We said “I do,” and then he disappeared.
Administrative assistant by day and boss lady on social media by night, Theresa enjoys sharing her charmed life with half-million followers. The only thing she loves more is being engaged to the hottest doctor at the clinic where they both work. Cementing her fame by reaching one million followers would be the icing on her wedding cake.
Life stops running smoothly when her husband vanishes on their wedding night and a leaked photo of a barely-dressed Theresa yelling at the police sparks a viral sensation. With everything at stake—love, reputation, followers, and career—she embarks on a reluctant voyage of discovery. Follow Theresa as she stumbles over her new husband’s secrets and develops her inner strength.
Targeted Age Group:: Adult: 18 and older
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I wrote Jilted to entertain and inspire readers who love shifter paranormal romance. Jilted is about a social media influencer who is about to marry a hot and mysterious doctor. She is so caught up in who perfect her life looks that she misses the warning signs. Things are not as they seem. This is a be careful what you wish for story.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
I wanted to write about a softer female main character. Theresa is not the strongest, smartest or most beautiful. She's not even the most kind-hearted. And yet you begin to understand and start rooting for her as the story unfolds. Enjoy the character development and plot twist in Jilted by Azaaa Davis.
In an intoxicated haze, I headed to my hotel.
The bar was in the same neighborhood as the hotel, so I didn’t bother hailing a taxicab. By the time I reached the corner of the street, I started sobering up, and my brain finally recognized the pain signals from my heel-encased feet. Don’t wobble. Don’t limp.
If I made a left turn, I’d be in my hotel room in about eight minutes. But the street wasn’t well lit or populated in that direction. Or I could turn right and safely take the long way around. Turning right meant fifteen minutes of trying not to limp or stumble. It also guaranteed that I would be harassed by catcalling men. As much as I loved attention, I could do without the daily catcalls while walking the streets of NYC. I turned left.
“Hey! Funny thing, I didn’t get your name or number.”
I stopped walking. Pro-athlete guy had caught up to me, unable to take a hint. I would have to turn around and say no to him directly.
That’s when I heard a growl that made me freeze in fright. I literally peed a little. An untrained dog on the loose? Or an escaped tiger from the local zoo? Maybe it was a bear standing behind me? While I had no idea what kind of wild animal made that horrific sound, it was behind me on a New York City street in the early hours of the morning. Next, I heard the scream of a grown man, followed by something heavy hitting the ground. I ran. Correction, I flew down the street. That eight-minute walk down a couple of deserted streets took five minutes maximum.
Panting, I stopped to collect myself three buildings away from my hotel’s entrance. I shook the nerves out of my hands. I took deep breaths to steady my racing heart. I dabbed my forehead and upper lip to remove the excess sweat. Pretending to be sober and calm, I approached the fancy hotel with a single cursive E on the front awning. The doorman saw me and smiled. Having someone open a door for me never got old. Not trusting myself to keep it together, I nodded politely and silently made my way through the brightly lit lobby and to the elevator bay to get to the eighth floor.
Nervously, I wondered what to tell James if I ran into him. No Jaz as an alibi. I drank too much, stayed out too late, and worst of all, I’d spent the better part of the last hour letting some generously muscled guy grind up on me. Did he chase me outside of a bar to ask for my number? Did I really hear the awful sounds of an animal attack? I shivered. Too much vodka was my only conclusion.
Luckily, James and I had agreed to have our own hotel rooms down the hall from each other. Presumably, I needed a full night of beauty rest and didn’t want to know what time my drunken husband-to-be stumbled in after hanging out with his boys at a strip club. Who knew I’d be the one intoxicated and scared at two in the morning, hoping I didn’t run into anyone I knew as I made my way to my hotel room?
I somehow avoided detection and got to my room. Once my hotel room door closed behind me, I crumbled to the floor. With blurry eyes, I made a half-laugh, half-cry sound. I was safe, and I abso-fucking-lutely needed a shower.
Twenty minutes later, when my digits were pruney and the hot water turned cool, I exited the bathroom in a plush hotel robe.
“You still smell like him,” James stated quietly.
I managed not to pee on myself again, but I couldn’t stifle my scream.
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