Hey y’all — I’m too excited about this cover and excerpt to take it down. So instead I’m extending Day 3 and adding Day 4. Keep commenting on the blog and you’ll be entered to win!
1) The Wedding Writer (fun women’s fiction in the style of Devil Wears Prada, only about the magazine industry)
Mmmm, isn’t it lovely? And yes, you can tell that this isn’t one of my young adult books, right? 
Aaaaand, after you’re done drooling over the cover, here’s an excerpt from the book!
Tori Anderson knew her place in the world. She was a single woman, living alone, working long hours, and caring for her sick mother. The writing was on the wall. She had to watch romantic movies by herself with a large bowl of popcorn in her lap. She had to walk slowly past jewelry store windows and gaze longingly at wedding rings.
And she had to have a cat.
“Here kitty kitty kitty…”
A pair of yellow eyes glared at Tori from the far rear corner of the dark, empty space under her
front porch. She’d brought Fritzy home from the pound less than a year ago, in an attempt to fulfill her destiny as an unattached twenty-something creeping toward thirty. Fritzy, who had apparently been named by some sadist with a fondness for all things German, was supposed to give her an outlet. He was supposed to be a vessel into which she could pour all her love and devotion, and hopefully receive something in return.
Instead, he had turned out to be an antisocial beast who resented her frequent business trips and showed his displeasure by peeing on her shoes and shredding her curtains.
Tori tried again, crouching down and leaning into the darkness as she shook the small bag of treats intended to lure Fritzy into her arms and then into the cat carrier she’d cunningly left in the car, so he wouldn’t know what was coming. Except that he did know what was coming. He always knew what was coming. Especially at 6:00 a.m., when she had to be at the airport in less than two hours.
Tori tried to keep her voice pleasant. “Here you pain-in-the-ass monster masquerading as a cat… here Mr. Fluffypants…”
“Tori, is that you under there?” The older woman’s voice startled Tori.
She straightened abruptly and hit her head on the edge of the porch. “Shit…I mean, damn it…I mean…”
Her tiny white-haired neighbor, Mrs. Jenkins, who glowed with saintly inner light and probably had never spoken the word “damn,” smiled peacefully in return. “Traveling again?”
Unthinking, Tori nodded and wiped her dusty hands on her skirt, and then stared in horror at the trails of dirt left behind on the silky gray fabric. Her mind started to spin. Plane leaving at 7:55. Ten minutes to the kennel, fifty-minute drive to the Philadelphia airport, assuming there wasn’t any traffic, which of course there would be. Doors closed thirty minutes before takeoff. Security would take at least twenty minutes.
Five minutes to change her skirt?
No way. She had three straight days of traveling ahead, and missing any one of her flights could send her into eternal airport purgatory. She couldn’t afford that right now. Not when her trip culminated in a visit to New York City, where she hoped to lock-down the key terms of the sale of the software business owned by her client, Jerry Tollefson.
She’d been negotiating the contract for months, and knew everyone in her firm was watching— especially the partnership committee. If she screwed this up, they’d never forget it.
Not to mention that, after four years of working together, her client Jerry happened to be closest thing to a best friend she had. He deserved a great deal, and she was determined to get it for him.
“Why don’t you let me get Fritzy?” Mrs. Jenkins offered.
Tori watched in amazement as the fragile woman tottered to the edge of the porch. Stabilizing herself with one hand on the wooden railing, Mrs. Jenkins peered into the darkness. “Fritzy, you come here right now,” she called, a hint of steel underlying her gentle voice.
A few moments later, an orange-striped tabby curled around Mrs. Jenkins’s feet, mewing and rubbing his head on the old woman’s orthopedic black shoes.
Tori’s heart snapped. She couldn’t even pretend it didn’t hurt.
“I feed him tuna sometimes while you’re gone,” Mrs. Jenkins said, almost apologetically. “Don’t feel bad. I know how busy you are. Cats are difficult, you know. They take things personally.”
Tori licked her suddenly dry lips. The enormity of what had just happened roared in her ears.
Cats are difficult? As in, too difficult for her to have a relationship with? As in, sorry lady, you can’t even satisfy a damn cat?
She forced herself to speak. “Listen, I don’t know how to thank—”
Mrs. Jenkins—what was her first name, anyway? Tori realized she had no idea—raised a hand to stop her. “You run along and catch your plane, sweetheart. Fritzy and I will be fine.”
Tori took one final look at the cat—her cat—sprawled lovingly on the ground in front of her neighbor, and ran for the car.
