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The Chaos Duet has been redesigned and I love these NEW covers! They’re bright and fun with punchy text to get your attention! Check out the all-new versions of Chaos & Control and Fearless & Falling below and let me know what you think!

When Wren Hart returns to her sleepy little Midwest town after years on the road, she finds the last thing she’d ever expect—a reason to stay. And that reason has a hard body, a knowledge of vinyl, and a crooked smile that sends her reeling.

Preston is a gorgeous, mysterious man, whose life is ruled by routine and order. Yet somehow, he finds Wren and her wild ways captivating. While their relationship grows in a delicate dance of chaos and control, the danger Wren thought she’d left behind during her travels is inching ever closer…and just may destroy them both.

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Angela Lavelle has been in love since third grade. A heated argument over superheroes left her reeling in the wake of Logan Sawyer and his charming, know-it-all smile. After a lifetime in the same small town, this art geek still feels invisible to the guy she knows is destined for her. Finally, Angela is ready to give destiny a shove.

Logan Sawyer is adored by the whole town, even taking a place next to his father as a sheriff’s deputy, with aspirations of becoming a detective. When a certain redheaded waitress finally catches his attention, he wonders how he’s been so blind to Angela hiding in plain sight. But there’s the mysterious circumstances of her father’s death tugging at Logan’s detective instincts. Could Angela be the one to break the case wide open? Or will their secrets destroy any chance at a happily-ever-after?

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The post Guess who has a BRAND NEW LOOK? appeared first on Season Vining.

Beautiful Addictions has got a new cover!
Isn’t she lovely?

Not only does Beautiful Addictions have a brand new cover, but the story has gotten a little refresh as well. You’ll find a few new scenes (including spice) and a more linear story. I’m excited to share this NEW version with you. Happy reading!

Josie Banks is a girl without a past. After being found unconscious with no memory, she was shuffled in and out of foster homes until the age of eighteen. An experience that left her broken, damaged, and clinging to drugs and meaningless hook-ups to numb her pain.

Tristan Fallbrook is haunted by a dark past of his own. Tristan lost his first love when Josie disappeared years ago. Now a twist of fate has brought them back together, and he never wants to let her out of his inked arms again. But reentering her life puts them both in grave danger.

The two find themselves unable to escape the gravity pulling them together. But now that they’re on the run from ruthless criminals, it’ll take much more than love to save them.

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The post Cover Reveal! appeared first on Season Vining.

Josie Banks is a girl without a past. After being found unconscious with no memory, she was shuffled in and out of foster homes until the age of eighteen. An experience that left her broken, damaged, and clinging to drugs and meaningless hook-ups to numb her pain.

Tristan Fallbrook is haunted by a dark past of his own. Tristan lost his first love when Josie disappeared years ago. Now a twist of fate has brought them back together, and he never wants to let her out of his inked arms again. But reentering her life puts them both in grave danger.

The two find themselves unable to escape the gravity pulling them together. But now that they’re on the run from ruthless criminals, it’ll take much more than love to save them.

Add to GoodreadsCHAPTER ONE

“HEY, BABE, HAND ME my smokes.”

“I’m not your babe,” Josie replied.

“Fine. Hey, bitch, hand me my smokes.”

She laughed darkly and passed him the pack. One-night stands were not given the privilege of pet names. On the other hand, the neatly arranged rails of white powder on the tray across the room meant he could call her anything he damn well pleased.

As the stranger lit a cigarette, Josie sat up and stretched her arms over her head. The air reeked of sweat, sex, and tobacco. The humming fan that had helped lull her to sleep a few hours ago now got on her last sober nerve.

Spotting her underwear across the room, Josie slid from between the sheets and retrieved it. She slipped on each article of clothing as she found it, eventually wearing her outfit from the previous night. The young man’s eyes followed her, seeming amused by her hunt-and-gather technique.

“You were amazing,” he said.

His voice rasped like he had sawdust in his throat. The way his eyes shined, she could see all his lust. She had no interest in dwelling there.

Josie ignored him and leaned over the tray, holding the rolled-up dollar bill to her nose. She closed her eyes and smiled as she inhaled the drug, knowing that numbing bliss would soon find her. With a final sniff, she stood and let the chemical absorb into her blood. It was  a shocking jolt followed by soft feathers across her skin, drifting down from the sky and landing around her toes. Her body tensed and prickled with the warmth of a prolonged orgasm. In this high, she had no name, no past, and no future. All she had was now. And now was amazing.

“Can I get your number? Sam Bradley is playing the Casbah on Wednesday. My boy could get us in for free.”

His words punched holes in her buzz. Irritated, she slung her bag across her body and gave a shrug. The morning light peeked through the vertical blinds, casting stripes of gold across his body. He smiled and she could feel his desire for her again. To Josie, he was just a guy—a guy with a warm bed, pleasurable hands, and a large supply of coke.

“It was fun. Let’s just leave it at that.”

She spun on her heel and headed for the door.

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll see you around,” he shouted.

“Not likely,” Josie answered, stepping out into the blinding light of another morning after.

