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The Right Kind of Guy

The Right Kind of Guy

by Kerri-Leigh Grady

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Romance novelist Kelsey Spencer doesn’t believe in love, and she's tired of faking her way through happily ever afters. Determined to change things up, she heads to the Las Vegas Romance Lovers Convention. But somewhere between half-naked cover models and hot Navy SEALs, Kelsey’s plans derail…

Especially once she meets über-fan Jasmine Grant…and Jasmine’s über-hot alphahole brother, Aaron.

Buttoned-up Aaron Grant never thought he’d find himself at a romance convention, but here he is, trying to convince his impulsive sister not to marry a beefcake cover model. His only hope is to enlist the aid of the cynical (and sexy) romance writer his sister worships.

After a sweltering jaunt around Vegas, some strange conference hijinks, and one outrageous proposal, Kelsey and Aaron are left questioning everything they know about romance and love…and if falling in love might just be worth the gamble.

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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781633757523
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC
Publication date: 10/17/2016
Series: What Happens in Vegas
Sold by: Macmillan
Format: NOOK Book
Pages: 177
Sales rank: 666,940
File size: 1 MB

About the Author

Kerri-Leigh Grady loves to sink into happily-ever-after tales, especially when her testosterone-loaded house has hit its monthly limit of athletic socks and slapstick. She holds an MFA from Seton Hill University and a BS in computer science. She’s a nerd with an unnatural love of dark humor, gadgets, chickpeas, animals (not that kind of unnatural), Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, terrible acrylic landscapes, bad poetry, and silversmithing. Don’t worry-she owns lots of fire extinguishers.

Read an Excerpt

The Right Kind of Guy

A What Happens in Vegas Romantic Comedy

By Kerri-Leigh Grady, Stacy Abrams

Entangled Publishing, LLC

Copyright © 2016 Kerri-Leigh Grady
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-63375-752-3


Vegas might never recover once this invasion of romance lovers departed.

Kelsey Spencer glanced around the hotel café and tried to gauge how many of the wide-eyed crop milling about were the enlivened attendees of the romance convention it seemed every other person had come to town for. Probably everyone — the hotel was crammed with cover models, Regency gowns, and actors surrounded by a tight circle of security. Plus some aspiring actors and writers. If you had a ken for breaking into the industry, the Comic Con of the romance genre was definitely the place to do it.

But good Maude on a shingle, the audience this event attracted was varied.

Deena, Kelsey's spiral-haired agent, had even decided to go all cosplay. She wore a leathery steampunk outfit that sharpened her typically rounded features. Unfortunately, those sharpened edges were no good combined with her brash communication skills. She looked like a pretty raptor with a parasol and bustle. "Doll, just trust me on this. You can't genre-hop. Not now. You're too small."

Fifteen books and two USA Today bestsellers ... when would she be big enough in Deena's estimation? Maybe when she actually drew a comfortable wage from her writing? Kelsey sighed. "I'm just tired of feeling like a fraud." Even her romance author persona had begun to irritate her, like a cheap wool scarf wrapped a little too tight around her neck. It paid the bills — barely — but every time she posted to her blog about some real-life epic romance, she had to resist the urge to include a betting pool for how long it would last.

Deena patted her hand. "You're not a fraud. You write romance. Everyone knows it's a goddamned fantasy. Quit being a baby."

Yeah, easy to say when Deena didn't have to sit in on a book signing where one reader after another gushed about how the books made them feel. It was a rush, sure, to know that her writing resonated, but without fail, the reader would wax on about meeting her own hero one day.

And that? No bueno. That was a one-way ticket on the Crazy Cat Lady Express. Just look at her own history: twenty-eight and suckered into a doomed marriage when she was twenty-one. She'd been desperate for love after a childhood without, and she'd fallen for a guy who seemed like The One with his twinkly eyes and commanding ways and bad poetry and pretty flowers, and what had happened?

Inside of a year, she and the jerk were divorced.

"This book is done, though. It's a thriller with a ..." She seesawed her hand. "Vague romantic element. I'm not saying it's great, but I think it might be pretty good." Kelsey clasped her hands in a pleading gesture. "Just read it in your copious spare time and tell me if we can maybe, possibly consider shopping it."

