Today, we have the heroine of Heather E. Andrew’s new book in the hot seat. Welcome, Amelia, to the blog. Let’s get started.
What’s your name, and who are you in your world?
“My name is Amelia fucking Clarke, you nosy bitch.” Amelia coughs and looks to the side, biting her cheek.
“I’m sorry, that was rude. You’re asking a perfectly reasonable question. It’s been a rough day. I’m the CEO of Clarke Records, and I deal with prissy rockstars and their demands all day, so as you can imagine, my fuse is short.” She walks to the corner of the desk and sits, crossing her legs, showing off her patent leather pink Alexander McQueen stiletto heels.
“I was voted into the position a year ago by the board when my father took early retirement. Not that he’d know he was retired, hovering as much as he does,” she said the last bit under her breath. “But I’ve been working toward this my whole life. I went to school in music management and was doing something around here since before I got my driver’s license.”
Well, now. I see I’m going to have my hands full with you. Give us a visual, for my readers’ sake. What do you look like?
“What, are you blind?” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Okay, okay. I am short, but mighty. Five feet doesn’t seem bad when I’m walking around in five-inch stilettos. Stilettos are my life—have an entire room dedicated to them at my penthouse.” She sticks out her foot, admiring the pair she’s wearing. “Some people have hugs or gifts, but my love language is Italian shoe leather.”
She pushes her long mane of red over her shoulder. My hair is a nice auburn—it’s natural, though I pay big money for a good cut, which is ironic since I wear it back so much. I’m fit—Pilates and yoga for the win and my tits are as real as my hair.”
She stands and turns in a circle. “You’ll probably find me wearing designer clothes of some kind. This is a particularly special Stella McCartney power suit she gave me after last season’s runway show. As CEO I have to look the part and those fancy designers are always giving us samples. It makes them look good. Of course, I make them look good.”
*I cock my head, admiring her outfit.* Those heels are gorgeous. I wish I had a whole room for my shoes, and enough shoes to fill it. What time period and location does your story take place?
“Uhm, the present.” She rolls her eyes. “Sorry, I speak fluent snark.”
“My story takes place in the world of Clarke Records. It’s the biggest music label in LA and we pretty much run the industry in this area. My mother and father established the label shortly after I was born. I like to think I inspired its conception.”
What’s your goal in this story?
“Same thing I do every day, Pinky, take over the world!” She laughs at her joke. “But seriously, this guy I had a huge thing for—and I mean, huge—came to me with a problem he couldn’t solve. The dumbass signed his band to a predatory contract with Velocity Records and shit was about to hit the fan because the lead singer had to go to rehab. That label decided it’d be a better move to replace the lead singer than wait until he got out of rehab.”
She shakes her head, choking out a laugh. “Can you believe that shit? The biggest metal band in ten years and they’re gonna just up and change that shit? If you ask me it’s because one of them punched their CEO in the face—not that he didn’t deserve it.”
She sighed, waving her hand as if shooing a fly. “Anyway, my goal is to save these asses from themselves, sign them to Clarke Records, get their master recordings and make more money than God and the Beatles combined.”
Sounds like quite a challenge. What conflicts are you facing?
“You mean other than Velocity pulling some seriously shady shit?” She waits until you nod. “I don’t have a fucking clue how to do it. And the lawyers don’t either. I have the songwriter—who may or may not be the dude I had a thing for—and the band working on putting a documentary together. It’ll be about them and the predatory contracts in the industry. But in the end, that doesn’t fight the legalese.”
How would you describe yourself in a personal ad?
“Boss-bitch CEO with a stiletto addiction.” She says without hesitation. “What, you think I’m joking? I don’t mess around. Why lie? It’s a waste of time.”
Yep. That’s what I would say about you. Can’t go wrong with honesty. What is your family like?
