Spotlight: The Second Chance Hotel by Sierra Godfrey

It's all fun and games until you accidentally marry a stranger in Greece and inherit a hotel.

When Amelia Lang arrives at the Ria Hotel in Greece, she's just been dumped and fired from her tech job in San Francisco. She hopes she can figure out her next steps with a little help from the eccentric hotelier at the Ria Hotel, the charming townspeople of the isolated Greek island of Asteri, and a two-weeks stay at the slightly rundown but gorgeously situated hotel. But life goes topsy-turvy when she wakes up after a night of partying with James, the hotel’s only other guest, to discover that not only are they now legally married—they're also the new owners of the Ria Hotel.

For fans of Marian Keyes and My Big Fat Greek Wedding, The Second Chance Hotel is a madcap tale with a big heart that is sure to transport readers to the glittering, cerulean beaches of the Aegean Sea and the sun-drenched, golden groves of Greece’s famed olive farms.

Excerpt

Amelia Lang was not aiming for Micah’s head when she threw the coffee mug. But if he hadn’t moved, it would have hit him right between the eyes. Instead, it hit the conference room window behind him with a resounding smack. Tea dripped down the spiderweb of cracks in the glass. The mug, Amelia saw with regret, had broken. It was her favorite one, with whimsical travel illustrations and a gilded rim. Too bad about the tea too- it was a fancy French blend that was hard to find.

Those standing in the vicinity watched in shocked silence.

Amelia’s boss, severe on the best of days, looked thunderous. “Amelia. Go sit in my office.”

Micah had the gall to smirk as she passed. She closed her boss’s office door behind her and sank into the guest chair. And then it hit her. She’d thrown a mug at someone’s head. Never mind that it was Micah’s head, and that she, still in the flush of fury, thought he deserved it. She’d never done anything like that. Never gotten into a fist fight, never even shoved anyone. She, who gently escorted spiders out of her house and always held the door open for others. Throwing a mug and cracking a window? That was irreversible, evidenced by being sent to sit in her boss’s office like she was five.

The minutes ticked away. She wished she was the type to escape out of the window and briefly considered becoming that person. It looked bad, she could see that. Thirty-two years old, living with her parents again, and about to be fired for throwing a mug at her ex-boyfriend’s head at work. The past week had been a one-way ticket to Failureville.

Finally, after a long stretch that suggested her boss and HR were discussing how to handle her, they came in and closed the door behind them.

“Amelia,” her boss said. “I’m sure you can appreciate the difficult situation we’re in.”

Amelia did not appreciate anything, least of all what Micah said right before the mug left her hand, but she nodded.

“Can you explain what happened?” the HR manager asked.

She considered how much to tell them. It had been a terrible morning. She had left her apartment late, and because she’d been running behind, it was a certainty that a massive accident on Highway 101, running south out of San Francisco into Silicon Valley, slowed her down further. A car fire, no less. And if you were running late, and there was a car fire on the freeway, it stood to reason that your mobile phone would be dead so you couldn’t call and let people know you’d be late. Amelia didn’t even know where her charger was, because it was that kind of morning.

As a result, she’d missed most of the morning developer meeting. Sliding into the conference room, far from invisible, her boss had pounced on her. In a tone that sounded like he was sucking a lemon, he asked her what the status of the code release was.

“It went out last night, as scheduled,” she said. Obviously the code release had gone out. That was the entire point of her job.

There had been a visible shuffling in the room. Amelia looked around, but no one met her eye. Including Micah, but this was no surprise. They’d broken up last week, and he’d done it in the most craven way possible, trotting out the ol’ I need to work on myself line. She wasn’t heartbroken, not by a long shot, but they were supposed to have gone to Paris in three weeks. Amelia had been looking forward to the trip for months. Now, two non-refundable tickets and a breakup later and they couldn’t even look at each other. Which was a problem considering they worked together.

But there was no reason for the others to avoid her eye. A shiver of horror slid down her spine as she realized that the release had clearly not gone out.

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About the Author

Sierra Godfrey is a tech editor by day who loves writing stories about complex relationships. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband, sons, and a bevy of animals, all of which seemed like a good idea at the time.

