Author Guest Post
1. Hubby has a serious addiction to his snooze button, even on weekends. (Does he think the kids sleep past seven???) When he’s gone, I’m woken by “Good morning, Mommy” and sweet, sleepy cuddles. Much better than BEEP BEEP BEEP!!!
2. No calls at 5:30 to say he’ll be home for dinner when I was just planning on feeding the kids leftovers while I munched on cereal... and wine.
3. I don’t have to hear, “Ooops, got called into a last-minute meeting and won’t be home until late” after I dragged all three kids to the store to surprise hubby with a nice meal. (okay the second part of this doesn’t happen very often... well, it only happened once- but that was enough.)
4. When hubby is gone, I put the kids to bed and ... that’s it. They’re in bed and they stay there.
5. No, “Hon, can you keep the kids quiet? I have to make some calls for work.” He might as well wave a red flag to a trio of bulls because all of a sudden my kids are loud, rambunctious animals I have to tame so he can appear professional.
6. The TV isn’t automatically switched to Sportscenter every time I leave the room.
7. No one is around to poke fun of my trashy, reality TV addiction. How many times must I explain my insatiable fascination with the Real Housewives? And yes, I realize that I’m losing brain cells every minute that I’m sucked into the Theresa vs. everyone else on RHNJ- but I love every ridiculous minute.
8. When I go upstairs after cleaning the kitchen- it’s still clean in the morning. Enough said.
9. This one might be TMI but all you wives know it’s true- I’m never annoyed that a certain someone gets to read in the bathroom for ages- time when NO ONE can interrupt him... Meanwhile I can’t even shave both of my legs without a child poking their head through the shower door. “Whatcha doing Mommy? Can I help? Can I?”
10. By not being with us all the time, hubby goes out of his way to be fully present whenever he is home . Take all the kids to Costco on a Saturday? “Sure.” Take our oldest to his football game at eight am. “Love to.” And my personal favorite- “Honey, I’ve missed you. Let’s get a sitter and have a date night.”
About The Author
AUTHOR WEBSITE
GOODREADS
Meltdown by Tara Thompson ~ Virtual Book Tour Page: Chick Lit Plus Blog Tours
Book Review
Meltdown by Tara Thompson
Publisher: Independent Self Publishing
Publication Date: December 5, 2012
Format: eBook - 325 pages / Kindle - 531 KB / Nook - 820 KB
ISBN: 9781301989881
ASIN: B00AJCNRU4
Genre: Chick Lit / Contemporary Romance / Women's Fiction
BUY THE BOOK: Meltdown
Disclaimer: I received a copy of the book from the author in exchange for my honest review and participation in a virtual book tour event hosted by Chick Lit Plus Blog Tours.
Book Description:
STEVE, handsome hometown hero and soon-to-be Governor of Texas. Unfortunately he’s already married. As Steve publicly dumps his perfect, former Miss Texas wife for Hollywood’s latest ‘It’ girl, his state faces the biggest financial crisis since the Great Depression. Will he be able to turn things around, or is he too embroiled in his political sex scandal? His good friend and business partner....
DEMETRI, sexy hedge fund manager, is at the top of his professional game and tries to save his friend from near financial ruin. Yet he’s distracted by Steve’s new girlfriend, who just happens to be Demetri’s old flame. Years ago, Nyssa ran from him and he’s never forgotten her. But why is he still interested? Demetri’s dating....
AISLINN, a woman as brilliant as she is beautiful. Enjoying all the perks of having a billionaire boyfriend, she’s falling fast for Demetri and has no idea that she might be the one getting played. Although she bets big on Wall Street, the largest casino in the world, nothing is more risky than giving her heart away.
In this fun, juicy, glamorous novel, no one is exactly who they appear to be... And all of them are heading for a MELTDOWN.
Who will rise from the ashes?
