COVER REVEAL +EXCERPT + GIVEAWAY: BEAUTIFUL FAILURE BY MARIAH COLE

If you're looking for a heartwarming story about a girl who falls deeply in love with a troubled boy who changes her life--a sob story with pretty metaphors and a million ways that'll tell you how "broken" she is, STOP. Don't read another word of this.

I'm not that type of girl.

My name is Emerald Anderson and I'm not going to bullshit you: I flunked out of college after my sophomore year, I've been fired from every job I've ever taken, and I've never had a fully functioning relationship in my life.

I wish I could say that I had a cheerleader in my corner, someone who says, "No, Emerald--You're great and you are good at something!" but I don't. My grandparents are completely oblivious to my life, and my mother's dying words to me were "You're going to end up just like me one day. A beautiful nothing."

She was right.

As I decide to start my life over and take two jobs that will forever change me--one from the inside, and one from the outside, I keep my mother's words close to my heart so I can keep the sexy and mysterious Carter Black away.

He's the first man who's ever pursued me, the first man who seems bent on finding out why I am the way I am, but he's wasting his time.

I'm not broken. I don't need to be fixed. I'm perfectly fine being a beautiful failure...

AMAZON / AMAZON CA / AMAZON UK / BARNES & NOBLE

My mother was a whore. Her name was Leah Isabelle Anderson—“Leah Belle” for short, and she was one of New Jersey’s most sought after escorts. With deep green eyes that could take any man’s breath away, and skin so porcelain and smooth that it looked too perfect to touch, she was breathtakingly beautiful. Often compared to a supermodel, her raven black hair fell past her shoulders, and her naturally long eyelashes were always coifed to perfection. Growing up, I had no idea what she did with the men who picked her up in their shiny and expensive cars—the men who wore thousand dollar suits and patted me on the head while saying, “Your mom is really something special.” In a way, these strangers became the closest thing I had to a family since I never knew my father: Her regulars, Christian and William, sent me gifts every Christmas. Arnie bought me my first bike, Steve taught me how to change a tire, and her most ruthless suitor—Vincent, took me shopping for designer clothes once a month. Leah Belle—she never ever let me call her “mom,” wasn’t exactly a mother to me; she was more like an older friend. An older ‘I’ll-be-there-when-it’s-convenient’ friend. She missed every elementary school play, every middle school writing competition, and never gave a damn about my grades. At first, the involuntary loneliness bothered me, but after I created an army of invisible friends and easily accessible fantasies, I came to terms with her neglect and happily accepted any attention she was willing to give me. When I became a teenager, she started to hang around me more often—promising that she would do better, promising that she would make sure that “from here on out, [we’d] be best friends.” Since she’d run away from her parents after having me at sixteen, she made a point to never lecture or discipline me. She did however, teach me three very important lessons: 1.) “Always put tons of effort into the way you look. You need to be beautiful on the outside, no matter how fucked up you are on the inside. If you ever feel sad or depressed, suck that shit up and add more mascara.” 2.) “Don’t make friends. Make sponsors. If you can’t get anything out of someone or use them for a specific purpose, kick that person out of your life ASAP.” 3.) “Beauty wins over brains every time. Your body will always be your most important asset. Remember that.” For my fourteenth birthday, she poured me my first shot and offered me a short line of coke, saying, “Welcome to life, Em!” I shook my head at the coke—I’d read about the effects, but I happily took the red shot glass from her hand. “To the best fuckin’ daughter in the world!” She lifted her glass in the air, waiting for me to do the same, and then she ordered me to toss it back. The initial burning sensation was painful—disgusting, but in the years to come, that bitterness tasted better and better, and I looked forward to the two of us drinking together. It was the only time that she gave me her undivided attention. In those moments, I would tell her about another writing competition I’d won or how I’d received more early college scholarships. When it was her turn, she would tell me about “turning tricks” like other parents told their kids about a day at the office. “I can’t tell you how weak Ben’s dick was today,” she’d say. “I mean, I feel like I should be charging him double for the weak ass fucks he puts me through.” “You don’t enjoy it with him? Ever?” I’d ask. “No. Never with him. But he’s a sponsor, I’m getting his money, and that’s all that matters. I just lie there, scratch his back, and say ‘Harder… Harder’ to make him think I’m into it until—” “Until he cums?” “Yep.” She’d pass me a cigarette before sighing. “With him and a few others, I usually have to take a few shots beforehand to numb my mind. With the really good ones, all I have to do is relax. Sex can be fucking incredible when it’s done right…” One particular Friday, after she let one of her regulars take me shopping for a Chanel bag, I unlocked the door to our home and saw droplets of blood all over the floor. “Leah?” I set my shopping bag down. “Did you get another nose bleed?” No answer. I headed into the kitchen, looking for her usual remedies—hot tea and Q tips, but she wasn’t there. “You here?” I walked around our living room and checked all the rooms upstairs. Confused, I pulled out my cell phone and called her. No answer again. I shrugged and opened a bottle of vodka, tossing back a few shots. I figured she’d left with one of her sponsors for a quickie and would be back by the time our favorite show started. I decided to take a shower before it came on and headed into the downstairs bathroom. The second I hit the lights, my heart fell out of my chest. I wanted to believe that what I was seeing was simply a sick joke by my imagination—a twisted fantasy I’d snap out of in seconds. Pale and blue, Leah’s body lay lifeless in our tub. Her left arm was dangling over the edge, and the small velvet bag where she kept her cocaine was dangling from her fingertips. Scattered across the floor were hundreds of prescription pills and empty orange bottles that bore the names of strangers. On the vanity, there was an empty syringe and a folded note that read “For my Em…” Trembling, I rushed to her side and pressed my finger against her neck, hoping for a pulse. Nothing. I tilted her head back and tried to breathe life into her—pressing her chest with my hands every few seconds, but it was no use. She was gone. I sank down to the floor in tears—cursing her, hating her, for doing this to me. To us. I had no friends to call, no family either, so in my numb and dazed state I somehow managed to call 9-1-1. While the operator attempted to calm me down by asking me to take deep breaths, I walked over to the vanity and unfolded Leah’s last note:

Em,

I know you’re confused right now, but I want you to know that I love you. I love you so fucking much… You were the only thing that made my life worth living, and I wish I was strong enough to keep that in mind…

I’m not.

I’m tired of living a lie and I haven’t been happy in a very long time… I just can’t take it anymore…

I’ve fucked up a lot of things in my life, but the biggest regret I have is the way I raised you…I’m so sorry… This is going to be hard for you to believe—especially since I’m gone, but I need you to forget all that shit I taught you. Right now.

Fuck using your looks to get what you want. Go to college and do some good shit with your life, like write or something. You’re a good writer, you’re very smart, and you need to use your brain to get ahead. Can you promise to do that for me, Em?

Then again…It’s probably too late and I’m willing to bet that you’ll end up just like me: A beautiful nothing…

It won’t be your fault though. It’ll be—

I stopped reading and flushed that note down the toilet. Her last words were clearly written out of sadness and they were only compounding my pain. As far as I was concerned, Leah had raised me the best she could and she was far from a “beautiful nothing” in my eyes. In fact, I cherished every single thing she’d taught me. Even though I was beyond hurt that she’d selfishly left me all alone, I was determined to remember her at her best and for everything she was to me: My mother. My best friend. My role model.  

FACEBOOK / GOODREADS

Mariah Cole is a Starbucks addict (hazelnut shots, please!), New Adult author, and an incessant daydreamer. Known for pushing the envelope, she's an avid reader of indie books and is always looking to chat with readers and authors alike.

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BLOG TOUR: BEAUTIFUL FAILURE BY MARIAH COLE

Title: Beautiful Failure

Author: Mariah Cole

Genre: New Adult Romance

Hosted by: Mary Elizabeth’s Crazy Book Obsession

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Synopsis

If you're looking for a heartwarming story about a girl who falls deeply in love with a troubled boy who changes her life--a sob story with pretty metaphors and a million ways that'll tell you how "broken" she is, STOP. Don't read another word of this. 

I'm not that type of girl. 

My name is Emerald Anderson and I'm not going to bullshit you: I flunked out of college after my sophomore year, I've been fired from every job I've ever taken, and I've never had a fully functioning relationship in my life. 

I wish I could say that I had a cheerleader in my corner, someone who says, "No, Emerald--You're great and you are good at something!" but I don't. My grandparents are completely oblivious to my life, and my mother's dying words to me were "You're going to end up just like me one day. A beautiful nothing." 

She was right.

As I decide to start my life over and take two jobs that will forever change me--one from the inside, and one from the outside, I keep my mother's words close to my heart so I can keep the sexy and mysterious Carter Black away. 

He's the first man who's ever pursued me, the first man who seems bent on finding out why I am the way I am, but he's wasting his time. 

I'm not broken. I don't need to be fixed. I'm perfectly fine being a beautiful failure...

