In honor of July being the release month of One Night in Napa, I'm going to post a few excerpts each week, to whet your appetite. I'm also running a month-long contest, beginning Wednesday, and all you have to do to enter is leave a comment each day. And during release week itself (July 21-24), I'll be appearing as the guest blogger in a few different places, so you can enter more than once each day.
Want to know what you can win? Come on back later this week to find out!
In the meantime, here's a peek at the first time we meet the hero, Grant Walker:
Grant knew it was going to be a long day when he woke up and couldn’t remember the name of the woman lying beside him. His head throbbed. His stomach roiled. Late morning sun slanted across his face, and he squinted. He lifted himself onto one elbow and ran one hand over his stubbled jaw, then rolled over and stared at a digital clock he didn’t recognize.
He heard the sound again, the one that had jerked him from sleep. Somewhere across the room, his cell phone beeped. What the he—? Was it the weekend yet? Or was he supposed to be at work? Why did the room smell like vanilla? He groaned and struggled to pull sense from his sleep-muddled brain.
“Babe?” A manicured hand snaked out from the covers and caressed his bare chest. “Everything okay?”
Babe? He blinked, and the room swam into focus. “Um, yeah.” He slipped from between satin sheets, planted one foot on a throw rug, and ended up on his ass next to the bed.
He swore under his breath and pulled himself up. The room was small, decorated mostly in pinks and lavenders. A collection of candles sat on a pink-and-white dresser across the room, and for one horrifying moment, he thought a Hello Kitty stuffed animal stared at him with black plastic eyes. He shook his head and looked again, and the cat changed into a pink dragon with wings. Still a stuffed animal, though. He kept his gaze on the ground so he didn’t see any others. Near the door, his keys, phone, and boxers lay in a heap beside a leopard print bra and something made of clingy red fabric.
Grant licked his lips and silently called himself a few choice words. Again. I did it again. Maybe his father was right, after all.
He searched the bedroom until he found the golf shirt and shorts he remembered wearing the night before. Shots of tequila, he recalled. And a blonde at the end of the bar with a gorgeous rack and pouty lips who wouldn’t stop staring at him. His two vices, served up neatly at Mick’s, the local watering hole conveniently located at the end of his block.
“I’m late. Really late.” Now he knew what day it was, because he only hit Mick’s for their Thursday night wing special, which meant it was Friday. The day of his final interview with Francesca Morelli. And his last chance to please his father or lose his job, condo, and sports car in one fell swoop.