Monday, March 11, 2019

Book Blitz: WEST BEGG by Mari.Reiza


~ Book Blitz ~
WEST BEGG by Mari.Reiza
Humour / Satire

About the Book:

A hilarious yet dark novel on how power, and the lack of it, shapes people. 

Luca’s job is being a punch bag, a tea towel, a toilet bowl, to the undeniable and unbreakable king of egg power proud of averaging two hundred flights a year to visit chicken markets around the world. 
Anna moved to Catania to work for caper queen Madame Sicily, fulfilling varied tasks from picking up Céline swimwear before it hits the runways to recovering badly parked Lamborghinis. 
La Revolução dreams through buildings but builds parking spaces, when she’s not helping launder money for her boss’s dad’s dodgy charities. 
And finally, Carolina is out to conspire with Paquita who met their boss the German in a red lit booth, to understand why the man has to drain the passion out of everything. Their fates will inevitably collide. The question is, will their bosses get what they deserve? 

Book Links:
Goodreads * Amazon


Quotes:
At the office, Macco One’s sickened secretary barely acknowledges me. She firmly maintains that it is sickening to work in our place, Macco One’s place, says that it is not about the chickens but the cocks, ‘Too many big cocks flying around.’ I have never known her on a high. I leave the box of Indian sweets I bought her by the pot plant on her desk and hope that they poison her, ending her ordeal. (Luca)

The thought of my boss’s iron calves ungoverned scares me. Is it panic or an absolute type of anger? Does he know what he is angry about?’ Ignorance about one’s anger can be harder to deal with than deliberate devil. Sometimes I have nightmares where he chops my arm with the drama of a man picking cherries. (Carolina)

I cannot leave the swimwear on the bike. It is a church, Saint Agatha. No one should steal it by the virgin’s gate. But even so. These people cannot help themselves. They all want to look good at Mondello this summer. (Anna)

Irajá, which means beehive, is stunning, very pale with dark hair, so pale you can see millions of small blue veins through the skin of her face and neck, giving her a magical tinge. This is not the kind of woman you can imagine doing ordinary things like shitting or clipping her toenails. (La Revolução)

I’m crying on Paquita’s shoulders yet again. Her jumper is cheap cashmere. She is small and delicate and perfectly proportionate like a kid’s mannequin. And I am totally aware that this is the strangest of arrangements. (Carolina)

She is not Fuksas. Even if Irajá is convinced that in her heart she is a great architect with a social vision. I guess it keeps her away from pretending to be something more dangerous. When she purses her lips, the natives show fright on their faces and for a moment I expect a long viper tongue to come out pushing against her lips. I think they do too… This pale bundle of nerves is so thin and young, must be less than fifty kilos, below twenty five years of age. Any of those native hands could easily crush her to the ground, but they are afraid. (La Revolução)

Read a Snippet:

Paquita is the only one who really knows him.
She knows even the small things about him, like why he spends his little free time watching documentaries about extreme conditions and casualties of war including gas chambers and prisoner camps. She says he lives constantly defeated like the lowest worm. A dressing gown-ed, porno-clicking, self-suffering cut-off, only soothed by the corrosive fizz of some yellow pills. At least he needs less porn now that he has her.
‘Everyone he loved has died on him,’ she insists, ‘he feels betrayed by mankind and can only take the most sanitized forms of human contact.’
I can agree. ‘He does not seem to love any of us in the office very much, Paquita. That’s for sure.’
She nods as if thankful for my understanding. Next she re-tells me the story of how they met in a red lit booth in Hamburg. He apparently spoke to her of his tears, pills and mucus down his throat being the shades, flavours and textures of his days.
‘I did not know he could be that poetic,’ I tell her.
‘It was a breach of etiquette,’ she confesses, ‘and I think that he had been made uncomfortable by the heat in the booth which had been turned up to accommodate ladies in their underwear.’ She means nude sex workers but makes it sound like delicate dolls.
Paquita tells me that he came back to her booth again and again after the first time, until he asked for her to work for him exclusively. And when he got the job in Brussels, he took her with him. Apparently, the arrangement is that in public she is his housekeeper, but of course she is so much more than that. They are a smiley duo, a team, Lemon and Lime.
Paquita doesn’t like when I call it compensated dating. She does not like to be called a fuck-buddy either.
I could use Paquita’s confessions to hurt him, to destroy his career. The most important man in the European rail business lives with an Ecuadorian whore. Paquita is well over the legal age but he could still get done for enslaving her? He has not offered her marriage. She does not even have residency papers. Does he keep her passport under lock and key? But of course, this would also destroy Paquita.
I cannot get myself to destroy her illusion that they exist as a blessed unit.
(Carolina)


