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Jenny Gardiner

Holly Jolly Chick Lit Hop

December 5, 2017 Leave a Comment


If you thought hopping was only done by bunnies at Easter, you haven’t experienced Chick Lit Chat HQ’s annual Holly Jolly Chick Lit Hop! 62 bestselling and award-winning authors in the Chick Lit and Rom Com genres are participating in this year’s fun-filled event and each one is doing a fabulous giveaway. Books, swag, and assorted holiday treats are all up for grabs! In addition, you can enter to win one of three Grand Prizes ($100 Amazon gift cards) on the hop’s group page.

The celebration runs from Monday, Dec. 4th thru Friday, Dec. 15th, so strap on that mistletoe and fa-la-la-ollow along on Facebook. This hop is guaranteed to fill you with the Christmas spirit!

Join the party at the Holly Jolly Chick Lit Hop Facebook group where you’ll get to interact with readers, as well as the authors themselves. You’ll find each day’s featured authors, along with the links to their pages/giveaways, in the pinned post at the top of the group. Can’t wait to see you there!


Monday, Dec. 4th

Tracie Banister https://www.facebook.com/tracie.banister

Beth Carter https://www.facebook.com/authorbethcarter

Whitney Dineen

https://www.facebook.com/Whitney-Dineen-11687019412/

Karin Gillespie https://www.facebook.com/karingillespieauthor/

Kate O’Keeffe https://www.facebook.com/kateokeeffeauthor/

 

Tuesday, Dec. 5th

Annabelle Costa

https://www.facebook.com/Annabelle-Costa-894496980704700/

Susan Hatler https://www.facebook.com/authorsusanhatler/

Kate Kisset
https://www.facebook.com/KateKisset/

Kirsty McManus https://www.facebook.com/kirstymcmanusauthor

Robyn Neeley

https://www.facebook.com/RobynNeeleyAuthor/

 

Wednesday, Dec. 6th

Sylvia Ashby https://www.facebook.com/sylviaashbywriter/

Hannah Ellis https://www.facebook.com/novelisthannahellis

Cat Lavoie https://www.facebook.com/CatLavoieBooks

Becky Monson https://www.facebook.com/AuthorBeckyMonson/

Jennifer Peel https://www.facebook.com/jenniferpeelauthor/

 

Thursday, Dec. 7th

Michele Brouder https://www.facebook.com/MicheleBrouder/

Melinda Curtis
https://www.facebook.com/MelindaCurtisAuthor/

Liz Durano https://www.facebook.com/Lizduranobooks/

Diane Michaels https://www.facebook.com/dianemichaelsauthor/

Holly Tierney-Bedord https://www.facebook.com/HollyRecommends/

 

Friday, Dec. 8th

Hilary Grossman https://www.facebook.com/HilaryGrossmanAuthor/

Beth Labonte https://www.facebook.com/bethlabontebooks/

Nikki LeClair https://www.facebook.com/NikkiLeClairBooks/

Heidi Renee Mason https://www.facebook.com/HeidiReneeMason/

Susan Murphy https://www.facebook.com/susanmurphyauthor/

Natalina Reis https://www.facebook.com/authornatalinareis/

Saturday, Dec. 9th

Amy Avanzino https://www.facebook.com/AmyAvanzino/

Susannah Nix https://www.facebook.com/susannahnix

Cassandra O’Leary https://www.facebook.com/cassandraolearyauthor

Michelle Jo Quinn https://www.facebook.com/MichelleJoQuinnAuthor/

Nicole Waggoner https://www.facebook.com/NicoleWaggonerAuthorCircusofWomen/

Sunday, Dec. 10th

Mary Frame https://www.facebook.com/AuthorMaryFrame/

Sarah-Jane Fraser

https://www.facebook.com/sjfraserauthor/

Amy Gettinger

https://www.facebook.com/Amy-Gettinger-Author-1412625005719904/

Lizzie Lamb https://www.facebook.com/LizzieLambwriter/

Joslyn Westbrook https://www.facebook.com/JoslynWestbrookOfficial

 

