see the bride-to-be’s expression when she realized what was in
store for the night.
How
many times, over countless brunches and dinners, had she heard Jane say,
“Nothing would surprise me”? And how many times, over the years, had Isabelle
risen to the challenge?
So
when Samantha, the maid of honor, had given her free reign in planning a
bachelorette party, Isabelle had of course tried to live up to her reputation
for outrageousness. After all, they had the rest of the weekend to enjoy sedate
pre-wedding activities like the spa day Sam had arranged, and an elegant
rehearsal dinner at Moonstone Manor, where the wedding itself was to take place
in two days.
Except
things hadn’t gone as planned. First, Isabelle got delayed at work with an
emergency C-section. By the time she’d tucked her pre-eclamptic patient in for
the night and signed out to the on-call physician, it was past eight.
Then
her trusty little Prius failed to start. It took another twenty minutes and
some light flirting with the AAA driver to get a jump start and be on her
way—only to get bogged down in traffic that turned her usual ten-minute commute
home into thirty.
She
texted her friends to begin the evening without her. No point in Jane and Sam
losing out on reservations to the much-touted Vetri just because Isabelle was
running late. She’d pick them up after dinner in a cab.
She
showered in record time, slipped into a halter-neck dress and heels, pulled
back her unruly hair, and slicked on some lipstick. Her stomach growled, thanks
to another day of working through lunch. Just one more black mark against the
new and amazingly inefficient electronic medical record that the hospital had
forced on its staff. Ignoring her hunger, she figured she’d grab some food at
the club before the show. Too bad no one had bothered to inform her ahead of
time that the kitchen closed at eleven, and all that was available were
watered-down drinks and phallic-shaped pretzels.
And
to top it all off, Jane had merely lifted an eyebrow when they’d pulled up in
front of the black-canopied entrance around the corner from the main
gentlemen’s club. As if this were something she did on a daily basis.
“Want
to try out the hot seat?” Isabelle prodded, once they were settled into a booth
close to the stage. Men with ripped pecs and abs gyrated in various degrees of
undress beneath the spotlights.
Jane
quirked her lips in a half-smile. “Sure, Izzy. After you.”
Samantha
eyed the man closest to their table. “You think they know what anabolic
steroids do to the heart?”
Isabelle
shook her head. Leave it to ever-practical Sam to look past the eye-candy and
see medication side effects. It was a wonder she’d managed to snag a major
hottie for a husband. Then again, Alex Kane wasn’t an easy man to ignore.
A
waiter approached to take their drink orders.
Isabelle
eyed the man’s outfit—black bow tie, gleaming bare chest framed in black
suspenders, tuxedo pants cut a little too snug in the crotch—and remembered the
other reason she’d chosen this venue.
For
someone who’d deliberately cultivated a reputation as a party girl, Isabelle’s
life these days was remarkably staid. The only memento of her rebellious
college years was the tattoo of a miniature asklepian she sported on her left
hip. Somehow the desire to shock had been overtaken by the desire to succeed,
to prove to herself and her family that she, like the rest of the DiStefanos,
was no slouch in the brains department. And besides, who had time in med school
and residency to do anything but study and work?
As
for life after residency, between office hours, OR time, hospital rounds,
supervising residents and medical students, serving on various hospital
committees, and volunteering at an off-site free clinic, she was lucky if she
had enough time to grab a sandwich in the cafeteria and a quick shower in the
L&D locker room.
Which
was why, she supposed, her social calendar was so empty. In fact, these
gym-sculpted, testosterone-enhanced entertainers
were the closest she’d been to an almost-naked male since….
She
thought back. Was it really four years? Her senior resident, when she’d been a
lowly intern. Twelve months of frantic fumblings in the call room, hurried
couplings squeezed between endless hospital shifts and meals eaten on the run.
And then…nothing. A long dry spell of living vicariously through her friends,
as they paired off, one by one.
Samantha’s
wedding three months earlier had been small, intimate, with just a few close
friends and family in attendance. Beautiful, despite the rushed preparations
and surrounding media frenzy. It wasn’t every day that the last bachelor on
Fortune magazine’s “Forty under Forty” list got married. But the furor
eventually died down, and now it was Jane’s turn.