About the Author:

Mari.Reiza was born in Madrid in 1973. She studied at Oxford University and worked as an investment research writer and management consultant for twenty years in London, before becoming an indie fiction writer. Also by her, Inconceivable Tales, Death in Pisa, Sour Pricks, A Pack of Wolves, STUP, Mum, Watch Me Have Fun!, Marmotte’s Journey, West bEgg, PHYSICAL, Room 11, Triple Bagger, Opera and the Retreat, all available on Amazon.



Author Links:
Twitter * Instagram





Monday, March 4, 2019

Book Blitz: Caro M, by Mari.Reiza


~ Book Blitz ~
Caro M, by Mari.Reiza
Psychological / Romance / Contemporary

About the Book:





Portraits of unyielding love. A woman, mostly alone in her world but for her dog, shares memories through letters to her old 'tesoro'; a wife trusts her sweetheart psychiatrist blindly through her divorce; a young girl lands a fairy tale wedding soon to turn into a nightmare her cousin yearns to fix. Immersive, witty, tender,

Caro M, explores the hurricane-like devastation love is capable of.







Book Links:
Goodreads * Amazon

The setting
A circus of the grotesque doctor’s office on the Tuscan plain, where an unstable wife feeling a blade of hay in a world of snakes has been pill-fried for over a decade by her school friend become pretend life-ologist. A nearby coastal village, where an angered young woman narrates the recent sham marriage of her innocent cousin to a horny, wealthy ‘old’ man with a relaxed Peroni smile, who clearly plans to get away with anything. A balcony across the Eiffel tower inhabited by a mysterious smoking French lady in constant one-way correspondence with her ex-lover, in a large flat in a lovely historical house where someone else than her once made history.

Meet Elena
A woman ‘with issues’ to settle: physical, social, sexual – all types. Perhaps she’s scarred from living forever under the guidance of some fool: her father, her uncle and Zeno’s father, and then with Mimi, and in Zeno’s psych ward for years now, even if she swears she’s not the mad one despite sounding occasionally inconsistent or devious or both. But then there are plenty of people to blame for it. And there have forever been the pills, so large she can only swallow them down with gin. No wonder it’s unthinkable that she will ever make a single decision on her own!  Why did she marry Mimi? They all thought her sister was the prettiest, cleverest and most desirable one, and she was expected to settle for less. Her father probably pushed her to. But Mimi’s infidelity has given her carte blanche to push back. And Zeno will help her, because they’re made for each other; she’s almost a wife of sorts to him. Does he not believe her?

Meet Isa
She lives in Paris, worked in law but now looks after her dog. She also writes songs and has recently retaken smoking perhaps because she felt at some sort of crossroads; the ‘industry’ of her smoking her husband calls it, even if he’s often away in LA. She has come to resent him, for being a man who would squirm when handed a baby as if it were an octopus, even if this had never bothered her before, even if she knows she’s extremely lucky to have him in her pretty life; for being a man with smelly feet who doesn’t do passion, can’t assess jewellery, and whose best-ever present has been words he doesn’t believe in, engraved on a Zippo he hates: Il n’est rien de réel que le rêve et l’amour. They’ve for some time been two separate people. And when she meets Mimi she lets him lit up every space for her, embarking in a fool’s errand.

