There are a lot of twists and turns in store for Donna and Jack. And one very important character dies (yes, dies!) but you'll have to read the book to find out who.
In the meantime, to celebrate the release sometime this week (from now on I'm putting it that way, until I personally see it up on the screen)the first book in the series, THE HOUSEWIFE ASSASSIN'S HANDBOOK, is now FREE. Please tell your friends, so that they too may come to love the series as much as we do.
And if you're looking for a little taste of what's to come in Book 4, read this excerpt from it , as well as the one below.
Thanks for your patience,
How to Dress for Successful Dates
Great first impressions start with good grooming! Before you open your door to your date, wash and style your hair. Indulge in a mani-pedi. Put on your face paint, but don’t overdo it. The goal is to cover up, not to lay it on thick. Wear a flattering dress. And certainly put on a pair of heels, since they always make a woman’s legs look great, and give her a slimming silhouette.
A bit of jewelry is like feathers on a peacock, drawing a man’s eye to the most flattering places: your neck, your wrists, your waist, your hair, and your face.
Surprise! The best accessory of all: a Baby Browning .22 caliber semi automatic. Less than three inches and not even ten ounces, this little gun fits in the palm of your hand (not to mention in a purse, up a sleeve, or in your bra).
With Baby onboard, any gentleman caller who turns out to be no gentleman at all but a slob who likes playing impromptu game of slap-and-tickle will listen when you warn him to move his hand.
Or else lose an eye. Have Fun!
**********
“What’s your weight?” Jack murmurs.
That’s the wrong question to ask a woman as she’s wiggling into a Spanx Slim Cognito shape slip. “Um…one-o-nine.” I answer him.
Jack’s head whips around so fast, you’d think he needs an exorcist. He closes an eye and cocks his head to one side. “For real?”
“Yes, of course!” I turn my back to him, so he doesn’t see that my face is as red as a tomato: not because my circulation has been cut off, but from my indignation that he’d have the nerve to question me. “My God, I’ve been answering these silly questions all night! What does it really matter? According to Arnie, the minute my profile goes live, it will automatically simulate the desired characteristics reflected in the suspects’ accounts.”
“You know the drill. We still have to fill out the profile fields, or else Sugar CEO won’t accept your application. There are just a few more questions, so bear with me. Of course, if you want me to do it without you—”
“Ha! Don’t you dare.”
“Have a little faith! I promise to follow your lead and fill in a bunch of lies.”
While he taps away on the computer keyboard, I rummage through my collection of wigs to see what I can salvage from Trisha’s last play date with her best friend, Janie Breck. Thanks to the girls’ mutual addiction to sweet pink cotton candy-flavored Bubble Yum, so far three of them need to be shortened or tossed. I hope I have a few left over so that Jack can take pictures of me in them. That way, Arnie’s software algorithm will upload the one that best corresponds with the target’s sugar baby wish list.
“You’re going to have to answer some true/false, comment and multiple choice questions. Okay, question number one: If you had a porn name, what would it be?”
“Ha! I’ll just bet they don’t ask the sugar daddies the same thing.”
“Good supposition. Let me see.” He opens another screen and scrolls through the website. “You’re right, they don’t. But they do ask the dude’s net worth, starting at 25 million and going up from there.”
“Cha-ching! Okay, that evens the playing field somewhat. If I’m going to be someone’s fantasy, he’s got to make it worth my while. In that case, type in ‘Mila Johannson’ as my porn name.”
“Not fair. All you did is combine the names of two very capable actresses.”
“It’s perfectly fair. Tell me, what were they’re last roles?”
“All I remember is that both were squeezed into something sexy.”
“You’ve just proven my point. You noticed nothing about these women, either above their lips or below their knees.”
“And the most desirable feature on your sugar daddies will be their bank accounts.” Jack snickers as he clicks away furiously on the computer keyboard. Whatever merde he’s writing, no doubt he’s laying it on thick.