_______________

Josie sat back in the dark corner of the familiar bar. Graffiti-riddled walls and empty chairs were her only company. A journal lay open in her lap while her charcoal-stained fingers clutched the pencil hovering above the page. Hundreds of words flashed through her mind, but she could not choose one and write it down. The first word of a sentence, the start of an idea, usually held all the power as far as she was concerned. This is why, most nights, she kept to sketching—the curved lines and shading smudges were easier to commit to.

Routine was not something she was used to, though lately she’d been devoted to him. She always arrived an hour before his shift started and slipped out when he took his last break. She’d convinced herself that her obsession was completely normal.

The bar patrons took no notice of her. They were too busy, focused on their own goals of sex and intoxication. But Josie’s intentions were the same as every other night spent in this establishment. She’d come to see about a boy.

She glanced up from her blank paper, waiting for the arrival of her muse. She sighed and blew her bangs from her eyes, wishing she had something to take off the razor-sharp edge.

Since she was fourteen years old, Josie Banks had existed this way. She floated on whatever high she could get, never wanting to touch down, afraid reality might never let her go again. There wasn’t much of a physical addiction to the drugs. She never used one long enough to develop a taste for it. The addiction was solely to the numbing blissful high of indifference. Her high didn’t always come from drugs or sex. Sometimes her pencils, along with fresh paper and a silent room, could deliver the much-needed feeling she longed for. The rough scratch of charcoal or the shake and rattle of paint cans calmed her in a way that no therapist ever had.

“Hello.”

Josie looked up to find a stranger staring down at her. He seemed to stand at the edge of her personal bubble while wearing a brittle smile. She did not respond but waited for his next line. It was delivered like a rehearsed speech.

“You’re too pretty to sit alone. Can I join you?”

Her silence answered. The man turned swiftly and retreated to where he came from. Josie didn’t watch him go. In any other place, at any other time, she would have entertained the idea. He was tall and handsome and she loved how nervous she made him. But not here. Not now.

Plenty of people had told her that she was attractive, but she always dismissed their words as a desire to get into her pants. If only they’d known she didn’t need to be seduced. She gave it up freely and often. Shame did not exist in her bank of emotions; it had no place in the life she led. Fucking was always enjoyable. Even bad sex was still sex. Ever since she’d lost her virginity, she’d felt empowered by her feminine allure. No man or woman, no matter how attractive, had ever held her attention for longer than it had taken to get off.

Until him.

She leaned back in her seat, curling her fingers around the nearly empty glass, and thought back to their first and only encounter.

Clouds stretched across the moon, stealing her natural light. Josie settled herself on the fire escape, drawing by the glow from her apartment window. Dirt on the glass cast a freckled pattern over her. Haunting eyes stared up from the page as she tried to recall a connection to them.

A hooded figure stormed into the alley below, catching her attention. Her pencil stopped in its track. His dark garments blended into the shadows as if she could smudge him out of one of her drawings.

“Idiot!” he shouted. His voice rolled up the alley walls until being freed into the sky like thunder.

He pushed the hood back, his nails scraping through shaggy hair. It wove through his fingers, staying upturned in a crown of thorns. Heavy footsteps counted off his rhythm as Josie watched him rage.

“Stupid,” he said. He said it again, repeating the quiet chant over and over until it matched the beat of Josie’s pulse.

She gasped as he ripped off his hoodie and threw it to the ground. Colorful inked images covered his arms, interrupted only by the white beater that molded to his body. He slammed his forehead into the wall and then landed punch after punch. The blood from his knuckles painted the bricks and Josie knew a part of him would die here this night.

She sat stone-faced, her eyes fixed on the raging man below. She was envious of such a physical kind of anger. She had never unleashed her fury that way and wondered if it would do any good. His chest heaved, and Josie fought hard to keep her own breath even.

In that moment, the moon broke through the clouds and cast a blanket of silvery light over the alley. He froze, mesmerized by the grid of shadows created by the fire escape. His eyes traveled up the shadow as if navigating a labyrinth, until a small, solid shape obstructed the path. He frowned, catching Josie there.

The pencil slipped from Josie’s grip, falling over the edge. As connected as she felt to the lead and wood, she did not watch it drop. Instead, she stared down into the face of something so familiar—heartache. She’d never seen such a beautiful, broken expression, and it took her breath away. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered the soft tap, tap, tap of her pencil hitting the ground.

Josie felt bound to him in that moment. They were two souls brought together by chance. Though they did not feel like strangers.

She wanted more, but she didn’t know what. She couldn’t name it, but she craved it like her drugs and her art.

A siren wailed from somewhere down the block and they both blinked, released from each other. He turned away slowly. Josie leaned forward against the railing as he disappeared back into the dotted path of streetlamps.

When he was gone, she raced down the steps of her building and retrieved his abandoned hoodie from the alley. Josie wrapped herself in the black cotton and, for the first time in years, slept through the night. Almost every day since, she’d worn the oversized sweatshirt, growing attached to it as if it were a long-lost friend.

“You need another drink?” the waitress asked. Josie made eye contact with the girl and nodded. “Another rum and Coke and no conversation. Coming right up.”

