Daily Archives: 27/02/2015

RELEASE DAY BLITZ – The Problem With Heartache by Lauren K. McKellar



Title: The Problem With Heartache
Series: Crazy in Love #3
Author: Lauren K. McKellar

Genre: Contemporary Romance (New Adult)

Release Date: February 27, 2015


The problem with heartache is that there’s no one-size-fits-all relief package.
You can go to classes; you can try to embrace change.
But when you wake up at two in the morning, a smile on your face because you’ve dreamt about the could have— the should have — nothing will console you.

Because seconds later, you remember.

And remembering can rip you apart.


Kate will do anything for her family. It’s why she took the job with Lee.
It’s why she’s attempting to forget
her pain. But it’s hard to forget, when you’re desperate to hold on.
Even if Lee Collins is the perfect package.

Lee will do anything for the ones he cares about.
It’s why he hired Kate.

It’s why he keeps his secrets, and it’s why he cannot, will not fall in love.
Not with Kate—not with anyone.


The one thing he can’t forgive.

The one thing she can’t forget.






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“You. In.” She pointed to the room behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder.
“In there?” I smirked again, but her cheeks didn’t get any redder, to my astonishment. “Is now really the time?”
She pushed against my naked chest, her steely eyes fixed on my face the whole time, then slammed the door behind us with her foot.
“If you wanted some private time together, you just had to say so.” I joked, leaning back against the chair that was positioned in front of the mirror in my dressing room.
“You think this is funny?” Kate asked, her head tilted to the side.
“Actually … yeah.” I nodded and smiled again, not unkindly.
Kate looked down, and for one God-awful moment I thought she was going to cry.
Then, she did something better than crying. Holy mother of crap sticks, was this better than crying.
She raised her hands to the top of her black button-up shirt—and she undid the top button. Creamy, white skin is exposed, defined collarbones, teasing my eyes down to—
She undid another button. Holy fuck, what was Kate doing? Her cleavage heaved in front of me, and I got a hint, just a hint of her black lacy bra.
“It cannot be a coincidence that one man is shirtless in front of me six times in two weeks.”
I grinned. She’d counted.
That totally means she’s into it.
Then she did something that completely surprised me. Hell, it shocked the living daylight out of me. In one fluid movement, she grabbed the sides of her shirt and pulled, popping open her entire top and then shrugging it over her shoulders so she stood there in the world’s hottest black, lacy bra, skin-tight black denim jeans and these shoes—how the hell did I not notice them before?—that were red, high, and sexy as sin.
I swallowed. “So … this is a revenge …” Swallow, “… strip?”
“This is me, trying to do something to get you to pay attention and listen when I ask you to do something.” Kate’s voice was honey as it melted into me.
I raised my hand to the back of my neck and rubbed at the muscles there that had suddenly become tight with tension. “Oh, I’m paying attention, all right.” I widened my eyes. There was absolutely no doubt about that right now.

“Get back stage, Lee. Seriously. This is your last warning.”
I swallowed again, and felt the clamminess of perspiration beading my brow. Was it hot in here? It sure felt hot.
She stepped close to me, till her chest was almost touching my chest. Shit, she smelt like soap and hairspray and … apples. Delicious.
“I …” My gaze flicked to her lips, and I wondered if it would really be that bad if I kissed her. After all, that wouldn’t be promising her marriage, and maybe she’d be up for a casual thing. And her lips—they were so red, and plump, and—oh God, she just licked them with that sweet-as-hell little tongue, and—
The palm of her hand made contact with my face before I even registered her arm moving. Five elegant fingers stung my cheek and I jerked backward, clutching my face in pain. “What the hell?”
Kate walked over to where her shirt lay on the floor and picked it up, casually shrugging it on. She had the biggest shit-eating grin on her face, and I couldn’t help but give a little smile myself. I’d not seen her look so animated since she first boarded the bus.
“I told you it was your final warning,” she said, doing up her buttons, then turned to the door, wrenching it open and making a sweeping gesture with her arm, allowing me passage through. “Now, Mr Collins, if you please.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, walking past her and out into the corridor. I passed Xander’s door, and a thought flashed through my mind. What if she stripped for all the guys to get them on stage? I couldn’t have her just—
“Lee?” The voice halted me in my tracks. I spun to face her.
She threw my black shirt at me. “Put some clothes on.”


