Book Cover: Pushing Up Posies
Editions:E-Book: $ 3.49
ISBN: 9781773841533
Paperback / Print: $ 8.99
ISBN: 9781773841540
Size: 5.00 x 8.00 in
Pages: 202
Netflix and Chill takes on a whole new meaning when Posie starts dating the Reaper.

Poor Brody. As reaper leader for the Canadian guild, he and his crew don’t get as much work as other countries until the Dark Lord gives them a new mandate: Establish a dating service on Earth that will facilitate the meeting between citizens of Hell and humans with the end goal being babies.

In other words, become a pimp.

It’s a cruel demotion for a reaper who just wanted to guide souls to their final destination. He is dying to return to Hell, until he meets the stubborn woman living across the hall.

The Devil wants Posie mated, but she is resisting all attempts. What will it take to make her see the light?

And how will she react when she finally discovers that death has been knocking at her door?

Excerpt:

Teaser!

Posie couldn’t help but notice when the new neighbor moved in across the hall. For one, they arrived late in the evening, grumbling and stomping in the hall.

Rude.

She glared at the door, her glasses perched on the tip of her nose. She only wore them for reading. Darned paperbacks made the print too small these days.

“Fucking outrageous.”

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The curse drew her from the chair to the door. She peeked through her little peephole and blinked at the large form in the hall, an amorphous shape hidden beneath a floor-length cloak. The garment might have seemed odd if she didn’t live above some gamers who role-played. She never saw them without their costumes. One fellow liked to wear a full-on white beard and wizard robes while yet another had pointed elf ears and bright green contacts. It still hadn’t prepared her for the guy in the loincloth, carrying a big fake axe, who’d asked if she’d like to come in for a cup of tea. She was sure that was code for “become my buxom maiden in need of saving.” The answer was no.

Posie not only didn’t dress up for Halloween she was the furthest thing imaginable from the adventurous type. She was a boring secretary for a small law firm dealing in home sales and purchases.

Day in and out, she saw frazzled people nervously awaiting the paperwork that said they now owed banks for the next twenty some years or fist-pumped as they got away from those deadly monthly payments. Nothing even close to the excitement seen with fiery divorces or criminal cases.

Posie thought the people who signed their lives away to a bank were giving away money. Posie was perfectly happy renting. Let someone else deal with the maintenance and headaches, not to mention the upturns and downturns in the market. She didn’t like change.

At all.

A new neighbor wasn’t much change, but that depended on who moved in. Her last neighbor had been the perfect type. Rarely seen. Never speaking, only nodding if they happened to pass in the halls. She never would have imagined he was a serial arsonist who would die in one of the blazes he set. He didn’t even smoke.

Returning to her chair, she tried to continue reading as the grumbling and thumping in the hall continued. Why so much noise?

By the time a firm knock came at her door, her annoyance had reached a fever pitch. It didn’t improve when a glance through the peephole showed the hulking, cloaked figure.

She knew better than to open to a stranger or even pretend she was home. She said nothing.

“Hello?” A deep, rumbled query that she couldn’t miss hearing.

She clamped her lips.

“Are you going to answer the door? I can hear you breathing.” The rebuke was clearly masculine.

She slapped a hand over her mouth. He surely joked.

“Are all humans this annoying?” she could have sworn she heard him mumble. “Dammit, I’m not going to harm you. I require aid with the locking mechanism for my apartment.” His odd style of speech held a hint of accent, almost but not quite British.

“I’m sorry but I can’t help you,” she finally replied.

“Of course, you can’t,” he drawled. “Isn’t that just the fucking icing on a perfectly shitty day? Then again, why would I be surprised by this era? Everyone is too busy. Fucking self-absorbed assholes.”

He kept muttering, and she pressed her eye to the peephole to see him at his door again, jiggling the key in the lock. Was it even the correct key?

Perhaps he wasn’t a new neighbor after all but a robber. Should she call the police? They would want her to file a report and ask questions. Maybe even come inside her place and expect her to entertain them with coffee and donuts as they filled out paperwork.

Perish the thought.

On second thought, what kind of robber would knock and ask for help? Not to mention, it wasn’t as if the empty apartment across the way held anything of value. The previous tenant had died, and once the police had finished fingerprinting and tagging items in his apartment, building management had it emptied and cleaned.

“Stupid lock.” He kicked the door, and she winced.

She really shouldn’t get involved. Really shouldn’t open the door and say, “These old locks sometimes stick. Let me try.”

He whirled, the hood of his cloak still hiding his features. “I know how to use a fucking key. It doesn’t work. That twat must have given me the wrong one.”

Rude. A sexy voice that didn’t match the bad attitude. Still, her good manners prevailed. “Let me see.”

“Why? So you can agree that I know what the fuck I’m talking about?”

She pursed her lips. “You know what? Stay out in the hall. See if I care. You can explain it to the police when I call them.” She went to whirl, only to hear him huff.

“I apologize. If you could provide assistance, it would be appreciated.”

If he’d not been so polite, she might have ignored him. But…she couldn’t do it. She sighed as she turned around. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

He held out a gloved hand, a finger dangling a set of keys on a ring. The leather covering had her taking a step back. Didn’t serial killers wear gloves?

He saw nothing amiss and jangled the ring. “It’s got two. One is too small, and the other won’t turn.”

The keys actually appeared legitimate. She had an almost identical set. “The little one is for the mailbox.” She held out her hand, and he dropped them into her palm. She didn’t move to try them, though. That would bring her too close to him. “Do you mind giving me some space?”

He took a step back. Not what she’d hoped for; however, she doubted asking him to stand at the other end of the hall would go over too well. She had to be careful to not let paranoia control her. Wearing a cloak and gloves didn’t make him nefarious. Although he could be hiding any number of weapons in its folds.

She regretted coming out into the hall. The quicker she got the door unlocked, the faster she could escape him.

The key slid into the lock, and she yanked the handle to draw it tight against the jamb. She wrenched the key to the left, felt it catch. She pulled harder, and it finally clicked. Leaving the key in the lock, she opened the door and stepped away. “There you go.”

“That was emasculating,” he growled.

“The trick is to hold it tight, especially when it rains outside and the building gets damp.”

She couldn’t see his expression, but his entire posture scowled at the offending door. His tone was stiff as he said, “Thank you, ma’am.”

She could have winced at the ma’am. At thirty-six, surely she wasn’t that old. Still, it was a gesture of respect. “You’re welcome. I guess you’re the new neighbor.” She could have winced at her lame attempt at polite talk.

“I am. Good evening.”

And that was it. He went inside, shut the door, and left her staring at it. At least he wasn’t the chatty type. Perhaps he wouldn’t be a bad neighbor to have.

But she really hoped he got rid of that cloak. Because it was just plain creepy

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