"Never Say Never Unless You Truly Mean It"
Reviewed by Susan Dyer
Posted April 10, 2013
Romance Series
NOT THE MARRYING KIND is the story of Poppy Collins. She is
the
creator of Divorce Diva which she came up with to help her
sister, Sara,
and her business, Party Hard. Sara is going through a
divorce and is
taking it very hard. She is very depressed and Poppy gets
her to go away
and get the help she needs. While running her sister's
business, she
discovers they are desperate for money or the business will
fail. Sara has
always taken care of Poppy when their parents weren't
around. She
practically raised her by herself. So there's no way Poppy
is going to let
the business fail. She will do whatever it takes to make it
a success.
One day she receives an email from Beck Blackwood. Seems
his CFO has
just gone through a divorce and hasn't had his mind wrapped
around
business at all. Beck is very wealthy and wants to throw
Lou a divorce
party so he can get some closure in his life and finally
move on. Enter
Poppy and Divorce Diva. He gets Poppy to fly out to Vegas
and makes her
an offer she can't refuse. While she is there, he also
explains how he
needs a wife for business reasons. She thinks he is kidding
and throws out
a ridiculous offer of Half a million dollars thinking he
would laugh at her, but
he doesn't. He agrees. It is supposed to be a business deal
and it will last
only until he closes the big deal he is trying to land for
his company,
Blackwood Enterprises. Reluctantly, she agrees only because
she needs
the money and doesn't want to let Sara down.
NOT THE MARRYING KIND is exactly what Beck and Poppy are.
They
both do not believe in commitments or happily ever after.
But they both
feel attracted to each other. Is that enough to pull off
their charade? Will
Beck close the big deal? Will the marriage turn into
something real? I'm not
going to answer those questions for you! I want you to read
this book and
love it as much as I did! I truly loved this book. It was
my second Nicola
Marsh novel and it definitely won't be my last. It is a
great love story and at
times a very HOT read. A fun and romantic read you won't
be sorry you
picked up!
SUMMARY
LA party planner Poppy Collins has kept her side
business—planning divorce parties as the Divorce Diva—under
wraps, but keeping her sister’s company afloat is proving
tougher by the day. When a new divorce party prospect gives
Poppy the opportunity to save the day and boost her bottom
line, she can’t pass it up. But this time, she’s about to
get way more than she bargained for…
Vegas golden boy Beck Blackwood knows Poppy’s secret, and
he’s not afraid to use it to get exactly what he wants—a
wife. With his reputation and corporate expansion plans on
the line, the only way he can repair the damage is by
getting hitched, and fast. And if blackmail is the only way
to get Poppy to the altar, then so be it…
But they’re in the city of high stakes, and Poppy has a
few aces up her sleeve. Now it’s time to find out if they’re
playing to win…or if they’re playing for keeps.
ExcerptChapter One
Divorce Diva Daily recommends:?
Playlist: "I Will Survive" by Gloria Gaynor?
Movie: He's Just Not That into You?
Cocktail: Slow, Comfortable Screw
Beck Blackwood could kill them.
Every one of those uptight, conservative pricks.
Beck's fingers curled into fists as he paced his office,
oblivious to the million–dollar view of the Strip. He
liked his office perched on the highest floor of the
tallest tower in Vegas. King of the world. No other feeling
beat it. Apart from sex, but he'd even given up on that
while finagling every detail of this deal.
This deal...
He stopped in front of his desk and slammed his fist
against the prospectus, the pain not registering half as
much as having a boardroom of investors hedge around his
win–win deal because his company wasn't respectable
enough. Translation: he wasn't respectable enough.
Damn it, he thought he'd left his past behind.
He'd thought wrong.
Didn't matter he rivaled the richest guys in town for
penthouse space, property investments, and fast cars.
Because of his lifestyle choices—single, heterosexual
guy who enjoyed his freedom—and the City of Sin he
chose to live in, they didn't deem him worthy. Throw in the
PR disaster when his site manager was found in a
compromising position with an apprentice on one of his
prominent constructions recently, and the fate of Blackwood
Enterprises had been sealed.