Meet Carmela
Her cousin looked beautiful in her wedding dress: a virginal bride, although she knew that she wasn’t a virgin. She did think Laura was marrying too young but hadn’t confronted her about it because she was herself recovering from heartbreak, and Laura may have mistaken her concern for jealousy. The truth was Carmela didn’t like Laura’s groom. For starters, he was over twenty years their senior! Yet, that day at the wedding they both looked marvellous and Carmela thought perhaps she had been right not to stop Laura embracing marriage like a magic portal. Until she saw her cry.

About the Author:


Mari.Reiza was born in Madrid in 1973. She studied at Oxford University and worked as an investment research writer and management consultant for twenty years in London, before becoming an indie fiction writer. Also by her, Inconceivable Tales, Death in Pisa, Sour Pricks, A Pack of Wolves, STUP, Mum, Watch Me Have Fun!, Marmotte’s Journey, West bEgg, PHYSICAL, Room 11, Triple Bagger, Opera and the Retreat, all available on Amazon.


Author Links:
Twitter * Instagram



Friday, February 22, 2019

Book Blitz: Justice Gone by N.Lombardi Jr.


About the Book:
When a homeless war veteran is beaten to death by the police, stormy protests ensue, engulfing a small New Jersey town. Soon after, three cops are gunned down. A multi-state manhunt is underway for a cop killer on the loose. And Dr. Tessa Thorpe, a veteran's counselor, is caught up in the chase. Donald Darfield, an African-American Iraqi war vet, war-time buddy of the beaten man, and one of Tessa's patients, is holed up in a mountain cabin. Tessa, acting on instinct, sets off to find him, but the swarm of law enforcement officers get there first, leading to Darfield's dramatic capture. Now, the only people separating him from the lethal needle of state justice are Tessa and ageing blind lawyer, Nathaniel Bodine. Can they untangle the web tightening around Darfield in time, when the press and the justice system are baying for revenge? Justice Gone is the first in a series of psychological thrillers involving Dr Tessa Thorpe, wrapped in the divisive issues of modern American society including police brutality and disenfranchised returning war veterans.

Book Links:
Goodreads * Amazon

Read an Excerpt:

Chapter 5


“I don’t need to tell you how imperative it is to make contact with Donald.”

Tessa was behind her desk, addressing the three people in front of her: Ed with his long sad face; Casey, looking like a brow-beaten youth; and Penny, her angular features and square glasses contradicting her elfish pixie hair.

Tessa’s eyes were glistening. That was how Casey knew she was emotionally distressed. She was a very emotional woman, one of the first things about her that he had grasped from the start, perhaps too emotional. But in his book, that was more of a positive attribute of her character, rather than a flaw.

He knew as well as she did that Donald Darfield was one of the worse damaged of the vets, and now, having just reached the critical point where he was on the verge of confronting his demons, was extremely fragile.

Tessa leaned forward. “We’ve each tried on our cell phones, multiple times, but he won’t answer, so we’ll need the help of others…the ones in his group, those closest to him. We need to know where he would go. Since he basically lives here in our shelter, I wouldn’t waste time in homeless shelters. It’s been twenty-four hours now, and he may have gone out of town. We need to know where.”

“Yes, we’ll get on it,” Casey assured her.

“As for me, I need to see Jay’s father. His landline’s been disconnected. Anyone know the cell phone number…did Jay leave it with us?”

The despondent shaking of heads and shoulder shrugs gave the answer. Abruptly, Penny popped her head up. “Oh wait. How about his aunt?”

“Marshal’s sister? Good. Get it to me.”

Penny jumped up and exited.

“I’m taking a taxi as soon as we’re through here, which I think is right now.”

When Ed and Casey departed, Tessa called one of New York’s many private taxi services. A cab picked her up within fifteen minutes and she was on her way, across the George Washington Bridge and into New Jersey. When they got off the turnpike, Tessa gave meticulous directions to the home of Colonel Marshal Felson, Retired.

There were several vans and a small crowd of people outside the chain link fence enclosing the house. Now was the time for Tessa to try the number Penny gave her, counting on the possibility that Aunt Mae was in the house shielding her brother from the press.

