The month of January is all about character interviews. Today, I’m firing questions at Sandra, the CEO of the mysterious public relations firm DMI in At Her Will by author Andrea Brellick, an erotic thriller.
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1. First off, tell us who you are and what role you play in the novel.
Sandra: My name is Sandra Maile and I am the CEO of the world-renowned public relations firm, DMI. That is all that matters.
2. Share with us your hobbies and interests, and why you enjoy them.
Sandra: Single-handedly running my PR company. Maggie, let us not waste any more time. We shall start your recruitment process without further delay. Now tell me, what would you rather lose – the ability to tell time or your right index finger?
3. Tell us how you feel about being in a novel, and if you are happy with how your author presented you to readers.
Sandra: I was not pleased with the conclusion of the novel. I built an empire from scratch. Overcoming amateur tricks by spoiled girls who quote oversized Greek philosophers is Day 1 for those like myself.
4. If your author was to create another novel with you in mind, give us a quick blurb of what it would be about. And be sure to give the title.
Sandra: The novel would be called At Sandra’s Will. The book would be my true origin story. The featured novel boils the start of my success down to cleaning houses in a French maid uniform with a straw between my teeth. A predictable narrative from the story’s sister who could not even make it to her 30th birthday.
5. Which character in the novel do you like the most, and why?
Sandra: Myself. I am the only character worth reading about.
6. Which character in the novel do you dislike the most, and why?
Sandra: I dislike all of the characters, however, the ones who swore loyalty to me and cracked in the end are by far the most disappointing.
7. Tell us why we should read the featured novel and what we will find most intriguing about you.
Sandra: Read the novel to learn the next and last place you will ever work.
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Title: At Her Will
Series: N/A
Author: Andrea Brellick
Genre: Erotic Thriller
Heat Rating: 4 Flames (open-door sex, explicit language used)
Length: 83,000 words/311 pages
Release Date: November 24, 2023
Publisher: Extasy Books
To uncover the truth surrounding her sister’s death, Katey Philips gets a job at the public relations firm that employed her sister. Katey must partake in the firm’s second and unorthodox line of business to find out what happened to her sister.
Blurb: A year after her sister’s death, Katey Philips receives an anonymous letter. The message suggests her sister did not die by accident on the night she hosted a work party. Disguising her identity, Katey moves across the country to work at the public relations firm that employed her sister.
Katey quickly learns she doesn’t work at an ordinary PR firm. The company runs a second line of business her sister never spoke of. This secret work is dangerous and shameful and participating in it is the only way Katey can uncover what happened to her sister. Katey must choose how far she will go to find the truth, even if it means sharing the same fate as her sister.
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I peeled my thin glove off to call Jackie for the third time since my delayed flight landed in Toronto.
No answer.
She’d insisted I fly for five hours to hear her big news. Now, there I was—no sister and freezing to death outside her condo at midnight.
If only waiting alone in the dark had topped my list of worries. When we’d spoken on the phone, Jackie said she had something to tell me. But then she gave one-word answers. She wanted off the phone. That meant she’d been hiding something. Something she wouldn’t tell me unless I arrived at her doorstep and pried it out of her perfect peach-coloured lips.
Stepping back, I looked up toward her unit, which faced the street. No one was out on the balcony at this time of year. I couldn’t see anything, let alone the party she was hosting.
I sent another text message—Where the hell are you? It’s freezing out here.
I wasn’t dressed for this. It was my second winter visiting Toronto, but I’d forgotten how frigid it got. My phone said it was -14° C. Christ.
Maybe Jackie and her sometimes-sober public relations colleagues moved the party to a bar.
I could have checked a nearby drinking spot, the one we went to on my last visit. But I didn’t want to lug around a suitcase in the snow. And if I caught her drinking, I’d lose it. She knew not to drink with a head injury. That girl thought she was invincible.
The wind slapped snow from the street into my face before I could turn my back. I couldn’t stay outside much longer.
As I pulled my suitcase away from the building, a guy with a hockey bag held the door open for me. I rushed toward the elevators.
Once on the twelfth floor, I knocked on Jackie’s door.
It was unnaturally quiet in the hallway. No elevator dings, no footsteps. I couldn’t hear the sounds of a party inside. The only noise came from my knuckles rapping on her door.