She smirked when the waitress left to fetch her drink. Alone again, Josie began sketching a couple making out against the bar. The woman was standing, squeezed between the man’s thighs, while his hand gripped her waist. Their faces pressed together in heated kisses and whispered words. Their display drew the attention of everyone in the place before the waitress tapped the bar and told them to take it elsewhere. Josie couldn’t care less. Her boy had arrived.

He took his place behind the bar after a smile and wave to the waitress. He looked good there, backlit by mirrors, lavender lights, and half-empty bottles. Gone was her tortured boy from the alley. This version was sexy and confident.

It was pure luck that she’d found him here, tending bar. Josie had come in one night, looking for a release of any kind, when she’d spotted him. She recognized his tattoos, and when he turned, she remembered his face as well, even after six months. The images had been burned into her memory on a cellular level. It hadn’t taken long to learn his schedule, and soon she saw him three nights a week. But he never saw her.

Josie wanted him. The one-night stands that left her feeling wanted but isolated were no longer satisfying. She needed to taste his lips and trace the patterns on his skin. She needed to live in his clothes and feel the weight of his body on hers. Their relationship was complicated, existing only through one-way glass and never shared. Josie liked it this way. She felt anchored to him but not owned.

Tristan Fallbrook was complicated and just barely a man. At the ripe age of twenty-two, he’d suffered heartache, seen his fair share of violence, and thrived as a professional criminal. His life could rival that of a wartime soldier, including battle scars and haunting memories.

None of this was planned. His life should have played out differently. Yet here he was, living in a new place, facing a new direction that still felt wrong. All of his knowledge, through personal experience and countless books, could not help him. Tristan was alone and trapped in this city, with only a 9mm and an addiction to literature to save him. Night after night, he tucked away his one-hundred-forty-seven-point IQ and stood behind the bar, wearing his inked armor and crooked smile.

Looks like Bundy is back,” Erin said, sliding her tray onto the bar. “Same as always, rum and Coke.”

“You got it,” Tristan answered. “Why do you guys call her that?”

“Because she’s really pretty and really weird, in a serial killer kind of way. Like Ted Bundy, you know? She never comes in here with anyone. She never leaves with anyone. She just sits in that corner, sipping her drink and scribbling in her notebook. Sometimes she draws pictures on the napkins. I feel like she’s leaving them for me on purpose. Like it’s some kind of clue I’m supposed to decipher.”

Tristan slid the drink across the bar and shrugged.

“Maybe she’s just shy, Sherlock. Did you know Picasso and Warhol both had the habit of sketching on napkins?”

“So what are you saying?” Erin asked before popping a maraschino cherry from the garnish tray into her mouth. “I should be saving them? She’ll be famous and I’ll be rich?”

“Maybe. What’s she drawing, anyway?”

“Usually faces of people in the bar. There’s a sketch of me on the wall in booth twelve. Some of her finest work, I’d say.” Tristan laughed. “Whatever she is, she definitely needs some wardrobe help. You should see the ratty old sweatshirt she wears all the time. My bet is serial killer. That pretty face could lure you chumps in, no problem.”

Reaching his quota for small talk, Tristan gave her a grin and sent her on her way. He rested against the shelf of bottles and considered the behavior of Bundy. He didn’t see anything wrong with someone wanting to be alone with her poison and her thoughts. He wasn’t so sure what solidified her status as weird. Many nights, Tristan had found himself half-deep into a fifth of whiskey while venting frustrations to strangers. Fellow employees, even customers had been subjected to drunken rants of missed opportunities. Some offered advice, and some only listened. He soon learned that talking about it never mattered. His life’s course seemed to be fixed.

Tristan watched Erin deliver the drink. He focused on Bundy, his curiosity piqued. She was hidden in the shadows and he could make out nothing but a faint silhouette. He recognized her posture and placement. Her hiding was intentional.

Josie did not look up as her drink was dropped off, her mind distracted by the presence of him. The smell of the waitress’s flowery perfume brought forth an angry memory she quickly abandoned. Then she wondered what he would smell like. His scent and her memory of it had faded from the hoodie. Would he smell of heavy colognes and aftershaves or just a simple combination of soap and cigarettes? She scolded herself, knowing that her fascination with this man was unreasonable. She had no right to want him the way she did.

Josie knew the name the bar staff had branded her with, Bundy. She’d overheard two of the waitresses talking on their break one night. They hadn’t seen Josie there as they went on about her weirdness and what she wore. She hadn’t been the subject of their conversation for long, though, easily dismissed as in every other aspect of her life. Her desire to simply be in his presence outweighed any humiliation she’d had to endure.

Suddenly, Josie felt a burning fire on her face, a pull from across the room. She glanced up to find his eyes on her. He was looking, really looking. Even though she knew he couldn’t see much, she felt as though she were being dissected in front of a crowd.

After weeks of coming here, he’d finally taken notice. His muscled forearms leaned on the bar and his gaze stayed fixed. Sure, she wanted him, but on her terms. She wasn’t ready. He wasn’t another man to be conquered and forgotten. He was different. Josie felt smothered with the need to escape.

Spying no movement from her corner, Tristan finally dropped his eyes back to the bar. He knew she was a creature of habit and wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon. He would wait her out.