A woman, by the gravelly nature of her voice an elderly woman, picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Aunt Mae?” Tessa did not give her time to reply. “This is Dr. Thorpe; I was Jay’s counselor, and I need to speak to the Colonel. If you’re in the house, come to the gate and let me in.”
A brief silence. Apparently she was cupping the phone while conferring with Jay’s father. “Okay, I’m coming to let you in.”

When Aunt Mae, capped with a helmet of gray hair and dressed in a black frock with a discordant flower print, came out to let her in, the predictable surging of reporters commenced and was only quelled after Tessa promised them a comment on her way out. In the company of the elderly woman, she entered the two-story colonial and came face to face with Marshal Felson, standing in the sitting room with a drink of clear liquid in his hand. At six feet and three inches, broad at the shoulders, he imparted a formidable presence despite his weathered face. Silver hair chopped into the nubs of a buzz cut, bushy gray eyebrows, piercing light-blue eyes, and a prominently square jaw demanded accountability, despite his general appearance of an aged vet.

“Hello, Dr. Thorpe. Would you like a drink?"

"Yes, thank you. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

The Colonel retreated to the kitchen in the back. His long- sleeved sky-blue shirt and pressed khakis displayed a subtle formality suggesting a relaxed respectability.

Aunt Mae, clasping her hands in front of her, fidgeted fretfully. “Sit down, dear,” she told Tessa, politeness always an expedient way to dispel the awkwardness.

Tessa took a seat on the damask sofa just as Felson arrived with her drink. She took a sip, surprised at the sweetness.

He looked at her with a sardonic smile. “Seven-Up. The hard stuff. None of that diet shit in this house.” His decorous mannerisms and strained joviality struggled to conceal the pent- up emotional turmoil brewing inside him.

She accepted the glass, saying, “Doesn’t surprise me. Very cool-headed of you to avoid alcohol. I can also sense you’re not grieving yet.”

“Not yet. You know, Betsy’s death took me harder. I mean with Jay going off to war, well…I know the risks of war. But I never expected this.” He sat down in the matching chair opposite her, looking up at the ceiling. “I’m still trying to sort this out.”

Tessa remained quiet, ready to listen.

“But you’re a clever gal, tell me what I’m feeling?"

"Rage.”

“Damn right!” He leaned forward from the depths of his armchair. “You know where I went today?” Felson did not wait for any reply. “I went to identify my son’s body. And the irony of it was…I really couldn’t…identify him. His face was so swollen, his eyes were just slits…his nose looked like a goddamned mushroom…his lips a bloody puffed up mess.” He took a gulp from his glass, then smacked his lips. “So…come to console me, Doctor?”

Tessa leaned forward, putting her glass on the coffee table. “Look, Colonel, I know we don’t see eye-to-eye on these matters—”

“No indeed! Your way is not my way. You just don’t understand. Marines are not ordinary people; they’re special. Going off to war, seeing terrible things, doing terrible things, that’s the goddamned job. If you can’t take it, join the goddamned Air Force, don’t become a Marine!” He took another slurp from his glass. “Going to see a doctor because you got bad memories is a sign of weakness, plain and simple.”

“And of course, you never have? Seen a doctor, I mean.”

“Damn right! So I guess your visit really isn’t necessary, is it?”

Tessa ignored his snotty rhetorical question. “Colonel, have you any idea at all of the whereabouts of Donny Darfield? He’s missing.”

“Donny, Jay’s friend, the colored boy?”

“African-American. Man.”

“Yes, of course…guess I’m old-fashioned. No, haven’t heard from him. Is that the only reason you came here?”

“No. What I really came to see you about is unity. We should bury the hatchet and work together.”

“Work together for what purpose? You know, I had to disconnect my phone…never mind the press…the Homeless Coalition, the VFW, Vietnam Veterans against the War, Iraqi Veterans Against the War, Veterans for Peace, you name it…my son is dead and everyone sees this as a political opportunity. So, tell me, what do you, Dr. Tessa Thorpe, want us to work together on, huh, what, promotion of your clinic?”

“No.” She paused, being purposely dramatic. “Justice.”

