Tina Bender loves her job as a gossip columnist for the
L.A. Informer. She likes scouring her network for
the latest tidbits on the people everyone is curious about.
But when Tina starts getting threatening voicemails, she
becomes just a little concerned. Her editor becomes a lot
concerned, and Tina finds her every footstep dogged by a
hulking, hot bodyguard. Calvin Dean may be determined to
keep her safe, but Tina's starting to wonder about what
else he can do for her.
When the threats become more vicious and there's actually a
murder, Tina is glad Cal is close by. For more reasons than
her safety.
Gemma Halliday's witty, entertaining writing style
shines through in her new book! I look forward to seeing
lots more of Tina as this series continues. A fun read!
The L.A. Informer is Los Angeles's premier tabloid
magazine, reporting on all the latest celebrity gossip,
scandals and dirt. They're not above a little sensational
exaggeration and have even been known, on occasion, to
bend the law in pursuit of a hot story. Their ace
reporter, Felix Dunn, has just been promoted to managing
editor. Now, he's got his work cut out for him keeping the
magazine running smoothly while keeping his staff in line…
Tina Bender is the Informer's gossip columnist
extraordinaire. She knows everything about everyone who's
anyone. And she's not afraid to print it. That is, until
she receives a threatening note, promising, "If you don't
stop writing about me, you're dead." Teaming with a built
bodyguard, a bubbly blonde, and an alcoholic obituary
writer, Tina sets out to uncover just which juicy piece of
Hollywood gossip is worth killing over.
Excerpt
TEEN SENSATION ON MORAL VACATION:
LAST NIGHT THE INFORMER CAUGHT EVERYONE’S FAVORITE TEEN
ACTRESS, JENNIFER WOOD, AT THE HOLLYWOOD MARTINI ROOM WITH A
MEMBER OF A BOY BAND IN ONE HAND AND MARY JANE IN THE OTHER -
“Sh*t!”
“Tina!”
I swiveled in my chair to face my boss, Felix Dunn, standing
in the doorway to his office, hands on hips.
“What?”
“Swear Pig.”
I pursed my lips together. “That doesn’t count.”
“I just heard you say ‘sh*t.’”
“It was computer related. Everyone knows computer related
swearing doesn’t count.”
He narrowed his eyes. Clearly my argument wasn’t cutting it.
“It’s your own fault, you know,” I protested, changing
tactics. I looked down at my computer. I’d been working on
a juicy tidbit about the It teen actress who’d been caught
with a joint in her hand at last night’s afterparty when my
backspace button stuck, taking out one very cleverly worded
line, even if I did say so myself. “I mean, how many
centuries old are these things anyway?” I went on. “Would
it kill you to buy some new hardware once in a awhile?”
He shook his head. “Swear Pig, Bender,” he repeated. Then
disappeared back into his office.
“Sh*t.”
“I heard that!”
I stuck my tongue out at his door and dropped two quarters
into the purple piggy bank on my desk. Somehow our newly
appointed editor in chief was under the impression that
yours truly swore too much. I have no f*cking idea where he
got that impression. But, he’d set up the Swear Pig as a
way to break my bad habit. Personally, I was fine with my
bad habit. It’s not like I was shooting heroin or anything,
ya know?
Which brought me back to my story.
I swiveled around, pushing my glasses back up onto my nose
and put my fingers to keyboard, recreating my perfect line.
IT MAY BE ONE JOINT TODAY FOR OUR FAVORITE FAIR-HAIRED
TEENY-BOPPER, BUT WITH THE WAY HER LIFE IS SPIRALING OUT OF
CONTROL, CAN COCAINE, METH, OR EVEN HEROIN BE FAR BEHIND?
HOW MANY BLONDES DOES IT TAKE TO SPELL “REHAB?”
I sat back in my chair, surveying my work. Okay, so it was
a little mean. But, seriously, she played a perky
cheerleader in a tween cable show. This was tabloid gold.
I hit “send” letting my daily gossip column zip through the
L.A. Infomer’s network to Felix’s inbox, then gave my
knuckles a satisfying crack.
I glanced at the clock. Quitting time. And somewhere there
was a big beefy burrito dinner with my name on it. I
grabbed my Strawberry Shortcake lunchbox that doubled as my
purse and made for the exit.
Unfortunately, not before Eagle Eyes Dunn could catch me.
“Bender?"
I thought a dirty word and turned around. “Did you want
something, chief?”
“You finished up that Wood piece yet?” he asked, leaning
against the doorframe of his office.
“Just emailed it to you.” I loved it when I was one step
ahead of the boss.
“What about Pines?”
“Pines?” Edward Pines was the director who’d recently been
arrested when, after a routine traffic stop, a stack of
pornography had been found under the seat of his car. Not
that naked bodies were a novelty in Hollywood, but these
particular magazines had included photos of thirteen year
old boys in the buff. I don’t care how much his last action
pic grossed, that guy was total Hollywood road kill now.
“What about him?” I asked.
“Being arraigned today. It’s your story, right?”
Damned straight. My headline the morning after Pine’s
arrest had read: PINES PINES AFTER PINT-SIZED PRE-TEENS.
What can I say? I had a thing for alliterations.
But as much as I was relishing the story, I wasn’t thrilled
with the timing.
“He’s being arraigned now?” I asked, my stomach growling.
“It’s dinner time.”
“The news waits for no one, love. Cam’s meeting you at the
courthouse,” he said, ducking back into his office.
So much for my burrito. “Sh*t.”
“Bender…”
“I know, I know. ” I reached into Strawberry Shortcake and
pulled out another quarter, dropping it in the ceramic pig
on my way out.
At this rate, I’d be broke by Christmas.
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