Book Excerpt:
The plane from Paris to New York was crowded, even in first class. As usual, there were delays at Kennedy Airport and the pilot announced they would be circling overhead until they were given permission to land. Unfortunately for the annoyed passengers, the drink cart had already been stowed away. Though the actual flight had been calm with only a slight touch of turbulence and the refreshing absence of screaming babies, the passengers were getting antsy, Nyssa included.
Known only by her first name, Nyssa was considered a ‘top model’ well before the phrase was used as the title of a popular television show. At only five nine, she wasn’t considered tall but her legs were long for her height, her breasts full for her frame and her hips just wide enough to give Nyssa an hourglass figure, rare among her peers. She had rolled in the sand for Sports Illustrated, worn wings for Victoria’s Secret, and strutted the catwalk on nearly every continent. But what the camera truly loved was her face- Nyssa could take beauty shots like no other. Her skin was luminous, her forehead smooth and wide with green eyes that tilted up at their corners. Her nose was small and straight and led to a full mouth. And almost hidden by her thick fringe of eyelashes was the tiny, tear-shaped beauty mark that had become her trademark.
Without cosmetics, Nyssa looked like a fresh-faced teenager. Only after a makeup artist accented her cat-eyes and lush lips did she look like the supermodel that had graced the covers of French, British, Italian and American Vogue, and so many other magazines.
It was Fashion Week in New York, the riotous semi-annual ritual that descended upon Manhattan’s Bryant Park each fall and spring. This season she had booked seven shows, more than most but fewer than she’d committed to in the past. Six were names she would be crazy to turn down and one was a racy, fun fashion upstart whose designs were original, an adjective she rarely used after being in the business for nearly a decade.
Nyssa had met the new designers in Paris a couple of years ago. From what she’d seen of their work, they were amazingly talented. But luck was every bit as important as talent, perhaps even more so. She herself had been extremely lucky, plucked out of complete obscurity in Greece by a fashion photographer who had put his neck on the line by asking her to take a few test shots. Modeling had given her money, fame and confidence. Now that she had achieved success, she often tried to give those still struggling a helping hand, especially when they were so deserving.
They couldn’t afford to pay her typical rate, but she didn’t care. Nyssa’s bank accounts were substantial and she was offered more work than she could ever possibly accept, each job better paying than the next. She owned an apartment in Manhattan and one in Paris. She had an agent, a business manager and an accountant- all of whom were paid to accommodate her needs. At twenty-eight years old, she was beholden to no one. It was more than she had ever dreamed of, and yet still not enough.
As the plane circled around and around waiting for clearance from air control to land, it occurred to her that she was in a similar holding pattern, flying high above the clouds though only temporarily postponing her eventual descent. An experienced pilot might have many hundreds, even thousands of takeoffs and landings over the course of his career, honing his skill level to make them as smooth as possible. Nyssa’s career had taken off like a shot and she’d been flying high ever since. In the world of fashion modeling, few had ever managed to navigate their way down as successfully as they had their ascent, and their time above the clouds was usually fleeting. Not that Nyssa was ready to land anytime soon.
Early on, a more experienced model had taken Nyssa under her wing and had thankfully introduced her to a reputable business manager. After analyzing the state of her still relatively meager earnings, he taught her to invest her money rather than spend it carelessly or let it sit idle in a non-interest bearing account. He had also convinced her to buy both of her apartments and was presently encouraging her to look for a house in Los Angeles. These and other investments had done so well, he’d promised that if she worked for another five years she could retire and still be able to maintain her present lifestyle. “What lifestyle?” she asked, laughing. Her life was her work and she had no intention of retiring anytime soon.
With a restrained sigh Nyssa pushed her melancholy thoughts aside and flipped through her schedule for tomorrow. Up at dawn for a quick workout, two shows, then the inevitable after-parties where the rich and beautiful mingled, each hoping part of the other would rub off amid the self-laudatory haze of alcohol and drugs that so often infused these functions. Rock stars, porn stars, movie stars, supermodels, and the creative geniuses and money men that made their world possible all crammed into the latest, hippest venue. Paris or Milan, New York or London- it was all the same.
