Rising-star blogger Milla Kierce knows she's arrived when she sees the swag basket in her dressing room on the night of her late-night television debut. But before she can bite into the muffin that symbolizes her success, gunfire echoes through the TV studio. She's just hidden herself (mostly in plain sight) when the door flings open. Instead of a gunman, there stands one of the world's most popular rock stars, Gage Daxson, looking for his own way out of danger.
Thrown together, they'll battle a venomous man seeking revenge and his own sexual pleasure, but they may never leave the building again. Distracted by fear, fame, and infamy, can these two somehow find their way to each other?
Equal parts horrifying and hilarious, Debra Anastasia's Late Night With Andres offers more than a few twists and turns—and, of course, enough heat to keep things interesting.
Release date: October 29th 2013
Milla woke up topless and bloody. The pain in her foot was crazy. It felt like her baby toe was being held in a fire. She gathered her boobs. Gage Daxson was holding pressure on her foot with her dress. Too much pressure "Stop squeezing! You're going to pinch my toe off!" She tried to pull her foot away, but he wouldn't let her. Instead he pulled off his T-shirt with his free hand and handed it to her. She slipped it on as she noted all the blood again. I will not faint. I will not faint. She looked up and the Devil's Fart was shaking his balls near her face like a set of droopy maracas. "I won the bomb! I'm going to blow everybody up! And the best part?" He squatted and everyone in the room groaned. Milla looked up and found herself eye to eye with the maniac. "You're going to die." He cackled Milla felt lightheaded. Between the slap, the concussion, and now Gage squeezing her bloody foot, she was pissed and maybe a little delusional. "Well do it quick because I'd rather die from a bomb than the stench coming from your nuts." Milla rolled her eyes and slapped at Gage's hands. "Stop. It hurts." "Uh, don't look. Can you do that for me? Don't look at your foot" Gage bit his lip and glanced back at the huge new guy. "Hey girl. I'm Sydney." He had a deep, pleasant voice. "You should probably listen to my boy." "I'm MIlla. And I'm not listening to anyone right now." She pulled Gage's hands away and screamed. "Where's my baby toe? OH MY GOD! He blew my toe off!" Milla tried looking for the missing digit, feeling around with her hands. Her foot throbbed. "Sweetheart, you can't. It's not...There's nothing to find." Gage risked getting close to her injured foot. "I need to put pressure on it. I don't want you to bleed out." "I loved my toe!" Milla's eyes filled with tears. "I love flip flops. Can you even wear a flip flop with no baby toe?" She cried softly in her hands. The Devil's Fart was close to her again. She smelled him first, then heard him. "I think flip flops are low class." Milla snapped. She whipped her head in Fart's direction and punched him right in his horrible face. Once, twice and then a third time. She tried to punch him until he died, but Gage stopped her. "Don't. He's got a bomb, remember?" Gage pulled her to his bare chest, which honestly, was a little pale, but his sweet abs made up for the lack of tan. The Devil's Fart started screaming through his nose. He sounded like a human sized tea kettle. like Mrs. Potss on her period. "Yeah, I remembered the bomb. I just hate him a lot." Milla looked up from Gage Daxson's arms. As Fart descended into madness, Gage gave her a crooked smile and offered, "I think I like you."
100% of the proceeds generated from sales the novella Late Night with Andres will be donated by Debra Anastasia, Omnific Publishing, and all the staff members involved, to to assist in the battle against breast cancer—because cancer blows ass monkeys.
Debra Anastasia grew up in New York and got a bachelor's degree in political science at SUNY New Paltz. At the start of her marriage, she moved to southern Maryland with her husband. She still doesn't trust crabs and all their legs, though everyone else in her family thinks they're delicious. Her favorite hobbies include knitting, painting furniture and wall murals, and slapping clowns.
Her writing started a decent handful of years ago when along with the dogs, cat, kids, and husband, the voices of characters started whispering stories in Debra's ear. Insomnia was the gateway for the plots that wouldn't give up, wouldn't let go. In the shower, a twist would take hold and--dripping and frenzied--she'd find somewhere, anywhere to write it down.