Another Fox Bites the Dust – Chapter One Preview
It’s here!!! Out now, download Another Fox Bites the Dust – book three in the Fox Family series.
I loved writing Mindy and Luke’s story, and I hope everyone who reads it enjoys it just as much!
When I first set out to write this series, I started with the idea that each character would represent one of the stages of grief–and I planned for each of their stories with those feelings in mind.
Mindy is anger (and a lot of her fury ends up targeted at one of her sisters, Taylor, whose book is coming up next!).
In some ways, it was difficult for me to write Mindy’s perspective, because I tend toward (extremely annoying) sunshiny cheerfulness, and I don’t feel anger frequently. But at the same time, having lost people close to me, I understand how grief can force that particular emotion to bubble to the surface.
Examining grief in all its various forms has been an interesting experience as I move along in the Fox Family series. Grief is something we all experience at one point or another, and yet it can also extremely lonely–after all, when you lose a loved one, no one experiences the loss in the same way, or has the same relationship with the departed. Which is one of the things I explore in this series, how a group of siblings, all raised together and all experiencing the same loss are impacted in different ways.
It’s a little deeper and darker than my other series, but THERE IS STILL HUMOR, too, because life is messy, but it’s also funny. Anyway, enjoy this sneak peek of Another Fox Bites the Dust and download today at a retailer near you to keep reading!
Chapter One
Mindy
“Jeanette’s pregnant.” Blake’s voice is a deep rumble, a timbre that’s launched five platinum albums and over a dozen top-10 singles.
At first, the words don’t register. Once they do, they sink into my skin, reverberating through my bones.
But the logic still doesn’t quickly click.
“But you haven’t been together in—”
My mouth snaps shut.
Of course they’ve been together.
I’m an idiot.
He winces, his eyes darting away from mine.
The sun is rising over Turtle Pond, spread out in front of us. The stillness of the water and the quiet tranquility of the park are a stark contrast to the storm taking place inside my mind.
The park bench is cold underneath me. Even though it’s midsummer, the morning air is cool and damp. I take a slow breath, trying to calm my pounding heart.
My hands clench into fists in my lap, tightening so hard my nails dig sharp points into my palms.
“I wanted to tell you before it leaks to the press. I wanted you to hear it from me, because I care about you, Mindy. I am torn up about all of this.” His soft hand covers mine where it’s clenched in my lap.
His fingers are icy.
I wrench away. “Wow. Thanks.” Sarcasm drips from the words.
“I would never do anything to hurt you.”
“It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”
He doesn’t reply.
A sharp pain lances through my chest, but it’s over in a second, the slender thread becoming encased in a much larger, thicker pipe of steely anger. I wrap my arms around my middle like the action might contain the fury burning a scorching path through my veins.
“How far along is she?” I angle my head to stare at his profile.
His head dips, his throat bobbing as he swallows.
Blake is not conventionally attractive.
His nose is slightly too large for his face, his dark hair flirts with his chin, his eyes are a touch too small, and his mouth a little too wide. None of it should fit together, and yet he commands attention. He’s tall, over six feet, and as broad as a tank. On top of that, he plays the guitar like the instrument is part of his body. When he sings, he can bring a stadium full of people to their knees. He’s the reason that his band, Vacation Mustache, is Rebel Records’ largest client. My client.
I dismissed his flirting and ignored his flattery for years. Until I didn’t. Then I fell. Hard. But I didn’t fall alone . . . at least, I didn’t think I did.
We’ve lived in our little bubble of sex and romance for nearly a month. It was like no one else existed. He overwhelmed me with his sheer presence. With his relentless persistence. With the way he would simply watch me like I was everything.
Maybe he looks at everyone that way. Maybe I saw what I wanted to see.
The past two weeks have been hell. I’ve barely slept. Giant gray bags have taken up residence under my eyes. Airlines would charge me extra to fly with these things. I’ve lost 5 pounds.