“We are the Clarkes. Clarke Records.” She waits for the light bulb of recognition. “Hello? My parents, Hannah and Ellis Clarke, were the folk duo Feather & Grain? Biggest label in LA? Label for Skyler Dalton? Yellow Number Five? No, nothing? Well. We’re big.” She looks disgusted. “My sister, Elsie, has autism. She’s a musical savant and can play damn near any musical instrument in existence. And write a hit song in a manner of hours. That’s why I sent Skyler Dalton to her. Guess that turned out pretty good because they just had their first child. And damn, is Micah cute.”
She goes from wistful looking to disgusted. “And my father? He’s a mess. After Mom died, he turned into a drill sergeant at the company, worked endless hours, and left most of Elsie’s care to me and the nurses. A few years after it happened, he married his secretary, Madison. I don’t know what the hell he was thinking; she’s only eight years older than me. And now he’s saying they’re splitting—good riddance to bad rubbish for that one. She just wanted a rich husband to travel and fund her shopping habit. One thing I do have to thank her for—she pushed for his retirement to take her around the world.”
Her face softened. “He’s not all bad, though. He cares. Great grandfather. I have some wonderful memories of him, especially with Mom around. But he’s changed. I think he misses Mom still. They were one of those great loves, you know?”
Do you have a pet? What kind? If you don’t, what kind would you like to have?
“My little man, Diesel,” she says, clasping her hand to her heart. “He’s a black Teacup Pomeranian with Napoleon syndrome. And he loves to eat my shoes. Little shit.” She shakes her head. “But he’s a good guy. A traitor, really—likes War better than me, now. Of course, it helps that Warren takes him for motorcycle rides. Pro-tip: when taking your tiny dog on a motorcycle ride, hold him between the driver and passenger so he doesn’t get too squirrely.”
A dog on her bike? That’s one thing I’d love to see. What’s the most terrible thing that ever happened to you?
“My mother died,” she choked out, swallowing hard. “It was a car accident. Damn near twelve years ago. She was picking up my sister from violin lessons and there was a car accident. The fuel line was damaged, and the car caught fire.” She grimaced, turning her head away. “The car caught on fire and Mom didn’t make it. My sister suffered terrible burns. Scars from the fire cover half her body.” Amelia swallowed hard and continued after a moment of silence. “My father didn’t take it well. After that, things just … changed.” She stopped talking and shook her head, waving for you to continue.
Why do you think your author chose to write about you?
She scoffs. “Because I fuckin’ told her to.” She looks at you expectantly, then realizes you’re not going to say anything else. “You think I’m joking? This bitch has written two books with me in it as an ancillary character. I’m more of a main character kind of girl, you feel me?”
Haha! You’re a hoot! Thank you for visiting!
Warren, the brooding creative engine behind the metal band Warpath, and Amelia, Clarke Records’ fierce CEO, reignite a forbidden passion as they battle past scars and a predatory contract to save his band and their love.
Blurb:
Warren, the brooding, near-silent force behind Warpath, will do anything to keep his band—and his foster brother Clay—together, even if it means facing down a predatory record label. Raised in the perils of foster care, Warren’s past has forged him into a man who dominates without speaking, haunted by rejection and a decade-old wound inflicted by the one person he can’t forget: Amelia Clarke. Now, he must beg her for help, baring the soft underbelly he’s hidden since the day he walked away from her.
Amelia, the stilettos-and-steel CEO of Clarke Records, rules her empire with a vixen’s charm and a boss’s bite, chasing her father’s elusive approval. But when Warren barges into her office, the rambunctious girl he abandoned resurfaces, her walls cracking under the weight of old sparks and new desire.
She agrees to help Warpath get free from their contract—if War bares his soul for a documentary. As they tangle in a dance of dominance and submission, from boardrooms to shadowy clubs, their past unravels: foster care scars, a broken heart, and a father’s control that tore them apart ten years ago. Passion ignites, but love? That’s forbidden—by contract and by fear. Can two broken melodies harmonize, or will their shattered pasts silence them forever?
Download
Amazon: https://a.co/d/5E4pFkw
Universal Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Shattered-Melody-Rockstar-Romance-Melodies-ebook/dp/B0F4FGYX9X/
PG Excerpt
Amelia, age 12
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s my armor?”
“Armor?”
“Like Elsie has music. What’ll protect me?”