When Nyssa first got into the business, she loved it- the madness, the frenzy, the clothes, the attention, the money. God, how she had embraced her life back then. She’d been seventeen when she landed her first Vogue cover. A dozen had since followed, not to mention the number of pages she’d garnered inside. In the early days she had scanned every magazine for her image, practically jumping up and down when she found herself staring back. But the excitement of seeing her own face on a newsstand had long since faded.
The captain announced their final descent and Nyssa tightened her seatbelt. She felt a lurch as the plane’s landing gear was lowered into position and they banked left, turning ninety degrees towards the runway before making their final approach. She gazed out the window at the twinkling lights of the city below her, anxious to be back on the ground again. She had a busy week ahead.
The clock on Nyssa’s nightstand read 4:48am. She had been awake for almost an hour, trying to will herself back to sleep. Unable to contain a frustrated sigh she finally rose naked from her bed, a long legged vision of perfection. Pulling on a pair of lycra pants and a top with built-in support, Nyssa tied her sneakers and left the apartment before walking briskly to the promenade bordering the East River. Barely taking the time to stretch, she headed north. The sun was just coming up and the air was chilly. It was a perfect spring morning.
When Nyssa first took up running, she felt as if she were running away from her past. As she achieved success, she ran towards her future. But now, like everything else, it had become just another habit, her way to start the day. Even so, she still enjoyed it. She relished the way it made her feel in control of everything- her body, her mind, her life. She felt empowered knowing every muscle in her body was doing exactly what she wanted it to do. After a mile her heart was racing, her legs and arms pumping. A light sheen of perspiration dampened her body, her skin glistening in the still weak sunlight. Four miles later, her clothes were slick with sweat, her lungs near to bursting. She slowed to a fast walk and headed for home.
Back in her apartment Nyssa stripped and showered, then pulled her hair into a loose topknot. Never heavy, she had still gotten thinner over the years, a necessity for runway work. She grabbed a thong from her drawer and shrugged into jeans and a black v-neck shirt. Nyssa rarely wore a bra. She felt sexier when she could feel the bounce of her breasts, the pull of fabric across her nipples. It was the same reason she slept naked. Whether she was with a man or not, she reveled in the way her body responded to temperature and texture.
Though she normally preferred to take cabs and even the occasional subway around the city, having a driver on call for Fashion Week was vital. Designers were notoriously unpredictable and Nyssa had staked her career on being consistently prompt and professional. With shows often running late and last minute emergency fittings being the norm, it was comforting to know she could be assured of getting around town without any hassle. Her car was waiting. The driver headed to Forty-Second Street and dropped her off at Fifth Avenue where she quickly ducked into the nearest tent. Eric Calvados and Nathan Yurg, the new designers Nyssa had taken a fancy to, were freaking out.
“Oh Nyssa, thank God you’re here!” Eric yelled as he came bounding over to her.
“Yeah, we’ve had a few changes since your fitting,” Nathan added. “Angelique!” he screamed. “Double-check that number six fits.”
“I thought there were only five looks,” Nyssa mumbled, already thinking that this show might make her late for her next, and Michael Kors did not like to be kept waiting.
“There were, but we had a huge brainstorm and came up with something fabulous,” Eric explained, his animated expression and expansive hand gestures conveying his enthusiasm.
“I promise, it’s a real show stopper,” said Nathan.
It was a given that Nyssa would both start and finish the show. She allowed herself to be led further into the tent. Rock music was blaring from speakers and workmen were still arranging the chairs. A full house was expected but it was really only the front rows that mattered. Celebrities, fashion editors, and major buyers would all be placed as strategically as possible, the seating plan often taking longer than the designs themselves.
“Angelique,” Nathan screamed again, aiming at no one in particular. Nyssa frowned, she hated raised voices. A frazzled looking woman came running up to them with several dresses overflowing her thin arms. “Nyssa, this will be your fitter, Angelique.” They exchanged polite nods.