Blake looks fine. Great, even. He ran here, under the pretense of taking a jog, apparently, sporting a fashionable athletic tracksuit and the most expensive Nikes money can buy.
He’s bright, alert, and well rested.
I look like I’ve been run over by ten dump trucks, set on fire, then left in a pile of molding sandwiches.
“Eight weeks,” he finally answers.
We were together for three weeks. It’s been two weeks since the press dropped the bomb on our fledgling relationship. When did Jeanette conceive? Before or after he told me he was devastated by me?
Devasted. That’s the verb he used the last time we were together. He was devastated by me, by what we had together.
“You don’t want children.”
He told me he didn’t want kids. He also told me he and Jeanette weren’t together and that they hadn’t been a true couple for years.
One broad shoulder lifts in an approximation of a shrug. “It was a surprise.”
Finding a twenty dollar bill on the side of the road is a surprise. Getting a curly fry mixed in with an order of regular fries is a surprise. A baby is a life-changing event.
They were about to separate publicly. Then, when a reasonable amount of time had passed, Blake and I could stop hiding our relationship. We had plans. I couldn’t wait to share my joy with everyone, including my friends and my family, announce it to the world, and maybe even go on an actual date with Blake that went beyond my bedroom.
“You were never going to leave her.” I don’t bother making it a question. It’s an unequivocal fact that I couldn’t comprehend before now because I was too busy being dazzled by Blake and everything he is.
He was devasted. I was dazzled. Clearly a recipe for disaster.
He drapes an arm behind me on the bench. “I can’t leave Jeanette now. Splitting from her when she’s pregnant?” He shakes his head. “I can’t do that. What would people say? We’ve both agreed that we have to do what’s best for our careers. I know that you of all people can understand that.”
I don’t understand. It’s true that I’ve been single-minded when it comes to work, which is the main reason I was able to resist him for so long, but this is . . . beyond even my greatest flaws and ambitions. He’s talking about having a baby for his career and staying in a loveless marriage for show.
The real ass-kicker is that none of this is a surprise. I’ve always seen him clearly, and despite his obvious self-absorption, despite the anger churning in my gut, even now if he said he would give it all up to be with me, I . . . I don’t think I could resist him.
I’m such a fool.
“I already have three songs written about what I’ve been going through. All of this press stuff,” he waves a hand, “even though it’s a little hard right now, think about how much interest it will generate in my music.”
Blake keeps talking in soothing tones, low and intimate, but the words are lost over the roaring in my ears.
I doubt he’ll notice I’m not listening and responding. He can’t comprehend a world where people don’t hang on his every syllable. I’ve never had blinders on when it came to Blake’s flaws, but I loved him anyway. I’m not sure he could say the same about me. I’m not sure he loves anyone, really, except himself.
On the one hand, I miss him. On the other hand, he’s being a total self-absorbed asshat and I hate him, and I hate myself for wanting him still.
“Maybe after the baby is born and things calm down, we can try again?”
The steely anger burns a path through my veins. “Are you kidding me?”
He frowns, a crease forming between his brow. “Is that a no?”
“It’s a hell no.”
His mouth pops open in surprise.
Before I have a chance to enjoy his astonishment at being rejected, my phone rings, the jarring, musical sound filling the space between us. I pull it from my pocket and stare at the number on the screen.
It’s the executive VP of Rebel Records.
“Hey, Sonya.” Mouth dry, I stand, taking a few steps away from the bench, putting my back to Blake and his words and this entire conversation.
“Hi, Mindy. Can you come in sometime today so we can chat?”
I’ve been on administrative leave, waiting to hear from them about the status of my position for weeks. “Absolutely. I can be there in twenty minutes.”
This has to be good news. They can’t fire me, not without firing Blake, too. They would never do that—he’s worth too much.
So am I.
I turn back toward Blake. “I have to go.” And then I walk away.
He doesn’t stop me.
* * *
Twenty minutes and an Uber ride later, I walk through the glass doors of Rebel Records, offering a tight smile to Skip at the security desk. He nods and waves me through.
