"Falling Into Infinity" is FREE today only

Surprise! "Falling Into Infinity" is FREE today only. Why? Because I'm celebrating the re-release of the first two books of the Infinity Series. Last May, my editor began working her magic on the books. THE STORY HAS NOT CHANGED! If fact, you shouldn't notice any differences other than they read more smoothly. If you already own "Falling Into Infinity" and "From Now Until Infinity", delete them from your reading device and download them again from Amazon. If you haven't read the series, what are you waiting for?!?

Here is the reading order...

Falling Into Infinity (Book One of the Infinity Series)

http://www.amazon.com/Falling-Into-Infinity-Series-ebook/dp/B00DAJLNN6/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1372637731&sr=8-1&keywords=falling+into+infinity

 From Now Until Infinity (Book Two of the Infinity Series)

http://www.amazon.com/From-Until-Infinity-Series-ebook/dp/B00EJMQW4S/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1376507436&sr=8-4&keywords=from+now+until+infinity


Finding Infinity (Book Three of the Infinity Series)

http://amzn.com/B00GWNJK14

Aiden's Broken Heart (Infinity Series Short Story)

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00J5F7L80

or read for FREE here.

Infinity. (Book Four of the Infinity Series)

US: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00JQOEWC8

"The World: According to Rachael" Teaser #2

Two weeks from today "The World: According to Rachael" will be live! Here's a little something to hold you over...

I don’t arrive home until after midnight. This is my norm; not an exception. I toss my briefcase and purse on a chair by the front door and head straight up the stairs to my bedroom. Briefly, I contemplate taking a shower, but my bed is screaming my name way too loudly.

Consulting the clock on my phone, I ponder what I should do about Graham’s phone call. We never made it official if I was to call him or him to call me. Is midnight too late to call? Growing up, my parents said the rule was eight o’clock. Does that still apply when you’re almost forty?

After a long internal debate, I decide to send a text.

Me: Just walked in the door. Call if you’re still awake.

My phone barely hits the quilt on my bed before it’s ringing. A huge smile breaks across my face as I scoop it up.

“Hi.” My voice sounds dreamy. I’m hopeless.

“Rachael.” God, the way he says my name takes my breath away. It’s not Rachael, one syllable, like most people say it. He turns it into a prayer; “Ray-ch-ellll.” Just a hint of Texas twang.

“How was your day?” he asks.

“Boring. Then gaudy flowers arrived, and it was great.”

He chuckles. “Glad to hear it.” His voice is as smooth as the bourbon I drank earlier in the evening.

“What are you still doing awake?” I ask. “Don’t you have to be at work in, like, six hours?”

“I do. But I could ask the same question of you.”

I’m still in workout clothes but I crawl under my quilt, turning off my lights, and snuggle into my pillow. “I don’t sleep much.”

“Me either,” he says as if he’s excited that he’s found another thing that we have in common. “Hold a second,” he instructs.

He must be speaking to the dog because he says, “Go get on your bed, boy. Good night.”

I’m not a huge fan of pets, especially in the house, but the level of endearment in his voice for his dog does funny things to my heart.

“Sorry about that. George gets all testy if he doesn’t get his night pets.”

“I’ve heard that it’s very important for dogs to get at least twelve hours of sleep a day.”

“Ha! If that’s the case then George will live forever. Sometimes I bring him to lacrosse practice so he can get more exercise. He’s pretty useless.” As he talks about George, and school, and coaching lacrosse, I find myself envious of his life. He sounds happy and passionate about what he does. He doesn’t have a countdown clock to when his career is over.

“So did you broker world peace today?” he asks.

“Hmm . . . Not world peace, per se. But the President and I did spend a good part of the evening discussing his priorities for his final year in office.” The words “final year” are hard to choke out.

I snuggle deeper into my thick mattress and pull my quilt up around my ears.

“I’ve heard that immigration reform might be a part of the agenda,” he says.

I give a rueful laugh. “You and all of Washington have heard that. Apparently, it’s the worst-kept secret in this town.”

“Want my opinion?” He sounds tentative.

I’m bone tired, but I can always discuss politics. “Sure.”

“I think the White House is going to have to address the issue. If it’s not President Jones, then it’s the next administration.” His words are like a knife in my heart. “Our country can’t afford to keep providing social services to illegal immigrants. Naturalize them so we can start collecting the revenue.”

 “Graham, that argument doesn’t make sense.” I sit up straighter in bed and prepare to defend my position. “The amount of taxes that we would collect from the new citizens does not come close to equaling what we pay out in social services. Plus, you’re giving the green light to millions of people that it’s okay to enter our country illegally.”