Spotlight: End Game by G.A. Mazurke

Release Date: September 7

She’s my lifeline, my rock…

When I was billeted with the Bukowskis, I made a mistake.

I didn’t lock Gracie Agnieska Bukowski down.

Instead, like a 16-year-old idiot, I became best friends with her brother, Kow, and now, the family considers me one of their own.

Until her, hockey was my only refuge. So, when I’m traded to the New York Stars, my first move is to change my number to 35. See, we made a vow, one that she might have forgotten, but I haven’t.

Gracie’s about to be swept off her feet.

I’m going to prove to her that not only is she not my sister…

She’s my end game.

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G. A. Mazurke is the crazy lady behind Serena Akeroyd, crafter of smexy heroes you just wanna lick. While Serena has us expecting dark romance with lots of twists and turns … G. A. is her more mainstream/contemporary personality. 

She explores her sweeter side while keeping the sexy we love, where the women fall hard but the men fall harder.

Some of G. A.’s books will cross over into Serena’s universes… so expect a cameo or two from beloved characters, while discovering new bands of brothers, with the banter, the laughs and the tears you are used to.

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To learn more about G.A. Mazurke & her books, visit here!

Spotlight: Yours Cruelly by Winter Renshaw

The message said, “Remember me?” But the sender was someone I’d rather forget.  

Alec Mansfield haunted my memories like a cruel specter. In high school, he was my tormentor and the bane of my existence. When he wasn’t defying authority alongside my older brothers, he was sabotaging my dates and sending me “anonymous” emails signed “yours cruelly.”  

 Alec was merciless, an emerald-eyed devil spending his daddy’s money and wreaking havoc over our hometown of Sapphire Shores like he owned the place. But mostly, he hated that I didn’t fawn over him like all the other girls did. 

It’s been ten years since he left town.  

But now he’s back, working as an ER doctor at the local hospital, and in a strange twist of fate, we match on a dating app. I agree to meet up, but only because I want to tell him off for making my life a living hell all those years ago. But four cocktails, one tequila shot, and a shared Uber later, I find myself about to have scorching-hot hate sex with my sworn nemesis.  

The next morning, I leave before the sun comes up, slamming the book on that chapter of my life forever. 

Except a few weeks later, I discover our story has an epilogue—one that starts with two pink lines on a pregnancy test. 

Turns out there are things more life-altering than hooking up with Alec Mansfield … like having his baby.  

NOTE: This is a complete standalone that can be read without reading HATE MAIL first, though it's strongly recommended if you want to avoid spoilers.

Excerpt

Stassi

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

I’m sitting in the back of the Uber I called, Houlihan’s on one side of me, the Portland harbor on the other, glistening in the moonlight. It’s so frigid that the exhaust from the car makes a hazy cloud around me. My palms are on fire and my heart is beating so hard it’s practically crawling up my throat. 

Like a moron, I dressed up. I’m wearing a sweater dress that I only wear when I want to impress people. As if I care about this person.

Which I don’t.

I stopped caring about Alec Mansfield a long time ago. 

I made peace with his cruel ploys to get my attention. 

I close Charlotte’s Web, slip it into my purse, and exhale in an attempt to compose myself before I tackle this giant. 

The driver, likely a local college student considering the nose ring and the just-got-out-of-bed look, glances in her rearview mirror. “You did say Houlihan’s, right?”

“Yeah …” Somehow, our old haunt looks way more intimating than it did, even just last night. “Just trying to get the courage to go inside.”

“Blind date?” The girl’s eyes widen with sympathy. “That’s how I met my boyfriend. You never know.”

I nod so I don’t have to explain our complicated history; one I’ve replayed in my head more times than I could ever begin to count.

“You’re my last ride of the night, so take as long as you want. I’ll even stay out here for a few minutes if you want,” she says. “If he’s a total troll and you want me to take you home, say the word.”

I don’t tell her that Alec Mansfield in no way resembles a troll or that he has the opposite effect on women—they insist on running to him, as fast as possible. 

The reason I’m rooted to the back seat of this Toyota Yaris is because I’m afraid of being one of them. 

I check my phone. It’s 8:29, now. 

He might already be in there. 

