Who Would You Choose? by J.M. Bronston Book Tour and Giveaway :)
Who Would You Choose?
Love
in the City Book 4
by
J.M. Bronston
Genre:
Contemporary Romance
Marge
Webster has always known what she wanted, and how to accomplish it.
As editor-in-chief of Lady
Fair magazine,
she’s got influence and fame, a social calendar as packed as her
closet, and a gorgeous attorney boyfriend. Jerry is successful,
loving, and ready to settle down. As for Marge—she just feels
exhausted. Maybe that explains her weak knees and fluttering
heartbeat when she runs into Sam Packard, her high-school
crush.
Back
then, Sam was the most popular and charismatic guy around. He didn’t
always understand Marge’s dreams, but their connection was
undeniable. Marge isn’t that awestruck girl anymore—but for the
first time in her life, she has no idea which path to follow. Maybe
the answer is to step back, take a doctor-ordered European vacation,
and explore exactly what and who makes her happy. The answers might
surprise everyone—especially Marge…
**can
easily be read as a standalone**
It
was just too good a day not to be outside in the sun. The retailers’
meeting had gone really well and ended early with smiles all around.
She was ahead of schedule for her lunch appointment and the city was
inviting her to come out and breathe a little.
“Luke.
Stop the car.” She looked at her watch—a gift from Hermès—and
said, “I have some time. I’m going to walk from here. You go on
to the restaurant and wait for me till it’s time to go back to the
office.” “Okay,
Ms. Webster.” Before Marge could move, Luke was out of the car and
came around to open the door for her. “Nice day for a walk,” he
said. “Summer’s winding down. It’ll be fall soon.” “Yes.”
She smiled. “You can feel it in the air.” It seemed, despite
Piero Massione’s childish behavior, the world was full of smiles
now. “You
sure can. Need to enjoy what’s left of the good weather.” Luke
smiled, too. “Have a good one,” he said, and he got back into the
car. Marge
watched the big black town car blend in with the rest of the
traffic—the moving mass of other big black town cars and boxy
yellow taxis, the private cars, the buses, and the trucks that made
the city feel always
on the go. She
turned away and smiled again; she’d just slipped out of the day’s
tightly packed schedule and found a little escape time just for
herself. It didn’t happen often. It certainly didn’t happen often
enough. She really needed just a small escape—needed to get away
from her mental to-do list. She took one big, deep breath and looked
around, looked to see where she had landed. It
was an ordinary neighborhood street, somewhere in the Village. Small
shops, some brownstones, people just quietly going about their
business. Babies in strollers. Dogs being walked. Teenagers falling
in love. A city street. Always a treat. Better than any television
screen for variety, humanity, action, the potential for drama, a
laugh, something new. She
took off her jacket, hooked it over her arm and started to walk. A
man passed her, turned to look, and kept going. At the corner, a
street vendor was filling the air with the irresistible aroma of
honey roasted nuts. She paused at his cart, checked her watch once
more—forty minutes till she had to meet Bridey—decided she could
indulge in a snack before lunch. She paid her dollar and started to
walk away with her paper bag of honey roasted peanuts. But an idea
stopped her. She turned and watched as a mother and her little boy
approached the cart. The mother gave her boy the money to buy a bag.
And Marge thought about it. Street
food in New York. Surprisingly, it really is very good. Good, and
often very interesting. Might be an idea to discuss with Bridey. See
what she thought of a piece on the street food of New York. It would
make an amusing story. “What to Wear While Dining Out.” With the
emphasis on “out,” of course. Always
new ideas. Can’t help it. I just love the magazine so much. She
really needed to take more breaks like this one. I
know. I know. Doctor Diaz says I have to ease up a little. Working
too hard. She
did a little deep breathing, quietly, as she walked along. Marge
would never let anyone know, but it was beginning to worry her.
Carrying it all on her shoulders. She was feeling the stress, she was
seeing the
signs
of overwork, the wound-up overdrive of her thoughts that kept her
from falling asleep. The little wrinkles forming at her lips. The
need for concealer under her eyes.
But
who would—who could—run
Lady
Fair as
skillfully as she did? Marge knew it was her ability to be the calm
in the eye of the storm that was her major asset—that had gotten
her hired for this job at the impossibly early age of twenty-nine. She’d
first come to the notice of the magazine’s owners early on, when
she was a young features editor, first months on the job, and an
article of hers won an ASME award. Not bad for a rookie. Not bad for
anyone!
Then, a month later, there was her memo to upper management
suggesting a cost-cutting digital innovation that resulted in an
annual bottom-line savings of more than eighty thousand dollars. And
the clincher came the day a crazy ex-con broke through the lobby
security downstairs and ran naked through Lady
Fair’s reception
area, waving a long Tanaka knife. While the receptionist cringed
behind her chrome and glass desk, paralyzed with terror, and the
staff trembled in the corridors and behind their locked doors, it was
the still-a-rookie Marge whose gentle and sympathetic voice talked
the man down and kept him quiet until the police arrived to escort
him out of the building, wrapped up in a gorgeous blue floral
wool-and-silk shawl
from Gucci, produced at the last minute by one of the design people,
out of the nearest fashion closet. When
an ABC reporter did the interview about the incident for the evening
news, Marge credited the outfit she’d been wearing. “It was
probably the charcoal gray Valentino I had on. It’s a very
no-nonsense business suit, suitable for handling any office crisis.
Maybe,” she added, “he thought I was his parole officer.” But
it wasn’t only Marge’s steel in the face of danger together with
her light touch that got her noticed. She was a brilliant writer,
knew how to work to a deadline, and understood the difference between
a good story and an indispensable story. She’d proven she
understood the dollars and cents of the industry, and she had a
respect for its full product range from the low end of a strip mall’s
ready-to-wear to the haute
couture of
the most exclusive salons.
And,
perhaps the most important skill in a potential editor in chief,
Marge had not only a passion for fashion but a sure sense of its
exact place in today’s social scene as well as in the scene that
would appear over tomorrow’s horizon. What
no one included in the mix, not even Marge herself, was what it was
costing her to be cool and effective, day in and day out. No one,
that is, except Dr. Martine Diaz who had been telling her to take it
easier.
Joan Myra Bronston grew up in New York City, married her college sweetheart, and went with him to Germany for a year while he was in the Army and where she worked as a telex operator and mail clerk. They then moved to Austria where Joan spent five years teaching at an international school. She is the mother of three wonderful girls and the grandmother of a super-wonderful grandson. Joan was also a secretary, social investigator, and psychiatric researcher, before entering law school and eventually becoming a corporate attorney. In addition to her years in Europe, Joan has lived in Pittsburgh, Chicago, and, for 18 years, Salt Lake City. At last, she has closed the circle and returned to her first and most beloved—New York City.
Follow
the tour HERE
for exclusive content and a giveaway!
Comments
Post a Comment