Release Friday 18 March
This is the media pack page for the release of Book 5 in the Single Dads Series. You can copy-paste directly from here, and the graphics are at the bottom of the page. If there are any questions or issues, or you spot an error, or you just want to connect with me then please email me email@example.com, or connect through the usual places like FB 🙂
Hugs & kisses, RJ XXXXXXX
When you have your review ready – Please could you paste the review here: https://rjscott.co.uk/review-submission
GLBTQ, MM, Single Dad Romance, adoption
Genre: Single Dad Romance
Trope: Hate to Love, Adoption, Family
Released: 18 March 2022
Publisher: Love Lane Books
Series: Single Dads
Length: 67,000 words
Cover Design: Meredith Russell
Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/54009587-listen
All Buy Links can be found here: http://rjscott.co.uk/read-listen
Available – Wide Release
ISBN – 9781785642104
- Single – rjscott.co.uk/read-single
- Today – rjscott.co.uk/Read-Today
- Promise – rjscott.co.uk/Read-Promise
- Always – rjscott.co.uk/Read-Always
- Listen – rjscott.co.uk/read-listen
RJ Scott, author of M/M romance.
Writing love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.
RJ's Social Media Links in full
- Website – http://rjscott.co.uk
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I wished he’d just let me talk. “I thought that—”
He didn’t even wait to hear what I was saying, exiting the room and slamming the door so hard the wall shook.
I stared at the space he’d been taking up as if it had all the answers. Five minutes, that was all that had passed in the aborted meeting, and I’d never witnessed such a range of emotions. I didn’t know how long I stared, but it was long enough to conclude that Nick Horner had lost his shit in a spectacular way. I picked up Hannah’s paperwork and shuffled it into a pile—lost in thought when the door flew open again—and Nick walked back in. He closed the door behind him and leaned there, his chin on his chest.
“Christ,” Nick muttered, then pressed his fingers to his forehead.
“Mr. Horner?” I asked cautiously, not wanting to spark anything weird. There were only maybe five steps between us, and I was close enough to see his wet eyes—it wasn’t fear I was feeling, but compassion. “Nick?”
He winced when I used his name. Had I overstepped? Or was there something else going on?
“Do you have a bathroom?” he asked.
I gestured to the end of the conference room, and he headed that way. I followed him a few steps, wondering if he needed something, confused as hell, and when he didn’t close the door but just splashed water on his face, I waited at the doorway for him to talk.
“Do you need me to get anyone?” I asked.
He turned toward me so fast I took a step back. “No—I know there’s something going on with Hannah.” He pressed a wet hand to his chest and left a damp spot there. “I know in here that I’m letting her down because I can’t get my head straight, and she’s carrying a load I should be lifting.” He yanked paper towels from the supply and scrubbed his face, then threw them into the trash can. “I came back to apologize, but…” He pressed fingers to his temples and winced.
“Hannah is an exceptional student, and I just want what’s best for her.”
“I know that I’m failing at this, and if people find out how about her, how do you think this will look to them?” he asked tiredly, supporting his weight by gripping the vanity.
Wait? What? He was upset because he didn’t want people to know his daughter was struggling? “Sorry?” I was angry then. I couldn’t help it, and the irrational side of me spilled out all over him. “Are you saying you care more about your media profile than your daughter?”
“No. What?” He looked horrified. “That’s not what I meant. Of course, I don’t think that.”
“No! Yes. You don’t understand. There are people who think they know me and judge me for every goddamn move my family makes.”
His anger slipped, and in its place was a vulnerability so raw that I took a step closer and raised a hand. I didn’t know what I would do, touch him in reassurance, pat him, thump him for shouting at me? God knows, but he was confusing the hell out of me.
“You don’t know what it’s like for everyone to be watching you all the time!” he said and then slumped.
“I’ll donate to something in your name,” I blurted.
Elliot gave me that stare—the one that drilled holes into my psyche and made me feel about two-foot-tall. “You can’t buy everything,” he muttered.
Venetia sucked her teeth. “Mr. Curtis, please.” She stepped back from us, a hand at her throat, and I wondered if she was about to collapse with the horror that one of her teachers was talking to one of the parents in such a direct fashion.
“A substantial donation,” I said directly to Venetia, because I wasn’t above using my money for the things that were important to me. “Ten thousand,” I said. No one moved or said anything. “Twenty,” I added, and I know I sounded desperate.
Elliot narrowed his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest, the book he’d been reading, a battered copy of the complete works of Shakespeare, clutched there. He glared at me so hard I braced myself for the next barbed comment.
“Twenty thousand?” He seemed to want confirmation.
“Yes, twenty to wherever you suggest, no strings attached, but this—what we’re doing and what I need—has to stay in this room,” I added, needing Venetia and Elliot to tell me my private business would not be blurted all around the school, making a media event out of something that should be private. Supposedly intelligent journalist needs assistant to understand his new daughter’s world. Seeks help. Meets man he insulted and should never have tasted. Makes idiot of self.
“Of course, of course, NDA and all that,” Venetia said with exuberance, and then she appeared to consider the meeting ended and opened the door for us to leave. Elliot slipped out immediately, but I was caught by Venetia air-kissing me, and with a not-so-subtle reminder. “I look forward to your comments on my funding proposal for the basketball team.”
“Absolutely, will do.” I didn’t even recall saying I would fund another sports team—I’d rather put the money into science where Caleb excelled; or English, where Hannah did so well. I could sponsor and fund the team when Mason arrived at the school, given he was the jock-in-training.
I extricated myself as politely as I could, then hurried into the corridor, but Elliot was long gone, which was just the icing on the freaking cake.
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