12 December 2014

Easy Virtue Tour Stop!

Love is selfish...

My name is Blaire.
I'm the bad girl.
The other woman.
The one who never gets the guy in the end.

I'm the gold digger.
The bitch.
The one no one roots for.
The one you love to hate.

I hate myself too...

Everyone has a story. Are you ready for mine?
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/21536151-easy-virtue
You win Ms. Asher. As intriguing as Easy Virtue is, at 85% I had pretty much decided that I wouldn’t be reading book two. Not because it’s not a good book – it is. Not because the book is badly written – it’s not and I really enjoyed the author’s writing style. Not because the story didn’t hold my interest – I was glued to my Kindle from the first page and devoured the book in four hours. The reason I wasn’t going to continue the series is because in my line of work past behavior is the best predictor of future behavior and based on Blaire’s behavior I could only see her continuing to choose money over the chance of love and I just didn’t want to read that story. It is not because I’m judging Blaire’s character and find it lacking. On the contrary, she’s up front and honest about what she’s doing and I don’t fault her for that; too many people play games in life and her honesty is refreshing. But when Ms. Asher gives us the single chapter written from Lawrence’s point of view, I knew I would be back for book two because I have to know who SHE is. And any lingering doubt about continuing the series was obliterated when Ronan was thrust back into Blaire’s life after she so precisely excised him from it. I now have hope that there may be a chance for Blaire to find love – whether she wants it or not. WHO she may find love with remains to be seen – Ronan, Lawrence, or some yet unmet man. Regardless, I now have hope for love for Blaire, Lawrence’s secret that I must uncover, and add to that some incredibly erotic sex scenes … there is no doubt that I will be back for book two. Well played Ms. Asher, well played.
Mia Asher had my attention with this book.  She did a fabulous job at not only developing the characters, she made them come to life.  I was feeling their emotions and vocally expressing my opinions while reading.  Blaire deserves so much more in life than what she allows herself.  I am not sure I would have even liked Blaire if she had appeared in a different book, under a different authors development but Mia had me invested in her, to the point of even understanding why Blaire thinks like she does. 
Blaire grew up in a life where she wasn’t valued.  Her parents never helped her build her self confidence in a healthy way.  Being picked on in school, she learned early on that sex would bring her the attention she so deeply craved.  Her idea of intimacy was warped and soon became nothing more than a dollar sign.  As she got older her body changed as well as her habits.  She went from the chubby ugly duckling to the hot sultry body that would make men fall to their feet at first glance. 
In my opinion, happiness was only achieved by her through gifts and money and the only way she knew how to gain those things was to have sex with wealthy men who would be willing to give it.  Now I am used to women such as Blaire coming out of the situation acting like a victim but not her.  I never really felt she saw herself as one.  She is bad ass, she is what she is, no bones about it.  What God gave her she is going to use and gain what she can.  I just hope that one day she gains real self-worth which is where Ronan comes in.
He was my dream guy and I think he is going to do wonders for Blaire if she allows him too.  Unfortunately, he doesn’t have the money that is worth her time but he has so much more of what she needs.  Should be easy right just get her to love him, but that will be hard to do while Lawrence is in the picture.  Now he has the money and an air of mystery surrounding him.  There will be no need for her to expose any more of herself than she is willing to with Lawrence, while I believe Ronan will want it all. 
The ending is a cliff hanger and left me with great hope that maybe Blaire will finally discover she wants more from life than what she has now.  I can hardly wait to get my hands on book two now.  The author did a great job with making this story come to life and showing each character in a way that made me sit back and wonder if I wouldn’t do the same thing if I were in their shoes.  I am not saying I condone their actions but she did make me think because all three became real as I read the book.  I would highly recommend this one to readers. 
With champagne and caviar inundating my every sense, I slither through the light wooden floors of the Lila Acheson Wallace Wing in The Met. As I walk, I pretend to admire the expensive jewelry being showcased tonight by a famous designer whose name I can’t remember. A multicolored diamond butterfly sparkles to my left and a cobra made out of black stones glistens to my right. Rows upon rows of precious gems twinkle under the soft lights of the room, flooding the space between the walls with the glow of a thousand stars. Furtive glances. Secrets gossiped. Beauty criticized. Lofty music fills the atmosphere as the über rich mingle and pretend to like each other, yet you can almost taste their conceit and derision for one another in the air.
          This is Walker’s world, and I love it.
          Standing across the room, where the crowd is thinner and the music fainter, I spot Walker’s blond head in the corner of the room, talking to a group of his colleagues and their wives. He looks polished and worth every penny of his trust fund in his sleek black tuxedo, perfectly starched white shirt and black bowtie. His long golden hair parted to the side shines like the sun. He is truly flawless.
          I smile because it’s hard to picture that this is the same guy who likes to snort coke off my tits as he fucks me while hardcore porn plays in the background. He looks untouchable and so cool, but his searching eyes, scanning the crowd for me give him up. He’s wondering where I am. He did tell me not to go too far, after all. Soon after we arrived at the party, I gave him some space to talk to his friends and do his thing while I did mine. I hate clingy people, so I avoid being one.
