MEET THE AUTHOR

Today I’d like to introduce you to Sylvie Grayson.

Sylvie was born in British Columbia, Canada and has lived most of her life in that province. She spent a one year sojourn in Tokyo, Japan.

She has been an English language instructor, a nightclub manager, an auto shop bookkeeper and many other professions. She found her niche at university and completed degrees in Sociology and Law. Now she works part time as the owner of a small company, and writes when she can.

Sylvie’s new book, Suspended Animation, is available now on Amazon.com.

Be careful what you go after…

Katy Dalton worked hard to finish college, holding down two jobs, and she saved money. Then she gave the money to her friend when he convinced her to invest it with a local business. But her job disappeared and she needs her money back fast, the money her friend Bruno has already loaned to Rome Trucking.

Now Katy insists he return her money, but Bruno stops answering his phone and bad things start to happen.

Brett Rome has a career in hockey and the last thing he wants to do is leave a promising opportunity as coach to return home and run his father’s trucking company. But Paddy is sick, can’t handle the day-to-day business, and Brett has to come home.

What he discovers is not the picture of a successful business that he remembers, but one that is teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. To add to the chaos, a young woman walks in demanding her money, the money his father borrowed from her.

Brett hires her. Then bad things start to happen.

Can Brett put this broken picture back together, and is Katy part of the problem or the solution?

A thrilling roller coaster of a story…

Sylvie Grayson has found her niche, you’ll love this book…

Sylvie can be found at:

Sylvie Grayson

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Sylvie is kindly sharing an excerpt with us today:

Brett Rome stood in the dressing room of the Victoria hockey team and pulled the jersey over his head. He sat down to lace his skates as the coach gave them the talk. He listened carefully. This was a new team, the guys had only been playing together for a couple of years. And he was the newest member.

He hadn’t expected to play hockey here. He’d come to town because his father was ill. He thought he’d be in Victoria for a few weeks, do what he could to help out till Paddy got back on his feet. Two months later, angry and frustrated, Brett felt tied to this place and to his father’s company, Rome Trucking.

Tonight he was determined to get out on the ice and show some substance. Excited as always before a game, he was wired, tight and ready to play. Glancing at his friend beside him, they exchanged a grin. The fact that Jerome had been taken on to the team just made it that much better.

They filed down the tunnel and out onto the ice. The crowd looked big and they were loud, the stands full. The shouting started the minute they emerged from the dressing room and escalated with bullhorns, clappers and screaming enough to deafen them. But once play started he barely heard it.

Coach sent him out in the middle of the first period when one of their defence was winded. He climbed out of the box and skated onto the ice to take his place. It felt terrific.

Here, he knew exactly what was expected of him, for the first time since his last game with the Vancouver team which seemed like eons ago. There was no guessing, no trying to figure it out on the fly, no catching up from behind. Just get into position, always move into position and be ready when the break came. Because sooner or later the break always came. What he did with it showed what kind of hockey player he was today.

The end of the hard fought second period showed them up three goals to two over Seattle. Brett trundled back into the dressing room with the rest of the players and sat on a bench, breathing heavily, wiping sweat and listening to the pep talk.

Now Coach focussed on maintaining the lead. “Be protective,” he said. “Be proactive. Don’t let the other guys in for another goal and do your best to score once more, because a lead of two is so much better than a lead of one.” A burst of laughter erupted among the players.

“It’s early in the season, fellas, but we don’t want to give anything away. Hang onto your lead, that’s what I want you to do.”

In the third period play was faster. Seattle poured on the coals trying to tie up the game. Brett seemed to be in line to take most of the blows from one of their power forwards. When he stepped out onto the ice again, the enforcer came straight for him. Brett saw him come in low and to his side and realized he was about to get laced straight into his injured knee. He stopped short and managed to deke out of the way, going down in a controlled slide and holding his stick steady as the Seattle player’s skates came closer. He took a header straight into the boards but brought his opponent down with him. Before he could get up, the enforcer attacked.

Suddenly Brett was swamped with an overwhelming tidal wave of anger. Scrambling madly to his feet, he threw his full force into the fight. His helmet was gone, fists and bodies were flying as his team mates dove into the action. He launched himself at his opponent, the jersey clutched in a death grip, his other fist pounding.

The first hit landed to the side of his face and instantly he felt a wild rage wash over him out of all proportion to the fight he was in. That wave nearly felled him, almost knocked him to his knees. He staggered back to his feet before it swallowed him whole.

He hit back and then again, his arms and fists lashing out wildly, pumping like pistons. The feelings swelled and boiled. His girlfriend Marilyn had finished off their two-year relationship by simply bringing her new lover into their bedroom. It had knocked him flat on his face with humiliation. He seethed with resentment, he roiled with fury, he exploded with vicious power.

Wildly he hit out again, one fist then the other and exulted when one struck home with a jarring blow that he felt all the way to his shoulder.