“Angelique, show Nyssa to hair and makeup immediately. Come get me as soon as she’s finished- I want to see her before they start on anyone else.” Eric and Nathan quickly kissed her on both cheeks and then scurried off. Angelique veered left and Nyssa hurried to follow her, sidestepping several fashion journalists and other assorted hangers-on as she went.
Once in the chair for hair and makeup, Nyssa closed her eyes and let herself become a blank canvas upon which the designer’s aspirations could be painted. Around her, the volume seemed to increase every minute as models, fitters, hair and makeup artists, the stage and sound crew, and of course Eric and Nathan themselves hurried to pull everything together in time. In other words, it was a typical fashion show: crazed and energetic, stressful and chaotic.
As Angelique helped Nyssa into her first outfit, the two designers came careening towards her. Her hair had been teased into wild abandon, extensions falling to her waist. Makeup covered her face so it appeared that a mask covered her from the cheekbone upwards, the color a dark eggplant. Her first outfit was the same shade as her face paint, simple and exquisitely cut.
“Ok, Nyssa, we’re ready for you,” Eric shouted from his stance by the curtained entrance. She strode towards him on five inch heels with Angelique following behind, frantically making adjustments as she walked.
The music stopped for a moment and even in the crowded tent you could hear a pin drop, everyone holding their breath as they waited for the show to begin. Eric gave Nyssa a glance up and down, tears in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
Nyssa smiled and reached out to squeeze his hand, letting her guard drop for just a moment. After this show she knew Eric and Nathan would be a huge success. It felt good to help them out. Through she committed to several well-known designers each year, they had nowhere to go but down. At shows like ECNY there was excitement in the air, an anticipation for something that had yet to be achieved. Years ago, she felt the same kind of excitement on a daily basis. She missed it.
From behind the curtain, Eric motioned. With a blast of music, the lights illuminating the catwalk came on. “Three, two, one…Go,” Eric whispered urgently.
In a fusion of power and elegance, Nyssa stepped from behind the curtain into the walk she had made famous. Shoulders back, knees high, back arched. The audience let out a collective gasp the moment her stiletto-clad foot stepped onto the runway. Though her expression remained aloof, Nyssa heard their reaction, felt their awe. Her emerald eyes stared forward, twin pools of confidence.
No one would ever guess that Nyssa, an obvious winner of the gene-pool lottery, had escaped an abusive, alcoholic father and a brief stint in a Greek whorehouse. And if she had her wish, no one ever would.
She had come a very long way, succeeding where so many other girls had failed. This was Nyssa’s game and she played it better than anyone else.
Known only by her first name, Nyssa was considered a ‘top model’ well before the phrase was used as the title of a popular television show. At only five nine, she wasn’t considered tall but her legs were long for her height, her breasts full for her frame and her hips just wide enough to give Nyssa an hourglass figure, rare among her peers. She had rolled in the sand for Sports Illustrated, worn wings for Victoria’s Secret, and strutted the catwalk on nearly every continent. But what the camera truly loved was her face- Nyssa could take beauty shots like no other. Her skin was luminous, her forehead smooth and wide with green eyes that tilted up at their corners. Her nose was small and straight and led to a full mouth. And almost hidden by her thick fringe of eyelashes was the tiny, tear-shaped beauty mark that had become her trademark.
Without cosmetics, Nyssa looked like a fresh-faced teenager. Only after a makeup artist accented her cat-eyes and lush lips did she look like the supermodel that had graced the covers of French, British, Italian and American Vogue, and so many other magazines.
It was Fashion Week in New York, the riotous semi-annual ritual that descended upon Manhattan’s Bryant Park each fall and spring. This season she had booked seven shows, more than most but fewer than she’d committed to in the past. Six were names she would be crazy to turn down and one was a racy, fun fashion upstart whose designs were original, an adjective she rarely used after being in the business for nearly a decade.