An hour passed, steady and unhurried, neither one of them giving up on the waiting game. By midnight, Tristan couldn’t take it anymore and needed to step out for a smoke. He let his coworker know and headed out the side door. The alley welcomed him with quiet darkness.

When he was out of sight, Josie threw a few bills down, including a generous tip, and packed away her notebook. She slid from the booth, quickly making her way outside. When the rubber soles of her shoes hit the sidewalk, she breathed a little easier. Out here, she could disappear again. Out here, she was anonymous.

Josie turned to make her way home but was met by a familiar body leaning against the building. She sucked in the crisp air, almost choking, as his eyes worked themselves up from her feet. Even after all this time, he recognized her.

“You,” he whispered, curls of smoke escaping through his lips.

“Those things will kill you,” Josie said, knowing her words were filled with hypocrisy.

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to quit.”

Tristan dropped his cigarette, crushing it under the toe of his shoe, before shoving his hands deep into his pockets. Before him stood a girl full of secrets and history, and he knew that she was alone in the world. He took two steps toward her, expecting she would retreat. He was wrong.

Josie trembled with some feeling that she didn’t recognize. Her head felt light and her legs became shaky under the weight of this moment. He moved closer, his beautiful face displayed caution. She wasn’t afraid though. Their long-awaited reunion outweighed any unease. Without thought, Josie lifted her hand toward him, wanting to make sure he was real. She had no doubt that her mind could invent his presence just to mess with her. She slid her fingers along his jaw. It felt like warmed stones and sandpaper. Eventually, Josie rested her palm against his face, and he let her.

Tristan leaned into her touch. Their eyes held firm, locked on each other without apology. This bond, this connection was undefined but consuming. In the familiar moonlight, their breathing had become synchronized and the rest of the world fell away. Tristan needed to say something but feared that it would end the fragile moment. He took the chance anyway.

“I’m Tristan.”

“Josie,” she replied.

A long, silent moment stretched between them. Tristan’s brows dipped in confusion as her face morphed into a younger one in his mind, a smiling one. He considered the familiar eyes, measuring them against the dark and guarded ones before him now. Like a forceful blow knocking the breath from his body, he connected Josie to the girl who had haunted his memory for the past eight years.

“You look just like a girl I used to know. McKenzi Delaune,” Tristan said. “But that’s impossible.”

Josie, not having heard that name for so long, dropped her hand and looked down at the sidewalk. She didn’t associate with that girl anymore, she hadn’t for years. Fear clawed at her chest as she wondered how much she should say. Something pulled the confession from her.

“I used to be her,” she answered.

“I thought you were dead.”

GRAB YOUR COPY:

Amazon US → https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CW1B7HPM

Amazon CA → https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B0CW1B7HPM

Amazon AU → https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B0CW1B7HPM

Amazon UK → https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CW1B7HPM

The post Beautiful Addictions appeared first on Season Vining.

Avery Daniels is Off Limits, the third and final book in the Romance in the City Series, is now available. Follow Sundia’s journey through discovering her love (and hate) of interning in a professional kitchen while trying to resist a very forward Avery Daniels.

The heart wants what it wants…convenient or not.

Instead of winning a prestigious cooking competition, Sundia Sharma won infamy by breaking her tailbone on television. Thinking her culinary dreams are over, she prepares to head back to her corporate accounting job. That is, until a world-famous celebrity chef, impressed by her innovative recipes, offers her an internship at his new restaurant. It’s Sundia’s last shot to prove to herself—and her family—that she has what it takes. If only her crush wasn’t the chef’s personal assistant…and her new roommate.

With a love ‘em and leave ‘em reputation, Avery Daniels is practically famous—perhaps infamous—as far as West Coast lesbians go. As the right-hand woman to a celebrity chef, Avery barely has time to breathe, let alone do dinner or dates. She prides herself on staying cool in all situations, but something about Sundia gets under her skin—and in the stone-cold heart she denies having.

Sundia can’t afford any more mishaps—or temptations—and firmly friend zones Avery. But staying apart gets more challenging as both their walls slowly crumble in and out of the kitchen.

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The post Avery Daniels is Off Limits is LIVE! appeared first on Season Vining.

Here’s a sneak peek at Chapter One of Can’t Stand the Heat, a queer rom-com that takes place during the heat of a reality cooking competition. If you Can’t Stand the Heat, get out of the kitchen.

Chapter One

“Good Luck, asshole.” Reading the loopy script sentiment written in blue icing over rainbow sprinkles makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I swipe my finger through the icing and hum as the creamy texture coats my tongue.

“Sorry, Ryan,” Rupert, our CEO, says. “Penny was in charge of the cake.”

“I figured as much. I am living for this cake though. I couldn’t have done it better myself.”

“Well, I bet you’ll have your chance to find out,” Misa says, raising one perfectly manicured brow.

“Yeah, Mr. Big-Shot TV Star,” Penny chimes in. Her lime-green skirt billows out as she twirls around Misa. Her energy is as vibrant as her outfit and such a contrast to Misa’s monochromatic power suit. Those two are the yin and yang to lesbian love—it just works.
Rena, the office’s fearless receptionist, still wearing her headset as if she’s waiting for my drive-thru order, snags a slice of cake from the table. “I don’t like sprinkles,” she says before devouring the entire thing in three bites. I don’t tell her that sprinkles are mostly made of corn syrup and wax with almost no taste.”