Monday, Dec. 11th

Jayne Denker https://www.facebook.com/JayneDenkerAuthor/

Angie Ellington https://www.facebook.com/angienellingtonbooks

Ciara Knight https://www.facebook.com/Ciaraknightwrites/

C.L. Ogilvie https://www.facebook.com/CLOgilvie/

Meredith Schorr https://www.facebook.com/MeredithSchorrAuthor/

Stacey Wiedower https://www.facebook.com/StaceyWiedower.author/

Tuesday, Dec. 12th

Glynis Astie https://www.facebook.com/glynisastieauthor

Renee Conoulty

https://www.facebook.com/ReneeConoultyAuthor/

Jenny Gardiner https://www.facebook.com/jennygardinerbooks

Stacy Juba https://www.facebook.com/Stacy-Juba-100155471301/

Tracy Krimmer https://www.facebook.com/krimmerauthor/

 

Wednesday, Dec. 13th

Traci Andrighetti https://www.facebook.com/traciandrighettiauthor/

Kathryn Biel https://www.facebook.com/kathrynrbiel

Monique McDonell https://www.facebook.com/MoniqueMcDonellAuthor

Denise Stout https://www.facebook.com/DeniseStoutAuthor/

Melanie Summers https://www.facebook.com/MJSummersAuthorPage

 

Thursday, Dec. 14th

Anne John-Ligali https://www.facebook.com/annejohnligali/

Colette Kebell

https://www.facebook.com/ColetteKebellAuthor/

Jennie Marts https://www.facebook.com/JennieMartsBooks/

Clodagh Murphy https://www.facebook.com/clodaghmurphyauthor

Tess Thompson https://www.facebook.com/AuthorTessThompson/

 

Friday, Dec. 15th

Melissa Baldwin https://www.facebook.com/authormelissabaldwin/

Aimee Brown https://www.facebook.com/authoraimeebrown

Karen M. Cox https://www.facebook.com/karenmcox1932/

Lindsay Detwiler https://www.facebook.com/lindsayanndetwiler

Barbara Valentin https://www.facebook.com/Platespinner/

Filed Under: Isabella Tagged With: Aimee Brown, Amy Avanzino, Amy Gettinger, Angie Ellington, Annabelle Costa, Anne John-Ligali, Authors, Barbara Valentin, Becky Monson, Beth Carter, Beth Labonte, Books, C.L. Ogilvie, Cassandra O’Leary, Cat Lavoie, Chick-Lit, Ciara Knight, Clodagh Murphy, Colette Kebell, Contemporary Romance, Denise Stout, Diane Michaels, Glynis Astie, Hannah Ellis, Heidi Renee Mason, Hilary Grossman, Holiday reads, Holly Jolly Chick Lit Hop, Holly Tierney-Bedord, Jayne Denker, Jennie Marts, Jennifer Peel, Jenny Gardiner, Joslyn Westbrook, Karen M. Cox, Karin Gillespie, Kate Kisset, Kate O'Keefe, Kathryn Biel, Krist McManus, Lindsay Detwiler, Liz Durano, Lizzie Lamb, Mary Frame, Melanie Summers, Melinda Curtis, Melissa Baldwin, Meredith Schorr, Michele Brouder, Michelle Jo Quinn, Monique McDonell, Natalina Reis, Nicole Waggoner, Nikki LeClair, Renee Conoulty, Robyn Neeley, Sarah-Jane Fraser, Stacey Wiedower, Stacy Juba, Susan Hatler, Susan Murphy, Susannah Nix, Sylvia Ashby, Tess Thompson, Traci Andrighetti, Tracie Banister, Tracy Krimmer, Whitney Dineen, Women's Fiction

BOOK FEATURE: “Bad To The Throne”

June 29, 2015 Leave a Comment

BadToTheThroneCoverPic

“Bad to the Throne” by Jenny Gardiner, (book three in the series)

Blurb:

Sometimes you can let your heir down a little too much…

When wild-child Prince Alexander goes on a naked bender in a Vegas swimming pool, cocktail waitress Andi McDonough decides to preserve a shot of those family jewels on her phone. But when she’s fired for capturing the royal treasures, she heads off to find herself. After backpacking the world-over on a dime and a prayer, she finds herself in Rome, where a chance encounter with the wayward prince only reinforces to her that Prince Zander is indeed bad to the throne. And more than likely to her fragile heart as well.