I make a beeline for Sonya’s office, crossing paths with a few employees along the way. One woman talking into a headset about a mechanical license stops the conversation midsentence and then rushes quickly past me, her voice continuing in hushed tones.
I keep moving.
At Sonya’s office door, her receptionist stands to greet me.
“They’re all waiting for you in the conference room,” Arthur says, not quite meeting my eyes.
My career has been my whole life for the past decade. They have to recognize how valuable all my contributions have been. I can’t have my whole life derailed over one poor decision.
I round the corner and stare at the conference room door. They can’t get rid of me. They need me. Don’t they?
I slip inside, shutting the door.
“Mindy.” Sonya’s smile is strained. “Thanks for coming in so quickly.”
She’s not alone. Peter from legal and Amy from HR flank her on the opposite side of the gleaming mahogany table that spans the length of the room.
I swallow. Today is the day for awful conversations, apparently. “I see they’ve sent in the triumvirate of terror.”
Amy coughs a laugh into her palm.
“Please, sit.” Sonya gestures to the chair opposite them.
I sit, folding my hands in my lap and keeping my head high. “Give it to me straight.”
Sonya nods. “I’m afraid it’s not the best news.”
My teeth clench. I can’t believe this.
“You’re letting me go.” It’s not a question.
“We have to mitigate the damage. What happened, it wasn’t good for the label’s image of professionalism, not to mention our reputation in general.”
What happened.
I have to press my lips together to avoid a snarky retort, definitely the opposite of professionalism. What happened was my fault, and I can’t take it back. I slept with Blake. I agreed to a sexual relationship with him, gave in to his advances and entreaties despite my initial misgivings.
“I’ve made this label millions. I’ve dedicated my life to this job.”
Sonya’s eyes are pitying. “Mindy. He’s married.”
“Yes. He is. I, however, am single. Maybe this is a conversation to have with him.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not how it works and you know it. He was your client.”
Was.
All the fight bleeds out of me.
Peter won’t meet my eyes. Amy’s face is nearly green with misery, like she might throw up at any moment.
Of course. He’ll be fine. I’m the other woman. The slut, the homewrecker, the bad guy. It’s not only because Blake is a man, although that’s a big part of it.
His wife though . . . .
Jeanette Adams is one of those America’s sweetheart–type actresses. Everyone loves her. She’s charming in late-night interviews, witty, quirky, and self-deprecating.
She and Blake were, I mean, they are, a media-darling couple. They’ve been able to use their relationship as fodder over the years to help fuel both of their careers.
He was going to leave her for me.
They were waiting until she wrapped up her next film, then they planned to publicly split, and she could have used the tabloid fodder when she had her press tour.
Terrible but true: There’s no such thing as bad press.
Except now she’s pregnant. Maybe they were never going to split. Maybe it was all a lie.
Blake and I are completely, unequivocally over.
And I’m being fired.
“Peter has some paperwork for you to sign. Skip will escort you to your office to grab your things.”
“Right.” I won’t crumble. I won’t let this be the end, be my end. I will find another job. Perhaps even a better job.
Brave thoughts, but my stomach is shredding and my heart, what’s left of it, is shattering all over again.
I stand up, hold my head high, and walk out.
Skip is waiting for me right outside the door, holding an empty box. “Sorry about this, Miss Fox,” he murmurs.
“Not your fault.”
He hands me the box and waits outside my office.
I was so proud when I moved in here. The hard work and sacrifice over the years had finally paid off, or so I thought. I had made it. I had a corner office in Manhattan. I had walls lined with my accomplishments and awards. Now they are worth nothing.
When I’m done, I stand in the center of the room, taking in the space that used to be mine for the last time.
I pick up the small box of my things and follow Skip out.
I’ve lost my job and my boyfriend. At least things can’t possibly get worse.
I’ll find another job. I’ll pick myself back up and move on to something even better. I built my career from nothing, and I will rise from the ashes like a phoenix.
