Category: book tour

Having
spent most of their lives dreaming about leaving their sleepy village
and travelling the world, Delin Kerny and Fennic Attleford never
thought that one day they would be forced to flee their town in order
to save their lives. Everything changes when they discover the fabled
Star Silver sword and learn that there are some who want the weapon
for themselves. Hunted by a ruthless mercenary, the boys run from Fel
Darrins and are forced into the adventure they only dreamed
about.

Ever
ashamed of the horrors his kind let loose on the world the last mage,
Dakeb, lives his life in shadows. The only thing keeping him alive is
his quest to stop the Silver Mage from reassembling the crystal. His
chance finally comes through the hearts and wills of Delin and
Fennic. Dakeb bestows upon them the crystal shard, entrusting them
with the one thing capable of restoring peace to Malweir.

Goodreads* Amazon

Christian
W. Freed was born in Buffalo, N.Y. more years ago than he would like
to remember. After spending more than 20 years in the active duty US
Army he has turned his talents to writing. Since retiring, he has
gone on to publish 17 military fantasy and science fiction novels, as
well as his memoirs from his time in Iraq and Afghanistan. His first
published book (Hammers in the Wind) has been the #1 free book onKindle 4 times and he holds a fancy certificate from the L Ron
Hubbard Writers of the Future Contest.

Passionate
about history, he combines his knowledge of the past with modern
military tactics to create an engaging, quasi-realistic world for the
readers. He graduated from Campbell University with a degree in
history and is pursuing a Masters of Arts degree in Military History
from Norwich University. He currently lives outside of Raleigh, N.C.
and devotes his time to writing, his family, and their two Bernese
Mountain Dogs. If you drive by you might just find him on the porch
with a cigar in one hand and a pen in the other.

Half of the Goblins were dead before the rest knew what was happening. They scrambled for cover,
spitting a futile volley back in return. Only three Goblins were alive by the time the Gnaal burst from
cover. The elm stand exploded in a hail of fire and splinters. A terrible roar shook the ground as the
decaying monster stormed into the thick of the battle. Fennic saw death searching him out.
Phaelor screamed to be drawn. To exact revenge and finish the job already begun. Dead bodies wereflung recklessly aside and crushed under the Gnaal’s advance. Blaron did exactly as he was told. His eight
men withdrew as fast as they could before the great beast spotted them. Hallis wasn’t so fortunate. The
Gnaal’s rotting head turned his way and those vile eyes locked on the sergeant. The Gnaal smiled and
started towards the ridge.
The recruits broke and ran in fear. Some stood petrified. Hallis wished he could find a place to hide for
this was the most horrific experience of his life. This went beyond the decadence and horrors on the
plains of Gren. This was pure and malevolent hatred. He shakily reached back and drew another arrow.
“Save it,” Norgen growled.
The Gnaal was coming closer.
Axe in hand, the Dwarf said, “Take your people and flee. Look after these two for me.”
“Where are you going?”
Norgen smiled grimly. “I’m tired of running from this bastard.”
He started to march out to meet the monster. Too many times he’d been forced to run, each time believing
he was free. The Gnaal kept coming. Each knew the only way to be free was for one of them to die.
Fennic watched in shock. Norgen was committing suicide to buy them time. Phaelor in hand, the youth
rushed off to stand with his friend. Delin pulled him back just in time.
“Wait! I’ve got a better idea,” he yelled.
The Gnaal’s heavy club missed Norgen’s head and smashed through a tree.
Delin took one his Goblin arrows and touched it to Phaelor’s glowing blade.
“What are you doing?” Fennic asked.
He still wasn’t sure. “Just watch.”
Norgen slashed and his axe bit deep into the Gnaal’s kneecap. They knew he couldn’t last long like this.
Norgen needed help. Fennic stared at the arrow as it started to glow. Hallis joined the fight then, moving
halfway down the slope and firing off the rest of his quiver. They were all dead if Delin’s idea didn’t
work. Delin aimed his arrow carefully and prayed to every god he knew. He didn’t want to die.
Then the Gnaal saw them. Saw the one thing it hated more than life itself. The sword! The golden light
was an insult to all Gren. It was an aberration to his master. The Gnaal remembered the pain it caused and
knew what to do. Roaring, it forgot its attackers and made for the two boys on the hill. The arrow flew
towards it.
Seconds slowed so that every action was deliberate and purposeful. Norgen hacked at the back of its leg.
Chunks of muscle and flesh flew away. Dark blood splashed around him and the Gnaal roared on. The
wielder had to die. Hallis slipped and fell in the ichors. Phaelor glowed bright enough to rival the sun.
And then the arrow struck. The enchanted missile struck the Gnaal in the eye with a fleshy smack and
plunged deep into its fever maddened mind. Golden light spread like a virus, seeping from every wound
and pore. The Gnaal tossed back its head and screamed before crashing to the ground. There it lay; Hallis
swore under his breath. The Gnaal lay unmoving, not breathing. Norgen stared wide eyed.
“You did it,” Fennic whispered in disbelief.
Delin would have smiled if his heart wasn’t in his throat threatening to explode. “We….we need to make
sure it’s dead.”
Trembling, they helped each other down to the corpse.
“Stay back,” Norgen warned.
He knew full well how the Gnaal liked to play dead. Too many friends died that way and he wasn’t
willing to let these two follow suit. Fennic stared into the monster’s lifeless eyes, expecting to learn the
true nature of horror. The feeling of dread was gone.
His thoughts were clear and concise again. The Gnaal was dead.
“It’s all right,” he reassured them.Holding Phaelor high, Fennic plunged the blade down through the dark heart of the beast. A quiet hiss
escaped the body. Together they watched the body melt away, folding in itself until nothing but a putrid
scar remained on the ground. A small piece of evil had left the world.