Our Review:

Whoa. That is my response to this book. Freaking whoa. I admit, at first I thought it was going to be like every other "My mother was a whore, I am a whore." tropes...but this book went in a completely different direction than I was expecting and I loved it! My thoughts, exactly, Court! This was such an awesome surprise--a fantastic debut novel!

Emerald has a horrible and daunting past to overcome, and it doesn't help that she is 100% in denial about it! Her childhood explains it perfectly, but it doesn't mean that now that she's in her twenties that she is a fully functioning adult...because that she is not. She is foul mouthed, sarcastic, rude and doesn't give a flying flip if you care or not. I liked this about her because a) she doesn't make excuses or pretend to be something she isn't and b) the people she finds to befriend give it back to her and don't put up with her crap either. They are her perfect balance, and again I fell in love with the secondary characters in this story.

Is it messed up that I love this messed up girl? I love her filthy mouth, her horrible attitude, her badass reaction to things, her fuckitall to the world/I'm not playing your games self. Of course I abhor the how and why of how she gained all of these features...but I love her. I loved reading about her journey. 

Carter. Carter. Carter! I freaking love Carter Black. He is one of those that doesn't put up with her crap...BUT...I was over 80% before I realized that we also don't know a dang thing about him. We started making our predictions and were we ever DEAD WRONG! Yes, yes we were. BUT I have not been this anxious to get my hands on a sequel in a really, really long time...especially after the introduction was pretty low angst! 

DUDE!!! This guy..I have lots and lots and lots and LOTS of questions. I also have a ton of love for him...even though I still have no freakin' clue about who exactly he is. How is that even possible? HOW?!! Because Mariah Cole writes both characters in such a way that you feel  (strangely) okay with not knowing much about him. GAH!

Emerald's journey is not an easy one, but I loved learning about her as she was doing the same thing. She still has a ways to go...but she's getting there. I also loved the stripper aspect of this book. Maybe it's Kristen Ashley's fault, but I have a newfound respect for these women, and I love seeing them in a more positive light doing what they need to do to get by...and having bosses that make sure nothing happens to them. So yeah. I freaking LOVE this book! <3

I loved this book too. Now I must commence to cyberstalking Mariah Cole to find out when the hell the next book is coming out because I really am impatient to begin it!! NOW!!!!!!

Courtney: 5 Stars! 

Shelley: 5 Stars

The first encounter...Alternate POV scene through Carter's eyes---

Walking inside of Starbucks, I expect to see the familiar bubbly blonde behind the counter, the one who never bothers to ask what I want to order. She always greets me with a “Hello, Mr. Black! I’ll have your grande coffee with two hazel nut shots right away!”

But today, there’s someone new. Someone with black hair who hasn’t even bothered to look up at me.

With her head down, she types a few buttons on the register and sighs. “Starbucks Bistro. What’s your name and what do you want?”

“Is that the new greeting now?” I smile. “Did it change recently?”

“They don’t pay me enough to make conversation,” she says flatly. “What’s your name and what do you want—Please?”

This is a first…  “Carter…Carter Black. Grande coffee with a hazelnut shot and two sugars.”

She writes on the cup and quickly turns around, mixing the drink on the back counter. From behind, I notice a small grey and black tattoo on her neck, partially hidden by her long ponytail.

What is that?

I’m admiring her ass when she suddenly turns around and gasps.

She blinks, staring at me with her lips slightly parted. She looks as if she’s about to say something, but no words come out of her mouth.

Her mouth. Her fucking mouth.

Plump, pink lips. Bow shaped. Perfection.

“Are you going to give me my coffee?” I look into her dark green eyes. “Or do they not pay you enough to do that either?”

“Three dollars and seven cents.”

I keep my eyes locked on hers as I hand her the card, wondering why I’ve never seen her in town before.  

Once she hands me my coffee, I decide to ask why. “When did you start here?”

“Thank you for visiting Starbucks.” She rolls her eyes. “Have a nice day.”

I smile and bring the cup to my lips, never taking my eyes off hers. I can tell I’m making her uncomfortable because she’s shifting her weight from foot to foot and blinking every few seconds.

“Is there something wrong with your coffee sir?” She purses her lips.

The coffee is actually the best it’s ever been, but I don’t want to leave the store just yet.

“It’s a bit bitter,” I say.

“No, it’s not.” She crosses her arms. “I just made it.”

“I’m pretty sure it is.” I hand the cup back to her. “Can you add some more sugar please?”

“There’s a condiment stand on the back wall. You can add it yourself.”

Is she serious?

I look at her nametag—Emerald, and prepare to really have some fun with her, but the familiar blonde suddenly steps next to her.

 “Mr. Black, is there something wrong?” she asks.