No answer.
I tried again, this time with more force.
Nothing.
I pressed my ear against the door. Something? A chair being dragged, maybe? Was the sound coming from Jackie’s condo or a neighbouring unit?
I twisted the handle, and the door opened. Why isn’t it locked?
“Jackie, you here?” I took a few steps inside, then paused, waiting for the sound of her voice.
It was a spacious one-bedroom condo, but there were a few places to be unseen.
I looked down. No extra shoes were scattered by the door. I guessed they’d decided to go out after all.
The only light came from two white candles. One was burning in the kitchen, the other in the living room.
Empty wine bottles and red-stained glasses were scattered across the counters and coffee table. Definite proof of a party.
I circled the kitchen island, treading on the remnants of cheese and baguette on the hardwood floor. Taking the cheese platter from the counter, I held it up to my face and examined the surface. Blue cheese—her favourite. And mine.
Peering out the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room, I studied the balcony. A small table and two chairs were covered in snow.
As I placed the platter on the counter, the same noise replayed. I jerked my head up. It was coming from her bedroom. “H-hello?”
I made my way there, hesitating in the doorway.
Stop being such a baby. Go.
My feet remained planted on the floor. What’s inside? I don’t want to know.
With the curtains drawn, the bedroom was pitch-black. I fumbled my sweaty palm along the wall, searching for the light switch. Flick. Nothing. I’d forgotten. Jackie only used her bedside lamp.
I activated the flashlight app on my phone and shone the bright light into every corner of the room, including the crack between the door and wall, separated by the door’s hinges.
The bed was perfectly made and undisturbed. I shoved my phone against my thigh, hiding the light. There was only one other place to hide in this room—the closet. It was closed by double-doors that opened from two center knobs.
The closet doors were solid. If someone was in there, they couldn’t see me coming. If I approached carefully enough, they wouldn’t be able to hear me, either.
Stop it, doesn’t matter. No one is in there.
I inched forward.
That noise again.
It sounded like something light, maybe a shoe dropped on the closet floor. I spun around and sprinted to the kitchen. There was a block of knives on the counter. I pulled one out, my heart pounding.
I should call the police. And say what? The couch squeaked?
This is ridiculous.
I stalked back into my sister’s bedroom, holding the blade at eye level. Tossing my phone on the bed, I yanked the curtains open, flooding the room with streetlights. Taking my courage into my free hand, I wrenched the closet doors open.
Dresses, skirts, and blouses hung from a rod—exactly what should be in a closet.
With a sigh of relief, I dropped the knife on the bed and took off my coat and scarf. Nothing out of the ordinary was there.
Stupid girl. I took a selfie showing mousy hair stuck to my forehead and a butcher’s knife across my lap. I sent it to Jackie. This is what happens when you don’t pick up your phone.
Still no new messages. I’d watch something on Netflix while waiting for her to come home.
I returned the knife to the kitchen and flopped on the L-shaped gray couch. And looked up. A light from the bathroom on the other side of the living room caught my eye.
How did I not see it earlier?
A dim light shone through the crack beneath the door. I tapped lightly. “Anyone in there?” I whispered.
No answer.
I took another moment to listen.
No sound.
This time, it felt different. I wasn’t waiting for a man wearing a ski mask to jump out of nowhere.
I repeatedly swallowed, even though there was nothing to push down.
I moved closer. Held my breath and listened. More silence.
I couldn’t take it. I slowly pushed the door wide open. My heart skipped a beat before I rushed to the side of the bathtub. Knocking over a glass of red wine on the floor, I plunged my arms into the water. I grabbed the back of her arms and shoulders and pulled her from underneath the water. “Oh, God, no. Jackie”
I was on my knees, holding her, willing her to open her eyes. I moved her dark hair away from her face, frantically listening and feeling for her breath.
Oh, God. I don’t think she’s breathing.
The water was warm. Her body was warm.
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Andrea has lived in several areas in Ontario and currently resides in Toronto. During the warm months, she spends her time writing and snacking with her friends. In the cold months, she does the same thing. Andrea’s next book will probably be a horror story.
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Maggie Blackbird 