Imperfect Truth(3)

By: Ava Harrison


How can I say no to this request?

Confirm.

A message pops up. Oh God, not another generic author PM. When will authors start realizing that if you want a favor, you should at least try to go the extra mile? Like, I don’t know, maybe know my name?



Ryder Matthews: Hello there!

I was wondering if you could please post a teaser and buy link for my new book in the Changing Faces Series: Blinded Lies

Buy Link: http://C&Bn.to/1zdrc

Ava Readsalot: No problem.

Ryder Matthews: Thanks for the add ;-)

Ava Readsalot: My pleasure.

Ryder Matthews: Honestly the pleasure is all mine.



My cheeks flush crimson. I didn’t expect that kind of warm welcome.



Ryder Matthews: If you ever want me to…takeover, I’m your guy!



The sexual innuendo is not lost on me. Hell no, Ryder Matthews will never take over my page. Author takeovers are all the rage in the indie book industry these days. Basically, you let the author hijack your page so they can promote their work. I’m certainly not letting “His Highness” take over my blog. He is known to never hold back on any page takeover, posting every steamy sex scene from his series, including whips, floggers, everything. Anything was fair game, and the racier the better. I was truly petrified. I knew it would be great for the blog; I was just apprehensive of what he might post.



Ava Readsalot: Aww, thank you so much. Right now I’m not doing takeovers, but I will definitely keep you in mind when I start :-)

Ryder Matthews: No doubt. Well, again let me know if you need anything, and I do mean anything.



Oh I’ll let him know if I need something…like his head buried deep between my legs. Where did that come from?

I let out a chuckle as my face turns beet red once again. I glance over to see if Alexandre has noticed my little outburst. Nope. Nothing. Feeling flustered, I quickly sign off and shut down the computer.

“I’m off to bed, Alex. You coming?” Nothing. No response.

“Alexandre!” I shout over the TV, now turned to full blast on The World Of Poker Tournament.

“What?” he replies, his voice exasperated as if I’m interrupting something important.

“You can at least acknowledge that I’ve said something to you.”

Alexandre finally looks over to me with a bored face. “I did. I shook my head no.”

Quietly, I take a deep breath. I’m moments away from losing my shit, but like every well-groomed lady, I gather my composure. Biting the inside of my cheek, a practice I’ve become rather accustomed to, I nod and walk away. I can taste the sweet copper filling my mouth. As I make my way into the bedroom, I think back to the conversation I had with Ryder. A faint laugh creeps out of my mouth as I recall his flirtation.

I climb into my bed that night with a smile on my face for the first time in months.

For the first time in years.



THE NEXT MORNING I wake up feeling refreshed. I open my eyes, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. 7:30 am.

Brilliant rays of the sun peek in through the drapes, and the morning’s beauty is breathtaking. I feel peaceful this Saturday, and the allure to begin my day beckons me. I really love living in Manhattan. Pulling the drapes back, I catch a glimpse of Gramercy Park. It’s a hidden secret nestled within the city. The London-style Park has impeccably groomed gardens that can only be accessed with golden keys. Only the elite are offered such pleasantries, a detail that my mother-in-law insisted on when purchasing our home.

The street surrounding the wrought iron gates is eerily quiet. Only the soft hum of the morning traffic can be heard.

After further inspection, the park is completely empty—not unusual for this time of day. Hauntingly beautiful. It brings a smile to my face as the idea of sitting peacefully by myself with a cup of coffee and my book invades my mind.

Alexandre is still sound asleep. His rhythmic snore tells me he won’t be up for a while. Silently, I change into a pair of tight-fitting yoga pants, a white T-shirt, and my black sequined Toms. Grabbing my cardigan off the back of the vanity chair, I make my way into the kitchen.

Our apartment isn’t huge as it was formally a pied-à-terre for the original owner’s mistress. It is, however, exquisite and rather expensive. The location and park access inflates the prize considerably. Alexandre comes from old money; his family now owns and manages a hedge fund in the city. I’m a stay at home wife, whatever the fuck that means. Basically, in his family’s opinion, it would be an embarrassment if I worked a nine to five job. Blogging is allowed as it’s accomplished in the privacy of my own home under a pseudonym. I love and cherish every moment of my “little hobby.”