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Stratus
is mysterious, fun, and has a danger to him that Lily finds herself
drawn to. Learning that he is either a demon or an angel only makes
him more irresistible. But when strangers start turning up dead in
her town, Lily begins to fear her new found flame may be the
cause.

Caught
in a tempest of lies, secrets, and betrayals, Lily must discover who
Stratus really is behind his stormy eyes. Is it an angel who will win
her heart, or will it be a demon who stakes his claim?

From
an early age Miranda Brock has always loved fantasy and adventure
everything. Since she doesn’t live in a world of enchanting powers,
mythical beasts, and things unbelievable she has decided to write
about them. (Although, if you happen to see a dragon flying around,
do tell her.) Born in southern Illinois, where she still resides with
her husband and two children, she grew up running through the woods,
playing in creeks, and riding horses. What started out as writing
poetry grew into short stories and eventually led to her first novel,
Souls Discovered. Miranda lives in the country where she finds
inspiration in the simplicity and beauty around her. With the help of
a ridiculous amount of coffee and some good music she writes whenevershe gets a chance.

My crazy grandma always said thunder was caused by the clash of angels and demons, and
lightning was the loser being cast to earth. So when I got hit by lightning, I couldn’t help but
wonder, was I struck by an angel or a demon?
I grabbed my ragged messenger bag and slung it onto my shoulder as I opened the front door.
“Liliana, it’s going to storm. Where are you going?” My mom walked out of the kitchen, big
spoon red with sauce in hand. I stopped myself from rolling my eyes toward the ceiling, both at
her calling me Liliana and at her insistence to continuously treat me like I was eleven instead of
nineteen.
Looking over my shoulder at her, I said, “I won’t be gone long. Need anything while I’m out?”
She pursed her lips, and I could tell she was warring with telling me I should stay home but also
needing something from the store. “Well, I want to use some of this fresh sauce so I was going
to make pasta for supper. Some garlic bread would be nice.”
“I’ll pick some up.” I gave her a smile and stepped outside, letting the screen door slap shut
behind me. Even outside I could smell the basil and garlic scent of the sauce. My mother’s
homemade sauce was good enough to make an Italian chef sing.
Of course, when the only thing you ever grew in the garden was tomatoes, you learned how to
cook them. Why my mom never grew anything else was a mystery to me. At least there was
always plenty of sauce.
After giving my striped cat, Bo Jangles, a quick scratch behind the ears, I stepped off the porch
into the sunlight. Storm indeed. I gave the door on my white Chevy Cavalier a sharp yank. Ever
since an unfortunate collision with a deer put a large dent in it, it only opened with abuse. It
jerked open with a loud groan just enough for me to shimmy in. I tossed my bag into the
passenger seat, buckled up, and backed out of the driveway.
Our small two-story house was settled on the edge of Ware.
The name of my town always came to me with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. There
had been many times when people asked where I lived, and I said, “Ware,” and it had always
been followed by “Yeah, where?” followed by explanations of my ridiculous town name. I
sometimes wondered if a town existed anywhere by the name of Thare.I glanced at my fuel gauge and sighed. I headed to the only gas station in my smidge-under-
two-thousand-population town. It was two-thirty on a Friday, which meant Brantley would beworking. I wasn’t avoiding him, really. Still, when I pulled into the gas station, I hoped he would
be too busy inside to notice me.
No such luck.
“Hey, Lils! What’s up?” he said as the door shut behind him. Leaning against my car as I
pumped gas, I turned to look at him. I could admit my on-again, off-again ex was handsome. He
had one of those strong jawlines peppered with a day of stubble and a head of dark blond
messy hair. I found myself lost in his blue eyes on many occasions.
Brantley had been ridiculously persistent since he had tried to kiss me during nap time in
kindergarten. We grew up going on playdates at each other’s houses, shared a first and very
awkward kiss in middle school, dated throughout high school, and did the whole senior prom
thing together, but it never felt like more than a friendship. Despite breaking things off with him
—again—merely three months before, Brantley was always as flirtatious as ever. I knew he’d
date me again if I ever said yes.
“Not much,” I told him. “Going for a little drive then stopping by the store.”
“Oh yeah? Where you headed?” He settled beside me, his shoulder nearly brushing mine.
I jerked my head toward the west side of town. Once you passed the last few houses and drove
out past the several miles of fields, the land started to rise into hills covered in dense forest. The
Shawnee National Forest offered some great places for hiking, and there was one spot in
particular I had in mind, especially if there really was a storm moving in.
Brantley let out a short laugh. “You go up there so much, you really should move there.”
“And miss all of the excitement around here?” I asked with a smile. He shook his head and
straightened as I twisted my gas cap back on.
“Well, have fun.” He glanced dejectedly back toward the front door of the gas station. “I gotta get
back to work.”
I nodded and reached for my door handle. Brantley grabbed my shoulder.
“Hang on. Do you want to go bowling tomorrow night?”

