âShirley Jump ⦠has a solid plot and involving conflict, and the characters are wonderful.â
âRT Book Reviews on Miracle on Christmas Eve
âThis tale of rekindled love is right on target; a delightful start to this uplifting, marriage-orientated series [The Wedding Planners].â
âLibrary Journal.com on Sweetheart Lost and Found
âJumpâs office romance gives the collection a kick, with fiery writing.â
âPublishersWeekly.com on Sugar and Spice
New York Times bestselling author SHIRLEY JUMP didnât have the will-power to diet, nor the talent to master under-eye concealer, so she bowed out of a career in television and opted instead for a career where she could be paid to eat at her deskâwriting. At first, seeking revenge on her children for their grocery store tantrums, she sold embarrassing essays about them to anthologies. However, it wasnât enough to feed her growing addiction to writing funny. So she turned to the world of romance novels, where messes are (usually) cleaned up before The End. In the worlds Shirley gets to create and control, the children listen to their parents, the husbands always remember holidays, and the housework is magically done by elves. Though sheâs thrilled to see her books in stores around the world, Shirley mostly writes because it gives her an excuse to avoid cleaning the toilets and helps feed her shoe habit.
To learn more, visit her website at www.shirleyjump.com
SARAH Griffin watched the red shoe wing past her, then tumble in slow, horrible motion, toe over heel, out the open window and into oblivion. Shock kept her rooted to the floor for a good half second, before the horror of what had just happened pricked her like a pair of spurs, and she dived, too late, for the custom-designed, one-of-a-kind Frederick K red stiletto.
The shoe that was going to make or break her careerâthe same shoe that had just made a three-story disappearing act.
âHow could you do that?â The words exploded from her throat, but elicited no response from her younger sister, standing just a few feet from the window. âDonât you know how important that shoe is?â Sarah leaned out the window, searching for the burst of crimson leather on the gray concrete. Nothing, nothing, thenâ
There. By a trash can. Relief surged in her chest. Okay, the shoe was still intact. Seemed okay, at least from here, but sheâd never know for sure until she retrieved it. She wheeled away from the window and dashed for the door.
âWhere are you going?â Honest surprise lit the notes in her sisterâs voice. Sarah paused and gaped at Diana. Did she really expect her to stay here and finish the argument?
Diana Griffin had a slender frame, but it covered for a surprisingly strong body. She spent her afternoons beating up a punching bag at Goldâs Gym, so much that theyâd replaced it twice in the two years Diana had been a member.
You didnât mess with Diana. Sarah knew that, and hadnât heeded her own advice. Match Dianaâs temper with Sarahâs tendency to blurt out her true feelings, and you ended up with a disaster. Now the shoeâthe shoeâwas on the sidewalk and her career was hanging by an ever-unraveling thread.
âI have to get that shoe back,â Sarah said. âDo you know whatâs going to happen ifââ âLet it go, Sarah.â Diana waved in dismissal.
No biggie, she was saying. Diana had made her point, using her right pitching arm, and Sarah should just get over it already. âItâs just a shoe. If you want something cute and pretty, Iâll give you a pair of mine.â
Sarah threw up her hands and shoved past Diana. âYou donât get it, Diana. You never do.â
Her sister shook her head. âGet what? That you are trying to ruin my life ⦠again?â
Drama. There was always drama with her younger sister. It was as if Diana hadnât gotten enough attention as a kid and was in a constant quest for more. Hence the hyperbole and the temper-tantrum shoe fling. Sarah had seen more than one model diva pull the same stunt, and over the most ridiculously unimportant things, like a corner table or a too-warm glass of chardonnay. It was the kind of behavior that filled the gossip pages at Behind the Scenes. Written by Sarah herself.
She was tired of the drama, the look-at-me antics of the people she covered for the tabloid. Just once, sheâd like to see someone defy the stereotypes she blurbed with oversized headlines. Someone who got honest, admitted that the club scene was as shallow as a puddle, and that there were more important things in life than starring on page six.