Then again, the boys used to say he’d be late to his own funeral. That’s why I said 8:30. Not so much to make him go through the trouble of leaving the ER early, but because 8:30, in his eyes, might as well be nine. That and I figured if I got here before him, I could suck down a quick drink to steel my nerves before he got there. 

My hand is on the door handle when I spot a tall form in a pea coat and scarf, striding through the shadows on Commercial Street, heading straight for the bar. I can tell by his confident lope, his hands dug into the pockets of his coat, and the hooded eyes squinting under the glare of the street lamps that it’s Alec.

He doesn’t see me, so I get a chance to really look at him. He has less facial hair than in that photo—just enough stubble to make him look outdoorsy and rugged. The baseball cap is gone—as are his wayward dark curls that used to toss around in the wind. 

Also absent is the Panthers hockey jersey he used to wear 24/7—he’s replaced that ratty, dingy old number 9 with a little more upgraded fashion sense, as evidenced by his plaid scarf, slim-fit dress pants, and loafers. 

He stops outside the front door and checks his phone,sucking on the inside of his cheek—an old habit of his that made his mouth quirk up on one side in an unbearably sexy way. 

Is he nervous to see me?

Contemplating his apology? 

Checking a text from some sexy cheerleader he swiped right on after taking my advice?

I shake my head, refusing to get ahead of myself—or get my hopes up since those hopes have no business being anywhere but down when it comes to this man. 

I was always such a sucker for that little smolder of histhough. Sometimes I used to lie in bed and dream about how it would feel focused on me. That was before my junior year, when I learned that fairytales only happened to people with names like Rapunzel and Cinderella. 

I shiver. “Oh. Um … there he is.”

Predictably, my Uber driver lets out a low whistle as Alec opens the door to Houlian’s, holding it for a couple of cougars in short skirts who giggle their thanks. 

“That’s your date?” my driver meets my eyes in the rearview. “Girl, he is fine. Get your ass in there.” 

Gritting my teeth, I thank her and step out. Only the second I do, a cold burst of night air slips its way under the hem of my dress, more or less pushing me toward the entrance. I guess someone up there thinks this is a good idea? Because right now, I swear I feel my thickest fleece pajamas, some vanilla-spiked chai, and Charlotte’s Web calling to me. 

Hugging my purse tight to my body, I brace against thewind and yank on the solid wooden door. It swings wide open, delivering me and a gust of snowflakes inside before slamming shut with such force it garners the attention of everyone inside.

So much for a graceful entrance. 

Before my eyes can fully adjust to the dim lighting, a velvet voice says, “Hey.”

I glance towards the bar, where Alec’s standing, snowflakes in his hair, uncoiling the scarf from around his neck, looking like he stepped off the pages of the latest J. Crew catalog. 

He slips his scarf off and leans in to kiss my cheek when I approach. 

It’s awkward, because we’ve never greeted each other before with more than a grunt of hello and even then, that was rare. 

I guess this is the new, mature, adult Alec?

Can’t help but wonder if this Alec would write cruel anonymous messages to an unsuspecting girl who didn’t have a mean bone in her body …

His lips barely graze my cheek. Or maybe I don’t feel it because my skin’s numb from the cold. Good God, he smells like heaven though. Despite the fact that I’ve hated him for years, I have a momentary urge to lean in close and drag his intoxicating, masculine scent into my lungs one more time.Body wash. Soap. Cologne. Aftershave. I expected him to arrive in scrubs, smelling like bleach and antiseptic. Now that I think about it, he’s dressed for a date. Did he get off early and shower … for me? Or is he meeting someone after this? 

“I thought you’d be late,” I break the silence that’s lingered between us for a decade.

“I dodged out of work early.” He scratches above his brow, his eyes fixed on mine. “

I don’t know why that warms my heart a little. 

But only a little.

It’s still frozen stiff at its core, just the way Alec left it a lifetime ago.

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About Winter Renshaw 

Wall Street Journal and #1 Amazon bestselling author Winter Renshaw is a bona fide daydream believer. She lives somewhere in the middle of the USA and can rarely be seen without her trusty Mead notebook and ultra portable laptop. When she’s not writing, she’s living the American dream with her husband, three kids, and the laziest puggle this side of the Mississippi. 