“Not at all. I was just asking Emerald if she would add some more sugar to my coffee.”

“Oh! I got it!”

As she remakes it, I smile at Emerald—ignoring the fact that she’s scowling at me. It makes her look even sexier.

“There you are.” The blonde smiles as she hands me the new coffee.

I take a sip of it and immediately regret having it remade. It’s good, but what Emerald made was ten times better.

“Much better.” I look at Emerald one last time, deciding that I’ll be back at the exact same time tomorrow. “Thank you ladies.”

Emerald rolls her eyes and mouths “Asshole,” but she quickly forces a smile. I debate whether I should ask her to say that out loud, but I decide against it.

I’ll have plenty of time to see her this summer…

Author Bio

Mariah Cole is a Starbucks addict (hazelnut shots please!), New Adult author, and an incessant daydreamer. Known for pushing the envelope, she’s an avid reader of indie books and is always looking to chat with readers and authors alike.

 Connect With Mariah

Author Goodreads | Author Facebook

BUY LINKS:
http://www.amazon.com/Beautiful-Failure-Series-Mariah-Cole-ebook/dp/B00HDSBXP8/ref=sr_1_11?ie=UTF8&qid=1387318027&sr=8-11&keywords=mariah+cole

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/beautiful-failure-mariah-cole/1117736123?ean=2940149071050

Giveaway

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COVER REVEAL: BEAUTIFUL FAILURE BY MARIAH COLE

Title: Beautiful Failure

Author: Mariah Cole

Genre: New Adult Romance

Expected Release Date: December 12, 2013

YouTube Video Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D61-vaYmKfU

Synopsis

If you're looking for a heartwarming story about a girl who falls deeply in love with a troubled boy who changes her life— a sob story with pretty metaphors and a million ways that'll tell you how "broken" she is, STOP. Don't read another word of this. I'm not that type of girl. My name is Emerald Anderson and I'm not going to bullshit you: I flunked out of college after my sophomore year, I've been fired from every job I've ever taken, and I've never had a fully functioning relationship in my life. I wish I could say that I had a cheerleader in my corner, someone who says, "No, Emerald—You're great and you are good at something!" but I don't. My grandparents are completely oblivious to my life, and my mother's dying words to me were "You're going to end up just like me one day. A beautiful nothing." She was right. As I decide to start my life over and take two jobs that will forever change me--one from the inside, and one from the outside, I keep my mother's words close to my heart so I can keep the sexy and mysterious Carter Black away. He's the first man who's ever pursued me, the first man who seems bent on finding out why I am the way I am, but he's wasting his time. I'm not broken. I don't need to be fixed. I'm perfectly fine being a beautiful failure..