“Rach—”

“Forget the economics. The financial models support my argument.” I swallow hard. “What this is really about is the safety and security of our citizens. There are health issues, like vaccinations, that must be addressed. And don’t get me started on border security and the smuggling of drugs and weapons into this country.”

His voice is strong. “So you agree with splitting up families when we send one or two illegal residents back to their home country, leaving the rest of the members here?”

“Wow. Don’t you sound like a bleeding heart liberal? They shouldn’t have entered the country here illegally in the first place.” I wrap one arm around my chest defiantly.

“Look. I don’t see that this issue has a one-size-fits-all approach to fixing it, and for the record, I’m not a liberal. What I do see as a solution is that if someone can prove that they’ve been working here in the U.S. for a defined period of time, and are in good standing with the law why not naturalize them. I mean, isn’t that how most of our ancestors started out here?” His voice rises as he finishes.

This is fun. I’m really enjoying our verbal sparring match, but it’s late. “Well, Coach Jackson. I see you can take the man out of politics, but not the politics out of the man. I say we table this discussion for tonight.”

He chuckles. “Fair enough.” Then, he changes the subject. “When can I see you again?””

“During the week is really hard for me. You see what time I get home. I don’t know. Let me check my calendar tomorrow, and I’ll text you.”

“You know I didn’t get much sleep last night because every time I closed my eyes I saw how gorgeous you were when you got lost in me.” Graham drops that little grenade out there.

At just the reminder of our heated make-out session, my body flushes. “It was a nice kiss . . .”

 “Oh, Rachael, there wasn’t anything nice about it. It was dirty in the best kind of way.” When he delivers this line, albeit a very good line, his voice drops a couple of octaves. I want to climb through the airwaves and kiss him again. I have to remind myself that we just met, and I am getting more comfortable with the idea that this may be more than sexual. But right now, as turned on as I am, my body is not very pleased with this waiting-and-getting-to-know-each-other nonsense.

“Are you in bed?”

“Yes. Are you in bed also?”

“I am.”

“What are you wearing?” he asks, and then quickly corrects himself. “No. Don’t tell me. I’ll just spend another night not sleeping.” After a pause, he adds, “I think we’re going to need to speed up this getting-to-know-each-other business.”

I giggle—yes! Giggle. My thoughts exactly, Graham. “First thing in the morning, I’ll check my calendar.”

“You do that. Now, let’s watch something on TV that’s very PG.”

"The World: According to Rachael" is live on November 25. You can pre-order it now at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00OMBKXDC. 

Halloween Treat! Preview Of "The World: According to Rachael"

Happy Halloween! Here's a little treat - no tricks. This is your first The World: According to Rachael teaser. Enjoy!

“Let’s be clear,” I say as my way of a greeting as I slide into the backseat of the black government-owned car waiting outside my townhome. “If your hand so much as brushes across my behind again, I’ll use my five-inch spiked heel and will drive it into your big toe with the intention of snapping the bone. Got it?”

Roan Perez nods as a small smile curls his full lips. “I love it when you’re feisty. Gives me a preview of what I’ll get to tame when you finally let me in those sexy panties I’m sure that you’re wearing.”

I all but hug the passenger door. “You’re an asshole.” I turn and spit in his direction, “I’d rather forgo sex with another human being for the rest of my life than let you near my panties.”

That’s not entirely true. I hate Roan Perez, but my dating life is non-existent. I’ve toyed with the idea of making Roan my next “let’s just have sex, no strings attached” relationship. No, not relationship. That implies that it could possibly lead to something more, which will happen when pigs fly. One-night stand? No. That has more of a passionate, I-want-you-now connotation. Mutual exchange of orgasms? Yes. That’s the right term. I should add the word “planned” in front. So I’ve considered a planned mutual exchange of orgasms with Roan.

Roan Perez was fortunate enough to be born at just the right planetary alignment so that he is able to spew nonsense, but the rest of the world only hears pure genius. It’s seriously a gift that the guy has. He built the most successful Hispanic-targeted advertising agency in the country. By the way, the only thing Hispanic about him is his last name, from a stepfather who adopted him when he was five. Every Fortune 100 company is mentioned on his About Us page on his Web site. Five years ago, he sold his share in the agency to his partners and started a Hispanic affairs consulting group here in D.C. Unfortunately, it seems that his gift is in high demand. Every candidate who desires to dip their big toe in politics is after two untapped demographics—the Hispanic vote, and voters under the age of thirty.