And if you'd like to be the first to know when a new book is coming out, please sign up for her private mailing list here ---> http://eepurl.com/bfQU2j

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Spotlight: Savage Deception by Lark Anderson

Genre: Romcom

About Savage Deception: 

Logan Savage once thought being the black sheep of his powerful family was an honor, but after spending six years in the real world, he’s ready to rejoin the fold. 

Unfortunately for him, there’s a contender to the throne—his deceased brother’s secret child. 

Elly Stark is about to lose her business. With both her adorable daughter and her ailing mother dependent on her, she’s desperate to make her life work, so when a handsome stranger offers her a leg up, she can’t say no. 

Logan knows he should stay far away from his brother’s hidden family, but that doesn’t stop him from showing up at places he knows they’ll be, buying them pizza, and helping his brother’s ex reclaim her business. 

Every moment he spends with Elly is a risk, because if she were to find out that her daughter is a Savage, he could lose everything. 

But he can’t keep away. 

As their time together grows, so do the sparks between them. But when he’s finally ready to confess his deception, he discovers she already knows. 

Can Elly forgive Logan and let him back into her life? Or is he doomed to lose the only woman he’s ever loved?

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About the Author

Lark Anderson is a USA Today bestselling author and a self-proclaimed nit-picking nerd. She has over a dozen hilarious contemporary romance novels out and is excited to work on MORE!

In addition to her contemporary romance titles, Lark writes spicier apocalypse & dystopian romances under L.J. Anderson. These works have content warnings, so tread carefully.

In her free time, she enjoys hanging out with her family, playing Magic: The Gathering, reading, and binge-watching television. 

Connect with the Author: 

Website: www.larkandersonbooks.net 

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Spotlight: Here With Me by Brooke Montgomery

From small-town romance author, Brooke Montgomery, comes a family saga series based in the fictional town of Sugarland Creek set in the Mountains of East Tennessee. Readers who love steamy romances will enjoy Here With Me: a forbidden, age-gap romance.

A forbidden age gap stand-alone from small-town romance author Brooke Montgomery about a daring horse trainer and her off-limits ex-boyfriend’s dad…

When we met at the rodeo, I only knew his first name.

Sparks ignited between us, and we spent an unforgettable night together. It's not until the morning after when I recognize his last name do I realize who he is.

So I do what any rational woman would and make the walk of shame while he sleeps. It's not like I'll ever see him again or have to explain why I left.

But I'm proven wrong when he shows up at my family's ranch as the new farrier.

We can't be more than friends—for many reasons. 

He's twice my age, workplace relationships are off-limits, and he moved back to rebuild a relationship with his son—the one I used to date. 

Getting involved would ruin everything.

As we struggle between right and wrong, our connection deepens even though his traumatic past makes him doubt he deserves a second chance. 

But it doesn't matter when everything's against us, including a rival who's out to get me and my ex who's determined to win me back.

After a riding trick goes wrong on his watch, he insists on taking care of me. Even though the odds are stacked against us, we keep the truth to ourselves.

But secrets don't stay hidden for long in a Southern small town.

Here With Me is book 1 in the Sugarland Creek series. Contains 20+ year age gap, ex-boyfriend's dad, workplace romance, opposites attract, and secret relationship vibes. Each book in this Southern, small-town series is a stand-alone and ends in a happily ever after. Please read the content warning before the prologue.

Excerpt 

Copyright 2023 @Brooke Montgomery

Noah’s POV: 

Fuck, where is my bra?

After Fisher took off my dress, I flung my bra somewhere. I’m not about to leave without it since it’s the only one I packed. I don’t need my piercings blinding my family.

As I lower to my hands and knees, crawling around with my ass straight up, I find it underneath his jeans.

Thank God.

Next, I dig in my bag for my panties.

It’s one thing to make the walk of shame at seven in the morning, but it’s shameful to do it commando.

And I am a classy Southern lady, after all.

With the exception of last night.

Once I’m dressed and slide on my boots, I grab the rest of my things. Fisher hasn’t stirred once since I climbed over his naked body and slid out of his bed. I’m half tempted to check his neck for a pulse.

That’d be my luck.

Best sex of my life leads to him dying afterward.

I know he’s older, but he’s not that old.

