Jada
McLean is about to get married in nine days, when she walks in on her fiancé in
a little more
than a compromising position. Days later, she’s on a trip that she intends to
be relaxing and
a prelude to her fresh start, when she runs into the rude, obnoxious, but
gorgeous Jonathan
Kole.
Jonathan
Kole is San Francisco’s newest District Attorney. When he finds himself deeply attracted
to a stunning beauty, he has no idea that she’s about to get into BIG trouble
with the
law—and he’ll be the one presiding over her trial. To make matters worse, his
father is the lawyer
representing her in the high-profile case.
When
a series of events force them together over New Year’s weekend, Jonathan’s
feelings and
ethics will come into question, while Jada comes to terms with the fact that
she is falling for
the man that will be responsible for attempting to put her behind bars… Little
do they
know,
they're both about to fall into a whirlwind so deep, it will send both their
lives spiraling out
of control.
Barnes & Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/love-lies-the-da-rebecca-rohman/1118325400?ean=9781304804495
Excerpt
The pretty, young host escorts me to a table for two near a window with panoramic water vistas. Within minutes, a server takes my order. As my café latté arrives, I can’t help but overhear a rude exchange between a man and his leggy blonde with the host that escorted me to my seat.
“Look, I reserved that exact seat yesterday,” he says.
“I apologize sir, but that seat is not available,” the host replies.
“Well, if you were doing your job in the first place, it would be available to me, wouldn’t it?”
“Sir, I’m sorry for the error, but it wasn’t written here. If you like, you can wait at the bar where I’ll be happy to serve you a complimentary beverage of your choice while you wait, or I can accommodate you at an available table now.”
I can’t help but look to see who this asshole is.
Everything about him smells of money. From the designer jeans that hug his ass, all the way to the Jaeger Reverso watch that graces his wrist. He’s hot—probably in his mid to late thirties, tall, broad shoulders, piercing grey eyes, and a head of black hair like I’ve never seen.
Ordinarily, I might have found him attractive, if only he would just shut up.
Everything he says to that poor young girl, who has tried so hard to rectify someone else’s mistake, pisses me off. He’s been nothing but rude and condescending. As I look up, my eyes land straight on his. Then I realize they’re all looking my way. I turn around to look behind me, but there is no one. Then it dawns on me that he’s arguing with the host about my seat.
My meal arrives. I mind my business, and I proceed to enjoy it. Before I know it, I see him approaching my table. I pretend not to notice and focus all my attention on my lemon ricotta pancakes before me, but within seconds, he stands beside me.
“Excuse me, my name is Jonathan Kole. Would you mind terribly if you were seated elsewhere?”
My eyes travel across my pancakes to his broad thighs, to his crotch, and to what I suspect is an extremely trimmed stomach beyond his black ribbed sweater. Then I stare into his grey eyes in silence.
“You see, my girlfriend and I met right here at this table a year ago, and I wanted to propose to her.
Here. Today.”
“Actually, Jonathan, I do mind. Seeing that I’m enjoying my meal, surely you wouldn’t mind waiting until I’m done. Or perhaps you can let that polite host, who has done everything possible to accommodate you, have you seated elsewhere.”
“Do you have any idea who I am?” he asks.
Asshole! Your name might sound familiar but who cares…
“No. You could be the king of England and I wouldn’t give a damn.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
“You really want to know?” I ask quietly.
He lowers his head slightly, as if he’s seriously interested.
“I am a woman who walked in on her fiancé screwing her best friend one week before her wedding, so forgive me if I’m not in a sentimental mood.”
His mouth drops open at my response.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Kole, I’d really like to enjoy my brunch.”
His piercing grey eyes are glaring into mine. I know he’s angry. His temple pulsates as he stares at me. He walks away completely flushed.
I don’t care. Perhaps if he had been nicer to that host I would have considered his request. However, because he comes from money doesn’t give him the right to speak to people any which way he wishes.
I continue to enjoy my meal and notice him walking hand in hand to the bar with Malibu Barbie. Half an hour later, I ask for the check then purposely make him wait an additional five minutes before I leave.