“An asshole that your boss respects,” he says with a satisfied shrug. “We look good together . . . Even Page Six thinks so.”

My boss seems to believe that Roan will be able to sell his immigration reform plan to not only congress, but also the American people. We’re placing a lot of stock in this yahoo.

Why am I sitting in a government-owned town car in a black cocktail dress with the biggest jerk on the planet? It’s simple. Politics. Roan is consistently on the Most Eligible Bachelor list and the Most Influential list, and meetings with his consulting firm are considered golden tickets. This is Washington, people. Nothing, and I do mean nothing is done without an ulterior motive.

I despise the man, but we use each other frequently for photo-opp purposes at nonsense events, such as the one that we’re headed to now. It looks good for the White House to be consulting with such an influential man. Roan’s credibility and hourly rate is boosted when he mentions that he has the White House’s ear. It’s a win/win situation for everyone involved, except for me, who has to deal with his arrogance.

“Here’s the scoop,” I say clutching my black beaded bag as if it could be used as a weapon. “We’re going to hold hands as we walk the red carpet. We’ll do the standard posing business. You’ll keep your hand on my back, not my ass, got it?” I glare at him.

The bastard just smirks, one eyebrow raised toward his perfectly-coiffed hair.

“We’ll walk inside and pose for a few pictures with the new exhibit. I have plans at nine o’clock at the White House, so don’t expect me to hang on your arm all night long like one of your sluts.”

“What plans?” His eyes brighten and I know that it’s because he has a glimmer of hope that he might be able to score a social invite to hang out with the President.

I’m kicking myself for even saying anything. “Plans that don’t include you,” I reply tartly.

“You’re the White House Chief of Staff. Score me an invite, Rach . . .” he says in a goading voice as he leers toward me.

Fortunately, we arrive at the Smithsonian, which ends this conversation. I slip my game face on and wait for the car door to swing open. Roan steps out first, buttoning his black suit jacket, and I get an unguarded moment to admire the beauty of the man.

He’s in his mid-forties with milk-chocolate salt-and-peppered hair, and eyes that can only be described as aquamarine. Roan is always clean-shaven and impeccably dressed. It’s such a shame that his beautiful outside is matched only by his ugly insides, but he does have a nice bulge in his pants. Probably a pair of socks.

He reaches for my hand, and I offer it to him. With the grace and charm of a suave lover, he helps me out of the vehicle, giving a wave to the reporters.

His palm rests just where I asked it to stay as we make our way along the red carpet.

The Vice-President was supposed to be in attendance to dedicate the new Smithsonian Exhibit this evening, but a campaign opportunity arose, so he asked me to cover for him. Just another day doing my job.

Roan and I stop in front of the backdrop and pose while the cameras snap away. Like the pros that we are, we turn in different directions, making sure that the photographers get every angle. Right before Roan steps out of the shot so I can be photographed solo, he leans in and whispers in my ear, “Your hot little ass will look gorgeous laid out underneath me on my white sheets.” Then, he discreetly runs his tongue over the shell of my ear.

Goose bumps plague my arms at his dirty words. I loathe Roan as a human being, but there isn’t a girl in the world that can tell her body not to respond to his charisma.

I’m sure that the photographers got a great candid shot of my shocked face.

There are so many things that I should say to him as we make our way into the museum. I war between taking him up on his offer—because let’s face facts, my sex life is nonexistent—and telling him that his little stunt has earned him banishment as my date ever again.

What do I do? Nothing. I just silently allow him to escort me into the museum where we are both thankfully bombarded with guests attending the function. I am not forced to discuss his transgression, and fortunately, we’re able to separate.

I turn my attention to my reason for being here—networking on behalf of the President. Time passes quickly, and I don’t see Roan again until he’s sneaking off with one of the waitresses who appears to have been hired for her large assets rather than her drink-passing skills. She has already spilled a tray of crab cakes, and dumped a soda in some poor guy’s lap.

I make my speech about the President’s commitment to preserving our nation’s history, pose for pictures with an oversized red ribbon, and ceremonially hold a gigantic pair of silver scissors that are larger than I am. The curtain falls as the guests begin to move in closer for a better look.

That’s my cue to slip out. Lou, the Secret Service agent assigned to me, knows the drill. I lock eyes with him. He moves through the crowd and escorts me to the waiting town car. Roan will find his own way home, probably with the waitress in tow. He’s one of the many unfortunate bullet points of my job description.

