Louisa Masters has a new contemporary MM romance book out: Out of the Office.
Whoever thought achieving career goals could be boring? Not Duncan Witten, but here he is at forty-one, in his dream jobā¦ and hating it. Throw it all away for a challenge? Yes, please!
If only Dunc had known his challenging new job came with Paul Hanks, a man who redefines āstubborn.ā They need to work together to meet targets, but thanks to Duncās idiot predecessor, Paul wonāt take his calls or reply to emails.
Thereās only one solution: travel across the country and confront Paul face-to-face. Itās time to take things out of the office.
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Giveaway
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Excerpt
I deliberately loiter in a coffee shop across the street from the Perth office. I donāt want to arrive early and give Paul time to come up with an escape plan, but there was no way I was risking being late. I take the time to go over my plan again, checking it for any flaw that might have sneaked past my and Kristaās eagle eyes.
There arenāt any. But itās a great opportunity to implant every detail in my brain while sucking back a coffee.
The shop is only moderately busyāweāre well past the I-just-arrived-at-work-and-desperately-need-a-coffee rush, and not quite at the midmorning coffee break rush. There are a few small groups efficiently combining coffee with a meeting at the tables, and a couple of other loners like me sitting in armchairs, hunched over laptops, but voices are low and thereās not a lot of ambient noise.
So the strident ring of the shop phone gets my attention, and Iām still only half-focused a minute later when one of the staff calls to another, āPaulās on his wayāmake his usual, will you?ā
There are a lot of Pauls in the world. In fact, there are probably a lot of Pauls currently within a one-block radius. But a guy who phones in his coffee order when heās on his way is either superefficient or an asshole, and Paul Hanks has been described as both. Plus, this place is the closest to our Perth office, so it makes sense that heād use it. And the timing is about right for a break before his meeting with me.
I slouch down a little in my seat. Thereās no reason to think he knows what I look like, but it feels like the done thing. I mean, if youāre potentially spying on someone, youāre supposed to be all sneaky, right?
Never mind.
Iām just wondering if maybe Iāve been watching too many police procedural TV shows when the door to the street opens and a man walks in.
Remember, Iāve never actually met Paul Hanks before. Iāve seen a picture of him, thoughāit was from a company party a couple of years ago, in profile, and not terribly clear. But itās enough for me to recognise him and to marvel at what the picture didnāt show.
Heās fucking huge.
Tall, yesāabout six-three, although itās hard to judge with me sitting down. But itās more thatheās built like a brick shithouse. Broad across the shoulders, with a tank for a torso. Heās just solid. I canāt tell with how heās dressedāchinos and a long-sleeved shirtāif that solid is muscle or fat, but whatever it is, itās imposing. His face is averageāattractive enough, although heād never win any awards for his looksāand he has a ruddy complexion. His hair is dark blond, in an all-over messy style that makes me think he usually has it quite short and itās just overgrown.
But the most important detail is his presence. Seriously. He walks in, and itās like the room is full to bursting. I canāt stop staring. He has serious charisma, but not of the charming variety. Itās more like a force of nature, blasting through all that stands in its way.
In just a few strides, heās at the counter and accepting the paper cup offered to him.
āHey, Paul,ā the young man behind the register says as he rings up the sale. āHowās the morning?ā
āNot as bad as it could be,ā he replies, handing over some cash. His voice is deep enough to stir something carnal in meāIāve always been a sucker for a deep voice. I shift slightly, reminding myself that Iām not here for that, that I cannot jeopardisemy one chance to get him on sideby letting my sexual urges get in the way.
Heās not even that good-looking. Itās a stupid, petty attempt to convince myself, even if it is true. Iāve met better-looking guysāhell, one of my exes was so fucking hot that people on the street would turn to watch him walk past. Just because Paul is built, has an amazing voice, and canāt stand me (weāve talked about how I love a challenge, right?) doesnāt mean I should think of him that way.
And yes, heās gay. Iām not engaging in pointless fantasy here. Well, I am, but not for that reason. Paul being gayis one of the worst-kept secrets in our incestuous, gossipy industry. He managed to keep it under wraps when he was a site engineer, but once he transitioned to mostly working in the office, it came outāno pun intended. He doesnāt advertise, but enough people know that itās not a secret. Heās been in the industry long enough, and earned the respect of enough people, that itās not an issue. From what Iāve heard, thereās occasionally some fuckwit on a site who tries to make something of it, but they get shouted down pretty quick.
Paul finishes his transaction and leaves, and I take my first real breath since he walked in.
Okay. Itās gotime.
Author Bio
Louisa Masters started reading romance much earlier than her mother thought she should. While other teenagers were sneaking out of the house, Louisa was sneaking romance novels in and working out how to read them without being discovered. Sheās spent most of her life feeling sorry for people who donāt read, convinced that books are the solution to every problem.
As an adult, she feeds her addiction in every spare second, only occasionally tearing herself away to do things like answer the phone and pay bills. She spent years trying to build a āsensibleā career, working in bookstores, recruitment, resource management, administration, and as a travel agent, before finally conceding defeat and devoting herself to the world of romance novels.
Louisa has a long list of places first discovered in books that she wants to visit, and every so often she overcomes her loathing of jet lag and takes a trip that charges her imagination. She lives in Melbourne, Australia, where she whines about the weather for most of the year while secretly admitting sheāll probably never move.
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