Title: LANDING FLETCH LAYTON
Author: BETH HENDERSON
Genre: ROMANTIC COMEDY
Book Blurb:
The text was a death threat. There was no doubt about it in Fletch Layton's mind. Dominique, his slinky, bombshell girlfriend for the past two years had given him one week to decide whether he was marrying her or not.
It was enough to make a man panic, and so, like the master procrastinator he was, Fletch decided to put off making any sort of leap. On one hand there was gorgeous but flinty eyed Dominique. On the other was freedom.
His best friend, Brenda Burton, would help him muddle out a decision.
But Bren had dreams of her own where Fletch was concerned, and she had a self-help book, Land Your Man. To save him from himself, Bren put her mind to LANDING FLETCH LAYTON herself.
Excerpt:
Brenda Burton glanced up from her place at her parents’ kitchen table when a familiar male voice called a greeting through the back-screen door. Without waiting for an invitation, Fletch Layton strolled into the room and swung Bren’s mother into his arms for a familiar hug and kiss.
He’d been making himself at home in the Burton household since he was seven, although there wasn’t much of the boy to be seen in his six-foot-two frame now. The tight, faded jeans he wore emphasized the long length of his legs, while the white T-shirt with the bright red-and-blue beer logo emphasized his broad shoulders and lean build. He hadn’t bothered to comb his nut-brown hair. He hadn’t shaved, either, although seeing a bristling masculine face was nothing new in the Burton house. Bren’s older brother was razor resistant on weekends, too. But when Fletch pocketed his sunglasses, Bren decided something was up. He looked haggard. It would take more than just a few hours of sleep to erase the circles that hollowed his eyes, she decided. Then he flashed his familiar, raffish smile and, as always, Bren felt a bit breathless.
“What a pleasant surprise,” Mrs. Burton declared, giving him a fond squeeze in return. “You’re just in time to help with the corn.”
“What, no steak?” Fletch asked. “I thought that was traditional Sunday fare.”
Bren’s mother grinned happily at him. “Ground round, and you’ll like it, young man,” she said with mock severity.
“But first you have to work for it like everyone else,” Bren added, tossing him one of the ears of corn she was busy husking.
Fletch caught it one-handed and donned an expression of stunned disbelief. “You’d make a guest work for his supper?”
“Mom makes all moochers work for their supper,” Bren said as she stripped dark green leaves from a piece of corn.
“Oh, but don’t feel badly, dear,” Mrs. Burton soothed softly, patting his bristling cheek. “You’re one of my favorite moochers, Fletch. Now sit down and help Bren. She’s dawdling over the business. I need to supervise your father and the charcoal, Bren. The two of you can bring the corn out when it’s ready.”
As the screen door slammed shut once more, Fletch threw one long leg over the back of a kitchen chair and took his place across from Bren. “Tsk, tsk,” he murmured. “Dawdling, are you? I’d never believe it of you, sweetheart.”
Bren ripped into a fresh ear. She hated it when he tossed one of his little endearments her way. They’d grown up together. She should be immune to him. But she wasn’t. She had gotten the world’s worst crush on him when she was thirteen and he was sixteen, and in the ensuing twelve years, she’d never gotten over it.
He didn’t know, though.
Frequently, Bren wondered if Fletch even remembered she was from the female branch of the species. To him she was an old friend, a buddy, a pal. One of the guys.
So she kept her sighs and longing hidden, husbanding them to expend, in an undesignated future, on a man who was less blind to her feminine charms.
The fact that Fletch had helped her land a job in the advertising department of the Bailey and Salazar Corporation, where he was a breath away from a vice presidency, hadn’t made it any easier for other Prince Charmings to impress her. It had done just the reverse.
But, since he thought of her as a sort-of-sister, she retaliated by treating him like a brother.
“Can it, Layton,” Bren growled, untangling clinging bits of corn silk from her fingers. “What brings you out to the old neighborhood?”
