Blurb
What’s worse than driving a phallic-shaped RV across the country with a coworker you hate? Falling in love with them.
Copywriter Callie Murphy has a bad attitude, a vicious tongue, and a serious aversion to Shimura Advertising’s resident manwhore, Walker Rhodes. Know where he can stick his good looks and Southern charm? She can think of a few creative places. Avoiding him wouldn’t be a problem, except her boss threatens to fire her if she doesn’t go along with him on their RV client’s cross-country tour.
Burnt-out art director, Walker, is sick of his job, tired of women, and in a big old creative rut. The upcoming client road trip is just what he needs to shake things up and rediscover his lost passion. But his plans go south when his partner drops out at the last minute, and Callie, the foul-mouthed tiny terror, takes her place. Unless he can find a way to thaw his icy coworker, he’s looking at two months of pure hell.
On the road, they experience one hilarious misadventure after another and soon find themselves on a life-changing journey. But when their paths veer off in different directions, will they hit a dead end?
Road-Tripped is a stand-alone novel and the first book in the Ad Agency Series.
Note: If you are offended by foul language and erotic content, please don't read. Not meant for readers under 18.
Teasers
Review
Kat's rating: 5 of 5 stars
I sat last night up till the wee hours of the morning, this addictive book had me spending half my time trying not to laugh out loud, trying not to wake my hubby.
The story takes you on a road trip that was both interesting as I love reading about places I would love to visit but probably never find the spare cash to fund, and heartwarming, both in the two main characters and the supporting ones.
You will need tissues to mop up both the laughter tears and the tears for when things get emotional (cryptic I know but I do not give spoiler reviews ever!) ok I may quote a few random bits but not things that give the plot away - one laugh out loud moment when reading it was when this happened:
Holyshitfest! The last thing she remembered was his D### swinging in front of her face.
Walker sure got under Callies skin and although they had a bumpy ride, I'm glad I got to travel along with them as they found how to let each other in their hearts.
Being a keen photographer I would love to go on a road trip like Walker did (even in a silver dil... mmm I think amazon may ban that word) ! I hope I can get out at the weekend as the book made me want to explore with my camera too. - its very annoying - we had glorious 29 degs in the week - rain forecast for the weekend!
- The ROAD TRIPPED MAP - it's on my bucket List. I would time it with as many Author Signings as possible and have an excess baggage bill $$$ full of signed books!
Nudist beaches and peeing in swamps are just two favourite scenes.
I thoroughly enjoyed this book and can't wait for book 2.
I thoroughly enjoyed this book and can't wait for book 2.
The quotes both from Dorothy Parker and the photography ones were also a nice addition, there's a playlist that links to spotify or YouTube but I'll be checking them out separately as I would have annoyed my hubby no end blasting tunes out at 1am!
*** I voluntarily reviewed this book, I gained no monetary incentives nor was I specifically requested to review the book, these are my honest ramblings and I hope you enjoy reading them - kat***
Excerpt
A dissecting blue glare hit him. “Now what?”
“Out of curiosity? Do you come on to every woman you meet?”
He draped an arm over the back of the booth. “Aw, Bluebell, are you jealous of that sweet waitress?”
She examined her fingernails. “Horribly.”
“Just being friendly is all. Not that you’d know what that means.”
She rubbed her chin. “Friendly? Is that the hillbilly translation for acting like a dick?”
Getting all bent out of shape wouldn’t do him any good—that’d just give her more ammunition. He needed
to stay calm or at least appear to be calm. He stretched his legs in the aisle and put his hands behind his head.
“I know it’s difficult, but try to focus on something besides my dick.”
“It’s hard when it’s over six feet and spewing bullshit.”
“It’s hard and spewing all right.”
With a loud exaggerated sigh, she stuck the menu in front of her face, cutting off eye contact, as well as
his awesome retort.
After a peaceful few minutes of Callie shutting her pie hole, the waitress returned for their order. “Tell me
about the Intercourse special, pretty girl.” He dialed up the Cheese-a-Tron 3000 for his coworker’s benefit.
Poppy chattered on about the amazing steak until his ears bled.