Vegas loved a scandal. Sex between a married guy and a
barely eighteen–year–old girl? The press
attacked. Every newspaper article had shown his building
site, with his company's name boldly emblazoned with its
signature cactus. Damned if the thing didn't add a phallic
connotation to every word printed.
Never mind he'd fired the manager and set up counseling
for the teenager if she needed it.
Never mind he'd been working his ass off trying to
recoup losses the company had sustained in the crash of
2008.
Never mind he'd spent the last eighteen months living
and breathing this deal to build hotels across the country
that would see company profit margins soar again.
Blackwood Enterprises had been crucified. All his hard
work down the toilet because they didn't deem him good
enough.
Fuck them.
He'd sat in the boardroom after presenting projected
statistics that would've had guys with half a brain
salivating, rage simmering, as each and every one of the
pompous bastards scrambled for excuses.
Too big a risk.
People are still talking about your company, and not in
a good way.
The face of this project needs to have solid family
values.
What they were basically saying was that because one of
his employees screwed up and he didn't have a band on his
ring finger, he wasn't good enough.
Bullshit.
His intercom buzzed and he glared at it, not in the mood
for interruptions, not in the mood for anything unless it
involved eight signatures on the construction deal of a
lifetime.
"What is it, Simone?"
"Mr. Robinson wanted to remind you about the function
you're planning."
He bit back his first response—Screw Lou.
"Tell him I'm on it."
"Will do, Mr. Blackwood."
"And I'm incommunicado for the next hour."
It'd take him that long to calm down.
"Okay."
The intercom fell silent and he flung himself into a
chair, ready to tackle a stack of quotes. However, the
requisite quick glance at his inbox stalled when he
glimpsed an email, every word from Stan Walkerville
punctuating his disillusionment at losing out on the deal
of the century.
Beck's gut twisted. Stan, the unofficial appointed
leader of the investors he'd been counting on earlier
today, reiterated his disappointment they wouldn't be
building the biggest chain of hotels America had ever seen.
Not half as disappointed as he was.
The fortune he'd amassed meant jack if they didn't
consider him reliable enough. What did the old farts
expect, for him to marry to become the biggest name in
construction in the country?
Frigging great, he was back to this.
His foolhardy plan.
It had first come to him in the meeting when the
investors were delivering their verdict because of the
tainted Blackwood name. He'd wanted to yell, What the fuck
do you expect me to do, pull a wife out of my ass for
respectability?
While he'd wisely kept his temper in check at the time,
the dumb idea had stuck in his head like a burr, no matter
how many times he dismissed it. Stupid thing was, he'd
analyzed it from every angle and he kept coming back to it.
He needed instant propriety to clear his company's name
and get the investors on his side again.
A wife would do that.
Shit.
He re–read the email. Twice. Focused on the last
line.
If circumstances change, call us. We'd love to do
business.
Was it as simple as that?
Get hitched? Become the best in the business? Make his
dream of being the biggest in America come true?
Only one problem.
Where the hell was he going to find a wife?
Hating what an idiot he was for even considering getting
married for business, Beck scanned the rest of the emails,
eventually finding the one he was searching for.
Late last night he'd agreed to another outlandish idea.
Lou Robinson, his Chief Financial Officer and oldest
friend, had latched onto a crazy idea to throw a party to
celebrate Lou's divorce. Worse, in an effort to get Lou
refocused on the job and to ensure word didn't get out his
company was promoting divorce—another black mark
against it for sure—Beck had said he'd organize it.
Anything to snap the usually astute CFO out of his crappy
mood.
Besides, organizing some senseless party had to be
better than punching the wall. It'd take his mind off the
deal long enough for him to come up with a viable solution
for Stan and Co. to quit stalling and sign. One that didn't
involve shackling himself to a woman. He grimaced at the
thought and as the crisp website in fuchsia font came up,
he wrinkled his nose.