Unlike
Sam and Alex, who’d gone from first meeting to exchange of rings within two
months, Jane and Ross had been engaged for ages. They’d reserved the wedding venue
a couple years ago: a bucolic twenty-five acre estate two hours west of
Philadelphia. Extended family from both sides were gathering for a reunion and
wedding rolled into one, with festivities lasting through the Labor Day
weekend.
For
Isabelle, the wedding was another reminder of what she had yet to attain. As if
her job wasn’t enough of a reminder. She was an obstetrician, constantly
surrounded by evidence other people’s happiness. Every day was filled with
women, their husbands or boyfriends in tow, basking in glowing pregnancies,
popping out perfect babies to round out their perfect lives.
Lately,
it seemed everyone in the world had someone. Everyone except Isabelle.
To
hell with that. She gulped down the rest of her drink and flagged down their waiter
for a refill. She was here to have fun, damn it.
“You
might want to go easy on that,” Sam said.
Isabelle
ignored the warning and smiled at the waiter. “What are the chances of getting
some real food?”
“Sorry,
ma’am, the kitchen closed ten minutes ago.” A flash of dimples and
toothpaste-ad white teeth. “But I can get you some more pretzels, if you like.”
She
plucked a penis-shaped pretzel from the small bowl he’d brought around earlier
and slowly licked off the salt. “Sure, why not? You can never have
enough…pretzels.”
Jane
chuckled as he sauntered off toward the bar. “You’re incorrigible.”
Isabelle
bit into the pretzel and chewed a little more vigorously than necessary. “Is
thirty too young to be a cougar?”
Sam
grinned. “No, ma’am.”
Isabelle
chucked a pretzel at her. “You don’t have to rub it in. He’s probably what,
twenty-one, twenty-two? Anyone past twenty-five would be a ma’am to him.”
“If
you say so.”
Jane
nudged her into silence as the waiter returned with fresh drinks and snacks.
Isabelle
murmured her thanks and turned to watch the flexing muscles of his retreating
backside. “You’ve got to admit the talent here is quite…amazing.”
Sam
rolled her eyes.
“I
just hope none of our patients sees us here,” Jane said.
They’d
all gone to college together, and then medical school, though Jane had chosen
to pursue psychiatry, and Samantha family medicine. Up until a few months ago,
they’d lived and practiced within walking distance of Isabelle’s Rittenhouse
Square townhome. That had changed when Sam took up a locum tenens position in
the central Pennsylvania town of Oakridge. She’d ended up staying and marrying
the local golden boy. Jane was in the process of relocating there as well, to
live with her soon-to-be husband.
Isabelle
waved a negligent hand. “You’re far enough away from Oakridge that I wouldn’t
worry about it. My patients, on the
other hand…”
She
trailed off, frowning. A brief sweep of the room yielded no familiar faces. Not
that it mattered, really. She was off duty, on her own time. Starting this
weekend, she had two long, blissful weeks of nothing to do but relax and have
fun. Tonight was the kickoff. Tomorrow she’d enjoy some pampering at the spa
Sam had arranged. Then the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night, followed by the
wedding on Sunday.
And
after that, she was off to Italy for a well-earned and much-anticipated
vacation. Nothing to do but play tourist in a country full of gorgeous men. No
pager, no cell phone, no patients or residents calling her at all hours of the
day and night. Pure relaxation.
“I
wonder what the men are doing,” Jane said.
It
took a moment for Isabelle to realize she wasn’t talking about the dancers on
stage. “The same thing we are, I suppose,” she said. “Except their strippers
probably stuff their bras instead of their jock straps.”
Jane
frowned. “Ross mentioned something about Patterson’s pub. He and Alex were
going to meet Luca there and talk business. I don’t think strippers were on the
agenda.”
“They’d
better not be,” Sam said, “if Alex knows what’s good for him.”
Isabelle
fluttered her fingers. “Um, hello? Does the term ‘double standard’ ring a
bell?”
“Yes,
but I’m not the one who booked this place.”
“Speaking
of reservations,” Jane interrupted. “Dinner at Vetri was lovely, Iz. Thank you.
I’m sorry you had to miss it.”
“Yeah,
me too.” Isabelle grabbed another handful of pretzels. “So, who’s this Luca
person?”
Jane
folded her napkin once, then again, smoothing the creases with her thumb. “You
know Ross and Alex are doing a new start-up, right? Luca’s the third partner.