Nyssa had met the new designers in Paris a couple of years ago. From what she’d seen of their work, they were amazingly talented. But luck was every bit as important as talent, perhaps even more so. She herself had been extremely lucky, plucked out of complete obscurity in Greece by a fashion photographer who had put his neck on the line by asking her to take a few test shots. Modeling had given her money, fame and confidence. Now that she had achieved success, she often tried to give those still struggling a helping hand, especially when they were so deserving.
They couldn’t afford to pay her typical rate, but she didn’t care. Nyssa’s bank accounts were substantial and she was offered more work than she could ever possibly accept, each job better paying than the next. She owned an apartment in Manhattan and one in Paris. She had an agent, a business manager and an accountant- all of whom were paid to accommodate her needs. At twenty-eight years old, she was beholden to no one. It was more than she had ever dreamed of, and yet still not enough.
As the plane circled around and around waiting for clearance from air control to land, it occurred to her that she was in a similar holding pattern, flying high above the clouds though only temporarily postponing her eventual descent. An experienced pilot might have many hundreds, even thousands of takeoffs and landings over the course of his career, honing his skill level to make them as smooth as possible. Nyssa’s career had taken off like a shot and she’d been flying high ever since. In the world of fashion modeling, few had ever managed to navigate their way down as successfully as they had their ascent, and their time above the clouds was usually fleeting. Not that Nyssa was ready to land anytime soon.
Early on, a more experienced model had taken Nyssa under her wing and had thankfully introduced her to a reputable business manager. After analyzing the state of her still relatively meager earnings, he taught her to invest her money rather than spend it carelessly or let it sit idle in a non-interest bearing account. He had also convinced her to buy both of her apartments and was presently encouraging her to look for a house in Los Angeles. These and other investments had done so well, he’d promised that if she worked for another five years she could retire and still be able to maintain her present lifestyle. “What lifestyle?” she asked, laughing. Her life was her work and she had no intention of retiring anytime soon.
With a restrained sigh Nyssa pushed her melancholy thoughts aside and flipped through her schedule for tomorrow. Up at dawn for a quick workout, two shows, then the inevitable after-parties where the rich and beautiful mingled, each hoping part of the other would rub off amid the self-laudatory haze of alcohol and drugs that so often infused these functions. Rock stars, porn stars, movie stars, supermodels, and the creative geniuses and money men that made their world possible all crammed into the latest, hippest venue. Paris or Milan, New York or London- it was all the same.
When Nyssa first got into the business, she loved it- the madness, the frenzy, the clothes, the attention, the money. God, how she had embraced her life back then. She’d been seventeen when she landed her first Vogue cover. A dozen had since followed, not to mention the number of pages she’d garnered inside. In the early days she had scanned every magazine for her image, practically jumping up and down when she found herself staring back. But the excitement of seeing her own face on a newsstand had long since faded.
The captain announced their final descent and Nyssa tightened her seatbelt. She felt a lurch as the plane’s landing gear was lowered into position and they banked left, turning ninety degrees towards the runway before making their final approach. She gazed out the window at the twinkling lights of the city below her, anxious to be back on the ground again. She had a busy week ahead.
****
The clock on Nyssa’s nightstand read 4:48am. She had been awake for almost an hour, trying to will herself back to sleep. Unable to contain a frustrated sigh she finally rose naked from her bed, a long legged vision of perfection. Pulling on a pair of lycra pants and a top with built-in support, Nyssa tied her sneakers and left the apartment before walking briskly to the promenade bordering the East River. Barely taking the time to stretch, she headed north. The sun was just coming up and the air was chilly. It was a perfect spring morning.
When Nyssa first took up running, she felt as if she were running away from her past. As she achieved success, she ran towards her future. But now, like everything else, it had become just another habit, her way to start the day. Even so, she still enjoyed it. She relished the way it made her feel in control of everything- her body, her mind, her life. She felt empowered knowing every muscle in her body was doing exactly what she wanted it to do. After a mile her heart was racing, her legs and arms pumping. A light sheen of perspiration dampened her body, her skin glistening in the still weak sunlight. Four miles later, her clothes were slick with sweat, her lungs near to bursting. She slowed to a fast walk and headed for home.