That was for Paddy. His father had suckered him into running his company when Brett had other plans. He was running the crew and the trucks with no authority, just a lackey to pull the old man out of a tight spot. Paddy hadn’t bothered to explain why the company was operating in the red, apparently ignoring it in the hope that Brett would deal with it.

He took one to the mouth and his head snapped back. His mouth guard popped out and went flying. Roaring like an elephant, he charged back into the fray, dealing another blow that knocked his opponent reeling backward.

That was for Dancy. Paddy’s girlfriend had treated him like a piece of meat, a man without morals in his own father’s house, a man with no self-respect.

He pounded, he bellowed, something tore loose inside him and rattled around roaring to be set free, demanding to take on the whole team, needing to prove himself worthy.

Hands hauled on his uniform but the adrenaline surged. Someone grabbed his left arm and his right lashed out, until he was caught round the neck from behind. By the time it was over he was flat on his face on the ice with a referee and two of his own team members on top of him.

The ref ordered him off the ice, suspended for the rest of the game. He slogged back to the change room to shower. But not before Coach sent the medic in. He was swabbed with alcohol, stitched up here and there, then ice packs applied. By the time he was out of his uniform the adrenaline rush was over and he was shaking. Grateful to be showered and changed, he fumbled to button his shirt with unsteady fingers as the rest of the team filed in.

They’d won the game, hanging onto their one goal lead. As the noise level rose to a dull roar in the dressing room, Jerome leaned down to speak urgently in his ear. “What the hell, Brett. That isn’t your usual game.”

Brett gritted his teeth.

Then Coach sat down beside him and gave him a tight look. “So, what happened out there?”

“Uh, it was stupid.” He took a deep breath, rubbing a shaky hand down his still sweating face. “I just saw him coming and knew that he was going to hurt my bad knee. I overreacted.”

Coach nodded abruptly. “Come and see me tomorrow, call me in the morning.”

“Okay, Coach.” Some of the team eyed him guardedly as they changed but most grinned and gave him the thumbs up. He waited for Jerome and they went off with a couple of the other players to unwind over a beer.

But Brett didn’t stay long. He could feel the rage still sloshing in his gut, weaving back and forth like a sea dragon seeking to escape. It made him queasy. He was back at his father’s house by midnight, uncertain how he felt, uncertain if he could even sleep.

Ten minutes later he was out like a light. But not before he’d locked his bedroom door against Dancy.

~~~

Katherine Dalton perched on the spindly chair at her little desk under the narrow bedroom window. Organizing papers into piles, she reviewed her conclusion, the only conclusion possible. She was broke.

The bank statement was a litany of her life – rent, utilities, her car loan payment. Her credit card showed the cost of a month’s worth of gas, groceries, a pair of shoes she’d bought. And the statement from the Student Loans office detailed the amount her student loan payment was and when it would begin. That day was today.

Katy still had her part-time job in a downtown restaurant on weekends. She’d worked there since the beginning of college. In the summer she’d also been a lifeguard at one of the public pools, but this year a new head lifeguard had taken over and set a deadline for applications. Katy hadn’t known anything about it. So when she went in to find out what day she’d start work, she’d been blindsided by the fact that she hadn’t been hired. Someone else had her job.

This whole thing was dumb. She shouldn’t be in this position. A few months ago she hadn’t even been worried because she’d actually saved money.

She critically surveyed her room. She used to think of it as the broom closet. Her rent was less than her roommates because her room was so much tinier, which suited her just fine.

Eating at the restaurant where she worked on weekends helped her save money, as well. No, it wasn’t that she spent too carelessly. It was that she’d lost her savings.

Her hands shook as she shuffled the papers again. Damn Bruno. He’d been around, phoning, dropping by. He’d taken her on dates, a dinner or a movie. And he’d sounded so knowledgeable, so confident when he talked about investing her money. He thought she should get a return on her investment rather than leave it sitting in the bank, and he knew the best place to put it. He described a company called Rome Trucking with their big jobs and brand new trucks, and she’d been convinced to put her money in with his.

Now she couldn’t even get him to answer his phone.

Katy grabbed her laptop from the desk. She knew Bruno’s cell number, and she had an address for his business from the document he’d gotten her to sign. But a search of the internet showed a bakery at that address. More alarmed than ever, she realized she’d gone into this with her eyes tightly closed.

But she did know where to find Rome Trucking.

The next afternoon as she left another hopeless job interview feeling particularly dejected, she made up her mind. She’d go and see Mr. Rome. If he was the businessman that Bruno portrayed him to be, he’d know not only how to reach Bruno Morelli, but also where her sixteen thousand dollars was. At least if she told him the story, he’d have the opportunity to make it right. It was her last hope but she felt confident it would work.

She laid out her best suit. The skirt stopped just short of the knee and paired with a pale pink shell that seemed to glow under the navy jacket, it was a feminine yet businesslike outfit.

Her portfolio contained a clean copy of her resume and diploma as well as reference letters from previous employment. The change at the bottom of her tip jar would cover the gas.