On the way out, the host looks at me bright-eyed. “No one ever speaks to Mr. Kole that way, Miss McLean.”
“Well, it’s time someone taught him some manners,” I reply. I hand her a healthy tip, and I’m on my way.
“Look, I reserved that exact seat yesterday,” he says.
“I apologize sir, but that seat is not available,” the host replies.
“Well, if you were doing your job in the first place, it would be available to me, wouldn’t it?”
“Sir, I’m sorry for the error, but it wasn’t written here. If you like, you can wait at the bar where I’ll be happy to serve you a complimentary beverage of your choice while you wait, or I can accommodate you at an available table now.”
I can’t help but look to see who this asshole is.
Everything about him smells of money. From the designer jeans that hug his ass, all the way to the Jaeger Reverso watch that graces his wrist. He’s hot—probably in his mid to late thirties, tall, broad shoulders, piercing grey eyes, and a head of black hair like I’ve never seen.
Ordinarily, I might have found him attractive, if only he would just shut up.
Everything he says to that poor young girl, who has tried so hard to rectify someone else’s mistake, pisses me off. He’s been nothing but rude and condescending. As I look up, my eyes land straight on his. Then I realize they’re all looking my way. I turn around to look behind me, but there is no one. Then it dawns on me that he’s arguing with the host about my seat.
My meal arrives. I mind my business, and I proceed to enjoy it. Before I know it, I see him approaching my table. I pretend not to notice and focus all my attention on my lemon ricotta pancakes before me, but within seconds, he stands beside me.
“Excuse me, my name is Jonathan Kole. Would you mind terribly if you were seated elsewhere?”
My eyes travel across my pancakes to his broad thighs, to his crotch, and to what I suspect is an extremely trimmed stomach beyond his black ribbed sweater. Then I stare into his grey eyes in silence.
“You see, my girlfriend and I met right here at this table a year ago, and I wanted to propose to her.
Here. Today.”
“Actually, Jonathan, I do mind. Seeing that I’m enjoying my meal, surely you wouldn’t mind waiting until I’m done. Or perhaps you can let that polite host, who has done everything possible to accommodate you, have you seated elsewhere.”
“Do you have any idea who I am?” he asks.
Asshole! Your name might sound familiar but who cares…
“No. You could be the king of England and I wouldn’t give a damn.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
“You really want to know?” I ask quietly.
He lowers his head slightly, as if he’s seriously interested.
“I am a woman who walked in on her fiancé screwing her best friend one week before her wedding, so forgive me if I’m not in a sentimental mood.”
His mouth drops open at my response.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Kole, I’d really like to enjoy my brunch.”
His piercing grey eyes are glaring into mine. I know he’s angry. His temple pulsates as he stares at me. He walks away completely flushed.
I don’t care. Perhaps if he had been nicer to that host I would have considered his request. However, because he comes from money doesn’t give him the right to speak to people any which way he wishes.
I continue to enjoy my meal and notice him walking hand in hand to the bar with Malibu Barbie. Half an hour later, I ask for the check then purposely make him wait an additional five minutes before I leave.
On the way out, the host looks at me bright-eyed. “No one ever speaks to Mr. Kole that way, Miss McLean.”
“Well, it’s time someone taught him some manners,” I reply. I hand her a healthy tip, and I’m on my way.
Rebecca
Rohman is a wife and designer currently living in the Northeastern United
States. She
was a Sales Manager for a tourist magazine, and for many years prior, she was
involved in
marketing for a jewelry company, and later for a fine wine distributor.
About
fifteen years ago, she started writing her first romance novel, Uncorked, just
to purely entertain
herself. It was not until early in 2012 when she decided to complete it and
share it with
the world. The story was published in February of 2013. Love, Lies & The
D.A. is her second
novel.
www.RebeccaRohman.com
http://www.rebeccarohman.com/
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1 comment:
Thank you for this wonderful post. I appreciate you sharing.:)
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