Jennifer Rae – Who's Calling The Shots? (страница 1)
In the darkness of the bar, with the slow, sexy beat of the music in the background, Jack was looking …
He saw her and smiled, and she steeled herself against the anxious flutter in her chest.
It looked thick and wavy and it was being held up over his forehead. Very nice hair.
His eyes. Dark and velvety. Chocolaty. Sexy. Bedroom eyes.
A lazy layer of dark stubble sat on his jaw. It made him look a little rougher, a little more manly—maybe even a little dirty.
Brooke swallowed hard and pulled at the collar of her shirt. She’d wanted to look sophisticated, in charge and in control. But now all she felt was exposed. She tried to cover herself up a little before pushing her lips into a wide smile and attempting to saunter towards him.
He smiled and said, ‘You look incredibly sexy tonight. Hot date?’
JENNIFER RAE was raised on a farm in Australia by salt-of-the-earth farming parents. There were two career options for girls like her—become a teacher or a nurse. Rather disappointingly for her dear old dad, she became neither.
All she’d ever wanted to do was write, but she didn’t have the confidence to share her stories with the world. So instead she forged a career in marketing and PR—after all, marketing and PR professionals are the greatest storytellers of our time!
But following an early mid-life crisis several years ago Jennifer decided to retrain and become a journalist. She rediscovered the joy of writing and became a freelance writer for some of Australia’s leading lifestyle magazines. When she received a commission to interview a couple of romance-writers for a feature article Jennifer met two incredible Australian authors whose compelling stories and beautiful writing touched her cold, cynical heart.
Finally the characters who had been milling around Jennifer’s head since her long years on the farm made sense. Jennifer realised romance was the genre she had to write. So, with little more than a guidebook borrowed from the local library and a you-can-do-this attitude, Jennifer sat down to release her characters and write her first romance novel.
When she’s not ferrying her three children to their various sports, musical endeavours and birthday parties, you can find Jennifer at the boxing gym, out to dinner with her friends or at home devouring books.
Jennifer has lived in New Orleans, London and Sydney, but now calls country New South Wales home.
Something that has always fascinated me is finding out why people make the choices they do and where their emotions stem from. Reality TV is supposed to be a fly-on-the-wall interpretation of real life, but often it’s not. It’s manipulated to increase drama and sex appeal.
This thought led me on to social media, and the way people use that to manipulate the way people interpret life. Often it’s through a filter, and supposedly there are only ‘good hair’ days. Modern dating has become an exciting but scary place. All it takes is a ‘like’ on Instagram and a couple of Snapchats and next thing you’re tearing each other’s clothes off on the floor.
We live in an age of filtered reality—and it ain’t changing any time soon. But I’m old school. I’d rather meet someone
Brooke and Jack’s involvement in a reality TV show skews the way they look at life, love and each other. It takes time spent alone with each other for them to realise that the only way to fall in love
Who’s Calling
the Shots?
Jennifer Rae
To my sisters from other misters:
Sonja Screpis, Carla Poole, Tiffany Steel and Julie Whittington.
Without you I’d understand nothing and laugh a lot less.
Massive love, my beautiful friends. x
Contents
Twelve pairs of long eyelashes blinked at Jack Douglas. Some of the women were smiling, and some looked as if they were about to burst into a blubbering mess of tears. It was time.
‘Congratulations, ladies. You’ve all made it.’
Squeals, screams and loud relieved sighs followed his announcement.
This day had started like the previous seven. A hundred women at his door, all wanting the same thing. A chance to meet their Perfect Match.
‘Excuse me.’
The squeals were subsiding and being replaced by excited chatter. Jack watched as the women—virtual strangers this morning—hugged each other. How did women do that? Go from open disdain to long-lost best friends in hours? He had known people for years without knowing their last name, let alone throwing his arms around them.
One of the lip-chewing women was in front of him, not hugging anyone. She was standing too close. He looked down. She was a petite woman—tiny, actually. So small he could possibly pick her up and carry her under one arm. Pretty. With a hopeful look in her big green eyes. He swallowed and gave himself a mental uppercut. Not your problem.
‘Yes?’