Dress Up, Dress Down with Addison Brae

 Allison Brae

Allison Brae

Please join me in welcoming author Addison Brae!

~~~~~

Harvard honors graduate. Accountant. Bartender. Narcotics dealer. Can Gillian’s clothes cover all roles?

1) What does the choice of clothing tell us about your heroine?

Becker Circle’s opening line starts with Gillian, the main character and heroine, heading to her first night bartending, her second job. She lacks confidence and feels like she’s jumping into uncomfortable territory. Her only boyfriend controlled her every move, cut her down, and sucked away her self-esteem.

I peek back at my butt in these loose-fitting jeans and all I see is sad.

2) Does your heroine change her style of dress over the course of the book? If so, how, and what does it mean, if anything?

Clothes often make a character—just like the way we dress can help us feel good about ourselves. So much to experience. Giant past to forget. Change is certain for Gillian. She’s determined to do whatever it takes to reach her dreams to believe in herself and find love.

3) Is this how she wants to dress? If yes, why? If not, what would she choose to wear and why?

Gillian asks a stylish neighbor to help her pick out new clothes the new Gillian would wear. She likes the results—at first.

All it takes is a haircut and new clothes for a three-hundred buck tip night? Until someone comments on her new look.

4) What happens when or if your character wears the opposite style

I’d rather crawl under the bar rather than believe someone really thinks I’m pretty. 

Some of you will understand how Gillian feels as she rebuilds her confidence whittled down by a narcissistic boyfriend. I’ve certainly had those moments. The way she dresses affects how her co-workers, customers, and guys respond to her. It takes time to grow into her new look that takes her down a rollercoaster path:

Harvard honors graduate. Accountant. Bartender. Narcotics dealer.

Can she live up to her style by the end of Becker Circle?

Bio

Addison Brae lives in Dallas, Texas on the edge of downtown. As a child, she was constantly in trouble for hiding under the bed to read when she was supposed to be napping. She has been writing since childhood starting with diaries, letters and short stories. She continues today with articles, video scripts and other content as an independent marketing consultant. 

When she’s not writing, Addison spends her time traveling the world, collecting interesting cocktail recipes and hosting parties. She’s still addicted to reading and enjoys jogging in her neighborhood park, sipping red wine, binge-watching TV series, vintage clothing, and hanging out with her artistic other half and their neurotic cat Lucy.

Learn more about Addison on her website. Connect with Addison on TwitterFacebookGoodreadsBookbub, her Amazon author pageTirgearr Publishing, and YouTube.

Purchase Becker Circle on Amazon USAAmazon UKAmazon CanadaSmashwordsiTunesKoboB&N Nook.

Book Blurb

425239EF-CDF6-4622-B5B1-32C67B6A9FA0.jpeg

My first and only boyfriend believed I was too gutless to leave. He was dead wrong. My name’s Gillian, and I graduated Harvard early and left his hot temper and everyone else behind for Dallas. Determined to make it on my own, I land a second job bartending at the neighborhood pub smack in drama central where most every jerk in the neighborhood hits on me—at a huge price.

A week into the job, the neighborhood’s very popular drug dealer falls to his death a few feet from the table I’m serving. The cops say suicide, but the hot guitar player in the house band and I suspect foul play, and I intend to prove it. We dig deeper, grow closer, and make a shocking discovery. We know the murderer. Watch the trailer.

A portion of the author proceeds will go to Hope’s Door New Beginning Center to help fight domestic abuse.

Excerpt from chapter three

All it takes is a haircut and new clothes for a three-hundred buck tip night? And the pub was pretty slow for a Saturday. If I can top that today, or even come close, I’ll buy more.

It’s a football Sunday, so beer has to be well-stocked. On the way to the back, I check for my new Harvard opener in my back pocket and smooth the fitted blue top Julie picked out over my new jeans. At least it’s the game in some tropical destination between the playoffs and championship. People might actually pay more attention to eating and drinking. They might stay in a happier mood so they don’t skimp on tips.

Kyle’s at his usual table outside, bottle of his usual beer in hand and glued to the game. When I pop up from stocking the fridge, Moneybags Bobby stands next to the bar. The chair where the mystery guy sits and watches him remains empty.

“Usual?” I ask even though I’ve already started pouring. He nods and hands me the two twenties I’ve come to expect, and then works his way around the bar speaking to each person. Every time he walks near the sofa, I wonder if someone else dives in deeper with another score.

The TV by the fireplace isn’t tuned to ESPN yet, and it’s the blasted one that doesn’t work right. The remote has to be about five inches from the TV, so I climb onto a barstool, and then I feel a sting on my butt. “Ahhh!” I wave my arms to get my balance.

“Steve! What the…?”

“You’re looking pretty hot in those jeans, Gillian.”

“Don’t smack me again. Scared the crap out of me!” I right myself and put both feet safely on the ground. “Do you fancy taking this shift solo tonight while they put me back together in the emergency room?”

“Sorry, love, didn’t mean to.” His braided beard bounces as he chuckles. “You just look different than when we first met. The hair. The clothes and makeup. Lookin’ good.”

He’s the first one to notice and actually say something. “You think so?” I’m never sure if people really mean what they say or if they just want something.

He stops wiping down the bar and looks straight at me. “Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

“Thank you.” I’m glad my hair covers my ears so Steve doesn’t notice they’ve turned fiery red.

“Have you seen yourself?”

I look up and Steve’s pointing his phone at me. “Did you take my picture?”

“Look. Especially the smile.” He shows me the photo he took. “You look so much happier with yourself. You’re very pretty.”

I’d rather crawl under the bar rather than believe someone really thinks I’m pretty.

“I’m sending this to you so you remember.” Then he turns his attention to the bar.