I groaned inwardly. “Brantley, you know we—”
“Not just with me. Wyatt and Austin will be there, too. You can bring Levi.”
“I’ll ask her about it,” I answered, deflecting. I knew I could always use the excuse that Levi
didn’t want to go and I didn’t want to be stuck with a bunch of men all night. “I’ll see you around,
Brantley.”
“Yep, bye Lils.”
My car crawled through town. I wasn’t really in the mood to be pulled over by Officer
McCormick, though I knew Brantley’s dad would let me off with a warning. When the small
houses, with their quaint porches, large shade trees, and unmanicured landscaping, grew
farther apart, I pressed my foot harder on the gas pedal.
I jabbed angrily at the A/C button as I left Ware behind me. It stubbornly refused to work, so I
gave up and rolled the window down. All I got was a rush of warm southern Illinois air catching
at my dark brown and blue locks.
It was a nice drive through the country, the fields of corn waving at me in the breeze as I passed
by. Several miles down the road, I took a left off the highway and onto a county road. This rose
steadily, winding and twisting into the hills I loved. I passed the old Baptist church beside the
cemetery and then took a right next to a sign that read “Gnarled Branch Trail.” The tires
crunched down the narrow gravel road and I did my best to avoid the potholes.
I reached my destination: a tiny parking area next to the beginning of the trailhead. Turning off
my car, I grabbed my bag, pulled my hair back in a ponytail, and headed out in the opposite
direction of the trail. I stepped through the undergrowth, grinning as I imagined my mother’s
voice telling me I was going to step on a rattlesnake or copperhead traipsing through the woods
like I was. The brush and undergrowth grew sparse and my way opened up. I found my
personal little path easily, hardly
more than a deer trail, and followed it upward.
My dirt path began to turn rocky and then I was picking my way around large boulders and rocky
outcrops. I squeezed up a tiny crevice, shifting my bag so it wouldn’t catch. Reaching the top, I
pulled myself up, smiling. This was my secret place.
The land was flat like a shelf sticking out of the hills. It was mostly hard rock with wisps of grass
sprinkled here and there. I sat down cross-legged and stared out. The view rose and dipped in
forested hills before giving way to a strip of floodplain bordering the twisting Mississippi River in
the distance.
Overhead the sky was growing overcast with a thick band of dark clouds moving in from the
west. Guess my mom was right; it was going to storm. I grinned.
Shrugging my bag off, I set it beside me. I dug around and pulled out my favorite camera. It was
an older model that I had spied in a pawn shop window a few years ago. I still favored film over
digital. There was just something about the click and whir of the camera and the challenge of
capturing perfection without the aid of manipulation. I gazed out at the expanse of land beyond
me and lifted my camera. Then, I lost myself.
My camera clicked as I captured images almost without thought, catching the lines of the hills,
their gentle swoops and dips. The ribbon of river in the distance carved through the earth. The
wisps of cloud overhead and the tall and commanding presence of the incoming thunderheads.
Dark shades of ravines and the light of the faraway water mixed with various shades of gray and
green.
It wasn’t until I felt a few drops of water on my arm that I brought myself back to my senses. I
tilted my head back.
“Oh, great.” I’d sat there too long.
I quickly wrapped my camera in plastic before stuffing it into my bag. I got up, shifting my feet to
encourage circulation. Wind swirled around me, carrying with it the sweet, earthy aroma of fresh
rain. It would be a miracle if I made it back to my car without getting soaked. The rumble of
thunder and distant rush of incoming rain confirmed my thoughts. How had the storm crept up
on me so fast?
Pivoting, I darted toward the spot to make my way back down and then I couldn’t see through
sudden white. Pain lanced through me from the inside out as my skull rocked with the loud,
earth-shaking boom. The sound was gone just as quickly as the blinding light.
I blinked my eyes, wondering why in the world I was staring up at the sky and letting rain drip on
my face. Something hard and wet was beneath me. Moving my fingers, I found the gritty surface