The Smithsonian is not too far from the White House. If I didn’t have on ridiculously high heels, I would suggest that Lou and I walk. It’s unseasonably warm in D.C. for the beginning of November, and it happens to be a lovely, clear night. 

Lou drops me off at the employee entrance, and I head straight for my office to change out of this constrictive cocktail dress and into my casual clothes, which are much more appropriate for this evening. On Friday, I’d left a pair of jeans, a green sweater, and brown leather boots inside the closet in my office suite.

Opening the door, I grab my duffle bag, and carry it into the bathroom that’s attached to my office. Quickly, I remove my clothes from the bag and lay them out on the countertop by the sink.

Next, I kick off my heels. One of the black weapons lands near the door. The other one hits the wall. I fantasize for just a brief moment how it would feel to break Roan’s toe as punishment for his red carpet transgressions. I’d get to watch him walk with a limp. That’s sick, Rachael. Stop it. I shake my head to clear the ugly thoughts, and focus on getting dressed for an evening with the First Family.

This gorgeous cocktail dress has an unfortunate closure, but because I live alone, I’ve mastered the art of contorting my body so I can zip and unzip my own dresses. In fact, the few times that I do get to watch a movie or TV show and the main character asks her partner to unzip her dress, I almost gag. In the real world, us single girls list that as a survival skill.

I hang the dress on a wooden hanger that I keep in my bathroom for just such occasions, and place my sleek weapons/heels in the duffle bag. I enter a reminder in my phone to grab the dress and shoes on my way home tonight. The dress is on loan from a boutique. It’s important that it is returned in a timely manner so they’ll let me borrow another formal dress for my next event.

I do a quick check in the mirror to make sure that I look presentable. My platinum-blond hair is still in a severe knot at the nape of my neck, and I have on too much makeup for my casual outfit, but it will just have to do.

I exit my home-away-from-home, and make my way through the White House. This is a very familiar walk for me.

“Good evening, ma’am,” Samuel says as I near the double doors he’s guarding. I like him. He’s about the size of a house, poker-faced, and does his job—well. That’s a huge positive in my eyes. Finding people who are good at what they do is a rarity.

“Samuel.” I nod in his direction as I stop in front of the entrance to the First Family’s private living quarters. “The President and First Lady are expecting me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he confirms as he double-checks the typed list. “Just a moment. There’s another guest who’ll be here shortly.”

“Oh, okay,” I reply a bit perplexed. I’m not usually kept waiting. Glancing at my watch, I note that I’m right on time—nine o’clock.

“Hi,” a confused male voice says behind me. “Is this where I’m supposed to be? This place is a maze.”

“Graham Jackson?” Samuel asks.

“Yes,” the voice replies.

The smell of Ivory soap with a hint of woodsy cologne causes me to turn my head just enough to check out the man entering my peripheral vision.

This guy is way too pretty.

He offers me his hand when he arrives at the double doors. “Graham Jackson. I’m Drake’s lacrosse coach and history teacher.” He looks like he should be starring on some contrived soap opera instead of teaching and coaching high school kids. He’s wearing dark jeans that appear to have been painted on his body. I might actually see the outline of his thigh muscles. His white, tucked-in Brooks Brothers polo accentuates his dark olive complexion. His wavy mahogany hair falls nicely against his prominent cheekbones, and shows off his strong jaw. He’s maybe in his early thirties, or he could be in his late twenties.

But then he smiles. His clear blue eyes light up, and one single dimple appears under his right eye. Is this guy for real? Something that I’ve learned in my thirty-eight years on this planet is if they’re pretty, they’re either gay or way too high maintenance for my taste.

“Rachael Early, White House Chief of Staff,” I reply as I shake his hand. I bet all his female students have had at least one wet dream starring their history teacher.

“I know,” he says with a shy smile and a dip of his chin. “I watch and read the news. You’re better looking in person.”

For some reason, I find his comment, or maybe it’s how he delivers it, disarming, and I laugh. “Usually, I hear, ‘I thought you were taller.’ I’ll definitely take better looking.” I change the subject off of my appearance. “You here for fight night?”

“I am.” He nods. “Drake invited me after we started talking about MMA versus boxing at practice.”

Samuel interrupts, “You can enter now.” He opens the heavy door—probably not heavy for him—allowing us access to the First Family.

The World: According to Rachael will be available on Amazon Tuesday, November 25. You can pre-order it now at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00OMBKXDC. 

More about "The World: According to Rachael."

It does exist! In fact, it even has a description and a cover. "The World: According to Rachael" will be available in November. I do not have an exact release date yet. Here's a little something to tide you over.