**Click HERE to buy “Bad to the Throne”

EXCERPT

One year ago, Las Vegas

Andi McDonough assumed she’d seen it all working as a cocktail waitress at the amazingly cool swimming-pool-slash-lagoon at the hippest Vegas hotel on the Strip. Like the very, very (did she mention very?) old, very wealthy film star who had enjoyed an impromptu and extremely public poolside lap dance with a celebrated porn star—in his wheelchair. He damn near keeled over from a heart attack, and Andi damn near keeled over from a laugh attack at the preposterousness of the situation.

Or the time the famous bodybuilder-slash-actor pooped his pants while floating in the lazy river and they had to close the entire five-acre pool area for the day to disinfect it (meaning no tips for her, which was no laughing matter).

But never did she think she’d bear witness to such a stunning specimen of manhood as when the famous spare-to-the-heir prince from Moldavia or Monaforte—one of those blips on the map that no one knows much about—decided to strip down to his birthday suit while celebrating his own birthday and reveal to her and at least two hundred other pool-goers that his superior royal genes clearly had worked their magic with what until then had remained tucked awfully nicely into his royal jeans (that is before he’d decided to let it all hang out).

Yowza, she thought, is that a cricket bat he’s packing (a little nod to his country’s sporting pastime), or is he just happy to be stark-naked with a bevy of slutty gold diggers with particularly smokin’ bodies?

She hated those women.

Beyotches, she grumbled under her breath.

She certainly wasn’t allowed to peel off her own too-scanty cocktail-waitress uniform and join them. Not that she would, mind you. Her body couldn’t hold a candle to those women’s surgically augmented ones. Some could argue that Andi was toting a little spare in the back end, but she preferred to see it as just a bit “fluffy.” Semantics? Maybe. But it only mattered when she was stripped down to nothing, and under no circumstances would she ever do such a thing in a Vegas-hotel swimming pool. It was hard enough to take that plunge in front of a man who theoretically wouldn’t be judging her for her shortcomings.

Not that she’d had much experience with that lately either: with working full-time while attending school at night to earn her master’s degree in social work, there wasn’t time for a relationship in her life, let alone a casual fling. But damn, what a casual fling it would be with the likes of him, with his scruffy dark hair, green eyes, and trademark sexy five-o’clock shadow he was known for. And of course there was the little (er, make that big) matter of that package he was sporting…

Alas, Andi guessed the hookups would have to be left to the slutty gold diggers, because she’d be fired in a heartbeat for making a move on him, even if she were so inclined, which she wasn’t. She had too much self-respect to behave like a shameless skank just to have a roll in the hay with a, well, let’s admit it, an insanely hot, supposedly eligible man.

Now granted, she couldn’t—and wouldn’t—go near the man, let alone advertise her availability (She wasn’t! She was far too busy for that stuff!). But she could maybe discreetly pull out her phone and take a teeny, weeny (excuse the pun) picture or two. Just for memory’s sake. Not like she’d sell it to the tabloids. Though damn, if only that would pay for the rest of her schooling… It was a real shame she had too much integrity to attempt that. But she felt kind of sorry for him—the guy was just having fun. And it must be hard to simply let it all hang out (literally) if you were someone famous like him, to be able to just blow off steam and act like a stupid young man.

After all, it seemed to be the mandate of young men to act stupid, right? She’d seen enough of them here celebrating bachelor parties and birthdays and doing embarrassingly idiotic things to expect nothing less from the whole lot of them. “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,” they usually managed to blurt out just before vomiting or urinating into the fountain at the Bellagio or mistakenly wandering off with a tranny hooker at three in the morning. Indeed.

Andi wiped some spilled beer from her hand and tucked a strand of long blond hair behind her ear before pulling a phone from her front pocket (where she had to hide it because she couldn’t dare have a phone lumping out of the butt pocket of her very tight shorts). At least her skimpy apron hid her clandestine phone a little bit.

Angling from the hip, no ability to see if she was landing the money shot or not, she discreetly popped off a handful of frames, then tucked her phone back into her pocket and returned to attempting to do her waitressing job. But everyone in the pool area was completely focused on that prince guy, which meant no one was bothering to order more drinks. What was his name? William maybe? Ha! She could only imagine tomorrow’s headlines:

William Exposes his Willy!