“Taking a look around the office and all the crepe paper decor, I grin. The fluorescent lighting and corporate carpet do nothing to diminish the festive atmosphere. Scanning the food covering the conference room table, I am disappointed but not surprised to find most of it store-bought. We live in Manhattan. A city with access to some of the freshest and most exotic ingredients and these people can’t be bothered to even try. Très tragique. Though it is New York and most of them may not even have more than a one-burner hotplate and six inches of counter space for cooking.

There are chocolate croissants bought from the bodega two blocks away—like I wouldn’t recognize the packaging. I eat breakfast there once a week. I see a charcuterie board that the boss splurged on, a smoked salmon dip from Zabar’s, a twelve-pack of Vegan Double Chocolate Chunk cookies from Insomnia, chips and salsa from Rosa Mexicano, and a few items that actually look like they came from someone’s kitchen.

Still, I am drawn back to the very festive, very large cake. “What did you guys do?” I ask the
room. “Search for the gayest cake in Manhattan? It’s very extra, so consider me flattered.”

“Not everything is about you,” Penny says with a flippant wave of her hand.

I scan the room and gesture to the large banner with my name printed on it. “This party is
literally about me.”

Still, I am drawn back to the very festive, very large cake. “What did you guys do?” I ask the room. “Search for the gayest cake in Manhattan? It’s very extra, so consider me flattered.”

“Not everything is about you,” Penny says with a flippant wave of her hand.

I scan the room and gesture to the large banner with my name printed on it. “This party is literally about me.”

“Well, I don’t know why you queers have to claim everything rainbow,” she says with a crooked smirk.

“You queers?” I ask. “Bish, you’re gayer than me.”

She laughs and slaps my shoulder. “No one is gayer than you. Now, move it,” Penny says, bumping me out of the way to grab a piece of Flour Shop’s six-layer-rainbow-vanilla cake with cream cheese frosting and colored candies exploding from the center. “Don’t stand between me and desserts unless you want to catch these hands.”

I throw my arm around Penny’s shoulders and squeeze her tight into my side. “I love how you mask your obvious grief with violence, Penny. It’s okay to admit that you’re devastated that I’m leaving. I know you’re going to miss me.”

She grunts and blows a red curl from her eyes. “Maybe. But I definitely will not miss your insane spreadsheets. Or those color-coded project calendars. Or the way that bouffant coif atop your head never moves. I mean, how much product is in there anyway?”

My hand reaches up to smooth over my perfectly styled hair. “Hag.”

“Cockalorum.”

“I don’t know what that means, but the first syllable sounds promising,” I say, releasing Penny from my grip.

She shoves a bite of cake into her mouth, frosting and sprinkles painting her smiling lips. The next bite she holds in the air for Misa, who gladly accepts. As much as we clown, those two really are the sweetest. I love their love. Watching them come together last year was the best Showtime-worthy lesbian dramedy I’ve ever seen. What those girls have is certainly a far cry from anything I’ve ever experienced. My love life is like trying to find original genetic features on a Kardashian. It’s just not there.

It’s not that I don’t dream of finding the right guy and settling down someday, but I’m young and still figuring out who I am. There’s certainly no white picket fence and nuclear family in my future, but a nice two-bedroom on the Upper West Side with a wet bar and a hypoallergenic dog to lounge in the sunlight pouring in from floor-to-ceiling east-facing windows sounds nice.

Still, there are so many steps between here and there that it seems impossible. I’d settle for a man who loves me, doesn’t want to change me, someone who excites me and challenges me. I’d love someone who reads autobiographies and doesn’t mind a good juice cleanse, while also appreciating a pepperoni Hot Pocket at three a.m. after too many shots of tequila. And while I’m not completely vain and superficial, it wouldn’t hurt if he looked like the love child of Harry Styles and Michael B. Jordan. Mostly, I just want someone to love me the way my grammy loves pie—borderline obsessive while respectful and fulfilling.

Working for an NYC advertising agency has been a dream come true for this Southern boy. But last year’s adventure out to the West Coast to visit celebrity chef Marco Delgado’s new restaurant stirred something in me. As much as I love food and cooking, being around someone on that level just magnified my passion for it.

As we ate our way through Chef Delgado’s menu, I found myself inspecting the food while enjoying it. Not only was I obsessed with the taste, the mouthfeel, the presentation, but I also wanted to know how it was made. I wanted to sit down with the chef and question him on his technique, his flavors, and the inspiration behind the dishes. Being there made me realize that cooking could maybe be more than a hobby for me—a master’s degree in Marketing & Communications from the University of North Carolina be damned.

“Oh my God, Ryan!” Kendra shouts from across the conference room. “Did you make these samosas? Freaking delicious.”

I wave my fork at her. “Thanks, doll. They are like little pockets of potato heaven wrapped in pastry. My secret is roasting and grinding the carom seeds into a powder before adding them to the dough.”

Her face falls, and a blank expression stares back at me. “Whatever.”