Fletch dealt quickly with an ear, stripping it free of husks. “You do.”
Be still my heart, Bren cautioned herself. He didn’t mean what she’d like him to mean. If he’d come looking for her there could be only one reason: work.
“I told you to bone up on the latest promotion materials,” she said. “But would you listen? Not you. What’s the matter now? Afraid you can’t BS your way out of this spot?”
He laughed and tossed the newly cleaned ear of corn aside. “Me? Afraid? Not of a minor little thing like a tube of toothpaste.”
Bren picked up his discarded ear of corn and handed it back to him. “Mom likes these closely shaven, slick. You have to pick every bit of silk off it.”
“You don’t believe me, do you?” Fletch demanded, his tone a bit too overdone to reflect honest emotion. He did begin plucking the finer bits of silk from the corn, though.
Bren concentrated on her own work. “I’ll bet you don’t even remember what the new toothpaste is called,” she said.
He scowled at her. “I do, too, know what we named the damn toothpaste,” he insisted. “It’s Virgin Fresh.”
“Not it, pal,” Bren said flatly. She chose another piece of corn and ripped into it. “It’s Fresh All Day.”
“Can’t be.”
“Nevertheless…”
“You’re kidding.”
Bren looked at him over the rising pile of empty husks.
“You’re not kidding!” Fletch shook his head sadly. “That’s the silliest name I ever heard.”
“So, what do you want to know about the promotion?” Bren asked.
“Hmm. A lot, I suppose. But that can wait. When I called your apartment earlier and didn’t get an answer, I guessed there might be a barbecue brewing at the old homestead,” he said.
“Just because there has been one every Sunday during the summer?” Bren asked. “Your thought processes are truly amazing.”
Fletch gave her a quelling glance and leaned toward her over the table. “I need you, Brenda,” he said quietly.
Bren’s mouth went a bit dry. He never called her Brenda. He’d also never looked at her with that serious expression and said he needed her before.
“I’m in big trouble,” Fletch said.
Bren’s bubble burst. What else had she expected?
Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub):
What’s your favorite part about being a romance author?
I get to fall in love with all the heroes. Mentally growl at the heroines to “Back off. He’s mine.” Then I have to let him ride off into the sunset (figuratively) with the heroine. However, he was mine first so she got the left overs, right?
And I go on to the next hero to claim as mine.
It’s constantly having affairs with men I invented on paper! I may have a short attention span where men are concerned.
Here’s my tip to add romance to your love life:
Considering I racked up two divorces and mentally gave dates pink slips for not coming up to expectations, romance likely only works for me in storylines. I did have a friend who used to stick bookmarks in the tome she was reading and handing the book to her husband with the succinct order that “this is what we’re doing tonight.” But where’s the surprise in that? However, she did get what she wanted then. Perhaps the key to romance is: Make your intentions clear…give the lover a script to follow by handing them a book!
Giveaway –
One lucky reader will win a $100 Amazon gift card.
Open internationally.
Runs February 1 – 28, 2025
Drawing will be held on March 1, 2025.
Author Biography:
Beth Henderson’s romance writing career began in what today feels like the Jurassic Age. No computers. No Internet. No Amazon and other online bookshops. It was after she broke up with her first husband that she started writing with publication in mind. But she picked up a second husband during that time, too, and while she’s stuck with having his surname (Henderson) on her historical and romantic comedy books, he didn’t take either. Honestly, she loves the heroes she invents and none have stepped from the page to wine and dine her. 2025 is a banner year for her. It’s not only 35 years since her first book was traditionally published, the release of her 40th book (though under a different pseudonym, of which she has several) will be released!
If she’d wished on a star back when she was 12 years old and decided she wanted to be a novelist, then darned if that dream didn’t come true!
Social Media Links:
Beth Henderson on Facebook at http://bit.ly/2GvFyog
@Beth__Henderson on X/Twitter