I also wouldn’t have nearly as much fun or be as connected to my reader base as I am without Melissa Shank. Man, is she just good people through and through. She manages my life when I can’t do it, and she really is the bridge that makes it easy to travel out there and touch base with the people that it matters most to connect with … my readers. She works really hard to keep the minute details fun, and whenever I ask her to take on a task, I just assume it’s handled and I think that’s so rare to find in people these days. I’m grateful every day that she ended up in my corner. If you want to connect with me and my peeps … I’m talking the peeps that love all things Jay, please come on over and join the Crowd … we have a good time and always encourage everyone to play well with others.
www.facebook.com/groups/crownoverscrowd/
Since it’s the end and I always go on and on about my usual suspects: my mom and dad; my Gma, who has read ALL my books and keeps them on a shelf, which just makes my heart happy; Mike, who manages all my heavy lifting for me (I never knew how important that was until I got divorced!); and my dogs … I feel like I can just sum it up and say no one is as lucky as I am. I have wonderful people in my life. I’m truly blessed to be surrounded by love and support on a daily basis. I would never ask for more and I will never accept less than all the wonderful things they have to give.
I do need to say that the idea of living in the moment, of being present and awake for all the wonderful things happening right now, is a constant battle I wage. Every single release day this struggle sends me into a tailspin, but I’m determined this time around to take the lessons this book is about and apply them to my actual life. I’m not only in the arena, I’m also in the moment.
Now on to business … oh yes, putting out a book is very much work and very much a business, so don’t let anyone ever try and tell you otherwise.
I’ve been so fortunate that all the people that I work with in a professional and creative capacity are really wonderful … I mean really.
My editor, Amanda, is feisty and sweet. She only wants the best book possible to get into your hands, and she works really hard to make sure that happens. She hasn’t ever tried to change what I do and I value her so much for that. With my books, what you see is what you get, just refined enough to make for an easier and more satisfying read. Amanda has also been willing to let me do different things and push boundaries, and has embraced all my crazy … hell, half the time she encourages it. I really feel lucky she is the one that opened the door for me to be able to tell my stories my way, and hearing her feedback as we work together has not only made me a better writer but a better person along the way.
There is an army of women behind the scenes at a big publishing house that works tirelessly to bring romance and books in general out into the wild. When I was younger I could only dream of a job like that, so to see the girls that do it and do it so well really makes my soul happy.
Jessie and Alaina really do an excellent job not only of managing the business of Jay but also of managing Jay. I’m not always the easiest person in the world to navigate around, but they do it flawlessly and they make the business part of what I do fun. Even though publishing is a business and sales and numbers really do matter, all of the team at HarperCollins make me feel like it’s just as much about me. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I ended up in the place I was supposed to be and now I can’t imagine being anywhere else.
So thanks, ladies, for giving me this opportunity and working as hard as you do.
KP … oh, where do I start to sing the praises of this lady and her tireless dedication to her clients? She’s amazing. The end! Seriously, I loved her before I needed her, but now I love her even more. My admiration for this woman borders on obsessive and I tell her all the time she better hold a spot on the InkSlinger team because if this writing thing doesn’t pan out I’m going to work for her. I’m so honored to be part of the InkSlinger roster of talented and groundbreaking authors … know it!
Somehow I’ve ended up with this ridiculously cool group of people in Texas I get to call my homies. They are funny, kind, and all of them have hearts as big as the state they live in. So this is my special shout-out to the Lone Star peeps that always make me smile: Heather and Brad Self, Stephanie Higgins, KP Simmon, Vilma Gonzales, the entire Shank family (Jake is the best books husband in the land and Lizzy gives me hope for the future), Danielle Sanchez, Yesi Cavazos and Trini Contreras and Damaris Cardinali (okay, Damaris is an East Coast girl, but I always think of her and Trini hand in hand, so she ends up here :-)).
Okay, so this a big one … a major one … the person who deserves more thanks than I can even begin to try to explain and that’s my agent, Stacey. She is all the things. She’s my support system. My business partner. My priest. My mom. My fashion consultant. My cheerleader. My voice of reason. My sparring partner. She plays so many roles really that I can’t thank her or give her enough credit for all the ways she helps me out in my life and my career. I owe my having more books beyond Rule and even more series beyond the Marked Men to her. She believed in the boys when others were all “That girl can’t spell and I don’t think she’s ever seen a comma.” She always had more belief in me than anyone else and she has never wavered in her assertion that I am supposed to be writing books for a living. She always tells me she’s a fan first and my agent second. I’m her fan first and her client second. I owe pretty much every great opportunity that has come my way since all of this started to Stacey and I don’t think there will ever be enough time or words to thank her for that.
So here we are at the end of what really has been an epic journey. I’ve loved every second of it, even the seconds I hated. I’m really looking at things as if one door has closed and now I’m hurtling myself out an open window and just seeing where I’ll land. I have so many fun ideas that I really, really hope you guys want to jump with me.