 Author Bio
Lauren K. McKellar is an author and editor. Her debut novel, Finding Home, was released through Escape Publishing on October 1, 2013, and her second release, NA Contemporary Romance The Problem With Crazy, is self-published, and is available now. She loves books that evoke emotion, and hope hers make you feel.

Lauren lives by the beach in Australia with her husband and their two dogs. Most of the time, all three of them are well behaved.

 Author Links




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Dodge City, Kansas


Tuesday 5:45 am April 6, 2015

The sun finally broke over the horizon and a few birds were seen in the sky. It was a new day but the same old routine. The red light flashed 5:45 am and the alarm rang loud enough to wake the dead. A young man rolled over in his bed and quickly shut it off. He stretched out all of his tightened muscles, still weary from yesterday’s shift. He popped himself out of his bed to make it, not wasting any time burning sunlight. He grabbed his uniform in his fists and headed for the shower, as per his usual routine.

Breakfast was quick and easy. Time was not his ally on the daylight side, so he kept to his staples: a bowl of plain oatmeal with a glass of milk. Placing the oatmeal container back into the pantry, he realized he was down to his last cylinder of oats, and at that, he was close to empty. He made a mental note to pick some more up in a day or so. Bottles of medication lined his counter, organized first by size then the symptoms they subdued. Byron sighed, it had been a great few days and even though he was pleased with the results of the new medication, its process was still just as taxing as before. The muted voices forced their presence on his conscience again as the flashes of light he had come to know was centered on their tone. And that tone was not a happy one. No, if he was honest with himself, they were pissed off. In his peripheral, streaks of red and black danced violently with each pill he popped into mouth. Forcing them to behave yet again.

After rinsing and placing his dishes in the sink, he grabbed his store keys and ventured out into the blinding sunshine. Like clockwork his OCD kicked in, and the double-checking of all the windows and doors ensued to make sure they stood secured. Once outside, he sighed and began his two-block walk to work. Bryon was definitely not the driving type.

He did not seem to notice the deserted streets or the eerie silence that followed him. He gave it about as much attention as he did on most other days, slim to none. His focus was laser spot-on, mostly with his head down watching his feet. His pace, his gait, even the placement of his feet between the gaps in the sidewalk where they were divided was lining up measured with such fanatical precision. He was confident he had lined up with his footfalls from the day before and the day before that.

A few garbage cans laid on their sides, spilled over at the end of a neighbor’s driveway, put a small pause in his obsessive routine. He quickly righted them and continued on his way without missing a beat. He half-sprinted, half-skipped, catching himself up to where he would have been if he had not stopped. Rounding the last corner, his destination loomed off in the distance, just across the silent street. Various newspaper and circulars flew across his path. He made a mental note to come hit the curbs around the restaurant with his broom and dustpan to get it back up to his level of acceptance.

He approached the door, keys in hand. His awareness kicked into high gear when he reached for the doorknob. The door had been left slightly ajar. He realized he must have done it himself. He was not an extremely forgetful person, but every sixth or seventh time he worked, he would forget to lock up the door behind him. It felt familiar to him, so he felt no trepidation when he reached to push the door open. He stopped only long enough to let it register, more likely to mentally kick himself to not do it again. He walked in secure in his belief that everything was status quo.

His entry was uneventful.

Byron headed to the time clock, and punched in, 6:30 A.M. on the dot. In the four years since his sixteenth birthday when he began working at Nana’s Cafe, he has never once been late. Come rain, shine, snow or lightning. Somehow, he always adjusted and just trudged through it. Without fail he would cross the threshold, none the worse for wear.