of the ground. It felt as if it were swaying slightly. How did I get on the ground? I pulled in a
shaky breath, trying to gather my scattered thoughts, and it took me a moment to realize I had
to have been struck by lightning. There was no other explanation. Rain continued to pelt my
face. I felt relieved that I wasn’t just a scorch mark on the hard rock surface. As I stayed
motionless, a sudden thought occurred to me.
My crazy grandma always said thunder was caused by the clash of angels and demons, and
lightning was the loser being cast to earth. So when I got hit by lightning, I couldn’t help but
wonder, was I struck by an angel or a demon?
I started to sit up with a groan, my muscles protesting as if they had gone through a strenuous
workout. Shaking my head, I thought about my grandma’s words. She had always been an
eccentric with the most outrageous ideas. Demons and angels being cast to earth? What a
ridiculous…
I blinked several times, and although I did have a buzzing sensation in my head, I was at least
eighty percent sure I wasn’t hallucinating. If my mind was lucid, however, then who was the man
lying not five feet away from me?

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Reeling
from a nasty divorce, Paige Reed wants to move forward, and leave the
past where it belongs – behind her. A spontaneous decision leads her
to a location set for a movie where she meets sexy Hollywood insider,
Kellen Richards.

 

Kellen’s
southern charm sweeps Paige off her feet, despite the hungry
paparazzi watching in the background. But when a tragedy proves to be
anything but accidental, he vows to protect Paige with every resource
at his beck and call.

While
Paige fights to find her place in his world, Kellen must engage in a
lethal game of chess, their lives and blossoming love at stake.

What
Readers are saying:

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With
no patience for gossip-reading fan girls, Grey is far from interested
in the youngest Reed sister. And a guy like Grey would never date
outside the elite Hollywood circles. That would be career
suicide.

However,when there’s a threat against the Reed sisters, Grey feels compelled
to protect the spunky and adorable woman who somehow wiggled her way
into his heart. With danger closing in, Grey must save the sisters
and prove to Lil that there’s more behind the glamour and glitz. But
will she ignore the fake tabloids for a chance at real love?

Amazon
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Determined
to prove herself, Trinity Richards goes against her family’s wishes
and finally makes the move to Los Angeles. Knowing her brothers
monitor every move gives Trinity the courage to fulfill her dreams.
But now, her brothers’ enemies have a new target: Her.

Finding
solace at the bottom of a bottle, Tim Rhodes is still struggling with
his wife’s death. Encountering the beautiful and assertive Trinity
puts him on edge. After all, he has no intentions of ever falling in
love again. Love only breeds pain–and too much of it. The last thing
he needs is another woman in his life.

When
Trinity’s life is threatened, Tim’s torn between his past and what
could possibly be his future. Now, it’s up to him to confront his
demons and fight for the woman he wants. Can he bury his pain and
save Trinity before it’s too late?

Amazon
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RM
Alexander is an author of romantic suspense. With driven characterswho suffer the worst kinds of betrayals, RM’s novels promise a good
read with unexpected twists and turns.

When
she’s not writing, RM spends time with her husband and two children.
She loves to travel, especially to Walt Disney World, and is addicted
to orange juice and Ghiradelli chocolate. She is often found on
Twitter and Facebook chatting with other authors and readers.

