Clutch by Lisa Becker Book Tour and Giveaway :)
Clutch
by
Lisa Becker
Genre:
Chick-Lit, Romantic Comedy
**Winner
of the best
romantic comedy for the 2018 American Fiction Awards!
**
*
Now with five new bonus chapters *
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.
What
Reviewers Are Saying:
“LOVED.
The perfect blend of sassy, smart and stylish!”
Amazon
Bestsellers Liz Fenton & Lisa Steinke
“This
book is absolutely hilarious!”
Pretty
Little Book Reviews
“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.”
Chick
Lit Plus
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 a white 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.”
Lisa Becker is a romance writer who spends her time like she spends her money - on books and margaritas. In addition to Clutch: a novel, she is the author of the Click trilogy, a contemporary romance series about online dating and Links, a standalone, second chance romance readers. As Lisa’s grandmother used to say, “For every chair, there’s a tush.” Lisa is now happily married to a wonderful man she met online and lives in Manhattan Beach, California with him and their two daughters. So, if it happened for her, there’s hope for anyone! You can share your love stories with her at www.lisawbecker.com.
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Thanks for featuring Clutch on your blog today. Appreciate the support. All the best...Lisa Becker
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