I’m a small town gal and I love small town settings. Towns, where neighbors collect your mail, feed the cat and deliver casseroles when life throws an unexpected curveball. I’m from New Zealand originally where pretty much every town is small compared to when I lived in Los Angeles and London. What better place to set Winning the Boss’s Heart than a small coastal New Zealand town. Perfect. My editor, whom I adore, lives in Virginia, USA, and going through edits became a lesson in how words mean totally different things.

An entrée is a main then what’s a starter?
I see the confusion. I used to confuse myself travelling around the US. In New Zealand we have an entrée followed by a main, which is completely the reverse of having a starter then an entrée. Mind you, if I’m at the Cheesecake factory all bets are off and I go straight to pudding. Wait, I mean dessert.

You have tea for dinner?
When I grew up dinner was called tea. My aunt still asks what do I want for tea. A bit of milk, skim if it’s available brings a blank stare. Ed commented that my characters didn’t seem to eat a lot, but powered through a lot of tea, which she thought was odd. Dinner is back on the menu.

Isn’t queue a letter of the alphabet?
I was at my son’s school outing in Los Angeles. A side note: Never volunteer to take a group of eight year old boys who have dined out on sugar for breakfast to the Natural History Museum, unless you want to see them try and climb through the glass and dismember a Woolly Mammoth). I asked the boys to form a queue which of course brought me nothing but blank stares. Flustered and feeling like I was herding feral cats, one child finally asked. “You want us to line up? You know that queue is a letter of the alphabet only”. Yes, well, lesson learned and I was rooting for the Woolly Mammoth.

Bugger Me Sideways
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Do you mean a bin full of chilies?
Lovely Ed wrote that in a comment box. It was 3 a.m. I was chock to the gills with Turkish coffee, doing edits and I’d turned my internal convert NZ speak to US dictionary off. I cackled like a Macbeth witch. I had written that Billie, my heroine was in the kitchen looking for a chilly bin. If she were in Australia she’d be looking for an esky. In California she’d be looking for the cooler. Three countries, three different meanings.

There were a couple of small-town New Zealand expressions I let slide through. I wonder if anyone will notice.

About the Author: Hayson grew up in a family made up of scientists and engineers and she was told lovingly but firmly that her ‘day dreaming’ phase would end and soon she’d be entranced by the inner workings of the periodic table. But she loved the lands she created. Oh, the creatures that stopped by. The swashbuckling pirates, sassy unicorns and before she knew it she’d be off on a flying carpet with Frank a friendly chain smoking shark.

It soon became apparent she wasn’t going to be awarded the Nobel Prize for services to science.

She has been a personal assistant, a demon word processor. She’s worked in supermarket deli where she can slice a pound of ham in record time. She’s sorted freight and she’s dreamed of writing gutsy independent heroines who won’t give up on their dreams and who’ll go toe-to-toe with their man. Her dream has now come true thanks to Entangled Publishing.

She lives with her infuriating but adored shoe-dropping husband, two teenage boys plus a tubby opinionated cat. There’s often a resident foster dog who needs love, dog biscuits and hanging with the kids on the couch before finding their forever after home.

Find Hayson on Facebook, Twitter-@HaysonManning, and Goodreads.

Mason Christian has twelve weeks to flip something old into something new, and then he’s getting the hell out of Footsteps Bay – a tiny New Zealand coastal town. Not even his temporary secretary and personal assistant–the feisty, luscious Billie McLeod–will deter him. But there’s no denying she makes him feel alive. More alive than he’s felt in three years…

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Chris will be awarding a $10 Amazon Gift card to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

A contemporary romance about a dog that brings two people together who don’t want to be. She’s a vegetarian veterinarian who needs cash for a no-kill shelter. He’s the heir to a hot dog fortune who must give away money before he gains his inheritance. Sounds like a perfect match. It isn’t.

Excerpt:

Paul arrived home that night “Jeeves, I’m in love,” he said to his butler.

The emotion filled him with a sense of purpose. He had a name and a face. Now he could find the address. With Jeeves’ help.

Paul Vincenzo’s butler peered over his half-glasses. He sat at the giant island in the giant kitchen. “That’s the third time this week.”

Paul undid his bowtie, dropped it on the kitchen counter, and then pulled out his cufflinks. Jeeves just didn’t understand.

Paul thought back to the way her hair glowed under the chandelier. As if the heavens had shone a light just on her. He couldn’t have stopped looking at her even if he’d gone blind. “No, really. I met the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.

Jeeves put down his newspaper to sip from a glass of white wine. “I’ll bite. Who is she? A Greek heiress slumming it in New Jersey? No? A starlet on sabbatical.”