Divorce Diva Daily.
Apart from some nifty alliteration, he had a feeling
this site offered nothing but a few party favors at an
exorbitant price. Not that he objected to Lou spending a
fortune on exorcising his demons. Hell, he'd chip in, no
matter how much it took. The faster he threw this party,
the faster he could have his competent CFO back.
Beck had an agenda. Schedule a meeting with the probable
charlatan running this site, organize the party, make sure
Lou was back on the job Monday. To come up with a feasible
Plan B to wow the investors, he needed his friend alert and
focused, two things he hadn't been able to attribute to Lou
in a while.
Lou needed to get drunk and get laid. He'd latched onto
this lame–ass party idea instead. Whatever. If a
divorce party would get Lou back on track, Beck was all for
it. The faster he could get this organized and happening,
the better.
Against his better judgment, he started reading the
diva's blog entry for today.
Top Tips for moving on:?Remove all traces of the ex from
your habitat—including corny first–date
memorabilia, Valentine's Day cards (commercialistic crap),
all engagement and marriage photos, and barf–worthy
sentimental gifts.
Beck's mouth quirked at crap and barf. A woman after his
own heart.
Smells are powerful reminders. If after several wash
cycles his or her stink remains, burn the item involved.
Stink? Beck eased into a smile.
Music is an excellent purging tool. Download the
following and crank to full volume:
"You Oughta Know" by Alanis Morrisette
"Survivor" by Destiny's Child
"Harden My Heart" by Quarterflash
"I'm Free" by Rolling Stones
"Goodbye Earl" by Dixie Chicks
Stock up on beverages. Whether hot chocolate or
appletinis or Budweisers are your poison, make sure you
have plenty. You'll need it for step 5.
Throw the party of the year. Invite your closest friends
and whoop it up. Thank them for supporting you. Forget the
past. Move forward.
Let Divorce Diva Daily help you help yourself.
Okay, so the ending lacked the chutzpah of the earlier
tips, but he kinda liked this diva. Sure, she was touting a
spiel for business, but he could see the appeal in
forgetting the past and moving forward.
He'd done a stand–up job of that himself.
It was what drove him every day. Making sure he earned
enough money and held enough power to ensure he'd never
again have to tolerate the condescending, pitiful stares of
people looking down on him because he had nothing.
Growing up destitute in Checkerville ensured he'd
bottled those feelings of resentment and bitterness. He had
used them to great effect studying endlessly to win a
scholarship to college, cramming all–nighters to ace
tests, and scrimping every cent he earned in
part–time jobs to buy land in Vegas just before the
boom hit.
Yeah, he'd shown them all. But it was days like today,
when the investors stared at him with the same
condescension he'd experienced in his youth that old
insecurities he thought long buried flared to life.
Everyone in Vegas had a past and he'd paid his dues:
self–made millionaire who'd grown up tough. He hadn't
hid his past from anyone. Which made their rejection now
all the more infuriating.
Annoyed at the turn his thoughts were taking, he hit
the "About Us" button and scanned for the price
list—nada but "Price on Application." He didn't trust
POA. Price on Application gave potential shysters free
rein. The last thing Lou needed now was to be shafted by a
shady online company.
He checked the contact details, coming up with an email
address to a faceless provider. No phone number. No
address. Definitely shady.
Like that'd stop him.
With a few clicks of his mouse, he'd IM'd a PI who'd
done some work for him when hiring prospective employees.
Beck didn't like surprises and he didn't trust an anonymous
website.
In less than five minutes he had more information. Links
between the quirky divorce diva and a party planning
company in Provost that had candid testimonials from an
extensive list of genuine clientele.
Which made him wonder. Why wouldn't the diva capitalize
on the positive PR of an established company? What did she
have to hide?
Instincts told him to blow off this diva and find a
legit planner, but what if Lou balked and wasted more time?
Beck needed a new plan to wow the investors, and that meant
having Lou back on board ASAP.