Then she remembered—it wasn’t William after all. His name was Alexander something, she recalled, and Zander was the nickname. She remembered because it seemed such a strange nickname. Oh well.

God, it would be glorious to be able to pawn off her “exposé” images and pocket some desperately needed cash. But she couldn’t do it. Besides, there were likely a few hundred peter pictures of the guy already popping up right now on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter. It would be viral within the hour. The days of making money off something like this were over. Now it was just about bragging rights to have witnessed the event with your own eyes. Besides, the guy was asking for it, whatever exposure (aside from the obvious) he was going to land for this.

She was just pondering how to avoid tripping over the ogling crowd in order to attempt to deliver a few drink orders when her manager accosted her.

“Hand over your electronic order pad, McDonough,” he said with his hand out, a grimace smeared across his surly face. “And while you’re at it, give me your drinks tray and your apron.”

Andi stared at him as if he’d just asked her to pony up her firstborn child. “I’m sorry?”

“The phone,” he said, pointing to her hip. “I saw you taking pictures of him. And that is a clear-cut violation of company policy. It’s essential that staff respect the privacy of our customers at all times.”

“Privacy?” she shouted a little to be heard above the clamoring din of the rowdy crowd, all clapping to the beat of Salt-N-Pepa’s “Push It” that the prince and three women were quasi-grinding to while pounding shots of Gran Patrón tequila in the shallow end. “Do you see him?” she said, pointing at his unclad body nearby. “This isn’t exactly the pinnacle of privacy! I was just taking a picture to show my mom when I get back from work today. She was feeling depressed, and I knew she’d get a laugh out of it.”

Her mother had been licking her wounds after her third husband left her for a much younger woman only a few months ago, and Andi was all about getting her mother’s mind off her misery, like it was her civic duty or something.

“Laugh or not, rules are rules,” he said. “After you’ve changed out of your uniform, you need to turn that in, plus your locker key. And you’ll not get a referral on your résumé, either. Now go.” He pointed with a stern look toward the main hotel, her only way out, one she would apparently have to exit with tail tucked neatly between her legs. She knew it wasn’t worth arguing. Despite this not being the world’s most gratifying job, she was well aware that women were lined up behind her to usurp her spot.

Andi did as she was told—which was how she operated usually—and as she climbed into her fifteen-year-old rusted-out clunker of a Ford Fiesta and drove away from the best-paying job (thanks to tips) she could’ve found in this town shy of stripping for a living, she couldn’t help but wonder how snapping a few innocent pics of the spare prince’s family jewels could lead her to a financial situation in which she’d never be able to afford any jewels. As it was, it was going to be near impossible to come up with tuition money without this job. And in this town, word got around fast enough she’d be blackballed from any of the higher-end waitressing jobs that could compensate for the lost income.

Jewels schmewels. They might have been old Zander’s crowning glory, but they now represented her financial demise.

Huh, she thought. If I had to do it over again, maybe I’d have kicked him in those jewels. Better yet kicked her boss in them. At least then she’d have gotten some satisfaction.

Despite the dire outcome, she and her mother got a few good laughs at her surprisingly spot-on shots of Zander starkers.

That and a whole lot more money would pay her tuition bill that was coming due.

* * * * *

The “It’s Reigning Men” Series

SomethingInTheHeirCoverPic

**Click HERE to buy book one: “Something in the Heir”

HeirTodayGoneTommorrowCoverPic**Click HERE to buy book two: “Heir Today Gone Tomorrow”

* * * * *

JennyGardinerPic**About author, Jenny Gardiner:

Jenny Gardiner is the #1 Bestselling Kindle author of the award-winning novel Sleeping with Ward Cleaver; the memoir Winging It: A Memoir of Caring for a Vengeful Parrot Who’s Determined to Kill Me; the novels Slim to None (#1 bestseller on Kindle); Anywhere but Here; Where the Heart Is; the essay collection Naked Man on Main Street, and Accidentally on Purpose and Compromising Positions (writing as Erin Delany); and is a contributor to the humorous dog anthology I’m Not the Biggest Bitch in This Relationship. Her work has been found in Ladies Home Journal, the Washington Post and on NPR’s Day to Day. She and her family live in Virginia. Visit her at her website, http://www.jennygardiner.net

**Contact Jenny: Email   Blog   Sign up for Jenny’s Newsletter   Facebook   Twitter

Filed Under: Bad To The Throne Tagged With: Bad to the Throne, Books, Chick-Lit, Jenny Gardiner, Royals, Series Books, Women's Fiction

Something in the Heir

January 8, 2015 Leave a Comment

SomethingInTheHeirCoverPic

“Something in the Heir” by Jenny Gardiner

Blurb: 

He’s a prince with a problem, she’s a commoner with a getaway plan.