          I grab a third flute of champagne from a passing waiter, and try to decide which of the different displays to check out first when my eyes land on a spectacular piece of jewelry. On a bed of black silk, similar to my hair color, lies an extravagant necklace made of diamonds and rubies—a small heaven within one’s reach as long as you can afford the price.
          I bridge the space between the glass protecting the necklace and me until it’s within my reach, fighting the urge to touch the cool surface. As if under a spell, I observe how the rows of diamonds embedded in platinum form leaves and thorns. At its center is a rose made out of red diamonds almost as big as my palm.
          I feel someone walk up and stand next to me, but I don’t give him or her a second thought as I continue to admire the way the light hits the gems, making them shine.
          “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
          His voice is smooth and commanding, dripping absolute power. I keep my eyes locked on the display. Call it sixth sense, but somehow I know that under no circumstance should I make eye contact with the stranger who speaks like the ruler of the world.
          “Yes,” I say simply.
          “I wonder how much it is?” the man asks.
          “I don’t think it matters … I highly doubt anyone can afford it.”
          He chuckles, and the sound is more delicious than his voice. Lusher. “Oh, but I can.”
          I smile at his self-assurance. I love cocky assholes. “I still doubt it.”
          “You shouldn’t. I only speak the truth,” he retorts coolly. His voice is nonchalant yet his words leave no room for disbelief—a demand and a statement all in one.
          Suddenly, the noises of the room become distant. People talking and laughing amongst friends and the orchestra playing all fade away until all I hear is him speaking.
          And at this moment, that is all that matters.
          “The truth is very subjective, sir.”
          “The truth may be subjective but money isn’t. Money can buy anything.”  
          His answer is like an electroshock, jumpstarting my brain from a champagne-induced haze. My pulse begins to accelerate, excitement making it hard to take a deep breath. Don’t look at him … don’t.
          “Oh really,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. He’s right, though.
          “Of course. I believe everything,” he pauses, “and everyone has a price.”
          Curiosity winning the battle against curiosity, I turn to face him, and what a fucking big mistake that is. When our eyes meet, I feel incapacitated of all sense and movement. The sight of him takes my breath away. This man gives the term “lust at first sight” a whole new meaning.
           In my short twenty-three years, I’ve been with extremely handsome men, perfect even, but to classify the man standing next to me in any kind of category would be a disservice to him, and not really fair to the others. Longish, light brown hair wildly framing his face, vacant eyes the color of dollar bills, a slightly crooked nose, and a mouth that begs to be buried deep within your thighs. His beauty is as harsh as it is stunningly perfect. Dressed in a simple black tuxedo and unbuttoned white shirt, the man exudes innate virility and grace, reminding me of a black panther stalking his prey. And just like a panther, it’s the pure raw and powerful energy emanating from within him that I find most attractive. Because just by standing next to him, I get the sense that his word is always the last spoken and his wishes the first ones to be fulfilled. He doesn’t ask, he demands. He doesn’t hope, he expects.
           He’s quiet for a moment; his uncanny eyes hold me captive as though they are baring my soul to him and I hate it. I tighten my hold on the crystal flute. I want to look away, but I can’t. The way he’s staring at me makes me want to squirm.
          “I wonder … do you have one?” he asks softly before turning to examine the piece of jewelry once more.
          “A what?” I ask, momentarily stunned.
          He smiles. “A price.”
          “For the right amount … I just might,” I say quietly, my heart beating so fast it feels as though it wants out of my chest. As soon as the words leave my mouth, there’s no shock coursing down my body, no rolling waves of shame pulling me down for having said that to a complete stranger—nothing.
          And why should there be? I am who I am.
          I’m staring at his profile, waiting for him to acknowledge my answer, when a breeze of cool air floats past us, making me shiver. About to chase the goose bumps on my arm with my hand, I watch as he slowly turns to look at me, catching me staring at him. Time stands still as I watch him raise his large tanned hand and touch my bare shoulder, his fingertips lightly grazing the temporary small bumps covering it. Then he smiles as if he knows that my skin is tingling from his scalding touch, and looks away.
          “I thought so.”
          We remain standing next to each other for another minute or so, the distance between us almost nonexistent. It would be so easy to reach out and hold his hand. The sound of an incoming call breaks the silence, bringing us back to reality.
          He takes his cell phone out of the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket and ignores the call after noting the name of the caller. He lifts his gaze to meet my own.
“Sorry about that.”
          “It’s okay. I should go … I’m here with someone,” I reply, not really wanting to leave him just yet.
          “Yes, that’s probably a good idea.”
          I frown. He didn’t have to be quite so blunt. The stranger extends a hand toward me, holding something in his fingers.
          “Here … ”
          I open my hand as I feel the edges of what I assume is his business card poke the skin of my palm. “What’s this?” I ask stupidly.
          “My business card, of course.”
          “Obviously … but why?”
          He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s just say that I’m an interested buyer.”
          And then he’s gone.
          He turns and walks away from me, disappearing into a sea of colorful gowns and black suits. As the sounds of the party infiltrate my ears once more, I lower my gaze to stare at the simple cream-colored card in my hand. Its simplistic and elegant design draws attention to the name printed in bold black letters on the paper.
          Lawrence Rothschild.
          I smile and let my fingertips trail his name. It depends on what you’re willing to pay, Mr. Rothschild.

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