He looked at her with his stone-blue eyes, eventually slackening enough to digest her words. He put down the 7-Up he had been holding in his hand for fifteen minutes. “Ah, now we’re talking. So, what kind of justice do you expect my son to get?”

“None at all. If we sit idle.”

He leaned forward and whispered contemptuously. “You know they’re going to try and get out of this?”

Tessa, despite the gravity of the topic, leaned over the coffee table to meet his face and smiled maliciously. “Damn right,” she told him, parroting the colonel’s favorite response. “But we’re not going to let them.”

Felson grinned back. “It’s a deal. Mae’s got your number on her cell phone. I’ll call you. As for now, I’m going to take a valium, my favorite nighttime snack these days, and then hit the sack. I’ll deal with life tomorrow.”

On her way to the taxi, Tessa gave out her promised comment to the journalists, which was that she and Marshal Felson would await the town of Bruntfield’s response before making any comment.


About the Author:
N. Lombardi Jr, the N for Nicholas, has spent over half his life in Africa, Asia, and the Middle East, working as a groundwater geologist. Nick can speak five languages: Swahili, Thai, Lao, Chinese, and Khmer (Cambodian).

In 1997, while visiting Lao People's Democratic Republic, he witnessed the remnants of a secret war that had been waged for nine years, among which were children wounded from leftover cluster bombs. Driven by what he saw, he worked on The Plain of Jars for the next eight years.

Nick maintains a website with content that spans most aspects of the novel: The Secret War, Laotian culture, Buddhism etc.

His second novel, Journey Towards a Falling Sun, is set in the wild frontier of northern Kenya.

His latest novel, Justice Gone was inspired by the fatal beating of a homeless man by police.
Nick now lives in Phnom Penh, Cambodia

Follow the Author:
Website * Goodreads * Amazon



Thursday, February 14, 2019

Cover Reveal: The Heart of You (A Geeks of Caltech Novel) by Aarti V Raman


~ Cover Reveal ~
The Heart of You 
(A Geeks of Caltech Novel)
by Aarti V Raman


Mixed martial arts studio owner Kit Barranos has always been a fighter. He will fight for his family. For his friends. For anyone in need.

What he doesn't know how to do is fight for himself...

... Or the inconvenient and consuming desire he has for single mom Lily Fallahil.

Office manager, Lily has spent the last decade raising her son and proving her independence to her protective and overbearing brother, Drake.

She has no time for romance. Especially with Kit Barranos, who has a body to die for and eyes that rip at her soul.

When Kit reveals his heartbreaking secret to Lily - he has a brother he never knew about, one he considered his closest friend - it brings them closer, creates a bond neither can deny.

And paves the way for a steamy attraction that explodes between them.

But it isn't just Lily that Kit is slowly but surely falling for. It's her adorable son, Bret.

Navigating the holidays, their families and their feelings is no easy task.

Flawed and fiercely loyal, Kit and Lily have fought the odds and survived.

But, survival no longer seems enough.

Can they take a chance on each other, on their hearts... On a love that braves The Heart of You?

The Heart of You is Book Three of The Geeks of Caltech, a unique band of friends bonded by loyalty, brotherhood, and pain. The Geeks of Caltech are to die for and their women all they wish to live for!

COMING SOON!

About the Author:
Aarti V Raman lives in Mumbai, India and has been a commercial editor and business journalist for the better part of a decade.
She is an incurable romantic who has taken up the task of bringing Happily Ever After to life for the characters in her head. She has three traditionally published novels out, all contemporary romances from 2014-2016, with the next one slated for release in 2019.
She currently writes and self-publishes steamy contemporary romance for urban millennials with a global twist. Sometimes, there are guns and car chases too.
Her new contemporary romance series include GEEKS OF CALTECH and ROYALS OF STELLANGARD as well as standalone romances - all of which have become Amazon India and US bestsellers.
She has also appeared as speaker at lit festivals and events around India and also dabbles in poetry, while conducting creative writing workshops.