Prologue

*subject to change before publication*

My mother was a whore. Her name was Leah Isabelle Anderson—“Leah Belle” for short, and she was one of New Jersey’s most sought after escorts. With deep green eyes that could take any man’s breath away, and skin so porcelain and smooth that it looked too perfect to touch, she was breathtakingly beautiful. Often compared to a supermodel, her raven black hair fell past her shoulders, and her naturally long eyelashes were always coifed to perfection. Growing up, I had no idea what she did with the men who picked her up in their shiny and expensive cars—the men who wore thousand dollar suits and patted me on the head while saying, “Your mom is really something special.” In a way, these strangers became the closest thing I had to a family since I never knew my father: Her regulars, Christian and William, sent me gifts every Christmas. Arnie bought me my first bike, Steve taught me how to change a tire, and her most ruthless suitor—Vincent, took me shopping for designer clothes once a month. Leah Belle—she never ever let me call her “mom,” wasn’t exactly a mother to me; she was more like an older friend. An older ‘I’ll-be-there-when-it’s-convenient’ friend. She missed every elementary school play, every middle school writing competition, and never gave a damn about my grades. At first, the involuntary loneliness bothered me, but after I created an army of invisible friends and easily accessible fantasies, I came to terms with her neglect and happily accepted any attention she was willing to give me. When I became a teenager, she started to hang around me more often—promising that she would do better, promising that she would make sure that “from here on out, [we’d] be best friends.” Since she’d run away from her parents after having me at sixteen, she made a point to never lecture or discipline me. But, she did teach me three very important lessons: 1.) “Always put tons of effort into the way you look. You need to be beautiful on the outside, no matter how fucked up you are on the inside. If you ever feel sad or depressed, suck that shit up and add more mascara.” 2.) “Don’t make friends. Make sponsors. If you can’t get anything out of someone or use them for a specific purpose, kick that person out of your life ASAP.” 3.) “Beauty wins over brains every time. Your body will always be your most important asset. Remember that.” For my fourteenth birthday, she poured me my first shot and offered me a short line of coke, saying, “Welcome to life, Em!” I shook my head at the coke—I’d read about the effects, but I happily took the red shot glass from her hand. “To the best fuckin’ daughter in the world!” She lifted her glass in the air, waiting for me to do the same, and then she ordered me to toss it back. The initial burning sensation was painful—disgusting, but in the years to come, that bitterness tasted better and better, and I looked forward to the two of us drinking together. It was the only time that she gave me her undivided attention. In those moments, I would tell her about another writing competition I’d won or how I’d received more early college scholarships. When it was her turn, she would tell me about “turning tricks” like other parents told their kids about a day at the office. “I can’t tell you how weak Ben’s dick was today,” she’d say. “I mean, I feel like I should be charging him double for the weak ass fucks he puts me through.” “You don’t enjoy it with him? Ever?” I’d ask. “No. Never with him. But he’s a sponsor, I’m getting his money, and that’s all that matters. I just lie there, scratch his back, and say ‘Harder… Harder’ to make him think I’m into it until—” “Until he cums?” “Yep.” She’d pass me a cigarette before sighing. “With him and a few others, I usually have to take a few shots beforehand to numb my mind. With the really good ones, all I have to do is relax. Sex can be fucking incredible when it’s done right…” One particular Friday, after she let one of her regulars take me shopping for a Chanel bag, I unlocked the door to our home and saw droplets of blood all over the floor. “Leah?” I set my shopping bag down. “Did you get another nose bleed?” No answer. I headed into the kitchen, looking for her usual remedies—hot tea and Q tips, but she wasn’t there. “You here?” I walked around our living room and checked all the rooms upstairs. Confused, I pulled out my cell phone and called her. No answer again. I shrugged and opened a bottle of vodka, tossing back a few shots. I figured she’d left with one of her sponsors for a quickie and would be back by the time our favorite show started. I decided to take a shower before it came on and headed into the downstairs bathroom. The second I hit the lights, my heart fell out of my chest. I wanted to believe that what I was seeing was simply a sick joke by my imagination—a twisted fantasy I’d snap out of in seconds. Pale and blue, Leah’s body lay lifeless in our tub. Her left arm was dangling over the edge, and the small velvet bag where she kept her cocaine was dangling from her fingertips. Scattered across the floor were hundreds of prescription pills and empty orange bottles that bore the names of strangers. On the vanity, there was an empty syringe and a folded note that read “For my Em…” Trembling, I rushed to her side and pressed my finger against her neck, hoping for a pulse. Nothing. I tilted her head back and tried to breathe life into her—pressing her chest with my hands every few seconds, but it was no use. She was gone. I sank down to the floor in tears—cursing her, hating her, for doing this to me. To us. I had no friends to call, no family either, so in my numb and dazed state I somehow managed to call 9-1-1. While the operator attempted to calm me down by asking me to take deep breaths, I walked over to the vanity and unfolded Leah’s last note:

Em,

I know you’re confused right now, but I want you to know that I love you. I love you so fucking much… You were the only thing that made my life worth living, and I wish I was strong enough to keep that in mind…

I’m not.

I’m tired of living a lie and I haven’t been happy in a very long time… I just can’t take it anymore…

I’ve fucked up a lot of things in my life, but the biggest regret I have is the way I raised you…I’m so sorry… This is going to be hard for you to believe—especially since I’m gone, but I need you to forget all that shit I taught you. Right now.

Fuck using your looks to get what you want. Go to college and do some good shit with your life, like write or something. You’re a good writer, you’re very smart, and you need to use your brain to get ahead. Can you promise to do that for me, Em?

Then again…It’s probably too late and I’m willing to bet that you’ll end up just like me: A beautiful nothing…

It won’t be your fault though. It’ll be—

I stopped reading and flushed that note down the toilet. Her last words were clearly written out of sadness and they were only compounding my pain. As far as I was concerned, Leah had raised me the best she could and she was far from a “beautiful nothing” in my eyes. In fact, I cherished every single thing she’d taught me. Even though I was beyond hurt that she’d selfishly left me all alone, I was determined to remember her at her best and for everything she was to me: My mother. My best friend. My role model.

About the Author

Mariah Cole is a Starbucks addict (hazelnut shots please!), New Adult author, and an incessant daydreamer. Known for pushing the envelope, she’s an avid reader of indie books and is always looking to chat with readers and authors alike.

Connect with Mariah

Author Goodreads | Author Facebook | Beautiful Failure Goodreads

Giveaway

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