“Perfect, darlin’. We’ll have two of those. Medium-rare.” He handed the menu back. “Can’t wait to see what
you have for dessert.” Leading the waitress on wasn’t very nice, but riling Callie up gave him such a perverse
thrill.
An ice cube hit him in the head. “Ow!” He rubbed his head. “Are you insane? Do I need to hide sharp
objects from you now?”
“Did you just fucking order for me?”
“Thought you could use a nice big piece of meat. Not sure how you’re gonna eat it though with that filthy
mouth of yours.”
She gripped the table. “Ever consider I was a vegetarian.”
Of course she was. “No wonder you’re so violent.”
Bogus laughter roared out. Eventually, she stopped and wiped fake tears from her eyes with both middle
fingers. “God, you’re so funny.”
Heat surged through his balls. She had to be a hellcat in bed. But that was dick logic talking. It’d be a cold
day in hell before they ever hooked up. And if they did, she’d probably kill him in his sleep.
That being the case, he gathered his scattered wits and headed for the jukebox. After carefully making his
selections, “Evil Woman” blared from blown-out speakers by the bar.
Chuckling, he hurried back to the table to see if the devil had heard her theme song. Unfortunately, Poppy
showed up right then, bearing juicy steaks and a flirty smile.
“Thanks, beautiful,” he said. “Bet they’re as delicious as you are.”
Callie snorted. “Un-fucking-believable.”
Poppy frowned and dragged her feet back to the bar.
“Something funny, Bluebell?”
“Stop calling me that!”
“But it fits you so well. You’re so dainty and sweet. And with those great big blue eyes of yours, you look just
like a bluebell blossom.” The truth? He’d come up with the nickname at the Liberty Bell because her ballbusting
had given him the blues.
“Cute,” she said. “I have a pet name for you too, but since you don’t like potty language. . .” She sliced off
a piece of steak and stuck it in her mouth.
“Hold on. I thought you were a vegetarian?”
She swallowed. “No, I’m a don’t-tell-me-what-to-do-atarian.”
What's worse than losing everything? Try driving a phallic-shaped RV across the country with a coworker you hate.
Chapter 11
“Where’s my shirt?” she asked
“You took it off. In fact, you ripped it off.” He rubbed his temples. “It feels like a mule kicked my head.”
“Walker!”
“What! You were wasted. I tried to stop you.”
Nothing made sense. “Did I . . . did we sleep together?”
“Jesus, stop yelling. Yes, we slept together. Isn’t it obvious?”
A needle on a record scratched.
Several things popped in her mind at once. Number one, they must not have gone at it very hard
because her vagina felt surprisingly unscathed. And number two, how fast could she swim across the ocean
and get out of there?
A long droning groan leaked out of her.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “We slept in the same bed, but we didn’t . . . Jesus, I wouldn’t do that, not
when you were trashed.”
She collapsed on the pillow. “Thank fucking God.”
He frowned. “You don’t have to sound so happy about it.”
“I’m wigging out. I don’t remember a thing.”
His eyes drifted to her breasts again.
“Stop staring at them! I know they’re microscopic.”
He cocked his head and bunched his brows. “You don’t have a clue how beautiful you are, do you?”
She wanted to talk about her tiny tits about as much as she wanted to take a joyride in the back of a hot
garbage truck.
“Blue, look at me.” He tore the sheet away. “Is that why you hide under all those big clothes? Because
you think there’s something wrong with your body? Was it that guy? Did he tell you they were too small?”
At least a hundred times, Daniel had offered to pay for a boob job. He wouldn’t help her pay off her
student loan, but he’d happily pay double the amount for double-D’s.
The very idea had repulsed her. It was such a blatantly sexist thing to request. “Get your back hair
lasered off and your penis enlarged,” she’d told him. “Then we’ll talk bigger tits.” After that, he’d never
mentioned it again.
But when he cheated on her with that whore whose breasts were four times larger, a lingering thought
paced the back of her mind—if her tits were bigger, would he have strayed?
“Don’t believe a word that jerk told you. They’re perfect,” he said. “Just right for your frame. Trust me,
sweetheart, there’s nothing wrong with you. You’ve got a beautiful body and your skin . . . You ought to be
in a lotion ad. Or a dermatologist poster. Christ, I don’t even know what the hell I’m saying. My brain’s
melted, and my body hurts. Shoot me.” He rubbed his temples again.