Contact the Author:
Website * Facebook Page * Twitter * Instagram


This Cover Reveal is powered by b00k r3vi3w Tours


Monday, February 11, 2019

Book Blitz: The Retreat by Mari.Reiza


~ Book Blitz ~
The Retreat by Mari.Reiza
 Coming of Age / Psychological Thriller 

About the Book:


An uncomfortable but fascinating ripening journey.
Ahmed has abandoned her. Nadia is gone the way Isabelle did before, her two fallen warriors. But Marie can still hear His voice clearly.
A deep call for justice takes hold in an impressionable teenage girl from a recently broken family during a religious retreat; what happens next will mark her life for years to come.
the Retreat is a story of men playing God, of hurt that doesn’t find its way out.







Find it on Amazon

Read an Extract:

‘So, mass girl,’ Hélène is calling Marie. ‘We’re planning a night escape from this hell in a couple of days, are you in?’
‘Won’t we get into trouble?’
‘Rules are there to be broken,’ Hélène smiles, ‘at least by me!’ And how she bets other people are breaking them too right then, convinced as Hélène is that Berger employs himself, as they speak, probably more playing (with his willy) than praying.
‘I’m in enough trouble as things are.’ Marie is thinking about her skiing, her skirt and Prudence’s unwelcome mulishness to mend her, as if she had much wrong in her.
‘What do you mean?’ Martine can’t wait to know what trouble Marie is in.
‘Nothing.’
‘We need to get out of here, into the real world,’ Hélène has a dream to sell, ‘down the bar. Buy some drinks. Dance to some music. Meet some boys...’ Martine makes a screaming face.
‘Things any normal girl is expected to do,’ she says reassuringly. ‘It’s not like we will be killing souls.’
Marie knows Hélène is right, but it’s also Marie’s belief, based on her little experience, that Hélène, her sister, Martine, are all there for a reason, that this retreat is full of girls who are either troubled or need attention because they are trouble. Can she trust them?
‘So, what happened at the caravan last year?’ she finally asks. ‘Could it happen again?’
Marie’s friends freeze.
‘The caravan was different.’ Hélène’s face turns sombre. She hadn’t expected the question. ‘We should have never been there.’
‘Fucking bastard,’ adds Martine.
‘What happened?’
‘We were a bit drunk,’ Hélène hesitates, ‘we were silly, but we should never have been put in that situation in the first place.’
‘The men were nice at first but then they were terrifying.’ Martine’s side of the story.
‘Isabelle had only acted in good faith, you know how she is,’ Hélène’s voice is down to a pensive whisper, ‘she’s such a do-
gooder at heart, nothing like them,’ she points to the door, ‘but a good-meaning person.’
‘And she’s stupid!’
‘Shut up, Martine.’
‘I mean, what world does she live in!’ Martine doesn’t shut up.
‘One where she only sees good in people.’
‘What did she do?’ Marie doesn’t understand. She didn’t expect Isabelle to be the culprit in this story.
‘She insisted on leaving the caravan,’ says Hélène, finally spilling the beans. ‘She had been talking to one of the young immigrants through a window, for over an hour, in Spanish, and claimed he had opened his soul to her and he needed her love, that we could not treat them like animals because they had gone through enough already.’
‘And then?’
‘These men had not seen women in months.’ Hélène sighs. ‘We were young, drunk. Probably looked like sluts to them.’
‘When Isabelle opened the door, it had been a trick,’ says Martine. ‘They all tried to push in and we managed to close it again but they took Isabelle.’
‘And you did not call anybody?’
‘How? By the Holy Spirit? We had been abandoned there. All we had been given was a shitty walkie-talkie the nuns never answered. And Isabelle on the other side of the door was not alarmed,’ insists Hélène, ‘not in the slightest, she insisted she would talk to them and disappeared down the camp, into another caravan.’
‘And you didn’t call anyone?’ Marie can’t believe they deserted their friend.



If the book interests you, you can request for a REVIEW COPY in exchange for an honest review.

About the Author:
Mari.Reiza was born in Madrid in 1973. She has worked as an investment research writer and management consultant for twenty years in London. She studied at Oxford University and lives off Portobello Road with her husband and child.

Find Mari at:
Twitter * Instagram