Welcome to 90 Days to Score,
a story uniquely delivered!
Two years ago, I’d married for love.
Little had I known I was marrying into a threesome.
Now my wannabe ex is dead, and everybody thinks I did it.
Worse—I inherited everything…including the Roughriders, the NFL franchise the locals follow with a religious fervor bordering on a cult-like fanaticism.
Imagine, in Dallas, a woman, and worse, a Northerner, running their sainted team?
My name is Brinda Rose, and I’m a Jersey girl caught in the net of Southern pretense, privilege, and back-stabbing, with nary a rule book to guide me.
The whole city seems out for my blood.
But the NFL gave me 90 days to solve my pesky little legal issues and prove I am up to the task of running an NFL franchise. Big of them.
My pal, Lucky O’Toole sent reinforcements in the form of a long, tall, drink of Texas charm named Paxton Dane, although he’s as clueless as I am in the kind of voodoo needed to fend of the coffee-klatch of bored, bitter wives of the power brokers in town.
Intent on protecting their positions (even if it means defending the scum they married) they feast on newcomers with a piranha frenzy.
As if this wasn’t bad enough, I keep seeing flashes of a guy tailing me who looks a lot like my ex.
Could he be alive? The thought has me sleeping with a handgun and doubting my sanity.
With a fortune on the line and everyone from players, to coaches, to investors, to even my former father-in-law, hiding secrets and working angles, ninety days seems and impossibly short amount of time to solve my problems, and an impossibly long amount of time to stay alive.
Part One is available to buy on Amazon (Kindle), Apple Books, Barnes & Noble (NOOK), Kobo, Google Play or directly from me via PayHip!
Part Two is available to buy on Amazon (Kindle), Apple Books, Barnes & Noble (NOOK), Kobo, Google Play or directly from me via PayHip!
Come back every day from July 1st – September 30th, 2020 to read the serial for FREE!
If you need to catch up or read ahead, a monthly novella will be available for purchase on the first of each month (July 1st, August 1st, September 1st).
Please tell all your reader friends to join us for this fun project!
Here’s how it works:
Each day for three months beginning on July 1st, 2020, I will post an installment of the story here on my website.
For the first ten days of each month, the first ten posts stay up on my website.
On the eleventh day of the month, they all come down. From that day onward through the end of the month each day’s post will remain up for 24 hours only.
At the end of the month, the whole process starts over for the second month (August)…then again for the third (September).
For those of you who can’t wait, on the first day of each month (July 1st, August 1st, September 1st), that entire month’s collection of posts will be available in ebook format from all the usual retailers. (You can also buy the novellas if you miss a day!)
After the three months are over, the individual novellas will be compiled into a novel, which will be available in both print and digital formats sometime in October 2020.
I hope you join the fun!
P.S: For those of you who are Lucky fans, Lucky makes an appearance or two and Paxton Dane is back and very much front-and-center…
- 90 Days to Score – Day 44
This is day 44 of 90 Days to Score. To learn more about this free web serial, check out the info page here: 90 Days to Score Serial
Despite a full household all on adrenaline overload, I was the first in the kitchen. The half-light of early morning gave an eerie glow to the backyard. Morning had never been my best time, today was no exception.
Before the coffeemaker stopped grunting and spitting, I poured myself a mug and added a dollop of cream. Cradling my mug in both hands, I turned and braced myself against the counter.
How did one go about breaking and entering?
I debated whether to try my hand in broad daylight or under the cover of darkness. Frankly, nighttime scared me with its guard dogs, gun-toting patrols and sophisticated security systems that probably alerted the Pentagon to a break-in. If my house was any indication, it was far easier simply to walk in the back door in broad daylight.
So, daylight it was. And today was the day.
Dane had left a note on the kitchen table—he’d taken the Porsche. He didn’t say where.
After a mug of caffeinated fortification, I felt better about my plan.
Fran stumbled into the kitchen looking the worse for wear. She flapped a hand toward my coffee. “Bring me a growler of that please,” she said as she sank dramatically into a chair at the kitchen table.
