Stella lands a fab job as a mommy blogger. The catch is she’s never had children. Plunged into a world of insanity every mother faces, she must learn to cope as her lies build upon one another. A sexy ex comes into the picture, forcing her to choose between him or the job and a handsome ‘keeper’ of a coworker. It can’t last forever.
About the Author:
Carla Caruso has worked as a newspaper and magazine journalist, government PR and fashion stylist. Mommy Blogger was inspired by applying to write for a parenting website at the start of her freelancing career, pretending she was a mom – when she really wasn’t. Her clueless article ideas, needless to stay, didn’t make the cut – though, the experience at least gave her the premise for a fiction plot! Carla is a member of Romance Writers of Australia.
Cleo continues, “Most of our team work freelance from home or part-time in the office. You met Angelique in admin before. There’s also Bethany in accounts, who makes girly accessories for the site under her own label, and Topaz, who helps with packaging and postage. Oh, and Noah, of course, our webmaster—”
A deep male voice, behind me, cuts in. “My ears are burning.”
I swing around and my heart gets a jumpstart. The guy in question is not your garden-variety, weedy IT type. More like a young John Corbett, with mid-length, wavy, brown hair, sea-green eyes and a tall, well-built figure, clad in a fitted, charcoal tee and faded jeans.
Noah extends a hand toward me. I feel the warmth of his hand enclosing mine, before I remember mine’s Oompa Loompa colored. He smells of manliness and soap. Mommy blogging suddenly got a whole lot more interesting.
“Hey,” he drawls.
“Hi, I’m...Stella.” Yup, just forgot my name.
Noah’s gaze lingers on mine. “Your our new girl then?”
He nods slowly, as though sizing me up. “You’ll fit right in.”
“Oh, thanks,” I manage, but my mind screams: What’s that mean? That he could see me donning maternity jeans or possibly that I look like a MILF? Or worse, a GILF? (A Grandmother I’d Like To...)
“Look forward to seeing you at the next meeting,” Noah says, dropping my hand. Darn.
“Meeting?” I ask mildly as Noah strides away.
There were meetings? I had imagined being a faceless blogger, squirreling away in tracky-dacks in my home office, laughing to myself, while re-runs of Sex and the City played in the background.