Teaches computer science at Princeton. He came up with some algorithm they’re
using as the basis for their new software.”
“Alex
says he’s some kind of genius,” Sam added.
“He’ll
be at the wedding,” Jane said. “So you’ll get to meet him. You’re sitting
together at the reception.”
That
got Isabelle’s attention. “I thought bridesmaids were supposed to be paired
with groomsmen.”
Jane
shrugged. “You’ll have a groomsman on one side, Luca on the other.”
“Wait
a minute,” Sam narrowed her eyes. “Are you trying to set them up?”
“So
much for subtlety,” Jane sighed. “But it worked for you, didn’t it?”
“What
are you talking about?”
“You
and Alex.”
Sam
straightened in her seat. “You didn’t set us up.”
“Who
told you about the job opening?”
“You
did. But…” She paused and frowned, then turned to Isabelle. “Do you know
anything about this?”
“Hey,
leave me out of it.” She finished her drink, rattling the remaining ice cubes
before setting down the glass. “Though frankly, Sam, you’ve got nothing to
complain about. Doesn’t matter how you and Alex met. Fact is, you’re together.
And your life is pretty rosy now, isn’t it?”
Sam
reared back, as if slapped. Jane shifted in her seat, but for once didn’t say
anything to smooth the waters.
Isabelle
bit her lip. Okay, so maybe that was a bit harsh. But as far as she could see,
Samantha had it all: a hot husband who adored her, a successful career, and the
perfect balance of time and opportunity to enjoy both. It hadn’t come easily,
Isabelle knew that. And she didn’t begrudge Sam her good fortune. But she was
allowed to feel just a teensy bit jealous, wasn’t she?
Her
attention caught on a flurry of activity at the front of the room. One of the
men had danced his way off the stage, pausing at a nearby table full of
screeching women. Fists waving bills of various denominations reached for
briefs that barely covered him. He grinned and performed an exaggerated bump
and grind. One of the women, egged on by her less-than-sober girlfriends,
staggered up and plastered herself against him, draping her arms over his
shoulders, and wrapping a leg around his hip. He took it in stride, settling
his hands on her waist and taking her through a few dirty dancing steps, before
letting go and returning her to her companions.
Jane
shook her head when he approached their booth. Sam slouched down in her seat as
if hoping that would make her a less conspicuous target. Isabelle offered him
an apologetic shrug and a folded bill she’d managed to fish out from the bottom
of her purse. He swiveled his hips closer, and she gingerly added the money to
the bills already sprouting from his waistband, then scooted back into the
safety of the booth. Objectively speaking, he met all her criteria in the looks
department: tall, dark haired, olive skinned. But the muscles were a bit too
well-developed, the smile a little too slick, the moves way too blatant.
She
felt suddenly embarrassed for him and the other performers, baring themselves
for the lewd appreciation of women who were clearly more sex-starved than
Isabelle herself. This wasn’t what she’d envisioned when she’d booked the show.
It felt tawdry and somehow desperate. And it was starting to give her one hell
of a headache.
She
breathed a sigh of relief when the man winked and moved on to the next table.
If she hadn’t skipped lunch and dinner, if the pressure weren’t building behind
her right eye, if the sleep-deprivation and physical exhaustion of the last few
years hadn’t finally caught up with her, then…what?
She
pressed the chilled glass against her forehead and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry,
Sam.”
A
moment passed, and then a slim hand settled on her arm. “You’re a brat, Iz, but
I love you anyway.”
“Thanks.”
She opened her eyes. “So. About this Luca…”
Jane
cleared her throat. “Yes, Luca. He’s a good guy. You’ll like him.”
“He’s
easy on the eyes,” Sam agreed. “But he’s a player.”
“Don’t
scare her off, Sam. Ross and Alex wouldn’t have taken him on as a partner if
they didn’t think highly of him.”
“I
didn’t say he was stupid.”
“Of
course he’s not stupid. He got tenure at Princeton.”
Sam dismissed that with a flick of her hand.
“The fact that he’s smart has nothing to do with how he treats women. I’ve
never seen him with the same woman twice.”
“He’s been burned,” Jane countered. “Went through
a nasty divorce last year. Give the guy a break.”
“Like I said, Izzy. Enjoy yourself, but don’t
forget the condoms.”
Want more?
Download your copy today:
No comments:
Post a Comment