Acknowledgments
Thank you so much to my readers for being so amazing. Your enthusiasm and support for my books amaze me on a daily basis, and I feel so blessed to have you. Thank you for all the emails, reviews, and Facebook messages. You rock my world!
To Michelle Valentine and Kristen Proby— Thank you ladies for putting up with my randomness and making me laugh. I love you two.
To Holly Malgieri and Jenn Foor: YOU TWO ROCK. Thanks for making me grin all the time!
Christine Bezdenejnih Estevez, you are one amazing chick! Thank you for keeping me organized and for loving my books. BIG HUGS for everything you do (and it’s a lot)!
Thanks to Letitia Hasser at RBA Designs for creating such a beautiful book cover. And to Stacy Kestwick for her wonderful beta-reading skills and Jenny Sims with Editing4Indies for her unbelievingly quick proofreading—you two rock!
To Cris Hadarly, Becca Manuel, and Abbie Dauenheimer—Thank you ladies a million times for being so effing creative. I love the trailers and collages, and I smile like an idiot every time I look at them.
To all my amazing author friends—you guys kick ass. I’m so blessed to be a part of such a great, caring community. Lots of love to you all.
To the bloggers in the romance community—THANK YOU! Your support and love for my books mean so much to me. I appreciate you all more than you could ever imagine. Thank you for taking such good care of me and all the other indie authors.
Sneak Peak: Bad Advice
Turn the page for an exclusive sneak peek at BAD ADVICE—a romantic comedy coming in 2015 from Avonlea Cole and Emily Snow!
Chapter One
Dear Avery,
First of all, I’m a huge fan of your column. I’ve been reading it from the start, and your advice seriously ROCKS! Now for the hard part ... I have been dating this guy for several months. We can call him “Ed.” So, “Ed” and I have been spending the night with each other a few nights a week. He is ALWAYS happy and in a good mood when we’re together, BUT he hasn’t introduced me to any of his friends. He hasn’t changed his Facebook status, and we NEVER go out in public.
What’s going on? Does he even like me? Do I embarrass him? Please help; any advice would be appreciated.
Sincerely,
Confused in Richmond
Dear
This is your conscience saying you need to wake the hell up. Is the truth that unclear that you need to write to a stranger for advice? The dude is cheating on you. You are his sidepiece—his mashed potatoes. His steak has already met his friends and, hell, probably even eats Sunday brunch at the country club with his parents.
He doesn't want to know your feelings, doesn’t care about them, and he sure as hell ain't gonna tell you how he feels. Chalk it up to a booty call and move along. There are plenty of other douchebags in the sea that will actually tell you how they feel.
Keeping It Real In Raleigh,
Amanda Truthslayer
*
For the third time since sitting down on the other side of my boss’s desk, I read through the post she’d taken the liberty to print off for me, screaming out thoughts as they popped into my head.
“Mashed Potatoes? She called my reader mashed-freakin’-potatoes! How in the hell could any woman have so little class or courtesy? Doesn’t she know this is someone’s life she’s talking about? Someone’s dreams she’s crushing?” I crumble the print-off and slam it into the wastebasket by my editor’s desk. “Of course, she doesn’t because she’s a mega-witch!”
Perched across from me in her cushy leather chair, Barb looked none too pleased at my outburst, but really, who could be calm at a time like this? This she-devil—this Amanda Truthslayer—was ruining my career, one nasty keystroke at a time.
“Avery, I know you’re upset.” Actually, I was pissed off, but I bit my tongue. “And I know this is a big deal.” Barb paused for another moment, tapping her long red nails on the edge of her desk. “But apparently, the public is interested in what she has to say.”
I sucked in a harsh breath. Did she have to knee me below the belt so soon? “Really, Barb?”
Ignoring my exasperation, she bobbed her head a little too enthusiastically, causing her elegant black bun to bounce. “Amanda’s gotten almost eighty thousand hits on just this one post, not to mention the thousands of comments, shares, and likes. And this one just went live last night.”
Eighty. Thousand. Hits.
Wow.
Had I ever even gotten close to eighty thousand hits?
Sure, I have... if you combined all the advice articles I’ve written since starting here a little over a year ago, multiplied the total by two, and then added that number to Amanda Truthslayer’s least popular skewering.
Coming to terms with that particular fact gave me a headache, as if Amanda had just shoved another pin in the voodoo doll she must keep of me.
“And,” Barb added in a low voice, “she’s trending on Twitter and Facebook.”
Was it just me or did she sound more and more excited with each piece of crappy news she decided to share with me?
Focusing my gaze up at the tiled ceiling, I tried to calm my nerves by counting to ten, which immediately sent me into the third stage of panic.
Defensiveness.
“Pardon my French, Barb, but this is complete bullshit.” I stood and began pacing, biting my already ragged nails. Barb’s sharp brown eyes followed my erratic movements, but she said nothing. I had never been this unhinged, but damn if what I’d just read hadn’t given me cause to drink. And eat. It was almost a given that I’d have a date tonight with a box of craptastic wine and a medium supreme pizza.
Fisting my hands, I paused in front of the window and stared down at the busy street seven floors below. “I just can’t believe this is happening again,” I said robotically.
Amanda Truthslayer had not only taken another question one of my readers had sent to me—she’d once again flipped my advice, turning it into an all-out bitchfest.
And somehow, her current bitchfest had garnered eighty thousand hits and was now trending on social media.
“How can people even like that sort of thing?” I asked myself aloud.
“Avery!” Barb snapped. I turned to face her, cringing at the sight of her thinned red lips and narrowed eyes. “This is an office, not solitary confinement. Stop talking to yourself and sit down so we can discuss this.”
She swept her hand out at the seat across from her. Reluctantly, I sat, smoothing my flowy black skirt beneath me. “How do I fix this?” I whispered. “What do I do?”
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her desk. “Look, Avery. Your column is good, and your advice is sweet, but hers is edgy and entertaining. You just have to be ...better. Spice up your column, add a little sass, make readers want to hear what you have to say.”
Was my boss telling me to add a dose of bitchiness to my column?
When I’d gotten the job last year, Barb had given me the history of The Azalea Post. The lifestyle and entertainment paper had been established by her grandfather a few years after World War II ended. It wasn’t until college, when Barb had stumbled upon old copies of the paper that had snagged her interest had she wanted anything to do with her family’s legacy.