Saturday, May 16, 2015

The Red Roots by Andrea Johnson Beck Excerpt & Giveaway






SYNOPSIS: 

Buried secrets never stay hidden. They take root and spread through the soil. In time, the lies breach the surface and the slender stems creep along the earth, climb and entangle with first solid thing it encounters.

Secrets bind people.
Constrict logic.
Agitate the mind.

Love is the same.



AMAZON LINK ==> http://amzn.to/1KVXK32




CHAPTER ONE


The skyline punctured the wide-open sky, not a single cloud drifted above Manhattan. The city bloomed into a fresh season but Isla stood outside and inhaled the whiff of karma. People weaved around her along the sidewalk as she tipped her head back and followed the tower of granite and glass. Straight from the airport, her leather tote was packed for a quick jaunt to Sutton territory.

Isla pushed through the revolving door, entering into a lobby with the modern sophistication of white walls with abstract art and hand blown colored sconces. Behind a stainless steel desk was stationed a uniformed guard. He backed up against an encased wall of cascading vibrant turquoise water.

She approached the man who looked like a retired bodybuilder. “I’m here to see, Martin Sutton.”
“Name?”
“Really?”
“Name?”
“Isla Pierce. What happened to Donovan?”

He handed her a small key, ignored her question, and instructed her to enter the elevator on the left then insert the key above the number pad in the elevator. Not her first rodeo, she thought, though the penthouse visit was new.

“No funny business. I’ll be watching you. Give the key back to Mr. Sutton.”
Isla winked. “Got it, Mr. T.”
He scowled.
“You know, the A-Team…I pity the fool. You have the mohawk, and—and the chains.”
With a grunt he pointed over his shoulder.
“All right, I’m going.” She turned her back. “Donovan had a sense of humor.” Isla spoke under breath.  

The glass lobby swarmed with suits. A handful of men and women stepped on and off the elevators. In the corner, a tall brunette spit obscenities into her phone while her heel tapped against the marble.

Midtown was all business, as was she.

Isla stepped onto the elevator, along with two others. She cleared her throat and inserted the key. A bell chimed but a number never lit up. Isla removed the key, held it tight in her fist, and glanced at the man and lady.

Their eyes adverted hers. Isla gathered her curtain of thick dark golden brown hair and twisted it up on the top of her head. It was lovingly named the “bitch bun” by her friends. She checked out the perfectly put together woman. Isla was never a pencil skirt, silk blouse type of girl. Only when forced would she slip on heels and her mother’s diamond earrings.

The gears whined and grinded after each floor; the woman was the first to scurry out. The man remained silent and stared at his shoes until the elevator slowed and stopped on his floor. Gripping his briefcase against his chest like a shield, he sidestepped off. The corners of her lips lifted. She punched a guy in the gut for accidentally touching her ass in the elevator and now the entire building was afraid of her.

Awesome.

The cables tugged higher, a dash flashed on the panel. Martin had been holed up in his office for weeks, or so he had city officials believe. His family was in shambles, and he was stirring the family pot, upsetting investors and shareholders. Martin—the loose cannon—needed to stop taking pages from his spoiled daughter’s book.  

The elevator dipped and halted. With a loud clang, the doors slid open. Isla cringed and stood transfixed on the row of buck, elk, and wolf heads mounted above a gathering of rich leather club chairs. The soles of her boots left the confines of the elevator and stepped into an urban hunting lodge. The woodsy aroma flowed about the room with notes of patchouli and cedar as the masculine bouquet clung to Isla’s skin.

Typically when she met Martin it was in his office fourteen floors below. It was sparse in contrast. A filing cabinet here and there, it was filled with standard office furniture, dark rugs, and a coffee maker in the corner near the receptionist desk. How many knew of his secret penthouse lodge? Probably not many, including the officials who would love nothing more than to toss him in prison for numerous allegations the State’s attorney couldn’t back up.  

The windows were covered with sliding wood panels. The room of stone and varnish was illuminated by a chandelier of antlers and shaded lamps. Isla stepped closer to his animal trophies; she saw her distorted reflection in their black eyes.

“Breathtaking, are they not?”
She whirled around. “Not the word I would choose.”
“I hunted each one of these beauties.”
“Not an honorary member of PETA?”
Martin held out his hand. “No, but I’m sensing you must be.”
Isla laid the key in the palm of his hand and looked over at the stuffed and displayed animals. “I enjoy a juicy rib eye like any other carnivore. I’m just not particular to mounting the cast of The Jungle Book up on my walls.”

Martin laughed, his tenor deep and hearty. If Isla closed her eyes, she’d envision a man with a heftier waist and trousers nestled just below his man boobs, not the man before her. Well-groomed in a black suit, Martin’s crown of ash was combed to perfection. He flashed his gleaming veneers at her and motioned to the closest chair. Isla sunk into the cool leather cushion and lowered her tote beside her feet. Martin unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down across from her.



AUTHOR BIO:

Amazon Best Selling Author

Andrea Johnson Beck was born in Sioux City, Iowa. From a young age, she enjoyed telling stories. Many her dad recorded. Writing was her creative outlet and at 10-years-old, her first poem was published in an anthology. Always curious, Andrea read and watched what was considered risqué in the 80's and early 90's, such as, books by VC Andrews. Dirty Dancing and Top Gun (snuck downstairs) raised questions and were brought to her parents for clarification. Understanding their daughter's need for answers, they always replied truthfully.

Her curiosity and rebellious disposition has carried on. Andrea credits the strong woman in her life who guided her through difficult times. That and writing. Blogging about her marriage, her quirky son, and homeschooling helped her connect with others around the world.

Life on Awesome Street is a shared website between Andrea and Logan. Most topics revolve around homeschooling, the autism spectrum, and mom humor. She's a columnist for Home & School Mosaics. In the past she has written for In-Depth Genealogist and Home Educating Family.

In 2012, Andrea self-published her debut novel, Deadly Deception. A year later, the book was acquired by Montlake Romance and re-released in October of 2013. Deadly Deception hit #4 on the Amazon Best Seller List in overall paid fiction in the Kindle Store, it was right behind the Divergent Trilogy. Her second novel, Deadly Revelation, released April of 2014 and was #1 in Organized Crime and Crime Fiction and continues to hold a spot in those categories.

Andrea and her son collaborated and released a short story, Hush, Mary in October of 2014. Also, the mom and son duo are writing homeschool and autism spectrum books together. Over the years, Logan has impacted and inspired many with his own personal stories of how he accepted and embraced his quirkiness.

Andrea lives in North Carolina with her husband Phil, son, and their deaf dog, Bear. Sarcasm is the oxygen they breathe, as is love and humor.

andreajohnsonbeck.com

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