As always I’m easy to find if you want to holler at me and have me holler back:
• www.facebook.com/jay.crownover
• www.facebook.com/AuthorJayCrownover
• @jaycrownover
• www.jaycrownover.com
• http://jaycrownover.blogspot.com/
• www.goodreads.com/Crownover
• www.donaghyliterary.com/jay-crownover.html
Thank you for everything.
Love & Ink
Jay
READ ON FOR MORE FROM JAY COWNOVER
Look out Jay’s new series: The Saints of Denver! Starting with Built: Sayer & Zeb, here’s a word from Jay herself on her new books:
While the Marked Men series has come to a close, I do hope you’ll continue on the journey with me into the new spin-off series. The Saints of Denver will be based on many of the secondary characters we have grown to care about and love throughout the Marked Men’s journey. (And maybe some that we don’t like as much because I can’t ever do things the easy way!) The new series takes place in the same world as the Marked Men, so I’m sure some of our favorites will be popping up every now and again. I’m so unbelievably excited to start this new adventure with this new crew of interesting, amazing, and definitely unique men and women … It all begins with Sayer and Zeb’s story … talk about opposites attracting!
Out October 2015.
Click here to pre-order now 978-0-00-811624-8
Did you fall in love with Asa and Royal? Want to go back to where it all started? Then keep reading…
Opposites don’t just attract…They catch fire and burn the city down
Click here to buy now or turn the page to read an extract 978-0-00-753628-3
CHAPTER 1
Rule
At first I thought the pounding in my head was my brain trying to fight its way out of my skull after the ten or so shots of Crown Royal I had downed last night, but then I realized the noise was someone storming around in my apartment. She was here, and with dread I remembered that it was Sunday. No matter how many times I told her, or how rude I was to
her, or whatever kind of debauched and unsavory condition she found me in, she showed up every Sunday morning to drag me home for brunch.
A soft moan from the other side of the bed reminded me that I hadn’t come home alone from the bar last night. Not that I remembered the girl’s name or what she looked like, or if it had even been worth her while to stumble into my apartment with me. I ran a hand over my face and swung my legs over the edge of the bed just as the bedroom door swung open. I never should have given the little brat a key. I didn’t bother to cover up; she was used to walking in and finding me hungover and naked—I didn’t see why today should be any different. The girl on the other side of the bed rolled over and narrowed her eyes at the new addi- tion to our awkward little party.
“I thought you said you were single?” The accusation in her tone lifted the hair on the back of my neck. Any chick who was willing to come home with a stranger for a night of no-strings-attached sex didn’t get the right to pass judg- ment, especially while she was still naked and rumpled in my bed.
“Give me twenty,” I said, my eyes shifting to the blonde in the doorway as I ran a hand through my messy hair.
She lifted an eyebrow. “You have ten.”
I would have lifted an eyebrow back at her tone and attitude but my head was killing me, and the gesture would have been wasted on her anyway; she was way past immune to my shit.
“I’ll make coffee. I already invited Nash but he said he has to go to the shop for an appointment. I’ll be in the car.” She spun on her heel, and, just like that, the doorway was empty. I was struggling to my feet, searching the floor for the pair of pants I might have tossed down there last night.
“What’s going on?”
I had temporarily forgotten about the girl in my bed. I swore softly under my breath and tugged a black T-shirt that looked reasonably clean over my head. “I have to go.”
“What?”
I frowned at her as she lifted herself up in the bed and clutched the sheet to her chest. She was pretty and had a nice body from what I could see. I wondered what kind of game I had thrown at her in order to get her to come home with me. She was one I didn’t mind waking up to this morning.
“I have somewhere I need to be, so that means you need to get up and get going. Normally my roommate would be around, so you could hang out for a minute, but he had to go to work, so that means you need to get that fine ass in gear and get out.”
She sputtered a little at me. “Are you kidding me?”
I looked over my shoulder as I dug my boots out from under a pile of laundry and shoved my feet into them. “No.” “What kind of asshole does that? Not even a ‘thanks for last night, you were great, how about lunch?’ Just ‘get the fuck out’?” She threw the sheet aside and I noticed she had a nice tattoo scrawled along her ribs that curled across her shoulder and along her collarbone. That was probably what had attracted me to her in my drunken stupor in the first place. “You’re a real piece of work, you
know that?”
I was a whole lot more than just a piece of work, but this chick, who was just one of oh so many, didn’t need to know that. I silently cursed my roommate, Nash, who was the real shit here. We had been best friends since elementary school, and I could normally rely on him to run interference for me on Sunday mornings when I had to bail, but I had forgotten about the piece he was supposed to be finishing up today. That meant I was on my own when it came to hustling last night’s tail out the door and getting a move on before the brat left without me, which was a bigger headache than I needed in my current state.
“Hey, what’s your name anyway?”
If she wasn’t pissed before, she was downright infuriated now. She climbed back into a supershort black skirt and a barely there tank top. She fluffed up her mound of dyed blond hair and glared at me out of eyes now smudged with old mascara. “Lucy. You don’t remember?”