He gathered up his cleaning supplies, and heading straight to work. “If you got time to lean, you got time to clean.” Nana used to chant. Byron eventually got sick of hearing it, so he filled every second of his shift on the clock doing his humdrum routine. He made little games out of it, always trying to get that one spot just one degree cleaner than last time or maybe he would work on how fast he did it. Instead of something taking ten minutes, he would push himself to do it in nine, and so on and so on. Bathrooms are always first and luckily, they were in fair shape. In fact, curiously enough, they were about as clean as he had left them last the night before. Hmmm…Very lucky. As it turns out, he was almost never, ever, lucky.

He turned and headed to the dining area and noticed the disarray. He sighed to himself thinking that the night shift forgot to clean up before they left. Once that is done, he headed over to the main kitchen and finished getting the coffee pots ready, placing all the cups’ handles facing to the right. They were lined up perfectly as if the very cups themselves were for sale.

After a quick checking of the time on his watch, 7:59 am, he walked over to the main window and flips over the open sign. The small buzzing sound from his watch alerts him to the time. Its 8:00am, he scanned outward to the barren streets wondering where his co-workers are. They were late.

A soft breeze picked up accented by some newspapers seen tumbling down the road. The faint outline of the heading is still visible “Outbreak Spre-“.

He takes his breaks on time; he even makes himself a small lunch not wanting too much to be taken out of his paycheck. The day was the slowest it has ever been in the history of the café.

No customers.

No one came into work.

No one was out on the streets of the town.

No cars passed by.

Not even the garbage truck, which was late for Tuesday’s pick up as well.

He was alone.

His shift ended at 4:00 pm; he clocked out, remembering to keep his promise to himself to lock the door behind him and began his trek home. Deciding to stray away from the sidewalk for the first time, he kept to the center of the street, with his shadow cast behind him he disappeared around the last corner to his home. His routine would not change the next day or even the next day after that. Despite several days of this, he failed to realize his routine remained the only meaning in his life he had left.

This is Byron.

This is his home town of Dodge City, Kansas.

Population: 1.



about the authors
Melissa Leo Pahl

ML Pahl or simply Mel to her friends and family, grew up in coastal North Carolina. With the Marine Corps at her back and the sandy beaches beckoning her face on, she learned that nothing could hinder her imagination.

She wrote and released her first novel, Zombies Don’t Ride Motorcycles, a lil’ zombie apocalypse novel that has the beginnings of a love story threaded in there, with her brother Matthew Leo in December 2014. (Written under the name Melissa Leo-Pahl)

Not wanting to be stuck in one genre, ML Pahl decided to dabble in everything from Science-Fiction to Romantic Comedy and even Paranormal. Whiskey Diaries is book one in the One Night Only series and her first solo project.

Not only is ML Pahl an author, she is the owner/operator of IndieVention Designs. A book formatting and book cover company servicing other indie authors like herself.

Melissa currently resides in the frozen north of Minnesota, where she lives with her family and those cute dogs she’s always tweeting about.


social links
Twitter: @mlpahl or @IndieVention

Email: indievention@yahoo.com or zdrm.books@gmail.com


Facebook: Indie Vention Page

Facebook: Zombies Don’t Ride Motorcycles




Matthew Leo

Matthew Leo was born in North Beach Maryland. He is the oldest of four siblings. Blah Blah Blah. What you really want to know is how he got into writing! His first short story in the 1st grade was a wonderful epic of Ninjas rappelling into a McDonalds and the hero beating them up to save the day. He continued to write short stories and even over 200 poems to credit before graduating high school. He has rubbed elbows (talked over the internet) with such great writers as Piers Anthony and Stephen Brust. His is inspired by the works of Shakespeare, Anne Rice, and the great Steven King. Through reading he has developed his own unique style of writing. His own unique voice.

With that voice he partnered up with his sister, a long life dream, to write the world’s first Zombie Apocalypse Epic Series: Zombies Don’t Ride Motorcycles.

He has plans in the works for putting his finger into many pies, most notably in the genres of Fantasy, Vampire, Erotic Thrillers, and of course one For Dummies book. 🙂

social links
Twitter: @matthew_leo


Facebook: Zombies Don’t Ride Motorcyles





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