ABOUT THE BOOK
Title:
PLAYING WITH FIRE
Author: R.J. Blain
Publisher: Pen & Page Publishing
Pages: 323
Genre: Fantasy/Romantic Comedy
Author: R.J. Blain
Publisher: Pen & Page Publishing
Pages: 323
Genre: Fantasy/Romantic Comedy
Warning: This
novel contains excessive humor, action, excitement, adventure, magic, romance,
and bodies. Proceed with caution.
What do you get when you mix gorgons, an incubus, and the Calamity Queen? Trouble, and lots of it.
Working as the only human barista at a coffee shop catering to the magical is a tough gig on a good day. Bailey Gardener has few options. She can either keep spiking drinks with pixie dust to keep the locals happy, or spend the rest of her life cleaning up the world’s nastiest magical substances.
Unfortunately for her, Faery Fortunes is located in the heart of Manhattan Island, not far from where Police Chief Samuel Quinn works. If she’d been smart, she never would have agreed to help the man find his wife.
Bailey found her, all right—in the absolutely worst way possible.
One divorce and several years later, Bailey is once again entangled in Chief Quinn’s personal affairs, and he has good reason to hate her. Without her, he wouldn’t be Manhattan’s Most Wanted Bachelor, something he loathes. Without her, he’d still be married.
If only she’d said no when he asked her help, she might have had a chance with him. While her magic worked well, it came with a price: misfortune. Hers.
When Quinn’s former brother-in-law comes to her for help, he leaves her with a cell phone and seventy-five thousand reasons to put her magic to the test. However, when she discovers Quinn’s ex-wife is angling for revenge, Bailey’s tossed in the deep end along with her sexiest enemy.
What do you get when you mix gorgons, an incubus, and the Calamity Queen? Trouble, and lots of it.
Working as the only human barista at a coffee shop catering to the magical is a tough gig on a good day. Bailey Gardener has few options. She can either keep spiking drinks with pixie dust to keep the locals happy, or spend the rest of her life cleaning up the world’s nastiest magical substances.
Unfortunately for her, Faery Fortunes is located in the heart of Manhattan Island, not far from where Police Chief Samuel Quinn works. If she’d been smart, she never would have agreed to help the man find his wife.
Bailey found her, all right—in the absolutely worst way possible.
One divorce and several years later, Bailey is once again entangled in Chief Quinn’s personal affairs, and he has good reason to hate her. Without her, he wouldn’t be Manhattan’s Most Wanted Bachelor, something he loathes. Without her, he’d still be married.
If only she’d said no when he asked her help, she might have had a chance with him. While her magic worked well, it came with a price: misfortune. Hers.
When Quinn’s former brother-in-law comes to her for help, he leaves her with a cell phone and seventy-five thousand reasons to put her magic to the test. However, when she discovers Quinn’s ex-wife is angling for revenge, Bailey’s tossed in the deep end along with her sexiest enemy.
No one in
their right mind would ever license me as a private investigator, but that
didn't stop people from coming to me when they needed something found.
Fortunately, I liked my job as the only human barista at Faery Fortunes Coffee
and Book Shop. Most came for a cup of joe and left too buzzed to read a thing,
but who was I to complain? People paid top dollar for their pixie dust infused
latte, and they tipped me well not to judge them.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t so fond of Chief Quinn. When he walked through
the door, bad things usually happened to someone—me. For him to come in five
minutes after opening, long before the sun even thought about rising, he needed
something, and it wasn’t a cup of coffee. Why couldn’t he want coffee? I could
deal with making him a drink, and I’d double his dose of pixie dust to keep him
happy.
I gave the espresso machine a defiant swipe of my cleaning cloth before
stepping to the counter to deal with Manhattan’s
Most Wanted Bachelor. Without my help, he’d still be married, too.
What a way to start the day.