I slimed some crap in my hair to make it stand up in a bunch of different directions and sprayed on cologne to help mask the scent of sex and booze that I was sure still clung to my skin. I shrugged a shoulder at her and waited as she hopped by me on one foot putting on heels that just screamed dirty sex.
“I’m Rule.” I would have offered to shake her hand but that seemed silly so I just pointed to the front door of the apartment and stepped in the bathroom to brush the stale taste of whiskey out of my mouth. “There’s coffee in the kitchen. Maybe you should write your number down and I can give you a call another time. Sundays aren’t good days for me.” She would never know how true that statement was.
She glared at me and tapped the toe of one of those awesome shoes. “You really have no idea who I am, do you?”
This time, even against my throbbing brain’s wishes, my eyebrow went up and I looked at her with a mouthful of toothpaste foam. I just stared at her until she screeched at me and pointed at her side. “You have to at least remember this!”
No wonder I liked her ink so much; it was one of mine. I spit the toothpaste in the sink and gave myself a once-over in the mirror. I looked like hell. My eyes were watery and rimmed in red, my skin looked gray, and there was a hickey the size of Rhode Island on the side of my neck—Mom was going to love that. Just like she was going to fall all over herself about the current state of my hair. It was normally thick and dark, but I had shaved the sides and dyed the front a nice, bright purple, so now it stuck up straight like a Weedwacker had been used to cut it. Both my folks already had an issue with the scrolling ink that wound around both my arms and up the side of my neck, so the hair was just going to be icing on the cake. Since there was nothing I could do to fix the current shit show looking back at me in the mirror I prowled out of the bathroom and unceremoni- ously grabbed the girl by the elbow and towed her to the front door. I needed to remember to go home with them instead of letting them come home with me; it was so much easier that way.
“Look, I have somewhere I have to be, and I don’t particu- larly love that I have to go, but you freaking out and making a scene is not going to do anything other than piss me off. I hope you had a good time last night and you can leave your number, but we both know the chances of me calling you are slim to none. If you don’t want to be treated like crap, maybe you should stop going home with drunken dudes you don’t know. Trust me, we’re really after only one thing and the next morning all we really want is for you to go quietly away. I have a headache and I feel like I’m going to hurl, plus I have to spend the next hour in a car with someone who will be silently loathing me and joyously plot- ting my death, so really, can we just save the histrionics and get a move on it?”
By now I had maneuvered Lucy to the entryway of the building, and I saw my blond tormentor in the BMW idling in the spot next to my truck. She was impatient and would take off if I wasted any more time. I gave Lucy a half grin and shrugged a shoulder—after all it wasn’t her fault I was an asshole, and even I knew she deserved better than such a callous brush-off.
“Look, don’t feel bad. I can be a charming bastard when I put my mind to it. You are far from the first and won’t be the last to see this little show. I’m glad your tat turned out badass, and I’d prefer you remember me for that rather than last night.”
I jogged down the front steps without looking back and yanked open the door to the fancy black BMW. I hated this car and hated that it suited the driver as well as it did. Classy, sleek, and expensive were definitely words that could be used to describe my traveling companion. As we pulled out of the parking lot, Lucy yelled at me and flipped me off. My driver rolled her eyes and muttered, “Classy” under her breath. She was used to the little scenes chicks liked to throw when I bailed on them the morning after. I even had to replace her windshield once when one of them had chucked a rock at me and missed while I was walking away.
I adjusted the seat to accommodate my long legs and settled in to rest my head against the window. It was always a long and achingly silent drive. Sometimes, like today, I was grateful for it; other times
it grated on my very last nerve. We had been a fixture in each other’s lives since middle school, and she knew every strength and fault I had. My parents loved her like their own daughter and made no bones about the fact that they more often than not preferred her company over mine. One would think with all the history, both good and bad, between us, that we could make simple small talk for a few hours without it being difficult.
“You’re going to get all that junk that’s in your hair all over my window.” Her voice—all cigarettes and whiskey— didn’t match the rest of her, which was all champagne and silk. I had always liked her voice; when we got along I could listen to her talk for hours.
“I’ll get it detailed.”
She snorted. I closed my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest. I was all set for a silent ride, but apparently she had things to say today, because as soon as she pulled the car onto the highway she turned the radio down and said my name. “Rule.”
I turned my head slightly to the side and cracked open an eye. “Shaw.” Her name was just as fancy as the rest of her. She was pale, had snowy white-blond hair, and big green eyes that looked like Granny Smith apples. She was tiny, an easy foot shorter than my own six three, but had curves that went on for days. She was the kind of girl that guys looked at, because they just couldn’t help themselves, but as soon as she turned those frosty green eyes in their direction they knew they wouldn’t stand a chance. She exuded unattainability the way some other girls oozed “come and get me.”
She blew out a breath and I watched a strand of hair twirl around her forehead. She looked at me out of the corner of her eye and I stiffened when I saw how tight her hands were on the steering wheel.