Back in her apartment Nyssa stripped and showered, then pulled her hair into a loose topknot. Never heavy, she had still gotten thinner over the years, a necessity for runway work. She grabbed a thong from her drawer and shrugged into jeans and a black v-neck shirt. Nyssa rarely wore a bra. She felt sexier when she could feel the bounce of her breasts, the pull of fabric across her nipples. It was the same reason she slept naked. Whether she was with a man or not, she reveled in the way her body responded to temperature and texture.
Though she normally preferred to take cabs and even the occasional subway around the city, having a driver on call for Fashion Week was vital. Designers were notoriously unpredictable and Nyssa had staked her career on being consistently prompt and professional. With shows often running late and last minute emergency fittings being the norm, it was comforting to know she could be assured of getting around town without any hassle. Her car was waiting. The driver headed to Forty-Second Street and dropped her off at Fifth Avenue where she quickly ducked into the nearest tent. Eric Calvados and Nathan Yurg, the new designers Nyssa had taken a fancy to, were freaking out.
“Oh Nyssa, thank God you’re here!” Eric yelled as he came bounding over to her.
“Yeah, we’ve had a few changes since your fitting,” Nathan added. “Angelique!” he screamed. “Double-check that number six fits.”
“I thought there were only five looks,” Nyssa mumbled, already thinking that this show might make her late for her next, and Michael Kors did not like to be kept waiting.
“There were, but we had a huge brainstorm and came up with something fabulous,” Eric explained, his animated expression and expansive hand gestures conveying his enthusiasm.
“I promise, it’s a real show stopper,” said Nathan.
It was a given that Nyssa would both start and finish the show. She allowed herself to be led further into the tent. Rock music was blaring from speakers and workmen were still arranging the chairs. A full house was expected but it was really only the front rows that mattered. Celebrities, fashion editors, and major buyers would all be placed as strategically as possible, the seating plan often taking longer than the designs themselves.
“Angelique,” Nathan screamed again, aiming at no one in particular. Nyssa frowned, she hated raised voices. A frazzled looking woman came running up to them with several dresses overflowing her thin arms. “Nyssa, this will be your fitter, Angelique.” They exchanged polite nods.
“Angelique, show Nyssa to hair and makeup immediately. Come get me as soon as she’s finished- I want to see her before they start on anyone else.” Eric and Nathan quickly kissed her on both cheeks and then scurried off. Angelique veered left and Nyssa hurried to follow her, sidestepping several fashion journalists and other assorted hangers-on as she went.
Once in the chair for hair and makeup, Nyssa closed her eyes and let herself become a blank canvas upon which the designer’s aspirations could be painted. Around her, the volume seemed to increase every minute as models, fitters, hair and makeup artists, the stage and sound crew, and of course Eric and Nathan themselves hurried to pull everything together in time. In other words, it was a typical fashion show: crazed and energetic, stressful and chaotic.
As Angelique helped Nyssa into her first outfit, the two designers came careening towards her. Her hair had been teased into wild abandon, extensions falling to her waist. Makeup covered her face so it appeared that a mask covered her from the cheekbone upwards, the color a dark eggplant. Her first outfit was the same shade as her face paint, simple and exquisitely cut.
“Ok, Nyssa, we’re ready for you,” Eric shouted from his stance by the curtained entrance. She strode towards him on five inch heels with Angelique following behind, frantically making adjustments as she walked.
The music stopped for a moment and even in the crowded tent you could hear a pin drop, everyone holding their breath as they waited for the show to begin. Eric gave Nyssa a glance up and down, tears in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
Nyssa smiled and reached out to squeeze his hand, letting her guard drop for just a moment. After this show she knew Eric and Nathan would be a huge success. It felt good to help them out. Through she committed to several well-known designers each year, they had nowhere to go but down. At shows like ECNY there was excitement in the air, an anticipation for something that had yet to be achieved. Years ago, she felt the same kind of excitement on a daily basis. She missed it.