When I see his wallet on the counter, I contemplate taking a peek at his license to see his birth year. Amid our grinding against each other make-out session, I asked if he had a condom, and he told me to grab one from his wallet, which was in the back pocket of his jeans. Once I grabbed it, I tossed the leather aside.

Glancing once more at Fisher to make sure he’s still in a sleep coma, I open his wallet and look at his ID.

He’s forty-four.

Exactly twice my age.

Okay, so it’s not that bad.

He doesn’t even look forty.

It could be worse. He could be fifty.

But then I blink, reread his full name, and it does. It gets so much worse.

Fisher Underwood.

It can’t be. My throat tightens as I choke down the surprise I never expected.

I need to get the hell out of here before he wakes up.

God, I hope this is a hangover dream.

More like a nightmare.

All the air gets sucked out of my lungs at the realization.

I just slept with my ex-boyfriend’s dad.

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About Brooke Montgomery

Brooke has been writing romance since 2013 under the USA Today Bestselling author pen names: Brooke Cumberland and Kennedy Fox, and now, Brooke Montgomery. She loves writing small-town romance with big families and happily ever afters! She lives in the frozen tundra of Packer Nation with her husband, wild teenager, and four dogs. When she’s not writing, you can find her reading, watching ASMR and reading vlogs on YouTube, or binge-watching a TV show she's most likely behind on. Brooke's addicted to iced coffee, leggings, and naps. She found her passion for telling stories during winter break one year in grad school—and she hasn’t stopped since.

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Spotlight: Main Character Energy by Jamie Varon

Park Row Books Paperback Original

Publication Date: September 5, 2023

Poppy Banks would rather be writing mysteries than writing listicles for her dead-end job at Thought Buzz. But after a series of rejections, she’s ready to accept life on the sidelines as a plus-size woman. Her aunt Margot is the one person unwilling to give up on her niece’s dreams and tells her so at their secret yearly lunches.

But all of Poppy’s beliefs about herself are challenged when her beloved aunt dies and leaves her niece a grand surprise—a trip to her villa in the French Riviera. There, she learns her aunt intends to leave her stunning villa and secretive writer's residency to Poppy—if she can finish her novel in six months.

When the writing countdown begins, Poppy realizes she has more to confront than her writer’s block. Family drama, complicated romances and self-doubt all threaten to throw her off course. In this fun and heartwarming debut, Poppy must decide if she can live up to her aunt’s—and her own—desire to be the main character in her own life.

Excerpt

When I met my aunt for the first time, I expected to hate her. After all, she had been the villain in my mom’s story since I was a kid. They hadn’t talked in nearly twenty years and every time I brought her up, my mom would shut me down. I didn’t know what caused their fracture, but my mom’s anger was enough to make me believe that Aunt Margot was the problem.

I never wanted to go behind my mom’s back and betray her trust, but when Margot contacted me in secret, I knew I had to finally meet my elusive aunt.

It was a shock to me that our first visit felt like a reunion.

I thought she’d be hard-edged and critical like my mom was, but instead, she was warm and effusive. I was pulled into her comforting orbit immediately.

We convened in Malibu on a rainy, moody February afternoon. I was twenty-three years old and hopeful, brash, naive. We ate at a cliff-side restaurant, waves crashing against the rocks below us. I didn’t know this would be the start of an annual tradition where I’d meet her for lunch once a year in February, always at the same place, the same order—a sacred ritual just for us.

“Poppy,” she said, her eyes crinkling, her hands outstretched for me to grab them. She seemed ready to cry and I sat there feeling slightly guarded and guilty. I wasn’t supposed to be here. If my mom knew I was meeting with Margot, she wouldn’t be happy. But curiosity had won out.

“Hi,” I said, and the one question that had plagued me slipped from my lips before I could stop it. “What happened between you and my mom?”

Her face clouded over for just a fraction of a second before she waved me off and said, “That’s neither here nor there. Tell me about you. What do you love, Poppy? What lights you up? Who do you want to be when you grow up?”

There was a magic to Aunt Margot. It was clear immediately. I felt myself open up like a blooming sunflower in her presence. A smile spread across my face, the initial guardedness falling away like petals to the ground.

