Dancing With Dalton
"Next on the agenda," Alice Craigmoore said in her raspy, Southern drawl, "is this year's Miss Hot Pepper pageant. Mona, as our reigning pageant chair, do you have a report?"
Dalton Montgomery took this as his cue to commence with a nap.
The private back room of Duffy's Barbecue was famous for not only its fishing-themed decor, but also its oak and leather chairs roomy enough to allow a guy to enjoy a man-size meal without feeling sliced in half. In other words, it was easy to tune out of the bimonthly meeting's most mind-numbing portions.
As president-elect of Hot Pepper, Louisiana's chamber of commerce, Dalton had no problem tackling ordinary business matters. But whenever his fellow members started in with one of their half-dozen festivals they'd planned, or God forbid this pageant, he felt completely out of his league. But then these days, was there anywhere he did feel comfortable and in control?
As the only son of the president of the First National Bank of Hot Pepper, Dalton had been expected since birth to one day step into his father's shoes. The one time he'd deviated from the plan, he'd failed miserably both personally and professionall ... read full excerpt from Dancing with Dalton ebook
