Description
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About the author:
Michelle Fox lives in the Midwest with her husband, kids, the occasional exchange student and two sweetly disobedient dogs. She loves fantasy and romance which makes writing paranormal romance a natural fit. Most of her books have been top 100 bestsellers in their genre and she was once #1 in Germany. In her spare time, she’s been known to shake her bon-bon at Zumba, make spectacular cheesecakes and hoard vintage costume jewelry.
What inspired you to write your book?
I just had a thought one day that, if vampires were real, blood would be worth real money. From there, I pondered different ways people might sell their blood and came up with the concept of the blood courtesan.
Here is a short sample from the book:
“What is it that interests you in becoming a courtesan to vampires?” Madame Rouge watched me, assessing. She had the beauty most women would kill for; tall, slender and an oval face with lush, red lips and crystal blue eyes topped off with impossibly long lashes. Her caramel brown hair was pulled up in a bun with long curls spilling down to her shoulders. She was younger than I’d expected with a somewhat archaic manner of speaking. And now she wanted me to explain what it was that made selling my body to vampires my number one career choice.
Why would a girl from the backwoods of New York state travel to its glittering capitol, New York City, just to sell her body?
I shifted in my chair and tugged the hem of my skirt down to make sure it covered my knees. Her oxblood lips curled in amusement at the movement and I froze, realizing it was a mistake. Job hunting tip number one: When applying for a job as a courtesan, demure modesty was not an asset.
A long silence ensued because I didn’t know how to tell her what she wanted to hear. This job was my one shot to get the expensive not-covered-by-insurance medical care that could cure my mom and keep my childhood home. I was a classic sob story who needed a large amount of cash fast, but I didn’t want pity and I was pretty sure it wasn’t a turn-on in the world I sought to join.
“Miss Danson?” she prompted. Her body language disengaged from our interview. She no longer leaned forward and she dropped my resume on her desk. A resume that said nothing much about me beyond I was a college student who’d held a string of low paying part-time gigs as I worked my way through school.
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