~~~

Next morning Katy drove cautiously through huge metal gates hung on heavy iron hinges, a large ‘Rome Trucking’ sign wired into the right hand gate. Dusty gravel spread across the wide yard where several buildings dotted the barren landscape. Tall weeds sprouted in clumps along the fence line. An old grey stucco-clad bungalow stood to one side on what appeared to be its original foundation with eight or ten pickups parked in a staggered line near the door.

It was surprising how many vehicles were on site already. Katy checked her watch. They must start work early. Carefully parking a safe distance from the last truck, she unsnapped the seatbelt, gathered her folder and purse and stepped gingerly out onto the gravel yard. All she had to do was explain why she was there, tell Mr. Rome that the money Bruno had invested with him was partly hers, and everything would be fine.

Drawing a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and glanced around. Bruno had talked about this marshalling yard, how enormous it was, how dusty and busy, how vital, what a great investment it would be.

It must have once been three or four city lots. Several older dump trucks were parked farther back against the fence on the other side, their behemoth shapes hulking, casting low early morning shadows across the ground. A steel-clad workshop ranged at the back of the property and the sound of hammer ringing on metal rose from its dim interior.

Katy glanced toward the house where the front door stood open to the crisp morning air, a lone fir tree, ancient and gnarled, leaning protectively over it. That must be the office. Standing straighter she took a firm grip on her folder, mentally braced herself and started forward. This shouldn’t be too difficult. She could ask for her money back, the money Bruno had loaned them.

As she climbed the wooden steps, standing out sharply new against the exterior of the old chipped and faded stucco, she heard strident masculine voices from within. She paused, her hand clutching the banister tightly as the shouting escalated in volume.

Goodness, maybe this was bad timing on her part. Should she have phoned first, made an appointment with the owner? She hovered uncertainly, one foot on the top step, her fingers seizing the hand rail in a nervous grip.

But Bruno had assured her it was a very informal place. People dropped in to talk to the owner, no one made an appointment. Surely it would be the same for her.

She moved cautiously forward across the wooden landing and peered around the cracked door frame. Gazing straight into what must have been the living room of a modest family home, the remains of a timeworn kitchen stood against one wall, the old fashioned cupboards still clinging to the walls. Dated furniture marked off that end of the large room.

The rest of the space held a couple of desks, one with a curious set of speakers on it, the other with a mishmash of papers strewn across its surface. And beyond that, a door led into what was obviously a separate office. Two figures stood in the doorway to the inner room.

That must be Mr. Rome. He was a shorter man dressed in khaki pants and shirt neatly tucked in, heavy shouldered and thick with muscle, maybe in his late fifties. He looked business-like in a rough sort of way, standing squarely in his bulky steel-toed boots. His head was thrust forward, salt and pepper hair clipped short and brushed straight back from his strong featured face.

He was speaking to a taller man in the doorway who had his back to Katy. Rome held a stub of cigar in his hand, and as he spoke he jabbed it forward for emphasis.

“We’re going to keep calm,” he said in a gravel voice. “This will work out, these things always do.” He gazed keen-eyed up at his companion. “You have to hold onto your temper or we won’t be able to pull it together. You know that.”

The second man stood even straighter if possible, his shoulders blocking the interior of the room from Katy’s gaze, his head nearly grazing the top of the door frame. He was dressed in a black tee shirt, ripped at the neck, and sagging cargo shorts. His feet were thrust into a pair of heavy leather boots, scuffed and marked, the laces dragging on the floor.

His head jerked back as if he’d been slapped and his voice started at a growl, rising steadily. “I’m going to kill him! Broke his leg, you say? I’ll break his other fucking leg. I told him, I told them all!”

Just then, Mr. Rome caught sight of Katy and turned his head toward her with a look of surprise. “What can I do for you?” His manner was deceptively mild given the tone of the conversation she’d just heard. Katy was amazed. She wouldn’t have thought he’d let one of his employees talk to him like that.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, Mr. Rome”, she said. “I’ve come to see you about a matter of business, but I can wait until you’re free”. She cast a disparaging look at his companion’s back and folded her arms to indicate she was willing to be patient.

Mr. Rome regarded her for a moment, a slight smile marking his face. “Mr. Rome?” he asked. He gestured with his cold cigar, pointing at the younger man. “This is Mr. Rome.”

The second man turned impatiently to stare at her. His face was heavily flushed, jaw tight and muscles bulged in his neck. His arms flexed as he braced his hands low on his hips and glared in her direction.

Glared with his good eye, that is. The other eye was black with a gash above it running up across his eyebrow, stitches crawling along it like a caterpillar, the plastic ends bristling. The eye itself was blood red and badly bruised. His mouth was swollen on one side, the lip split.

Katy stared. Her mouth fell open and she took an involuntary horrified step backward, steadying herself against the battered metal desk behind her. This was Mr. Rome? This was the man Bruno the rainmaker, Bruno the deal arranger had loaned all her money to?

The book sounds intriguing, Sylvie, wouldn’t you all agree? Sylvie would love to answer any questions you may have so let’s give her a warm welcome, 🙂 And again, Suspended Animation is available on Amazon.com.