Paige sauntered past tables of clinking silverware, murmurs and crunching fresh bread. Her
stomach rolled. Full or not, she may have to indulge further. It’d been awhile since she had a
dinner that tasted this good.
She edged to a long table dressed in flowers and several punch bowls full of pretty pink liquid.
Picking a glass from the far end, Paige reached for the ladle of the closest crystal bowl.
“Please, allow me.”
She glanced up, hand hovering above the silver ladle. “I, uh, thank you.”
Paige held a cup as Grey Richards poured the punch. “You and your friend were at the shoot
today, right?”
She nodded. “Yes, for a little while. During the car chase.”
“I remember. That’s great. I love meeting my biggest fans.”
A soft smile dressed her lips. “I can’t say I’m your biggest fan. I mean … I … I enjoy your movies,
but … I …” The heat in her cheeks burned her flustered nerves. “I’m sorry, I … ” She took a sip of
the punch. A polite retreat was all she needed.
Grey laughed and tucked a hand in the tuxedo pants. The material flowed and hung, obviously
not a rental.
A man like him probably has a closet full of top of the line tuxedos, she thought. She didn’t want
to venture a guess at the price tag that came with each one. It was likely to be more than she’d
make in a lifetime at her job.
“Honesty. I like that. Don’t get a lot of it where I come from.”
Paige kept her gaze trained on the cup, heat spreading like wildfire.
He leaned back a little, gaze traveling up and down Paige’s body, feet to head, and back again.
Paige shifted her weight to one foot, then the other.
“You’re uncomfortable around me.”
She met the trademark gray-charcoal eyes. “I imagine you get that a lot.”
Steady in his stare, she felt like he was drinking her in. “What’s your name?”
She drew in a steadying breath. “Paige Reed.”
“Paige Reed.” He watched her. “Paige Reed.” He turned her name in the smooth steely voice
every fan knew well. “Pretty name for a pretty lady.”
What a line. But he doesn’t need practice with lines, she bet. She took a sip of punch, thankful
the trumpeting thought didn’t pass through her lips. “Thank you.”
“So,” he said, taking a drink of punch, “what kind of movies do you enjoy if you’re not my biggest
fan?”
She swallowed hard and coughed. “I didn’t say I didn’t like your movies.”
“No, of course, you didn’t.” He turned to the punch and poured a second cup, took a drink. “You
wouldn’t admit that much, would you? I ask again, what are your favorite movies? I bet you’re a
romance fan.”
“And if I am?”
He chuckled, hand held up in retreat. “Nothing wrong with romance. I’ve been looking at a
couple scripts myself, but nothing’s come my way that has caught my
attention. What’s your favorite, if you had to choose?”
” Pride and Prejudice. The one with Keira Knightley.”
He nodded. “Historical romance, huh?”
Her turn to nod.
“Good film. Good cast. And I bet you’re wondering what the actors are like in real life?”
She smiled and shrugged. “No. You wouldn’t tell me even if I were, and really, I’m not a National
Inquiry kind of girl anyway. They’re just people, who happen to make good movies. And you,
you’re just another person who happens to make good movies.”
His smile widened. “I like that. And yet, when I first came over here, you struggled to talk to me.
If I’m just another person, why was that?”
She glanced over her shoulder to the table, where Lil stood, frozen and slackjawed. Paige
giggled.
“Something funny?” He glanced over her shoulder. “You’re friend looks like she might be a
National Inquiry kind of girl.”
Paige gritted her teeth. “My sister. She’s a good person, who just might be one of your biggest
fans. Are you that callous towards all your biggest fans?””Oh, no. I didn’t mean any offense.” He shifted his weight. “I should let you get back to your
sister. It’s been interesting talking to you, Ms. Reed.” He held out a hand.
“Nice talking to you, Mr. Richards.” Paige shook his hand, eyes widening as he brought the
back of her hand to waiting lips, eyes trained on her.
Wait. Men still do that?
A quick goodbye and he disappeared into the crowd at the front of the room.
Paige stood, hand hanging in the air, staring at his retreating figure

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Thomas
longs to escape the drudgery of farm life, dreaming of adventure and
running away from his demanding parents.

PlanetRemeon is on the brink of destruction, fighting a crippling disease
that threatens to wipe out their civilization.

Thrust
into their world, Thomas is caught in the middle of telepathic mind
games between the Day Watchers and the Night Dwellers.

Alliances
will be broken. Thoughts will be controlled. Will anyone survive?