“A bit owl-eyed you are today.” I hid my smile as I turned to do as she asked. I slid her mug in front of her. “Sorry, largest vessel I have—no growlers.”
She sucked down the whole thing, then extended the mug for a refill. I complied. “Do you have any nerve endings left inside your mouth?”
She ignored me, but halfway through the second mug, the pink in her cheeks and the light in her eyes returned. “I need to be at the top of my game today,” she said as if I had a clue. I didn’t bite—her assertion left me a bit breathless, to be honest. Fran’s “plans” always made me nervous and, from her tone, I could tell she’d cooked up something. “Today is Bridge Club day at the club.”
Okay. I let my breath out slowly. That sounded safe enough.
“And Patti Jenkins and Mrs. Windstrom are both members of the Bridge Club.”
My good feelings dissipated. “You think they’ll be there?”
“Participation is required to maintain your spot. Membership is highly sought after.”
“How is Mrs. Windstrom there? They aren’t members yet, right?”
Fran stuck out her cup for more. I was beginning to understand that caffeine gave her those amazing superpowers. I handed her a third mugful.
“Their membership is provisionally approved.”
“And she’s automatically in a bridge club that is super competitive to get into?” I asked, diving into my own third mugful—it was going to be that kind of day.
Fran eyed me over the top of her mug as she held it suspended before taking a sip. “Curious, don’t you think?”
* * *
Two hours later, after admonishing Fran to be careful and sending her off to a shower, I donned running gear, grabbed a backpack, and headed out, ostensibly for a jog. That’s how I found myself at the gates protecting the Coles’ mansion. No beware-of-dog signs, but I didn’t take comfort in that. This was the kind of neighborhood where, if you didn’t have a pack of Belgian Malinois, then you were looked down upon.
Morning had broken in all of its bright promise, so the dogs of darkness had most likely been kenneled for the day. From the shade of a large live oak in the middle of the boulevard passing in front of their house I’d watched the house for half an hour or so. No one had left, staff had arrived, and gardeners had pulled up in a truck and started unloading a vast array of lawn equipment from the trailer behind.
Enough activity to shelter one more body moving around the property.
I jogged to the end of the street, then turned into the alley, working my way back until I stood behind the brick wall that provided the rear perimeter of the vast estate. I flipped over a trash can, then used it to vault to the top of the wall. I didn’t linger. Instead I dropped softly down into a bed of azaleas, using the flowers to hide me while I reconnoitered.
This was really stupid—that much I knew. I didn’t know the first thing about safecracking. I’d Googled it, which had helped—it’s amazing the kind of information freely available on the Web. I’d gathered some tools—Dane’s duffel had been particularly fruitful—the guy was full of surprises.
Not cricket to root around in his belongings, but I was desperate.
Keeping to the fence line, I worked my way through the shrubbery to the back door. I took a deep breath, then risked a peek through the glass.
I turned the knob. The door opened.
The kitchen smelled of last night’s curry. My stomach growled. I hurried through the kitchen toward the foyer—Mr. Cole’s library would most likely be on the first floor. While different aesthetically, the mansions in this part of town had been built around the same time and to the same architectural sensibilities. I chose a hallway off to the right. Every few feet, I paused listening, then continued. The first three doors were dead ends, although I did find an amazing powder room.
The fourth door opened onto a wood-paneled room reeking of masculine arrogance. The safe hid behind the oil painting of a man I presumed to be Mr. Cole.
With my heart pounding but my focus clear, I opened my bag of tools and set to work. The lock on the safe was one I’d seen on Google—I’d even printed the instructions. Wiping away a trickle of sweat, I focused. A stethoscope lodged in my ears, I listened for the telltale signs. Slowly turning the dial, I heard it. There was the first number. I reversed the turn, concentrating hard.
A hand on my arm stopped my heart.
A male voice, and none too happy. “Well, what do we have here?”
Check back tomorrow for the next installment or grab the novella to keep reading (available on Amazon (Kindle), Apple Books, Barnes & Noble (NOOK), Kobo, Google Play or directly from me via PayHip)!