Modern-day Prince Adrian of Monaforte has a most old-fashioned problem: his demanding mother wants him wed to her best friend’s daughter, the hard-partying Serena. When his refusal falls on deaf ears, Adrian decides it’s time for him to slip away from his gilded cage and figure out his life, all on his own. As luck would have it, event photographer Emma Davison, weary of a revolving door of lost-cause men and tired of her outsider-looking-in career, is in need of her own escape clause, just in time to help a wayward prince in need. And she soon discovers that sometimes a girl’s gotta sweep a prince off his feet.

For any girl that’s ever held out hope that some day her prince would come…or better yet, hoped that some day she’d come to him.

CHAPTER ONE TEASE

Emma Davison had a date with a prince. Well, not really a date, but yes, really a prince. Calling it a date would be a bit of a stretch, considering she would only be within breathing distance of the man by dint of her professional skills. Emma had been hired to photograph His Royal Highness Crown Prince Adrian William Philip Nicholas Winchester-Westleigh, future King of Monaforte, in a series of grip-and-grins with wealthy donors at a Washington, DC charitable event. Which worked out well, considering she’d sworn off dating men, and since a prince was a guy, and guys, well, she was totally over them, it wasn’t like she’d have entertained the idea anyhow. Not that it was even an option.

Besides, princes were a part of fairy tales, and Emma wasn’t a big subscriber to that sort of fiction. Having already tossed back into the swamp more than her share of warty toads over the years, she knew that at the end of the day, even a prince was just a man. And in her world, men hadn’t exactly panned out. Besides, she’d seen the tabloids: this pretty boy was a player, a new woman on his arm in every city, rumor had it. As far as she was concerned, they could keep him. Prince-schmince. She sure didn’t need another love ’em and leave ’em type in her life. She was here to do a job, and the sooner she did it, the sooner she could go home and take a nice hot bath with a good book and a glass of red wine.

As she awaited the arrival of His Royal Whatchamacallit, hovering just inside the cordoned-off velvet rope section in the palatial Great Hall of the Library of Congress, Emma mentally ticked off the essentials she needed to keep in mind for the shoot. She’d thoroughly reviewed the protocol handbook with the palace’s press secretary earlier in the week. All forty-six pages of it. She’d been told a curtsey would be a nice gesture, and warned not to shake the man’s hand, which sort of seemed annoying, as if her own wasn’t good enough or something. No doubt royals were snooty, but she was there to earn a paycheck, not to pass judgment on how full of himself the guy was. Which she assumed he was. Not that she was passing judgment or anything.

Emma had actually practiced how to address the prince for a good while in advance of the event so that she wouldn’t come across like a complete country bumpkin in his presence, repeating in front of the mirror, “Pleased to meet you, sir” till she could say it no more. She was ready. She’d even straightened her shoulder-length chestnut curls for the occasion, thinking straighter hair lent her a bit of gravitas. Yeah, Emma Davison did not care at all about impressing any prince.

She’d brought along her assistant and best friend Caroline McKenzie, whom she knew wouldn’t screw up—just as long as she didn’t hit on the man herself. Caroline, a green-eyed redhead with a penchant for serial flirtation, was known for her ability to pick up pretty much any guy she wanted. But Emma knew even Caroline had her limits.

Tonight Emma got to remain on the VIP side of the velvet rope as she set up to shoot the prince alongside all sorts of deep-pocketed D.C. dignitaries, with the President of the United States thrown in for good measure. Normally, it was hard to remain too starstruck in her line of work, shooting famous people as regularly as she did. But a prince and a president? As much as she liked to play it cool, even she had to admit that was none too shabby.