I’ve
been writing in one form or another since I was a teenager. My love
of the Fantasy genre goes all the way back to elementary school when
I read The Hobbit for the first time – I’ve been hooked ever since. Icurrently live in Florida with my family, but love the state of
Virginia where I was born. My works include poetry, short stories,
and book two in my YA Fantasy series, Realms of Chaos, is now in
process.

You
can visit my website at www.jwgarrett.com to subscribe to my
newsletter and find out the latest updates regarding new releases and
works in progress.

THOMAS AWOKE WITH a jolt as the stench of urine and animal remains brought him to
the present. He sat up, disoriented and nauseous, and looked around anxiously to gain his bearings.
“Belle! Belle, answer me.” Nothing. No answer or even the faintest noise responded to his pleas.
Darkness enveloped him like a thick, suffocating blanket; breathing was difficult as he gasped for
air among the sick smells assaulting his senses. The now all-too-familiar feeling of panic rose in him
once again as his thoughts returned to his little sister and the strange ships in the sky, haunting
him. Feelings of fear and panic alternated within him, like being hot and cold when he had a fever.
His eyes adjusted somewhat to the darkness, and he made out small details around him. Using his
hands, he combed the walls for clues or any useful information.
His first instincts brought to mind visions of cold, clammy, dark caves. The walls were wet
and uneven, and appeared to be made of rock. He plodded his way around the perimeter, taking
small steps, looking for signs of an opening or exit. He marked his starting point by placing a foot-
long rock on the ground, close to the wall, so he would run into it and know when he had made it
all the way around. When he encountered the rock again, the only additional information he had
gained was that the structure was somewhat oval in shape and made of some type of rock, as he
had envisioned earlier.
After two more times around the space, he thought he felt cracks along the wall that could possibly be
where the door was located. He placed two more rocks at that juncture, identifying that space as well. A
chill came over him from the cool dampness of his surroundings, and he thrust his hands in his
pockets to stay warm. He found his pocketknife, flint and compass there, and he felt comforted but
knew these wouldn’t help him just now but later…maybe later. With every slight movement, his braces
clanked noisily, reminding him of their presence. That in conjunction with the fact that he could not
connect with Arista or Whisterly, made him question if he were actually on Remeon. All he could do
was remain where he was and hope he didn’t starve while he waited for his captors to make themselves
known.
Time passed slowly as he thought back on all that had happened in just a few short months.
Reflections from his stream of consciousness flowed unabated. Utmost in his mind were the
precariousness of his current situation and wondering where Belle was. But also everything else
that had happened to him recently which played a part in landing him right here. He had wished for
this, all of this. He had wanted adventure; he had wanted distance from his family— mainly his pa.
He had wanted to grow up on his own terms and had plans to make that happen.
Next, thinking back on his unexpected illness and the toll on his family, Thomas clearly saw in
his parents’ eyes, when he woke in the hospital, how much they loved and cared for him. But amid the
adventure and danger found on Remeon, he had felt needed in ways he had never experienced on the
farm. Could he really save another race? And would he sacrifice himself to do so?

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**Winnerof the

bestromantic comedy for the 2018 American Fiction Awards!

**

Clutch is
the laugh-out-loud, chick lit romance chronicling the dating
misadventures of Caroline Johnson, a single purse designer who
compares her unsuccessful romantic relationships to styles of
handbags – the “Hobo” starving artist, the “Diaper Bag”single dad, the “Briefcase” intense businessman, etc.  With
her best friend, bar owner Mike by her side, the overly-accommodating
Caroline drinks a lot of Chardonnay, puts her heart on the line,
endures her share of unworthy suitors and finds the courage to
discover the “Clutch” or someone she wants to hold onto.

“LOVED.
The perfect blend of sassy, smart and stylish!”

“This
book is absolutely hilarious!”

“I
thought the comparison to men and handbags was so
genius! Becker really knows how to write to her audience,
and this clever novel had me giggling throughout.”