A heartbeat away from the presidency is where White House Chief of Staff Rachael Early spends almost every waking minute of every day. She’s sacrificed everything to be in this position including her chance at having a family, or so she thinks. But, if you ask her, all of her dreams have come true. Graham Jackson is a teacher and coach at the president’s son’s school. Graham met Rachael when he was a staffer during the campaign – a chance meeting that Rachael does not remember. However, her rally speech inspired the next seven years of his career. They’re pushed together by the First Family. Rachael’s world shifts on its axis, and she is left to figure out her new future. What happens next is a journey of self-discovery, learning how to be a partner in a relationship, and redefining what it means to have it all.

The World: According to Rachael

I've been working on this post for a week... Ugh! Hitting publish sucks. Here it goes...

I have good news and bad news depending on your perspective. Here's the God's honest truth. I love Rachael's story, and I think you guys will also. However, I've delayed publishing it until closer to Christmas. Here are my reasons why.

I'm an indie author. I love that I can write or rewrite or do whatever I want on my time schedule. Rachael's book is finished, but after reading it multiple times, I think that the story is lacking. I had worried myself to the point that I really began to despise my computer. I didn't want to be faced with a story that I felt was a regurgitated fairy tale. I came to that conclusion after spending another night dreading having to read it. 

So, I did something that it very uncharacteristic for me. I emailed my editor and told her to give my spot on her calendar away. In my everyday life, I am very dependable - never late - even to the point that I drive my family crazy. After a lot of soul searching, I've come to the conclusion that I would be letting you down more by delivering a story that I wasn't obsessed with as opposed to pushing the date and giving you a bad ass book.

I'm reworking Rachael's story, and I am beyond excited with her and Graham's "new" life. Here are my character notes:

Rachael Early: Arguably the most powerful woman in the Untied States.  She's bold, tough, driven, intelligent, and charismatic. On the flip side, she's also given up her entire life to achieve her success. Before the age of 40, she's faced with the question "has she peaked professionally in her 30's? Now what?" She lives alone in a house that she rents with the same furniture that she had when she was in her early 20's. Rachael has one close friend, Charlie from the Infinity Series. Her parents are successful in their own right, and she doesn't have a close relationship with them. Her self worth is defined completely by her job title.

Graham Jackson: Disillusioned with Washington DC politics, but not willing to move home, he accepts a job as a teacher and coach at a local high school. He's a good guy - the kind of guy that accepts people for who they are. He's incredibly likable and is still close friends with guys from his fraternity. He challenges Rachael and forces her out of her comfort zone, but he does it in way that's supportive and caring. He comes from a very strong family. Graham has a dog named George. However, Graham must keep part of who and what he does for a living a secret from Rachael. This is the crux of the story.

You're probably asking yourself why the new version of the book is so much better. Here's why. I decided to really develop Graham's character. I like the guy. I think that he's the perfect complement to Rachael. I also have added more story with minor characters in the book. I must say that I haven't read anything to compare it to in the contemporary romance genre, and that excites me. 

In the end, I hope that you will forgive me for postponing the release of the book. I hope that your trust in me is not broken. Ultimately, I hope that you will love Rachael's book so much that you'll applaud my decision.

Colin McKinney T-Shirt

I tried offering a shirt previously, and for numerous reasons not enough were sold. However, I've received a ton of request to try again. So... 20 shirts have to be ordered to make it happen. The offer expires in seven days. Football season is just around the corner! Ready... Set... Go...

Back

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Click Here to order... http://teespring.com/infinityseries

Review Giveaway!

Reviews are an indie author's life blood. Here's the deal. I have 398 total reviews of all five books on Amazon. I would love to get to 500 before June 8 which is my one year published anniversary. Here's a little something as my way of thanking you for your reviews... 

First prize is a $50.00 gift card to Amazon. 

Second place is a complete set of the Infinity Series signed by yours truly.

Third place are three signed copies of "Infinity."

There are a total of five prizes. Here's how you enter. Please comment on this post when you've left a review on Amazon, or you can leave a comment on my Facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/pages/Layne-Harper-Author/384782861629645?ref=hl). Use one comment per review so if you leave a review of each book, you'll have five chances to win. Contest ends when I reach 500 reviews. Thanks y'all. I really appreciate it 

Falling Into Infinity: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00DAJLNN6

From Now Until Infinity: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00EJMQW4S

Finding Infinity: http://amzn.com/B00GWNJK14

Aiden's Broken Heart: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00J5F7L80

Infinity.: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00JQOEWC8