Deena scowled. "You're running up on a deadline as it is, chickie. Where's the book you owe Dyer-Hall? Remember the magic I worked on that contract, like I'm your goddamned fairy godmother?"

"Yes, how could I forget? Finished it last night. I'll have it turned in as soon as I do a spit shine." She sat up straight and grinned huge. Deena was still negotiating a new series with Dyer-Hall, so Kelsey had some spare time now. "Please just read it?"

Deena looked like the stays holding her torso rigid had just buckled. She dropped her hands, her head lolled, and she rolled her eyes. "Goddammit, fine. Send me the thriller." She straightened again and pointed. "No shit, kid, I'm doing this because I love you and not because I think it's even worth considering at this point."

Kelsey nodded and tried to hold back the urge to bounce in her seat.

"I'm for real here. If it's not fan-fucking-tastic, we're shelving it for at least a year. Maybe more." Deena cranked up her stank eye at Kelsey. "Now where's your next proposal?" She leaned closer. "Romance, natch."

Holding up her hands, Kelsey ducked her head. "Working on it. Doing some research right now." It was a lie. She was log-jammed. Creatively clogged. Mentally constipated. But Deena didn't need to know that because it would pass and the words would flow.

"Tell me you're researching SEALs and shit."

Kelsey nodded. "Yeah, SEALs and shit."

Deena looked ready to call her on obvious bullshit, but someone approached their table just then and squealed. It was way too early in the day for anyone to make a noise of that wavelength, and half the café turned to see what the hell was happening.

A dark blonde with curls framing her face and eyelashes stretching to reach Texas clapped her hands over her cheeks. "Kelsey Spencer?"

Kelsey had a moment of panic — someone from her past or an exuberant fan? She rarely had exuberant anything in her life, so she was leaning toward the former possibility and wracking her memory for some clue as to this woman's identity.

"I knew it! Kelsey fucking Spencer. I. Love. Your. Books." She whipped her large Givenchy purse off her shoulder and rummaged through it. Inside of five seconds, she snagged something and tugged it free. A load of freshly used tissues came with the book she slapped onto the table. "Best book ever written." She snatched away the errant tissues and stuffed them into her purse.

Deena kicked Kelsey under the table.

"Thank you." It was one of Kelsey's favorites. She'd really enjoyed writing it, and the sales had been decent, but it had begun the freefall in her writerly confidence. This book — Macadan's Woman — and the reader response to the grand finale scene left her questioning her responsibility as an author. Was it really okay to present such an unreasonable fantasy to readers who loved the idea so much, they insisted the fantasy could be their reality?

Deena kicked Kelsey again. She glared at her agent.

"Maybe Kelsey fucking Spencer could sign the book for you?" Deena asked.

The fan practically shone when she grinned. "Yes, please! And then if you could package up Macadan and deliver him to my home, I will be forever grateful."

Kelsey forced a smile, gritted her teeth, and pulled the book closer. "Deena, got a pen on you?" Deena handed her a red pen ... of course. "Who should I sign it for?"

"Jasmine. That's me." She dropped to a squat beside Kelsey, and her cute and obviously expensive yellow sundress floofed around her knees. The conference nametag she wore flipped around to show her name. Jasmine Grant. "The way Macadan scaled a goddamned mountain for Kat. Fucking magical. Every man should have to scale a mountain to prove his worth."

Kelsey laughed. "There'd be a whole lot fewer relationships in this world."

Deena kicked Kelsey again, hard this time. Kelsey yelped.

Jasmine covered Kelsey's hand lightly. "At the risk of sounding like a creepy stalker fan, tell me who hurt you so much, and I'll kick his ass for you." A shimmer covered her eyes, as if she were trying not to cry, but it felt less like a single white female reaction and more like a moment of sisterhood solidarity. Like Jasmine herself had just been kicked in the teeth by the reality that romance and all the fantasy surrounding it weren't real.

Kelsey withdrew her hand so she could awkwardly pat Jasmine's and shush some there-theres, but suddenly Jasmine flushed, and her eyes widened as she stared past Kelsey's shoulder. "How did he find me?"

