Spotlight: How to Date When You’re Dead by Lisa London

After an epic nosedive down the elevator of success, Ivy now finds herself in Purgatory having to start all over again from scratch but this time the stakes for getting promoted to the pearly gates are even higher. And to make a promotion in the ever after, she’s going to have to manage not only her own dating dilemmas but those of her clutzy, dating-disaster assistant.

Luckily she has two of the hottest men in the afterlife as her advisors. One who wants to help her get demoted to his bachelor pad down under and another who wants her to get her wings and live with him on a cloud. Did I mention they’re both super sexy with a wicked rivalry going on between them? Both determined to outdo the other to win her heart.

And that’s in between spending quality girl-time with her new besties, Satan and her soap opera addicted Purgatory Counselor.

This is a great read for anyone who loved ABC Family’s Teen Spirit with Cassie Scerbo. This is the adult version where the ghost [Ivy] and her hopeless dating assignment [Lucy] both get to date cute boys!


"Hello. Is anyone there?" I called out. My own echo greeted me. "Hello. Is anyone there?" That was just creepy. I tried it out once more to make sure it really was just me.

"Hey, there."

"Hey, there."

I heard myself a few more times and still received no response but my own. Maybe I was dreaming. After seven years in marketing, it was possible my brain simply burnt out from having to come up with new, creative ideas and trying to convince people to eat more candy bars. Perhaps this was its way of taking a break. If this were a dream, then maybe this morning never happened, and they aren't really postponing my promotion announcement. Perhaps I'm only cold because I accidentally kicked the sheets off my bed and the AC is on high. Too bad I didn't decorate the fake dream room with something to sit on. I should have at least given myself a stool to sit on, along with a raspberry martini to sip.

I looked down at my beloved four-inch Louboutins with a mix of pride and regret. I closed my eyes, thinking of my comfortable, oversized, white, micro-suede chair and its fluffy embroidered pillows. If I thought about it hard enough, it should appear, right? I opened my eyes and scanned the room, but only saw the same whiteness as before. Maybe the pillows were too much. I closed my eyes and tried again, but this time thought only of the chair, sans the pillows. Reopening my eyes, the chair still hadn't appeared. I contemplated sitting on the floor, but couldn't bring myself to do it when I considered the ginormous credit card bill I still hadn't paid off for my outfit. Not to mention my embarrassment if this was really a special conference room, which could be entered and occupied at any time.

I heard the elevator doors shut and whipped back in panic. What if this wasn't a dream and I just missed my only ride back to the ninth floor? Looking down at my phone again, I ran around the various corners of the room, willing it to find a signal.

Maybe I was dead. And if I were, why was I only given Purgatory as an option? What happened to other two obvious choices? And where is everybody? On the plus side, being dead meant not having to pay off my Neiman Marcus charge card while still keeping the shoes.

Ding. As the elevator doors opened, I looked for a place to hide, but my red dress made me stand out even more in the white room. I held up my phone in front of my face as a potential shield.

A tall blond woman, dressed like she was headed for the Academy Awards, towered over me, holding a pink clipboard in her hands. I finally met someone who outdid me when it came to wasting money on expensive, overpriced clothing. "Ivy Pinkerton?"

"Yes, that's me," I answered. Her eyes lit up at my response. I checked the room again just to be sure I was the only one in the waiting room, which I was. She looked down at her clipboard and highlighted what I imagined was my name on her sheet.

"Great, follow me," she said, spinning on her heels and walking to what looked like an empty corner of the room. "I'm really sorry about the waiting room. I've having it redecorated so there's not much in the way of entertainment."

"Who are you? Where am I?" I asked.

Instead of answering my questions, she stopped and opened a door, gesturing for me to go through first. I peered in, leaning only my head through the door to make sure it was safe before entering. As far as interior decorators went, it looked like someone at Mattel had designed this for Barbie: pink walls, a pink table, a pink computer, a pink phone and some more pink office supplies. Any fears I had were extinguished when I spotted the oversized, micro-suede, matching pink chairs. I ran through the door and plunged myself into the closest one. "Ah, this chair feels like Heaven. And that waiting room of nothingness felt like Hell," I exhaled as I slipped off my shoes.

"Actually, you just came from Hell," chirped the blond.

"So that's what Hell is? A standing room only where you've arrived with four-inch heels and no ballet flats to change into? "

"No, Hell is Chicago," she replied.

"Chicago? Like Chicago, Illinois on Earth, Chicago?"

"I know, right? What person with free will would ever choose to go there? Chicago is only the main headquarters down below, but we all have stations on the surface. Hell picked Chicago, Heaven chose San Diego, and we have New York," she smiled. That explained a lot about the dating options in Chicago, actually.

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About the Author

Hello, I’m Lisa London, creator of secret fantasies you love to escape with, bringing you an overload of bad-boy angst and heart-wrenching moments of truth on every page.

I’m so glad you’re here – because we’re a lot alike, you and I. We both love to escape to a world where true love is found in life-defining moments that build character, turn boys into men and make you question everything you’ve ever held sacred. Good boys are boring and oh so blah. But bad boys. You know…the ones to whom rules don’t apply to. The ones that do what they want, take what they want and use who they want and don’t give a damn. Yah, those guys. They’re also the ones that make you hot with desire, dripping with anticipation and wishing your phone would ring at 2 am afterwards.

I write in a variety of romance genres: 1) Hot + Steamy: These are fast + dirty short stories that are high on the heat scale 2) Amateur Sleuth: Think Stephanie Plum meets White Collar 3) Paranormal: Just because you’re dead doesn’t mean you stop dating and 4) Author Platform Building: The Romance Roadmap Quickies are How-To guides on everything indie authors need for online marketing.