And to think people wondered why I refused to help find anything for
anyone anymore. The reason stood across the counter from me. Chief Samuel
Quinn, aged thirty, hotter than sin, and my heaven and hell rolled together in
one smoking tall, dark, and handsome package, hated me for good reason. It was
his fault, too. He had been the one to ask me for help finding his wife. I had
found her all right, right in the middle of teaching a college stud the nuances
of the reverse cowgirl.
If no one asked me to find something or someone again for the rest of my
life, I’d be a very happy woman.
“Chief Quinn, what a pleasant surprise,” I lied. “Can I get you
something? A dark roast, cream, no sugar, light on the dust?”
Why couldn’t I have been blessed with forgetfulness? I knew my worst
nightmare’s favorite drink, and I had to make it for him first thing in the
morning. Of course I knew it. He came in at least three times a week to torment
me. Screw it. Who was I kidding? Instead of the coffee, he could take me
instead. If I had to put up with the hassle of dealing with him, why couldn’t I
enjoy it, too?
“Cream, no dust, and make it a large, Bailey.”
Alarm bells tinkled in my head. Since when did Chief Quinn address me
by my first name? On a good day, he snapped my last name like he worried it
would contaminate him. “Of course, sir.”
The faster I made his coffee, the sooner he’d go away. I’d love every
second I spent watching him go. In less than a minute, I had his drink ready,
and to lower the risk of him spending any extra time with me, I chirped, “It’s on
me today, Chief Quinn. Have yourself a nice morning.”
If it meant we parted without incident, it’d be well worth the five
bucks.
He saluted me with his cup, flashed a hint of a smile, and walked out the
door. Facing him was hell, but I glimpsed the heavens when he left, and if my
panties hadn’t caught on fire under my jeans, I’d be very, very surprised.
“You’re drooling, Gardener,” my boss squeaked. The moth fairy, with just
enough pixie heritage to dust glitter when she wanted, fluttered over my
shoulder, her tiny arms crossed over her chest. “Reverse cowgirl.”
“Stop reminding me!” I wailed, slumping over the counter. “He hates me.
Worse, all I think about when he struts in is taking off my clothes and giving
him my panties. I think they caught on fire this time, Mary. Why couldn’t he
have had one of his cops find his wife instead?”
“You just want to indulge in some guilt-free fantasizing like every other
hot-blooded American woman in the city.”
“Exactly. This is why no one in their right mind asks me for help. I ruin
everything.”
“Except my coffee, which is a miracle. Now that we’ve had our daily dose
of excitement, can you handle the shop on your own for an hour? We’ll call it
even on the coffee.”
Was she serious? Alone for an hour on a Monday morning forty minutes
before rush hour? If she thought I’d be all right alone, she was completely
cracked. I could already hear her if I dared to complain about my shift. What
could possibly go wrong in an hour? Didn’t I like my job? The list went on and
on and on. I smiled so I wouldn’t cry. “Sure, Mary. I can last an hour.”
“You’ve gotten better at lying. Your smile didn’t even slip that time.
Try not to die while I’m gone. Good humans are so hard to find.” Mary zipped
out of the shop through the pixie door and dove through the window of an idling
sports car.
Wait.
Sports car? Red, convertible, top up despite the nice summer morning? I
leaned over the counter and squinted. Yep. My boss had just ditched me for a
ride in Chief Quinn’s car. Sometimes life really wasn’t fair.
About the Author
RJ Blain
suffers from a Moleskine journal obsession, a pen fixation, and a terrible
tendency to pun without warning.
When she isn't playing pretend, she likes to think she's a cartographer and a sumi-e painter.
In her spare time, she daydreams about being a spy. Should that fail, her contingency plan involves tying her best of enemies to spinning wheels and quoting James Bond villains until she is satisfied.
When she isn't playing pretend, she likes to think she's a cartographer and a sumi-e painter.
In her spare time, she daydreams about being a spy. Should that fail, her contingency plan involves tying her best of enemies to spinning wheels and quoting James Bond villains until she is satisfied.
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