This is my stop during the book blitz for Let It Be Me by Laura Chapman. This book blitz is organized by Lola's Blog Tours. The book blitz runs from 21 till 27 October. See the tour schedule here.
Let It Be Me (Amarillo Sour #2)
By Laura Chapman
Genre: Romantic Comedy
Age category: Adult
Release Date: September 30, 2019
You can find Let It Be Me on Goodreads
You can buy Let It Be Me here:
- Barnes & Noble
- Google Play
Check out book 1 in this series: Counting on You
Is love worth the risk?
- Barnes & Noble
- Google Play
About the Author:
Laura Chapman is the award-winning and Amazon best-selling author of sweet and sexy romantic comedies. A born and raised Nebraska girl, she loves watching football, traveling, crafting, and baking. When she isn’t writing her next story, she is probably working at a museum by day and binge-watching Netflix with her cats Jane and Bingley at night. So, basically, she’s living large.
You can find and contact Laura Chapman here:
There is a tour wide giveaway for the book blitz of Let It Be Me. One winner will win a $20 Amazon gift card.
For a chance to win, enter the rafflecopter below:
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Excerpt - Let It Be Me
James Mitchell didn’t need a PhD to figure out why he’d been called into the department chair’s office. Unzipping his leather jacket, he slouched into the chair usually reserved for harried professors and students pleading for extra credit. Today, he was neither.
Still nursing a bit of a hangover from the previous evening, he didn’t bother to cover his mouth as he yawned and made himself comfortable.
He figured they might be in there a while.
Dr. Ferguson—chair of the history department and, more importantly, his boss—didn’t waste time on salutations.
It’s come to my attention that you failed to have your ‘War in the Middle Ages’ class on Monday.” Her ice-cold stare met his from across the desk, threatening to give him frostbite. “Again.”
That simply wasn’t true. James was more than willing—eager, even—to accept blame for any and all of his missteps. But he wasn’t about to let people spread lies about him.
“Actually, we held class.”
“But you didn’t lecture, did you?”
On that point, he could agree. Partially. “I provided an alternative educational experience.”
Her eyes narrowed into slits. “You showed a movie.”
“A movie set during the Middle Ages.”
He’d even selected one about the Crusades, which even Dr. Ferguson—a post-Enlightenment scholar—had to know was period appropriate.
“You played Robin Hood.”
A movie set, in part, in a medieval battle zone. It was on topic.
He studied the cuff of his leather fencing jacket. “It illustrates domestic issues and conflicts of the time shown through a mythical story.”
Granted, the Robin Hood in this particular adaptation didn’t have a British accent. So it wasn’t accurate, strictly speaking. Still, if he—a displaced Brit—could tolerate Kevin Costner and Christian Slater, his boss should too.
If possible, her scowl grew even more ferocious. There was no accounting for some people’s taste, he supposed.
She shook her head. “I could look past the movie if you hadn’t called in sick on Tuesday.”
“Yes, I . . . came down with something.”
“It would seem you ‘came down’ with soccer tickets.”
He flinched inwardly at her word choice. Before he could explain that everyone else in the world called it football, Fergie flipped her computer monitor around. There, in full color, was the Manchester United exhibition match held in Kansas City earlier that week. And there, in the middle of the photo, he stood with his face painted in red and white.
“That could be anyone,” he lied.
“Manchester United has quite a following, even over here.”
Wordlessly, she clicked over to the next photo. In it, a pretty brunette held up a sign that boldly said, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY JAMES!” with an arrow pointing right at him.
Based on the set of Dr. Ferguson’s jaw, he gathered she wouldn’t care that the woman was just a friend. The bartender at his favorite pub no less. She also probably wouldn’t care that the tickets had been a present from Sidney and Ford, the bar’s owner.
He lifted a shoulder. “They’re my team. It was my first chance to see them play live since I moved here.”
As a lifelong fan, it had been a miserable two years.
“You also have a job to do here,” she reminded him. “One that your status in this country depends on.”
He knew that, of course, but he was glad she was well aware of that fact too.
“I covered the class,” he said.
“You had your teaching assistant give a repeat showing of Robin Hood.”
“It was ‘Introduction to the Middle Ages.’ They hadn’t seen it yet.”
She muttered under her breath. He wasn’t certain, but she might have been counting to ten. In Old French.
After taking a moment to recover her patience, she slid on a pair of glasses and read from a notebook. “You slept through your office hours on Wednesday morning.”
The drive back from Kansas City had taken longer than expected. He’d been tired.
“You told Dr. Anderson to ‘sod off’ when he asked you to peer review his paper.”
Dr. Anderson should have known better than to ask. He specialized in the American Gilded Age. Their areas of expertise weren’t remotely close in geography or time.
“You skipped the planning meeting for our upcoming Renaissance fair.”
Again, not his area of study. Even if it was, he wouldn’t be caught dead at such a mockery of an event. The inaccuracies would drive him mad. While he could forgive Hollywood for its anachronisms, scholars should be held to a higher standard.
“And you missed your deadline with the press.” She frowned. “The first draft of your new book was due last night.”
“Actually, it was due in January.” At least according to his copy of the contract with the university’s press. “This was the extension.”
“It was your extension’s extension.” She dropped the notepad and ripped off her glasses. “Your editor tells me you won’t even answer her calls.”
“Do let her know I received the fruit basket she sent over. The kumquats and persimmons were a particularly nice touch.”
If possible, her scowl grew even more ferocious. “This is simply unacceptable.”
He certainly hoped so. “Understood.”
“You do realize what this means?”
He did. He was in breach of contract. Combined with his increasingly erratic behavior and his failure to complete his duties, there was no way she could let him get away with it any longer.
Thank God for that. James was running out of ideas on ways to get fired.