From behind the curtain, Eric motioned. With a blast of music, the lights illuminating the catwalk came on. “Three, two, one…Go,” Eric whispered urgently.
In a fusion of power and elegance, Nyssa stepped from behind the curtain into the walk she had made famous. Shoulders back, knees high, back arched. The audience let out a collective gasp the moment her stiletto-clad foot stepped onto the runway. Though her expression remained aloof, Nyssa heard their reaction, felt their awe. Her emerald eyes stared forward, twin pools of confidence.
No one would ever guess that Nyssa, an obvious winner of the gene-pool lottery, had escaped an abusive, alcoholic father and a brief stint in a Greek whorehouse. And if she had her wish, no one ever would.
She had come a very long way, succeeding where so many other girls had failed. This was Nyssa’s game and she played it better than anyone else.
My Book Review:
In Meltdown, Author Tara Thompson weaves a riveting tale that transports the reader into the fascinating world of fashion, finance and politics as four people's lives intertwine when their pasts collide with the present.
Nyssa, Steve, Demetri and Aislinn come from diverse backgrounds, each of their journeys are filled with intriguing pasts some troubled, some privileged ... each dealing with conflicts and aspirations interwoven within acquiring power, prestige and romance.
With the backdrop of Greece, NYC and Texas, the reader enters the drama filled world of fashion, financial crises of Wall Street, and political/sexual scandals in Texas government as they follow the characters' storylines in an alternating fashion that includes flashbacks to their pasts. With a mixture of scintillating betrayal, scandal and romance, the suspenseful twists and turns and obstacles that the characters have to overcome will keep the reader turning the pages.
I loved the complexity of each character, the diversity of their backgrounds, and the flashback into their pasts that made them the people they became was fascinating to me. The author provides the reader with an intriguing look into the world of fashion, finance and politics, there is enough action, suspense and romance interwoven that keeps the reader's interest. Who doesn't love reading about the glitter and power that comes with the beautiful, rich and famous? If you scratch below the surface of their individual successes, you'll discover that not everything is what it appears to be.
Meltdown is a fast-paced and entertaining story of romance and suspense that will leave you satisfied in the end.
RATING: 4 STARS ****
Virtual Book Tour Contest Giveaway
Win A $20 Amazon Gift Card
Contest Dates: June 24 - July 15, 2013
Everyone who leaves a comment on Meltdown by Tara Thompson ~ Virtual Book Tour Page: Chick Lit Plus Blog Tours will be entered to win a $20 Amazon gift card! Anyone who purchases their copy of Meltdown before July 15 and sends their receipt to Samantha@ChickLitPlus.com, will get five bonus entries.
Virtual Book Tour Schedule
Tour Schedule:
June 26 – Amie’s Reviews – Review
June 26 – Bite My Book – Guest Post & Excerpt
June 27 – Michelle’s Book Nook – Guest Post
June 28 – Step Into Fiction – Guest Post
June 28 - Amie's Reviews - Guest Post
July 1 – Keep Calm & Blog On – Review
July 2 – Samantha March – Q&A & Excerpt
July 6 - Karma For Life Chick – Review
July 7 – Lavender & Camomile Press – Excerpt
July 8 – Storm Goddess Book Reviews – Review & Q&A
July 11 – Chick Lit Goddess – Review
July 15 – Jersey Girl Book Reviews – Review, Guest Post & Excerpt
Thanks for closing out the tour!
ReplyDeleteThank you for the opportunity to host the virtual book tour event.
DeleteSo glad you enjoyed the book!!!!!
ReplyDeleteHi Tara! I loved reading Meltdown! The characters' storylines were fascinating, it was such a fun read! Thank you for the opportunity to host your virtual book tour event. :)
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