Just TWENTY days until the release of Forever Sheltered!
If you have a blog or FB page, sign up to be a part of the party here (you’ll get to give away all THREE Forever books to your readers!)
Here we go!
Oh, that idiot jerk doctor just walked in here and demanded a favor.
He strode into my art therapy room like he owned the place with his high-dollar shoes and custom-tailored khakis and said, “You have to do something for me.”
Right. I have to.
I whirled away from him to pick up a box of tempura paints and clutched it tightly with both hands.
It was either that or punch him in the face.
This was my room at the hospital. Where doctors weren’t the big shots. Where patients came to escape.
My cheeks were hot. “I didn’t expect to see you again,” I said, pointedly refusing to ask what the something he wanted me to do entailed. “You didn’t show up last time you asked to meet with me.
This same doctor blew me off two weeks ago. Set up a meeting and didn’t show.
Like his time was valuable, and mine was not.
I kept my back to him. A long moment passed. He stayed quiet, so I began to wonder if he’d snuck out.
Not a bad idea. Nobody likes me when I’m pissed off.
I checked the paints, chucking any colors that had dried out. I had less than ten minutes until my next therapy group arrived, a set of children from the cancer ward. It often took all my emotional strength to get through that hour. I wouldn’t give the doctor another thought.
Those kids had it so hard. They lost their hair. Threw up spontaneously. Dealt daily with the idea of death. Many were far from home, sent here to the specialty wing for cancer patients after their own hospitals had exhausted all options.
My days felt like battles, miniature war zones.
And yet here was this Dr. Darion Marks, asking me to do something for him.
I was so sure he was gone that I jumped when he spoke again.
“I’m sorry I didn’t let you know I couldn’t make our meeting two weeks ago,” he said.
Still no explanation. I turned a little so I could see the doctor, tall and stalwart in his white coat. He reminded me of a statue, perfect, chiseled, and cold as granite. I dropped the box of paints on the low table with a satisfying clunk.
“Hey.” His voice carried an impatient tone that sparked my anger into rage.
I glared at him. I was ready to give him a real piece of my mind when he switched tactics.
“Maybe we can start over,” he said with a smile I’m sure he thought was charming. “Hello, Ms. Schwartz. Could I ask you to help me with one of my patients?”
I hated him with a fury I usually reserved for people who kicked dogs. And my parents.
I grasped the back of a chair and leaned over it. Menacingly, I hoped.
Isn’t Tina something else? She’s been in three of my books, and it’s finally her turn to get a book of her own!
ALL of chapter one will go out to the mail list subscribers at MIDNIGHT (July 2, CST). Get on the list — if you are not sure you are on it, enter your email — it will tell you.
If you have missed the email, still join up. Just reply to your “Welcome” email and we’ll get you the first chapter. PLUS you’ll get 70 pages of Baby Dust to download — all of Tina’s backstory from when she was 17.
I’M SO EXCITED!!!!