“We all play to our strengths. Other than money and temporary security, what else do these jerks have to offer?” I put down the scissors with a sigh. They’re useless anyway. Now that I’ve chopped my favorite auburn wig to shreds, it looks worse than Anne Hathaway’s in her Les Miserable death scene. “Besides, this mission is quick and dirty, in and out. Prick them with truth serum, which allows Emma to record their answers. Then use the info they give me to turn them, and leave.”
He catches my eye in the mirror. “These guys aren’t dummies. If they get suspicious, they’ll make sure you won’t leave their little love nests alive. Their battalion of bodyguards will be right outside the bedroom door.”
“Jack, you know I appreciate your concern. I realize I have eleven chances to screw things up. On the other hand, I have eleven opportunities to put the Quorum out of business once and for all.”
“It would have been easier with Carl still behind bars.”
“Well, he isn’t, and now it’s make-up time. And besides, you and Abu will be close by.”
He shrugs. “All I’m saying is be careful, okay?”
I nod. “Okay, I promise. Cross my heart. Now, hit me with another question.”
“Are you a cat person, or a dog person, and why?”
“Put down ‘I love it doggy style.’”
“Don’t I know it,” he murmurs. “Now, this next question is true or false: I want a relationship with no strings attached.”
“Click true.”
“Sure,” he says, but at the same time he winces. For us, role-playing is a way of life.
And of death.
“Next, another multiple choice: I’d rather be (a) at a disco, (b) at the opera. (c) cheering courtside at a Lakers game, or (d) sunning myself naked on a beach.”
Now it’s my turn to frown. “Choose anything but the beach!”
He laughs out loud. “I would have guessed that. Okay, now: If you were a tree, what kind would you be? The choices are (a) Redwood (b) Dogwood (c) Oak, or (d) Japanese Maple.”
“Make me a Dogwood.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s small and the flowers are either pink or white. Subliminally, the message here is ‘virginal and girly.’”
“But you’re really an Oak, right?”
“Nah. A Redwood. I’m in it for the long run.”
He knows exactly what I mean.
“Okay, next up: Would you rather date (a) an artist (b) a banker (c) an entrepreneur or (d) a corporate industrialist?”
“I guess we both know the answer to that one.” My eyes seek his out. “I only have eyes for you.”
This earns me a knowing smile. “Last question: Where would you prefer to be kissed, and why?”
“Seriously? They ask something that personal?” I slip behind him so that I can read over his shoulder. “They make it quite clear what this is all about, don’t they?....Wait! I don’t see that question here.”
“My bad. It’s my question, not theirs.” He pulls me into his lap.
Sure, I’ll play along. “Want to take a guess?”
He chuckles. “I’m a hands-on kind of guy. How else can I gauge your true enthusiasm?”
He’s got a point there.
He hits the SUBMIT button, then forwards Arnie my User ID and password. The photos can wait until our little survey is completed.
We’ve only tested six possible kissing locations when Arnie’s email pings Jack’s computer. We let out with a mutual groan, then disentangle ourselves in order to read it:
You’re live, sugar babe!
What Arnie lacks in subtlety, he makes up for with enthusiasm.
“But how can that be?” I ask, “We never sent photos!”
“Heck if I know. Let me test your submission with a fake CEO profile.” He opens one, and types in a wish list with the exact profile I submitted.
In no time at all, my profile falls into his email box.
Except that my head now sports long blond hair in coiling tendrils, has been superimposed onto a body that looks suspiciously like Scarlett Johansson’s.
Jack gives a low whistle. “I’m not saying Arnie can improve on perfection, but he’s has sure as hell comes damn close.”
I pelt Jack with a pillow.
The next thing we hear is a few bars of “Easy Street” as a Sugar CEO meeting request drops into my Sugar Babe account.
My very first gentlemen caller has come a’knocking.
“It’s the bewitching hour,” Jack mutters with a sigh.
The rest of the kissable positions on my must-do list will have to wait.
I brace myself before clicking onto it.
© 2013 Josie Brown. All rights reserved. This work is protected under copyright laws and reproduction is strictly prohibited. Permission to reproduce the material in any manner or medium must be secured from the Author.