Caro, standing just behind Emma, squealed in surprise when the prince’s arrival was announced with blasts from those long royal trumpets draped with crimson flags bearing the Monaforte royal crest. It was straight out of a Disney movie when Prince Charming’s arrival was heralded to the guests at the ball. As soon as the trumpets fell silent, a deep blue velvet curtain parted and the prince, followed by his right-hand man, stepped forward to the thunderous applause of the audience.

Emma was close enough to see that he had mesmerizing bright blue eyes. Dammit, she was a sucker for blue eyes.

Just then a quartet struck up a tune and the music shattered her momentary reverie. She knew she had all of about two minutes to greet the prince and then get started with the host of images she needed to capture. There were titans of industry, political muckety-mucks and a collection of pandering celebrities already queued up, desperate for their own eight-by-ten glossy with famous royalty that they could mount on their wall like some taxidermied bear head. She had no time for gawking.

The prince walked slowly down the line, greeting one by one the organizers of the charitable event and members of the Monafortian embassy staff, all standing in the VIP zone near Emma. Everyone seemed to do a perfectly fine job with his or her allotted three seconds of undivided royal attention, making casual chitchat with the prince. Until it came to Emma. Because as soon as the man approached her, she felt as if her tongue had become a sandbag weighted down in her mouth. And while a curtsey wasn’t mandatory, it was what she’d planned on, until that very moment when her eyes made contact with his deep, sapphire ones, and she knew for certain she’d face-plant on his expensive royal bespoke Italian shoes if she dared try any tricky maneuvers.

Without staring too much like a creeper at those amazing eyes, Emma tried to give him a discreet once-over, but it felt awkward, like gawking at a stranger’s tattoo, or trying to read the T-shirt message on the chest of a person walking by. She knew she’d only look a bit stalkerish, and stalker-chic so wasn’t her style. But then she found herself focused on his thick, wavy black hair, which led to a fleeting fantasy that involved burying her fingers in it while he was busily…Oh, stop it! She tamped down that betraying though, dismissing it as some stupid latent celebrity crush, all the while recognizing that her darned body was selling her out and swooning over the guy despite her strong inner protestations.

So when Prince Adrian bent his head down but raised his gaze and continued to fix it on Emma’s eyes only, reaching both hands out for hers — totally defying royal protocol — she simply stammered, and wished that he’d lean more toward her mouth, darn it! And when he pressed his lips to the top of her hand, she could only gulp as she tried to clear what felt like a giant hairball lodged in her throat.

“Peas to greet you, slur,” she said, failing miserably to just mouth correctly those five simple words, turning about fifty shades of red in the process. She felt certain she was going to be fired on the spot.

But instead of calling for his royal bodyguards to toss her out into the cold December night on the grounds of insanity, he clasped her hand in both of his for a moment longer, his eyes continuing to hold hers, and smiled broadly. Emma could feel her heart beating in her throat, and she wondered for a minute if he was only holding onto her hands until someone else could grab them and haul her away. In handcuffs maybe. You’re under arrest for complete and utter lunacy.

“The pleasure is all mine. And please, call me Adrian,” he said in what seemed barely a whisper, adding with a wink, “Oh, and by the way, I’m most peased to greet you as well.”

Emma was so glad she wasn’t prone to throwing up because if she were, that would’ve been the unfortunate outcome of her moment in the spotlight with her “date.” Instead she let him cling to her hand a second longer while she trembled just a bit and hoped to God her palms weren’t sweating too badly.

The spell was broken when Caroline blurted out, and not in her inside voice, “Oh, my God. His accent is orgasmic. And did you get a look at that friend of his?”

Adrian and Emma’s heads followed her friend’s pointing finger, which led right to the tall, handsome brown-eyed blonde man standing beside the prince.

“You mean Darcy?” Adrian said, waving his hand dismissively. “He’s hardly anything to write home about!” He laughed as he elbowed his friend in the ribs.

“Don’t listen to a word he says,” Darcy said. “He’s just jealous that women always choose me over him.”

* * * * *

**Buy “Something in the Heir” now!

Amazon

* * * * *

JennyGardinerPic**Contact Jenny:

Email   Website   Facebook   Twitter

Filed Under: Something in the Heir Tagged With: Book feature, Books, Chick-Lit, Jenny Gardiner, Romance, Something in the Heir, Women's Fiction

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