Kelsey's heart rate kicked up, and she turned to see what had caused Jasmine so much alarm, but she couldn't pick out a threat from the crowd headed toward the casino. She turned back to Jasmine. "Are you okay, hon? You look scared."

Jasmine smiled, but her eyes darted between Kelsey and whoever she'd identified as a threat. "Not scared, just very surprised, and not in a good way. There's a man behind you. He hasn't seen me yet, so I'm going to sneak away. I'd love to fangirl squee over you some other time. We chatted once on your blog about the effectiveness of the matchmaker trope, and it was awesome."

Kelsey remembered that convo, and she remembered this woman. It had been awesome, a moment that sparked her love of the genre again thanks to the smart responses and insight Jasmine had offered.

"Oh no, he saw me." She stood and backed up a step.

"Go, I'll cover for you," Kelsey said, and Jas spun and did a fancy rendition of Olympic speed walking out of the café area — impressive considering the height of the designer shoes she wore.

Kelsey stood, pushing her chair back hard as she turned. The chair caught a man in the knee, and he stumbled. Ack! Kelsey reached out for him, thinking she could right him but forgetting she wore the most ridiculous pair of fuck-me heels she owned. They both went ass over teakettle onto the floor.

Somehow, Kelsey landed half on his chest. He'd taken the brunt of their fall, and he seemed to be staring at the ceiling like he was reconsidering all his life decisions to this point. He was breathtakingly handsome, with sandy hair and bright green eyes that, when turned on her, were laser focused.

Kelsey felt a stab. Want.

"Where's the woman you were talking to? Where did she go?"

And with that, Kelsey realized he and Jasmine had been an item, and he was apparently stalkery enough to track her down at a romance convention. Jackhole.

"You okay down there?" Deena grasped Kelsey's shoulder and urged her to stand.

"Fine." At least her unplanned attempt to block him had worked. When she stood — a feat made possible only by her yoga classes thanks to her tight skirt and clearance rack heels — and brushed herself off, she confirmed Jasmine was long gone.

The man she'd fled stood and gave Kelsey a hard look as he, too, dusted his unmolested shirt and ran his hand through unmussed, rather gorgeous hair. The look wasn't complimentary and, in fact, spoke volumes about his assumptions. Two could play that insult game, so she affected her own look of contempt and gave him a quick inspection Take that, not-so-dudebro dudebro.

When she was done, he smirked. Her eye twitched. It was no wonder Jasmine wanted away from this guy.

"If Jasmine was that unwilling to talk to me, you only had to say so. No need to assault me with your chair."

"Maybe don't leave a girl with the impression she has to assault a guy with a chair to get away?" She pursed her lips. "Sorry about that, though. I actually meant to use other means to stop you."

When he let his gaze drift down to the cleavage her unbuttoned blouse exposed, Kelsey inhaled sharply. Deena elbowed Kelsey, lifted her eyebrows, and mouthed, Outta here. Kelsey grabbed at Deena, but the traitor slipped free and waved. Ta ta, she mouthed.

Kelsey'd get her back. Send her the thriller she'd written and then start immediately hounding her for a response. Like, every hour.

"I assume you aren't going to tell me how to find my sister?" he asked.

Sister? Ohhh. This made sense, and some of her desire to fight dissipated. But she'd still cover for Jasmine, never mind it was no piece of cake, given she didn't know Jasmine's last name, much less where she'd taken off to. "Nope," she said. But her insistence was pointless.

"Are you injured?" Jasmine asked, gently clasping each of them, and Kelsey started.

Well, there went the whole point of her chair attack. But Jasmine looked concerned, so Kelsey bit her tongue.

"We seem to be fine," the guy said. He flicked an annoyed gaze at Kelsey, but his eyes lingered again on the front of her blouse. Kelsey angled away from him.

Jasmine's face morphed from concern to irritation. "Goddammit, Aaron. You caused that racket on purpose because you knew I'd come back to make sure you hadn't broken your goddamned leg." She released them and took the opportunity to smack Aaron on the shoulder.

His face darkened, and he narrowed his eyes. "Just come home."

"I don't think so. I have vacation time saved up, and I'm taking it." Jasmine crossed her arms, and Kelsey took a step back, hoping to escape what looked like a family brawl in the making.