Looking at Margot was like looking at myself in the future. Long, loosely waved, chestnut-brown hair, hers streaked with natural gray, mine highlighted by caramel coloring. Almond-shaped eyes. Hers, moody gray-blue. Mine, vibrant green. Curvy bodies. Heart-shaped faces, reddened at the cheeks. Full lips tinted a cherry red, and straight teeth.

Where we differed was that she was so at ease in her body. She made me feel stronger, simply because she was so herself. Her body wasn’t an apology. She existed as if everything about her were a celebration. She wasn’t braced for the world, like I felt I was. When she spoke to the servers at our lunches, they were all mesmerized by her. She had the kind of wide-open soul that invited everyone in. She had confidence that radiated outward. I basked in it, like it was sunlight after an endless winter.

I wanted to be as carefree as her.

I still do. She made me feel bold.

“What lights me up? Writing,” I told her, jutting my chin up. “I want to write books.”

Her face beamed into a wide smile.

“That’s wonderful, Poppy,” she said. “Are you writing now?”

“Yes,” I told her. “I’m working on a novel. A thriller, actually.”

Margot looked delighted.

“I love thrillers, too,” she said. “Who’s your favorite author?”

“PJ Latisse,” I said quickly.

Margot sported a grin and said, “Oh, I love their books.”

“You don’t think it’s silly?” I asked, my voice low. “To want to be an author? My mom thinks I’m wasting my time.”

My relationship with my mom was beginning to deteriorate and maybe that’s why I met Margot—to rebel against my mom and all her rough edges. I was realizing I could have agency over my beliefs about the world and myself. She’d spent my childhood urging me to lose weight, forcing me on various fad diets, hoping I would become thin like her. But my body was unruly then. Still is. It didn’t respond to her shame, but my mind did. And I felt cloaked in it.

My mom believed a thin body, handed over like a sacrifice, made dreams come true. Or at least, a thin body was the initial conduit for a good life. Without it, possibilities limit and dwindle. If I did nothing with my life except lose weight and find some man to marry me, it seemed like that would make my mom the happiest. She had virtually no patience or interest in my dreams or aspirations.

“Silly?” Margot asked, cocking her head to the side. “To follow your dreams? Never.”

“Mom says dreams don’t pay the bills.” I shrugged. “But I have to try, don’t I?”

“You always have to try,” Margot said with a sharp nod of her head. “It’s your life, not hers, after all.”

“Hmm,” I said, nodding. For years, I’d been writing at night, during stolen time. I’d been reading my whole life and books were my first love. All I’d ever wanted was to be a writer.

“Remember this, Poppy. For some people, it works out,” Margot said with authority. “You don’t know if it will for you until you try. If you love it, don’t give up on it. Ever. No matter what anyone says.”

“Okay,” I said, smiling, feeling supported and buoyed for the first time ever.

“Something I always say: at the very least, do it for the plot. Do it for the story. Be bold in life, mostly because not being bold is boring as hell.” Margot tipped her head back in glittery laughter and I felt my chest expand in hope.

“The last thing I’d ever want to be is boring,” I replied.

“Good.” Margot nodded firmly, then clapped. “Now, tell me all about what I’ve missed for the last twenty-three years of your life. Don’t skimp on a single detail!” Margot’s hands framed her jaw and she rested on her elbows, waiting with undisguised glee.

This Margot was the villain in my mom’s story? But, she was lovely. I spent the rest of the lunch catching her up, and she listened with rapt interest. It was the most seen and heard I’d felt in a long time.

And so, when she asked if we could meet again the next year, I said yes. And it became our annual tradition. I secreted the visits away from my mom and never told her about any of them. I kept that first lunch—and future lunches—with Margot in my pocket like a precious stone I could rub my fingers on for luck, support, and the unconditional love I longed for.

From MAIN CHARACTER ENERGY by Jamie Varon. Copyright Jamie Varon. Copyright © 2023 by Jamie Varon. Published by Park Row, an imprint of HarperCollins.

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About the Author

Jamie Varon is an author, branding expert, course creator, and graphic designer living in Calabasas, California. Her nonfiction book Radically Content was published in 2022 with Quarto and is currently being adapted into a feature film with Camilu Productions LTD. Main Character Energy is her debut novel.

Connect:

Author Website: https://www.jamievaron.com/ 

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