MJ Field’s love of writing was in full swing by age eight. Together with her cousins, she wrote a newsletter and sold it to family members. She self-published her first New Adult romance in January 2013. Today she has completed four self-published series, The Love series, The Wrapped series, The Burning Souls series, and The Men of Steel series. The Norfolk series has two titles self-published so far and Ties of Steel, Abe and Dominic are available. MJ is a USA Today Best Selling author and former small business owner, who recently closed the business so she could write full time.
MJ lives in central New York, surrounded by family and friends. Her house is full of pets, friends, and noise ninety percent of the time, and she would have it no other way.
Morrison Excerpt
(unedited and subject to change)
Hailey
Suit wearing, slick talking, snake in the grass, bastards. All of them.
This is temporary, just a job. I just have to get through another day.
My feet ache with every step my high heel covered toes have to take. I pull down on my skirt.
Fucking cocktail waitress uniform. These assholes think it is made for easy access. They also think they can touch me wherever, however they want so I can earn my tips. One day, this will be a mere memory, but for now, I have to keep working the casino. This is a means to an end. Thankfully, it is one that pays well, but it damn sure isn’t easy. I can’t let it get me down, though.
Eye on the prize. Get the contacts and get in the underground games. Play a tournament.
Win.
Be done. Debt repaid. Life can then go on.
Momma always said, “The boys won’t like it if you beat ‘em, Hailey Sue. You gotta hustle harder, play smarter, and tip the right man off. Know your place, darlin’.”
“Yeah, Momma, how’d that work out for you?” I mutter to the dry Vegas air around me.
I blow out a frustrated breath as I make my way to my car. You have got to be fucking kidding me right now!
The minute I think this night can’t get any longer, it damn sure does. One of these entitled motherfuckers has parked their car behind mine, blocking me in with no way out. I am sure his Porsche won’t look so good when I leave the imprint of my Nissan’s bumper in the passenger door.
Going over to my car, I unlock the door manually since the keyless entry no longer works.
Annoyance consumes me as I step out of my heels and let my feet hit the gravel beneath me. At this point, I don’t care how dirty it is—my feet hurt, my life is a complete mess, and tonight has been never ending.
I toss my purse into the back as I reach in to grab my duffle bag. Opening it up, I put some sweats on over my skirt, grab an old T-shirt, and cover my pushed up, barely covered tatas then start pulling the pins out of my hair. Once I free my locks from their fancy up-do, I quickly throw it all up in a messy bun on top of my head.
Glamorous, I am not.
Once I have adjusted my look from work life to real life, I wait.
Impatiently, I wait.
If this guy is in a tournament and winning, I could be here all fucking night.
Making my way over to the car impeding my escape, I run my manicured finger over the edge of the beauty.
One day, I will be just like these entitled fucks. One day, I will park my car wherever the hell I please without any regard for it being towed, hit, or stolen.
Must be nice to not care to lose a hundred grand.
I wish money was all that was at stake for me. Some of us can’t be so lucky, though, can we?
I’m tapping my finger on the trunk when I hear a whistle behind me.
“Get your fuckin’ hands off my ride!” A suit wearing prick comes running over.
“Oh, what’s wrong? Afraid you might get a little dirt on precious here? We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” I mock him, wiggling a fingernail in the air as I bring it back down onto the car. The acrylic on my nails does nothing to remotely scratch the clear coat of the vehicle, but it does bring the asshole running over.
“Are you fuckin’ crazy? That car cost more than some people’s houses.”
“Crazy? Nope. Pissed the fuck off? You betcha.”
He looks at me, tilting his head to the side as if he is truly studying me.
His hand comes up to his chest in mock pain. “Pissed at me? Why would you be pissed at me, babe?”
“Babe, fucking babe. Do I look like a pig to you?” I look down at my ripped sweats and college shirt then raise my hand to silence him. I do look like a pig. Bottom line, I can’t risk being at war with any underground players. It’s time to swallow my pride yet again. “Don’t answer that. I think we’re getting off on the wrong foot.”
I extend my hand out to him. “I’m Hailey. I work inside and just got off. I came outside, ready to go home … only you seem to have blocked me in.”
His eyes dance in humor as he takes my hand in his, giving me a firm handshake. “Call me Caldwell.”
Morrison