"This isn't like you," he said quietly. "Be reasonable."

"By reasonable, you mean do what you and Dad think I should do, yes?"

He shrugged. "In this case ..."

Kelsey took a full step back and fumbled for her purse. This was definitely not a conversation she needed to be part of.

Jasmine turned and gave Kelsey a sunny smile. "Sorry, my brother is a bit overbearing, don't you think? Like a classic alphahole." She glared at the guy.

"What, is that an insult? It sounds like an insult." He put his hands on his hips, pushing back the tasteful suit jacket he wore over a light green shirt. The movement outlined his silhouette, and Kelsey warmed a bit at the hint of muscular definition beneath the slim-cut and expensive looking shirt.

"Of course it's an insult. Now go away and leave me to my fun."

He reached out to Jasmine but didn't touch her. Palm up, he looked like he was posing for a GQ photo shoot, and it hit Kelsey how ridiculous this was, like a scene from a book she'd write. Hunky hero, older brother to the heroine's designer-clothed best friend, and he was there to run everyone's lives and make sure everything fell into clockwork efficiency — as only an alpha older brother hero could. He even fit the physical bill, ruggedly handsome and dressed like he was at least upper middle class. "I'm not leaving without you."

Jasmine sighed and rolled her eyes. "Aaron, this is my favorite author, like, ever. Kelsey fucking Spencer. Thanks for making a scene in front of my favorite author, like, ever. That makes you the worst brother, definitely, ever."

Aaron glared. "I made a scene?" He leaned in closer. "I'm only concerned. The way you left ..."

Jasmine firmly pushed Aaron back and pasted on another bright smile, but suddenly Kelsey could see the pain underneath, and she wanted to protect this slight but vibrant woman, too. She seemed like the kind of person everyone flocked around to cushion from the blows of life, but the way she held herself said she didn't actually need anyone.

"Kelsey and I were just discussing how men should have to prove themselves worthy in this world, just like in romance novels. Then you'd know when you have the right kind of guy."

He scowled. Kelsey fought her own scowl. She most certainly hadn't agreed with that idea.

"You know, like maybe he should propose in a thunderstorm on top of Pike's Peak or something instead of at a stuffy family dinner with overbearing brothers in attendance."

He scowled harder and pursed his lips like he was trying to form less snark than his mind wanted to deliver. "Pike's Peak during a thunderstorm is an invitation to a funeral, not a wedding."

With a satisfied hmph, Jasmine spun to Kelsey and snatched her book from the table. "Will you be at the book signing? I can get your autograph then, Kelsey fucking Spencer, since Aaron fucking Grant can't see fit to let me deal with my shit the way I want to deal with it."

Kelsey smiled and shouldered her purse. With a pointed glance at Jasmine's brother, she asked the woman, "You're okay?"

Jasmine nodded. "He'll go home soon enough. He won't be able to stand all this floof and squealing and romance. The rash it will give him will force him back to the airport."

He laughed then. "Actually, I'm here all weekend." He tugged a convention badge from his pocket and flashed it at her.

"Great," Jasmine whispered. Her shoulders drooped, and then she turned and stomped away.

Once his sister had disappeared into the lobby, Aaron turned his attention to Kelsey. "I apologize for my sister. She shouldn't have dragged you into this."

"Actually, she seems like a lovely woman who's doing her damnedest to have some fun this weekend." Kelsey pursed her lips. She hadn't meant to blurt that out, but the way his green eyes flared, she thought maybe it was worth it just to feel the warmth his gaze sparked. Also, alphas had all the sass coming.

"She's had a bad month."

"Looks like she's doing okay considering the whole month has sucked for her." Kelsey shrugged a shoulder. "But I just met her, so."

"Yes, you did. You have no idea. Look, maybe you can talk some sense into her. She's mentioned your name before, pretty recently, though without the profanity." He shifted his stance, leaned forward. "A moment of your time," he said, not in the way a normal person might have asked, but in the way only an overbearing big brother can demand. He gestured at the seat Deena had abandoned.


Excerpted from The Right Kind of Guy by Kerri-Leigh Grady, Stacy Abrams. Copyright © 2016 Kerri-Leigh Grady. Excerpted by permission of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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