The fastest option would be to follow through with Lou's
choice and get this party happening. To do that, he'd have
a face–to–face meeting with the diva by the end
of the day.
Then he'd focus on more important matters: like finding
a quickie wife.
...
"Sleazy."
"You think?" Poppy Collins stopped scrolling through her
iPod for appropriate break–up songs to add to her new
blog and glared at her BFF, Ashlee.
"Divorce is painful for a lot of people. And you're
making fun of it." Ashlee pointed at the computer screen
where Poppy had uploaded her latest post for Divorce Diva
Daily, the blog that would single–handedly save Party
Hard, her sister's party planning business.
"I'm intending on making a lot of money from it," Poppy
muttered, tossing her iPod on the desk and swinging her
chair to face Ashlee. "Money that's going to keep you
employed."
Ashlee winced. "Financials that bad?"
"You're Sara's assistant. You tell me."
Poppy hated seeing her driven, career–oriented
sister in a deep depression that had almost cost her the
business. She hated seeing Sara's smug, WASP ex Wayne,
prancing around town in a midlife–crisis–red
convertible more.
Suburban Provost on the outskirts of Los Angeles wasn't
big enough for both of them, which was why Poppy had
insisted that Sara recuperate at a private clinic in LA
while Poppy put her freelance promotion business on hold,
utilized her marketing degree, and ran the business.
Problem was, Poppy knew as much about party planning as
she did about relationships: absolutely zilch.
The divorce party idea was her last stand.
It had to work.
Sara had lost Wayne the Pain. No way would Poppy let her
lose her prized business, too. It was all Sara had left.
"But celebrating divorce is tacky," Ashlee said, her
gaze drawn to the PC screen again. "We'll get crucified by
every do–gooder along the western seaboard."
"That's why Divorce Diva is anonymous. Plus Sara would
throw a hissy fit over the D–word, so best to keep
this under the radar." Poppy tapped her temple. "Up here
for thinking." She pointed at her favorite crimson pumps
with the three–inch stiletto heels covered in
sparkles. "Down there for dancing."
"Planning parties online is one thing. What if someone
wants a one–on–one consult?" Ashlee's frown
deepened.
"You're not a party planner. You're a party pooper."
Poppy blew out a long breath. "One step at a time, okay?"
"I've got a bad feeling about this."
"And I've got a worse one about this." Poppy stabbed at
the stack of bills teetering next to her
in–tray. "This idea doesn't take off? We're history."
And Sara would lose everything.
No way would she let that happen. She owed her sister.
Big time.
Ashlee made disapproving clicking noises. "But divorce
is so...so..."
"Inevitable? Guaranteed? Worth celebrating?"
"Private. Painful. Devastating."
"And that's exactly why I'm doing this."
Poppy had seen what impending divorce had done to Sara.
Her vibrant, career–driven sis had fallen apart when
Wayne walked out, and she'd been a zombie for months,
popping anti–depressants until Poppy organized a
prolonged stay at the clinic, complete with on–site
psychologists. Sara had made progress, but to see her
listless without an ounce of spark rammed home for Poppy
the fact that love came with risks. Big ones.
Despite the best medical supervision, counseling, and
medication, Sara languished, rehashing every reason why her
marriage had failed. Poppy could've saved her a fortune in
therapy bills with the truth: Wayne was an immature asshole
who'd spend his life and fortune searching for the next
best thing. Guys like him were never happy with what they
had for long. They grew bored. They needed shiny new toys.
They kept looking for something bigger and better.
Splashing their cash around, seeking vicarious
thrills...but they were never truly happy. Narcissistic
jerks.
When Sara was ready, Poppy would help her move on with
the biggest damned divorce party she could throw. Until
then, it was imperative she kept Divorce Diva a secret from
her stressed–out sis. With Sara's divorce imminent,
no way would she approve, and Poppy didn't want her idea
scuttled before it had a chance to work. Or worse, cause a
relapse when Sara had finally begun to make progress.
Poppy would do whatever it took to save Sara's business.