Mimi Johnson was casually dressed in a brightly-colored blouse with enormous turquoise jewelry and
equally-oversized glasses. Despite that largesse, the only thing truly bigger than her personality (and her
bosom) was her handbag. Always perfectly matched to her clothing, shoes, and jewelry, she was like a
walking Chico’s advertisement, if you added forty years, forty pounds, and a Virginia Slims cigarette.
From her Mary Poppins-like bag, she pulled out a box, impeccably-wrapped in glossy pink paper with awhite grosgrain ribbon bow. A cigarette teetered between her two fingers while she produced a lung-
hacking cough.“Open it… <cough, cough> …sweetie. Open it,” she said to her seven-year-old great niece, Caroline, a
beautiful and vibrant girl with long blonde hair and oversized blue eyes.
Alive with anticipation, sweet young Caroline eagerly took the box and smiled up at Mimi. She gingerly
removed the ribbon, planning to save it for later. The glossy paper was of less interest and she ripped
through it quickly. She opened the box and gently lifted out a hot pink purse, adorned with pale pink
flowers and rhinestones. An enormous smile overcame her. Caroline nearly set her own hair on fire from
Mimi’s cigarette as she bounded into her aunt’s arms.
“Oh, thank you, Aunt Mimi. It’s lovely.”
And that was when Caroline’s love of handbags began. From big and loud ones that would make Mimi
proud to unimposing wristlets, from bowler bags to satchels; it didn’t matter if they were made of canvas
or calf-skin leather, were distressed or embellished with metal studs. Hell, she didn’t care if you called
them pocketbooks or purses. She just loved them all – almost as much as she loved Mimi.
By the time she was a junior in high school and well on her way to being class valedictorian, it was the
hundreds of bags Caroline owned that helped her conceptualize her ticket out of her suffocating small
Georgian town. She would design handbags. And it was Mimi who was her steadfast cheerleader.
“Caroline, sweetie… <cough, cough> …you find something you love and you just hold onto it.” It had
never mattered if Caroline was asking Mimi’s advice about a friend, lover, or career. The advice was
always the same: “Find something you love and hold onto it.”
Mimi’s words ever-present in her mind, Caroline headed to the Fashion Institute of Design and
Merchandising and spent four years in Los Angeles learning everything there was to know to pursue her
passion. Then, right out of college, she spent three years working in the design and marketing
departments of two of the world’s leading, high-end handbag designers.
She was schooled in beauty and how to accessorize the perfectly-coiffed women on the way to their
Botox appointments. But Caroline was pulled by the nagging feeling that the very person who had
inspired her career, Mimi, could never afford the bags she designed, even if Caroline used her generous
employee discount on Mimi’s behalf. And God forbid Mimi would ever accept one as a gift, always
preferring to give rather than receive. But Caroline believed there was no reason for anyone to be denied
the ultimate in accessories. She saw an untapped market of designing beautiful and affordable bags, but
she just wasn’t sure she was start-up potential. Again, it was Mimi who nudged her to learn the business
side of things and apply to MBA programs. When Caroline was accepted to Harvard Business School,
Mimi, of course, encouraged her.
“You’ve got this, sweetie. <cough, cough>,” she said. “It’s in the bag.”

• • •

Caroline was sitting in Financial Reporting and Control on her first day of Harvard classes (and yes, the
class turned out to be as boring as it sounded). That’s when she first eyed Mike, who was wearing a faded
pair of Levi jeans, a washed-out vintage Rolling Stones T-shirt, and Converse sneakers. He oozed
charisma. Turning her head away from him and back toward the front of the lecture hall, Caroline thought
that if he were a handbag, he would be a grey leather tote – confident and dependable, but not trying too
hard.
Mike surveyed the large lecture hall as he walked in, a Starbucks coffee cup in each hand. After
descending the steps slowly, he took a seat next to Caroline and planted one of the white and green cups

on her desk.
Flashing a wide, dimpled smile, which she mused he reserved for getting girls to drop their panties, he
said, “Here. You look like you’re going to need this.”
“Thanks,” she replied in a suspicious tone, turning her head sideways to look at him and raising an
eyebrow.
“I’m Mike,” he said, again flashing a smile and reaching out for a handshake.
“I’m Caroline. Thanks for the…”
“Latte.”
“Latte,” she confirmed. “Thanks. But just so you know, I’m not gonna sleep with you,” she said in an
apparent attempt to establish up front she wasn’t taken in by his obvious charm.
“I know,” he replied matter-of-fact.
Before she could respond, Professor Beauregard, a stout man with excessive eyebrows, spoke up. “Please
take note of where you are seated. I will send around a seating chart for you to mark your spot. This will
be your seat for the remainder of the semester.”
“Looks like we’ll be seatmates,” Mike said, grinning at her.
“Looks like it.”