“May I have your attention!” Rupert shouts. All conversations die down. He stands in front of the wall of glass looking out over Houston Street, the afternoon sunlight creating a halo around his $400 haircut.

“Thank you. We’re celebrating Ryan today, to send him off with all our love, appreciation, and well-wishes. Our favorite executive assistant has earned himself a place on a new cooking competition show and we couldn’t be more proud.” He raises his plastic champagne flute and gives me a warm smile. “Good luck, and don’t make an ass of yourself on national television.”

I chuckle and swallow down a sip of bubbly. It’s cheap, but still tasty. “Thank you. And I promise to keep my ass to myself.”

“For the first time in his life,” Penny adds. Everyone laughs and I stick out my tongue.

“Says the girl who slept her way through seven countries in twelve days.”

Penny’s face falls, her blue eyes blinking slowly. “How did you know that?”

“Would you two behave?” Misa begs. Poor Misa is always having to play the adult when it comes to Penny and me. It must be exhausting. But something about that girl reduces me to a six-year-old boy getting teased for wearing his momma’s pearls to first grade. Don’t laugh. They were the perfect complement to my knock-off Birkin bag.

A few people from HR wander over, making small talk about the weather when I know what they really want to know.

“Go on,” I say. “Ask me for details about the show.”

“Oh my God,” one girl says. “Can you get me on the show too?”

“Are you going to be in Hollywood? Will you see celebrities?” another girl asks.

“Do you get to eat all the food you make?” Marv from accounting asks. Everyone turns to look at him. “What? It’s a legit question. Food waste is a serious offense in this country.”

“All we’ve been told is that I will be part of a group of home cooks competing for a prize—$250,000 cash, a complete set of professional-grade kitchen appliances, and a feature in Get Cooking Magazine.” I squeal at the thought of having my recipes and my face on the glossy pages of a magazine. “Of course, I’ll want to pre-approve all photos and fonts used in the layout, but my agent will help negotiate that.”

“You have an agent?” Mark asks.

“Not yet.”

“How did you land a spot on a television show?” someone asks. “Was it hard?”

“It was practically cosmic,” I say. “I had just called home to check in with my mom. After I told her about this amazing deal on some Balmain jeans I found at Saks—they’re these gorgeous ribbed slim-fit jeans that make me look like I take leg day at the gym very seriously.” Rena clears her throat and sighs. “Sorry. My mother tells me that my grammy is thinking about closing her restaurant. With the economy and the local food scene booming in Asheville, she’s being left behind. I practically died.”

“That’s tragic,” Rena says, shaking her head. “We have to save our family’s history.”

“Exactly,” I answer. “That place is an icon in Asheville. It’s been around for forty years. Every happy childhood memory I have is there. Anyway, the next day I saw an ad online for a new show called The Heat—and more importantly, the prize money. I live for cooking and everything food, so I figured why not?”

“How did they pick you?” Rena asks. “I mean, obviously you’ve got the looks with your perfect hair and blue eyes. Not to mention an ass you could bounce a quarter off of. But you’re in your what? Mid-twenties? It’s all downhill from here.”

“Umm, thanks?” I say, unsure how I feel about Rena’s affection. “I got one of my neighbors, a film student at NYU, to help me with my entry. My application video was fire! I showed my cooking techniques and my major big-city life. I explained that I want the money to help save my grammy’s restaurant back in North Carolina and what an inspiration she is to me.”

“That’s sweet,” Rena says. I sip my champagne and smile as nostalgia washes over me. Images of tiny aprons and standing on upturned soup pots to see over the counter flash through my mind like a vintage home movie. I can practically smell the biscuits baking.

Every memory, every bit of my love for cooking comes from my grammy. From the time I could hold a whisk that woman included me in every part of her kitchen. She was never afraid of me making a mess or ruining her recipe. Grammy has always had the patience of a saint. She saw something in me and nurtured my love of cooking; she encouraged me to create and invent in her kitchen. And she always ate what I made. Even when it was bad.

“That woman taught me everything I know, and she is the reason I am so fierce in the kitchen. Anyway, I did all of this while serving up my obvious charm and winning personality. When they called for the first interview, I was gagging!” Nothing but silence and confused expressions. “Shocked, y’all! I was excited.”

“Ohhhh,” the group answers in unison.

“After three more interviews, a background check, blood test, personality assessment, medical history forms, credit check, and an online cooking quiz, I was in!”

“Wow,” Rena says. “I bet you’ve been in the kitchen practicing nonstop.”

“Uh, not really. But I have curated every outfit—including accessories—for the show and have mapped out a serious shopping day in Beverly Hills while I’m there.”

“Hashtag priorities,” Penny mumbles from behind me. “Look, I’ve already told people about the show and that I know you. Don’t get on there and embarrass me.”

“Yes, because it is all about you.” I roll my eyes and address the group in front of me. “I already know how to cook,” I point out. “I just want to make sure that I look good while doing it.”

When the champagne is gone and the celebration winds down, I make my way back to my desk. I take out the binder I’ve created for whichever poor soul takes my place. Turning to the last page, I leave one final list of notes.