Plenty of time later to clue Sara in—after she'd
succeeded.
"Divorce parties are all about marking the end of
suffering and starting fresh. We have rituals for
everything else—weddings, births, deaths—why
not divorce?"
Ashlee said nothing, her compressed lips and dent
between her brows conveying her disapproval.
"A new phase in life is worth celebrating." Damned
straight she'd help Sara celebrate The Pain's exit. But if
Ashlee didn't buy the professional spiel Poppy had
concocted, prospective clients wouldn't either and that
would signal the end. "Plus it can be an opportunity for
the newly single to thank all the people who've stood by
him or her during the ordeal."
Another thing that had torn Sara apart was losing so
many of her friends, those tiresome couples who were happy
to hang out with other married peeps but scattered when the
couple split. What was up with that? Like friendships were
expendable or based on the glittery bauble on your ring
finger?
"Friends can throw a party to show their divorcing pal
they're supported and not alone. Or it can be a time to
vent, cry, yell, laugh, whatever, in the company of people
who love you." Sara had done enough crying. Poppy would
ensure she whooped it up at her divorce party. "What's so
bad about that?"
"I still say it's tacky."
Starry–eyed, recently engaged Ashlee would think
anything tarnishing the holy sanctity of marriage was
tacky. Wait until dearly beloved Craig started working
nights and taking longer interstate trips and deleting text
messages as soon as they pinged. Then she'd get a reality
check.
"We're not promoting divorce. We're giving people the
option to celebrate it once it's final." Poppy pushed a
stack of literature across the desk toward Ashlee. "I've
researched this thoroughly. Divorce parties are the latest
and greatest. Party planners are raking it in. We have to
do this—it's good business."
"I guess." Ashlee gnawed her bottom lip and darted a
nervous glance at the stack of bills.
"No guesswork. Divorce Diva Daily is going to rock."
Feigning confidence, Poppy interlocked her hands behind her
head and leaned back.
"It better. Or we'll be back serving ice creams at
Iggy's." Ashlee made a mock gagging motion and Poppy
wrinkled her nose at memories of their first job in high
school. Iggy had a thing for cones—of every
variety—and often rocked up to the shop stoned out of
his head, sharing the love by feeling up his employees and
giving away freebies. The only reason he was still in
business was customer loyalty. Provost looked after its
own. Poppy hoped that kind of loyalty extended to Party
Hard if her Divorce Diva Daily idea went belly–up and
Sara lost everything.
"It'll work, trust me."
Ashlee perched on the desk. "Like how I trusted you with
my mom's bachelorette party and we almost landed in jail?"
She held up her fingers and started counting off
misdemeanors. "Like how I trusted you with my secret
make–out place and the entire tenth grade ended up
there? Like—"
"Build a bridge, hon." Poppy grinned and waved away
Ashlee's concerns, thankful her best friend was along for a
ride that promised to be bumpy at best.
A smile tugged at the corners of Ashlee's mouth. "I'll
get over it when you prove you've matured beyond high
school."
"Hey, I'm mature."
Ashlee raised an imperious eyebrow and pointed at her
desk. "You're saving a printed RPatz autographed Twilight
flyer, your Gryffindor Forever stick–on tattoos are
plastered everywhere, and you've been clubbing three times
this week."
"I like to bust a move."
"And the rest?"
"Can never have enough sparkly vamps or Harry Potter
around."
"Just make this work, okay?" Ashlee's reluctant smile
turned into a full–fledged grin as she tapped the
stack of bills with a magenta–tipped fingernail.
"You bet." Poppy saluted.
It wasn't until Ashlee bustled out of her office that
Poppy slumped in her seat, glaring at the bills like they
were radioactive.
No matter how many times Divorce Diva Daily recommended
songs like Stevie Nicks's "Stop Dragging Your Heart Around"
or ELO's "Don't Bring Me Down," they needed parties to plan.
First request that came in? She'd bust her ass making it
the best damned divorce party ever.
No problemo.
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