Paul shook his head. He understood the butler’s reluctance to believe him. Women had always been a salad bar to him. He’d wanted to taste them all, but this time it was different. Daria was different.

“Jeeves, I’m serious. Her name is Daria Jacks.” He’d liked the feel of her name in his mouth. Daria. He rolled it over in his mind. Daria. What an interesting name.

“And what does this fine specimen of a woman do?”

Jeeves’ question brought him back to reality. Not many people at the ball had even known her name, let alone where she’d come from. Like Cinderella, she’d lost her shoe. “I think she’s a doctor. Maybe a vet.”
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“You think?” Jeeves lifted his paper back up to read.

“I didn’t actually get to talk to her.”

Paul had been a panther stalking his prey all night. She’d been seated well across the room. Her date hadn’t led her onto the dance floor, giving Paul a chance to cut in.

Her elusiveness had made the chase even more exciting.

Jeeves frowned. “How do you know you’re in love with her?”

“There was something…” he paused to find the right word, “familiar about her.”

As if he’d known her all of his life. Or maybe in another life. Not that he was deep or metaphysical. He just knew there’d been a connection, a meeting of the minds. Their psyches had bonded.

He strolled to the fridge to pour himself some wine.

“Uh huh.”

Jeeves wasn’t buying it, but Paul didn’t care. He had to meet Daria. As sure as he’d take his next breath.

About the Author:Chris Redding lives in New Jersey with her husband, two sons, one dog and three rabbits. She graduated from Penn State with a degree in journalism. When she isn’t writing, she works for her local hospital Her books are filled with romance, suspense and thrills.

Connect with Chris at her blog, Facebook, or Twitter.<br
Buy the book at Amazon.

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Kristine will be awarding four (4) print copies of Pick Me (US only) and three (3) $10 Amazon GCs to randomly drawn commenters during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Four women have been found dead in the outskirts of a small Wisconsin town. The only witness, clairvoyant Celeste Risinski, observes these brutal murders through violent nightmares and hellish visions. The local sheriff, who believes in Celeste’s abilities and wants to rid their peaceful community of a killer, enlists the help on an old friend, Ian Scott, owner of a private criminal investigation agency, CORE. Because of Ian’s dark history with Celeste’s family, a history she knows nothing about, he sends his top criminalist, former FBI agent John Kain to investigate.

John doesn’t believe in Celeste’s mystic hocus-pocus, or in her visions of the murders. But just when he’s certain they’ve solved the crimes, with the use of science and evidence, more dead bodies are discovered. Could this somehow be the work of the same killer or were they dealing with a copycat? To catch a vicious murderer, the skeptical criminalist reluctantly turns to the sensual psychic for help. Yet with each step closer to finding the killer, John finds himself one step closer to losing his heart.

Excerpt

The bell on the front door chimed, and sunlight spilled into the diner. When Celeste glanced up from the mug she’d been filling, she nearly fumbled the scalding coffee pot as she caught her breath and stared at the man strolling through the door.

Very male, very hot, and certainly not from Wissota Falls. If he had been, she would already have known every detail about him. Who needed to be psychic when the diner was a regular gossip factory?

Tall, dark and sexy glanced around the busy diner, then chose a vacant stool near the wall at the end of the counter. If a man that big could move with such a fluid, commanding grace by simply walking, she’d bet he had even better moves in bed. She startled herself with the thought, then even further when she pictured him in her bed, naked and between her thighs.

“Can I get a little more coffee?”
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Her cheeks burned. Good Lord, she was fantasizing about a complete stranger when the diner was hopping with customers needing attention. “Sure, Russ, need anything else?”

He grunted a refusal, which gave her a chance to lose the coffee pot before she did some serious damage. After setting the pot on the burner, she wrung her hands on her apron, then reached for her notepad and pencil.

He’s just a man like any other, she told herself. No big deal. So what if her fingers tingled and itched to touch his thick black hair? So what if she’d already pictured him naked? It had been a long time since she’d had sex. Too long, she supposed, based on the sudden desire to touch and be touched sizzling through her body. She stuffed any notion of having sex with the stranger in the back of her mind, like she did with any thoughts or memories she wasn’t sure she could control. This time, though, it didn’t work.

About the Author: I didn’t pick up my first romance novel until I was in my late twenties. Immediately hooked, I read a bazillion books before deciding to write one of my own. After the birth of my first son I needed something to keep my mind from turning to mush, and Sesame Street wasn’t cutting it. While that first book will never see the light of day, something good had come from writing it. I realized my passion, and had found a career that I love.

When I’m not writing contemporary romances and dark, romantic suspense novels (or reading them!) I’m chasing after my four kids and two neurotic dogs.

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