She snorted. “That’s ridiculous. I’m so pale, I’m almost transparent.”
He took her hand. “Don’t cut yourself down like that. You’re gorgeous, Bluebell. And I’m not just
saying that cause your tits are on display.”
The tight harness with which she’d restrained her emotions jerked free and a backlog of tears swamped
her throat. With zero saliva and a shoe leather tongue, she swallowed them back down.
He rubbed her back. “Hey . . .”
A tear escaped. Oh, shit.
He brushed her cheek. “You okay?”
She jammed her palms in her eye sockets. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I guess I’m still drunk.”
He folded her in his arms. “Let it out, Blue.”
No way. If she let go, a geyser of grief would shoot out. His heartbeat ticked like a metronome—slow,
steady, soothing. The smell of his skin, his hands lightly caressing her back, the strength of his hold—she
concentrated on those feelings and shoved her messy emotions back in the closet. “I’m sorry.” She pulled
away.
“For what?”
For being a small-boobed-hung-over-emotionally-unstable mess? she thought, but said, “For passing
out in your bed.”
“Anytime, as long as you take off your shirt first.”
“Out of curiosity? Do you come on to every woman you meet?”
He draped an arm over the back of the booth. “Aw, Bluebell, are you jealous of that sweet waitress?”
She examined her fingernails. “Horribly.”
“Just being friendly is all. Not that you’d know what that means.”
She rubbed her chin. “Friendly? Is that the hillbilly translation for acting like a dick?”
Getting all bent out of shape wouldn’t do him any good—that’d just give her more ammunition. He needed
to stay calm or at least appear to be calm. He stretched his legs in the aisle and put his hands behind his head.
“I know it’s difficult, but try to focus on something besides my dick.”
“It’s hard when it’s over six feet and spewing bullshit.”
“It’s hard and spewing all right.”
With a loud exaggerated sigh, she stuck the menu in front of her face, cutting off eye contact, as well as
his awesome retort.
After a peaceful few minutes of Callie shutting her pie hole, the waitress returned for their order. “Tell me
about the Intercourse special, pretty girl.” He dialed up the Cheese-a-Tron 3000 for his coworker’s benefit.
Poppy chattered on about the amazing steak until his ears bled.
“Perfect, darlin’. We’ll have two of those. Medium-rare.” He handed the menu back. “Can’t wait to see what
you have for dessert.” Leading the waitress on wasn’t very nice, but riling Callie up gave him such a perverse
thrill.
An ice cube hit him in the head. “Ow!” He rubbed his head. “Are you insane? Do I need to hide sharp
objects from you now?”
“Did you just fucking order for me?”
“Thought you could use a nice big piece of meat. Not sure how you’re gonna eat it though with that filthy
mouth of yours.”
She gripped the table. “Ever consider I was a vegetarian.”
Of course she was. “No wonder you’re so violent.”
Bogus laughter roared out. Eventually, she stopped and wiped fake tears from her eyes with both middle
fingers. “God, you’re so funny.”
Heat surged through his balls. She had to be a hellcat in bed. But that was dick logic talking. It’d be a cold
day in hell before they ever hooked up. And if they did, she’d probably kill him in his sleep.
That being the case, he gathered his scattered wits and headed for the jukebox. After carefully making his
selections, “Evil Woman” blared from blown-out speakers by the bar.
Chuckling, he hurried back to the table to see if the devil had heard her theme song. Unfortunately, Poppy
showed up right then, bearing juicy steaks and a flirty smile.
“Thanks, beautiful,” he said. “Bet they’re as delicious as you are.”
Callie snorted. “Un-fucking-believable.”
Poppy frowned and dragged her feet back to the bar.
“Something funny, Bluebell?”
“Stop calling me that!”
“But it fits you so well. You’re so dainty and sweet. And with those great big blue eyes of yours, you look just
like a bluebell blossom.” The truth? He’d come up with the nickname at the Liberty Bell because her ballbusting
had given him the blues.
“Cute,” she said. “I have a pet name for you too, but since you don’t like potty language. . .” She sliced off
a piece of steak and stuck it in her mouth.