The smile on her face was the special one she only gave me, and it made me feel warm inside. She looked at me from head to toe and then nabbed at the high-heeled boots Dad said I was too young to wear, giving them a shake.
“Girl, you’ve got these spiked heels. You don’t need armor when you got weapons on your feet!”
I laughed and held out my leg, modeling the leather boots with four-inch stilettos. My teachers called my parents about them multiple times already, finally giving up when they realized I’d wear them no matter what.
“Hell yeah!”
“Just promise me one thing, Ames?” Her voice got quiet, her eyes locked on me. “No matter how old you get, how stylish your shoes are, no matter how much you rule the world, as we both know you will.” We chuckled again. “Make sure you keep this open,” she said, tapping on my chest. “Let people in—Elsie, Dad, maybe someday a boy who’s a little more than arm candy?” She winked at me, and I groaned, my cheeks burning.
“Oh, em, gee, Mom! Don’t even with me right now.” I slumped back and tried to look angry, but I couldn’t. The thought of walking around with a man on my arm like they were nothing more than a dog on a leash had me cracking up.
The song on the radio changed to something we liked, so Mom turned it up, drumming on the steering wheel. “I may not even right now, but just you wait. You’ll find someone who sings in tune with your heart. And when you do, don’t be afraid to harmonize, even if it’s scary. Love is like a good song—feels good and totally worth singing.”
She started singing to the radio, sounding better than any pop singer on the charts. I joined in, belting out to the chorus, blending my voice with hers in a way unique only to us. When our voices mixed, I felt whole. I doubted I’d ever find a boy who harmonized with my soul more than my mother did. Even my father faded by comparison.
The door to the building opened, and Elsie came shuffling out, her dark hair falling out of its braid, her violin case swinging by her side. Mom waved and then looked back at me.
“Everyone’s got their own melody, honeybee. Yours is gonna shake the world. Mark my words.” She squeezed my hand, her fingers calloused from years of plucking guitar strings. “You can do anything, Amelia. After all, you are a Clarke.”
I nodded, feeling my chest swell with something big. It could be pride. Or love?
“I will, Mom. I promise. I’ll make you proud. After all, I am a Clarke.”
Author Bio
Heather E. Andrews grew up in the Pacific Northwest but eventually left the sandy beaches of Camano Island for the majestic Adirondack mountains on the East Coast. After years of pursuing an academic career, she set aside her calculator to follow her passion for storytelling. Now, she spends her days crafting tales of heroes and heroines overcoming struggles and finding love.
Captivated by romance novels ever since discovering Julie Garwood’s The Prize as a teen, Heather draws inspiration from everything from science fiction to rock stars. When she’s not writing, she enjoys time with her loving husband, mischievous pugs, and sweet, but needy, guinea pigs. Readers can connect with her at h.e.andrewsauthor@gmail.com or visit her website at www.heather-e-andrews.com.
Bookshelf
Bold Melodies Series
Scarred Melody
Christmas Melody
Bright Melody
Shattered Melody
Coming Soon
Soulful Melody
Ocean Melody
Shadow Melody
Vagabond Series
Innocent in Istanbul
Magic in Morocco
Anthologies
Jingle My Snowballs, A Steamy Christmas Anthology
Until the End, Apocalyptic Anthology
Spicy Secrets
Spicy Holidays
Rock Out Anthology
Contact Information & Social Media
Pen Name: Heather E. Andrews
Email address: h.e.andrewsauthor@gmail.com
Website and Blog www.heather-e-andrews.com
Facebook https://www.facebook.com/H.E.A.Author
Facebook Readers Group https://www.facebook.com/groups/heather.e.andrews
Goodreads www.goodreads.com/heather_e_andrews
Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B09MRBQP4X
Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/heather-e-andrews
Instagram https://www.instagram.com/heather.e.andrews/
Twitter https://twitter.com/AuthorHea
TikTok https://www.tiktok.com/@h.e.andrews.author?lang=en
Thanks for hosting me, Amber. <3
You’re so welcome! Anytime, Heather. 🙂