1. Make friends with Rena. She is the eyes and ears of this entire company and will spill the tea on anyone who crosses her.
2. Keep snacks in airtight containers. I’m not saying it’s in danger from rodents, but this is New York and these swole CrossFit rats will climb to the twenty-eighth floor in search of food.
3. If Miss Ito wears her black peep-toe Christian Louboutin Very Prive shoes, you should take cover and stay out of her way. Only speak when spoken to and make yourself scarce.
4. Stick to the color-coded folder system I have in place. Review the spreadsheets I set up in Google Drive. Learn them, live them, love them. Miss Ito does not like change.
5. When Miss Ito asks you to order dinner because she’ll be working late, make sure to order for yourself too. You are also working late.
6. Her coffee is Extra-Hot Grande Skinny No-Foam Latte. If you go to the Starbucks on the corner of W Broadway and Houston, they will get it right every time. Good luck.

Glancing at my watch, I know that it is time for goodbyes. First, I say goodbye to Rena and then I make my way through the accounting department, HR, design, and our CEO.

“Ryan!” he says. “Come in. Is it that time already?”

I take a seat in front of his desk, my eyes landing on a box of cigars on his bookcase. “I’m afraid it is.”

Rupert kicks his feet up onto his desk and folds his hands over his stomach. “It truly has been a terrific couple of years having you here. I don’t know how we will replace you.”

I lean forward and lower my voice. “You mean you have no idea how you will find another person who can handle Miss Ito.”

Rupert laughs so loudly that it echoes off the walls. He drops his feet and leans over the desk. “Between you and me? I have no idea how I will find another person who can handle Miss Ito. You have a talent, sir. You will be missed.” He holds out a hand and I give him mine with a firm shake. “Call me if you ever need a reference.”

I make my way back to my desk and knock before entering Misa’s office. Penny is draped sideways in an armchair while Misa works at her desk.

“Okay, ladies. I’m about to pack up and head out for the last time.” Penny and Misa both give me a sad frown. Penny pokes out her bottom lip and stands, holding her arms wide open.

“Give us a hug, darling.”

I wrap her up tight. Her wild red curls tickle my nose. She smells like lavender and coconut. “I’m gonna miss you, Pen. Thanks for keeping me sane this past year.” She nods and squeezes me tighter. “Whoa. Like I knew you had huge jugs, but those things are so big they could headline Vegas.”

“I know, right? You’ll be hard-pressed to find this kind of perfection in California,” she says, releasing me and waving a hand along the curves of her body.

“Girl, eww.” I roll my eyes. “Because so much perfection comes out of Jersey.”

“Will you two give it a rest for once?” Misa says, squeezing between Penny and me. She takes my hands in hers. Her slender fingers are soft in the palms of my hands, and I realize that I don’t think we’ve ever touched each other purposely before. Not a hug or a handshake. Is that possible?

“It’s been a dream, boss.” I blink a few times to keep from shedding tears in Misa Ito’s presence. I made it through three years of Hunger Games meets Office Space without crying, I’ll be damned if I break my perfect record now.

She shakes her head. “No, it hasn’t. But you truly are an amazing assistant, Ryan. I know I was hard on you, but I knew you could handle it. You’re going to be successful at whatever you do. Just remember us when you’re a famous television star.”

“Of course.” I mime flipping hair over my shoulder. “Also, these cheekbones are going to look sickening in high-def.”

Misa wraps herself around me, her arms pulling tight against my ribs. I’m shook. I don’t know what to do with my hands. They hover awkwardly in the air until finally resting on her back to return the hug. She sniffles and releases me, returning to her default uptight demeanor.

“Well, go on then,” she says. “Safe journey and all that.”

I return to my desk and slump down into the ergonomic chair that I’ve slept in exactly seven times in the last three years. I’ve made a lot of memories in this place. I’m going to miss the late nights, the amazing dark roast coffee at the deli next door, and even Create Slate’s sprinkle-hating receptionist Rena.

There aren’t many things left for me to pack. My Tiffany & Co. stapler, personalized pens, highlighters, and a few notebooks all find a home in my Prada shoulder bag. I don’t clean out the drawers, figuring I should leave my Misa Ito Assistant Emergency Kit behind for the next person. They’re going to need it.

As I step onto the sidewalk, I close my eyes and inhale deeply. I love it here and I’ll miss NYC during the time I’ll be filming. The plan is to return when all is done. But if I get the outcome I’m hoping for I may be heading to Asheville instead.

I still can’t believe this is really happening. What a journey it’s been from North Carolina to New York City, and now Los Angeles. Can I do this? Can I save my grammy’s restaurant and make a name for myself in the food world? I guess we’re going to find out.