• • •

About three months into the first semester, Caroline learned that her fun-loving, easy-going, new best
buddy Mike wasn’t exactly who he appeared to be.
A blanket of white snow dusted the Harvard grounds and it was a particularly slow day in another mutual
class, LEAD – Leadership and Organizational Behavior. Professor Moss, a frail man who weighed less
than his years, was droning on and on about establishing productive relationships with subordinates or
something to that effect. He initiated a discussion about what works better – the carrot or stick approach.
“Mr. Barnsworth,” he called, referring to his seating chart and scanning the room until he found Mike in
the fifth row. “What are your thoughts?”
“Well, it seems to me that good management is all about empathy and being able to enthuse and inspire
your staff. You know, appreciating them and respecting them. Showing you care,” he said, placing his
hand over his heart in a gesture of true compassion and concern. “And if they can’t get that through their
thick skulls, you fire ‘em,” he continued, drawing his finger across his throat.
Several students sitting around them started to chuckle while Caroline stifled a laugh. Mike looked around
the room and nodded his head, soaking in the appreciation of his sense of humor.
“Mr. Barnsworth,” said Professor Moss in a menacing tone, “I would have expected a better answer from
you, considering your family history.”
Confused by the conversation unfolding before her, Caroline leaned over and whispered to Mike, “What
is he talkin’ about?” Mike put up a hand to quiet her.
“Later,” he hissed.
Twenty minutes later, the two shared a bench outside Baker Library, the chill of winter causing Caroline
to pull her scarf closer around her neck.
“What was that all about?” she asked, scrunching up her nose in confusion.
Reluctantly, Mike began to speak. “My full name is Michael Frederick Barnsworth the Third. My family
owns a large brokerage firm in New York,” he confessed, unsure of how Caroline would react.
Caroline listened as she took in just how old money his family really was. Mike’s great, great, great, great
– actually it was hard to keep track of how many “greats” it went back – grandfather ran the first Bank of
the United States, which Congress chartered in the early 1800s. His family had advised presidents, dined
with royalty, and amassed a fortune that continued today through the Barnsworth Brokerage Firm.

“I’m the seventh person in my family to attend Harvard including my father, uncle, three cousins, and
grandfather, who was a classmate of Professor Moss,” he continued.
Surprised by this unexpected news, she joked, “So you’re just slummin’ with a simple Southern girl like
me – and makin’ me pay for drinks, mind you – until you go join the family business and marry someone
named Muffy…”
“That’s my family’s plan,” Mike laughed. “There’s even an office in the Woolworth Building owned by
my family, sitting empty, until I finish business school,” he said reluctantly.
“But…” she pressed, touching his hand gently, sensing the family plan may not actually be Mike’s plan –
though they had never discussed his plans before.
“I want to open a bar,” he said, matter of fact and looking her square in the eye.
Caroline’s head leaned back as she let out a raucous laugh. “You want to own a bar?” she questioned, her
shoulders shaking from laughter. “Now I get your goal to drink at every one of the six hundred bars in
Boston before you graduate.”
“Yup, it’s research,” he said emphatically.
“Research?”
“Yeah. Every time my parents call, which isn’t very often – they are usually off with their snobby society
friends or at Met Balls – I tell them I’m working hard and doing research.”
“Gotta give you credit. That’s pretty clever,” she replied, nodding her head.
“And true. If I’m going to open the best bar ever, I need to know what works and what doesn’t.”
“Okay. I get why you don’t want to be a wizard of Wall Street. But why a bar?” she asked, not
understanding his desire for the life of a bar back.
“My parents weren’t around a lot growing up. My father spent more time in the office than my mother
spent jetting between boutiques in Paris and ski chalets in Switzerland. And believe me, that was a lot,”
he confessed. Caroline looked down in her lap, her heart sinking at the thought of the small boy with the
winning smile being ignored by his family.
“I was pretty much raised by a series of au pairs. My favorite was Linnea who was nineteen when she
came from Sweden to live with our family. She was obsessed with Tom Cruise movies and we would
watch them all the time,” he explained, a wistful look on his face as he recalled fond memories.
“Cocktail!” Caroline exclaimed.
“Yup, I want to be the sole proprietor of a place where you can shake margaritas bare-chested,” Mike
laughed. “It’s going to be called The Last Drop,” he stated, not looking for her approval.
“Great name,” she admitted, nodding her head. “Especially when your folks drop kick you out of the
family.”
“I know. I’m preparing to be disowned, which is why I’m getting you used to buying the drinks,” he said,
flashing her a smile.
“Well with any luck my business will allow me to continue payin’ for drinks.”
“The purse thing?”
“Yes. The purse thing,” she said, mocking him. “I aim to start a line called Clutch, because it’s one of my
favorite handbag styles, and in honor of my aunt Mimi. She always says ‘Find somethin’ you love and
just hold onto it.’”
“Sounds like a smart lady.”

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