“Hold on. I thought you were a vegetarian?”
She swallowed. “No, I’m a don’t-tell-me-what-to-do-atarian.”
What's worse than losing everything? Try driving a phallic-shaped RV across the country with a coworker you hate.
Chapter 11
“Where’s my shirt?” she asked
“You took it off. In fact, you ripped it off.” He rubbed his temples. “It feels like a mule kicked my head.”
“Walker!”
“What! You were wasted. I tried to stop you.”
Nothing made sense. “Did I . . . did we sleep together?”
“Jesus, stop yelling. Yes, we slept together. Isn’t it obvious?”
A needle on a record scratched.
Several things popped in her mind at once. Number one, they must not have gone at it very hard
because her vagina felt surprisingly unscathed. And number two, how fast could she swim across the ocean
and get out of there?
A long droning groan leaked out of her.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “We slept in the same bed, but we didn’t . . . Jesus, I wouldn’t do that, not
when you were trashed.”
She collapsed on the pillow. “Thank fucking God.”
He frowned. “You don’t have to sound so happy about it.”
“I’m wigging out. I don’t remember a thing.”
His eyes drifted to her breasts again.
“Stop staring at them! I know they’re microscopic.”
He cocked his head and bunched his brows. “You don’t have a clue how beautiful you are, do you?”
She wanted to talk about her tiny tits about as much as she wanted to take a joyride in the back of a hot
garbage truck.
“Blue, look at me.” He tore the sheet away. “Is that why you hide under all those big clothes? Because
you think there’s something wrong with your body? Was it that guy? Did he tell you they were too small?”
At least a hundred times, Daniel had offered to pay for a boob job. He wouldn’t help her pay off her
student loan, but he’d happily pay double the amount for double-D’s.
The very idea had repulsed her. It was such a blatantly sexist thing to request. “Get your back hair
lasered off and your penis enlarged,” she’d told him. “Then we’ll talk bigger tits.” After that, he’d never
mentioned it again.
But when he cheated on her with that whore whose breasts were four times larger, a lingering thought
paced the back of her mind—if her tits were bigger, would he have strayed?
“Don’t believe a word that jerk told you. They’re perfect,” he said. “Just right for your frame. Trust me,
sweetheart, there’s nothing wrong with you. You’ve got a beautiful body and your skin . . . You ought to be
in a lotion ad. Or a dermatologist poster. Christ, I don’t even know what the hell I’m saying. My brain’s
melted, and my body hurts. Shoot me.” He rubbed his temples again.
She snorted. “That’s ridiculous. I’m so pale, I’m almost transparent.”
He took her hand. “Don’t cut yourself down like that. You’re gorgeous, Bluebell. And I’m not just
saying that cause your tits are on display.”
The tight harness with which she’d restrained her emotions jerked free and a backlog of tears swamped
her throat. With zero saliva and a shoe leather tongue, she swallowed them back down.
He rubbed her back. “Hey . . .”
A tear escaped. Oh, shit.
He brushed her cheek. “You okay?”
She jammed her palms in her eye sockets. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I guess I’m still drunk.”
He folded her in his arms. “Let it out, Blue.”
No way. If she let go, a geyser of grief would shoot out. His heartbeat ticked like a metronome—slow,
steady, soothing. The smell of his skin, his hands lightly caressing her back, the strength of his hold—she
concentrated on those feelings and shoved her messy emotions back in the closet. “I’m sorry.” She pulled
away.
“For what?”
For being a small-boobed-hung-over-emotionally-unstable mess? she thought, but said, “For passing
out in your bed.”
“Anytime, as long as you take off your shirt first.”
About the author
Nicole Archer’s lengthy career as an advertising copywriter not only polished her writing skills—it provided a lifetime of book material. Many months her book purchases are as high as her mortgage. As a full-time, working single mom of a beautiful, brilliant, and horrifically energetic son, she has little time to do much else but work, write, read, drink wine, and breathe. In real life, she lives in Dallas, Texas, but she’d rather live in Switzerland. Road-Tripped is her first book.
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The Series Order (Head-Tripped is out on the 10th April (review to come) add to your Goodreads TBR
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