APPLICATION FOR SEASON ONE OF THE HEAT

NAME: Ryan Tate
AGE: 25
CURRENT CITY: New York City, NY
HOMETOWN: Asheville, NC
OCCUPATION: Advertising Executive Assistant
FAVORITE CUISINE: Southern comfort foods and Thai
RATE YOUR KNIFE SKILLS (1–10): 8
RATE YOUR BAKING/PASTRY SKILL (1–10): 7
DIETARY RESTRICTIONS: None
HAVE YOU ATTENDED CULINARY SCHOOL? No
NAME TWO DISHES THAT YOU COOK THAT FRIENDS/FAMILY RAVE ABOUT: Panang Curry Beef, Boudin Arancini with Blackberry Honey Mustard
INSTAGRAM: @ryancooksitall
LEGAL U.S. RESIDENT? Yes
EVER BEEN CONVICTED OF A CRIME: Never been caught

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AUTOGRAPHED PAPERBACK

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At fourteen, Penny Winters fell out of the closet and in love with her best friend, Misa Ito. But before they truly understood their feelings, Misa and her family were gone. Over a decade later, when Penny secures a job at a top New York advertising agency, she has a second chance at first love when she’s introduced to the lead account executive, Misa.

But the road to happiness is riddled with potholes. Misa is still impossibly beautiful, but super cold. And Misa shows no recollection of Penny—the girl who once showed her how to skateboard, make daisy chain crowns, and shared every secret with. On top of that, there’s the huge engagement ring and photo of a handsome man on Misa’s desk. The butterflies Penny feels don’t seem one-sided, and she wants answers.

Penny has no idea that she’s begging for the impossible. Getting Misa to admit anything means asking her to do the impossible: put aside her career and her father’s expectations to give into her heart. Which has always belonged to Penny. 

PRE-ORDER: Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo Amazon UK

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The post Penny for Your Heart COVER REVEAL! appeared first on Season Vining.

Angela Lavelle has been in love since third grade. A heated argument over superheroes left her reeling in the wake of Logan Sawyer and his charming, know-it-all smile. After a lifetime in the same small town, this art geek still feels invisible to the guy she knows is destined for her. Finally, Angela is ready to give destiny a shove.

Logan Sawyer is adored by the whole town, even taking a place next to his father as a sheriff’s deputy, with aspirations of becoming a detective. When a certain redheaded waitress finally catches his attention, he wonders how he’s been so blind to Angela hiding in plain sight. But there’s the mysterious circumstances of her father’s death tugging at Logan’s detective instincts. Could Angela be the one to break the case wide open? Or will their secrets destroy any chance at a happily-ever-after?

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2X6LOuI

Amazon CA: https://amzn.to/2IIpAWS

Amazon UK: https://amzn.to/31pUThw

B&N: http://bit.ly/2X9EIWj

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2XI2wgT

iTunes: https://apple.co/2wP8PUf

Google Play: http://bit.ly/2TItoQ2

The post Fearless & Falling 99¢ Sale! appeared first on Season Vining.

So, I know things have been quiet from me for a while, but I promise I’ve been writing and working on new projects. I’ve finally written my first Romantic Comedy and I think you guys are going to LOVE it! Plus, there’s a cute corgi in it… so there’s that.

CHANGING LANES

Stella Locke is starting over. After an ugly divorce, she picks up her Southern roots and transplants to upstate New York where the air is crisp and no one knows her name. She’s an enthusiastic reader and just so happens to pick the quaint little spot where her favorite author lives. The small town of Grace welcomes Stella with open arms, a new job, and a smoking hot neighbor.

Lane Holder is a bit mysterious with his midnight jogs and brazen flirting. He’s got an adorable corgi named Chap who immediately steals Stella’s heart. By the time the two neighbors meet, Stella is blown away by Lane’s charm, maturity, and his obvious interest in her. Being out of the dating game for 20 years has filled her with self-doubt and the hurt endured from her marriage has made her want to keep that part of her past hidden. Still, Lane convinces her to take a chance on him.

Their relationship is a slow, steamy burn that seems to be building toward something special and permanent. But as with any relationship built on secrets, one wrong move and it all could come crashing down.

Changing Lanes will be Book #1 in a four book series set in the fictional town of Grace, New York. Publishing April 1, 2020.

Add it to your TBR list on Goodreads

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The post Changing Lanes Cover Reveal appeared first on Season Vining.

New to Kindle Unlimited: Season Vining’s Beautiful Addictions, Held Against You, Perfect Betrayal, and King Me!

If you’re a member of KU, you now have access to four of my novels. Each of them are standalones! Beautiful Addictions is a dark and angsty story about a girl with no past and a man who wants to be her everything. Held Against You is an epic road trip in which an infamous bounty hunter catches his girl and has to drive her cross country to deliver her to the authorities. Perfect Betrayal is Mean Girls meets The Italian Job, where Levi poses as the maintenance man of a wealthy family’s property in order to steal millions of dollars from them. And King Me is closer to the romantic suspense side of things, diving into the world of Voodoo in New Orleans and a race against time by the only two people willing to sacrifice everything.

So, if you have a Kindle Unlimited subscription, feel free to download and dive in. Happy reading!

The post Kindle Unlimited, here I come. appeared first on Season Vining.

What’s your favorite thing about summer?

For me, it’s the sunshine and summer sales!

My first three books have gotten new covers and I’m revealing them here to you today! To celebrate, ALL THREE BOOKS will be on sale for 99¢ for the month of June! So, if you’ve been thinking about downloading these gems, now’s the time to act.

Beautiful Addictions, Held Against You, & Perfect Betrayal all for 99¢ each through JUNE!

The post 99¢ Summer Sale appeared first on Season Vining.