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PMS: The Power & Money Sisters

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Five career women strive for success and discover love and friendship.
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Author: K.P. Robbins
Description

Beth Sherman and her best friend Elaine Ellison decide to form a women’s networking group they half-jokingly call the Power & Money sisters, or PMS for short. It’s 1998, and business is booming in the Virginia suburbs outside Washington, D.C. Beth is a banker with a commitment-phobic boyfriend and Elaine, a divorced financial consultant with two married lovers. They recruit three others to join the group: Pat Robinson, single mother of two now running her late husband’s construction company; Kimberly Gordon, an executive with an advertising agency founded by her mother; and Lisa Makowski, MBA hotshot in a startup website development company.

Over the course of a year, the women find their work and personal lives intertwining as they handle the ups and downs of their businesses while confronting romantic breakups and new loves, pregnancy, menopause and breast cancer. In their quest for money and power, the women discover the strength of female friendships and the rewards of unselfish love.

Title PMS: The Power & Money Sisters
Author K.P. Robbins
Genre Women's Fiction
Release April 5, 2016
Artist DK Designs
Length 202 Pages
ISBN 978-1-77127-797-6
Price $5.99
Tags women's fiction, historical fiction

Excerpt

Beth had never been fond of Henry’s favorite restaurant, a Tysons Corner steakhouse where Northern Virginia’s alpha males congregated. The menu featured large portions of red meat and fried potatoes, not the green salads and dainty pastas she preferred. She remembered when the stench of expensive cigars permeated the food there with the taste of burnt twigs, but now, thankfully, smoking was restricted to the bar. Designed without a hint of concession to the female sex, the décor featured bare wood floors, plain white tablecloths, and walls adorned with caricatures of loyal customers. Nothing softened the dining room atmosphere, no flowers, no romantic music, no flowing draperies or thick carpet to deaden the cacophony of men’s loud laughter and boisterous conversations.

With Henry trailing behind her, she followed the maitre d’ to the booth adjoining the wall that featured the caricature of Mr. Henry Cross. As she slid into her side of the booth, she saw him slip the headwaiter a fiver. “Yes, sir, Mr. Cross,” the man said, discreetly stuffing the bill into his pants pocket. He handed them menus and took their drink orders. “Enjoy your evening.”

Beth searched the menu, trying to find something appealing. Henry didn’t bother to open his. He could probably recite its contents by heart. Their drinks arrived, a Bushmills for him and a glass of the house red for her.

“Do you remember this is where you took me on our first date?” Beth asked.

“Is it? That sounds like me. How can you remember those things?” he replied. He took a sip of his whiskey.

“I remember it was June ninth. Almost three years ago.”

“My lucky day,” he said, flashing her his most charming smile.

Deciding to order what the menu described as a “queen-sized filet mignon,” she turned her attention to the drawing of Henry on the wall to her right. The artist had flattered him by picturing more hair than his receding hairline justified and eyes that didn’t squint behind his glasses. A statue of Lady Justice holding her scales hovered in the background, but the lady had slipped off her blindfold and was winking at Henry, a tribute to his skill as a lawyer. The caricature succeeded in capturing Henry’s perpetually semi-disheveled look, showing his tie askew, suit jacket unbuttoned and shirt tail partially escaping from his trousers, just as he now appeared across the table. What do I see in him, she thought, then immediately felt guilty. She sipped her wine to hide her confusion.

“Did Ted Oberoi call you?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you. I’m going to meet him Monday.” The new business from Henry’s client had come just in time. “His CPA advised him to set up a payroll account separate from his other accounts payable, and he decided to keep it in a separate bank, too. Luckily, he kept my card from the Tech Awards dinner, because I need to make up for the loss of Pat Robinson’s business.”

“Who’s Pat Robinson?” he asked.

“You know, the woman who owns a construction company in DC. She’s part of the women’s networking group I started.”

“Oh, right.”

She had mentioned Pat to him dozens of times. She wondered if he really paid attention when she talked. When their meals arrived, Henry splattered ketchup on his fries and attacked his sixteen ounce New York strip steak with gusto. She picked at her filet, becoming more annoyed as she watched him eat. We never talk about the issue that really matters, but I’m not going to put up with it tonight. She’d already let him have his way with the choice of a restaurant she hated. He probably didn’t even realize she hated it. Would it matter if he did? She put her fork down, too worked up to finish her meal.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Steak’s not my favorite,” she replied.

“Really? You must be the only person in the world who doesn’t like the steak here.”

She felt unjustly criticized. “After three years, you should know that,” she said. She took a big gulp of her wine. Henry looked up from his plate and met her eyes.

“Something bothering you, Beth?”

“Yes. Are we ever going to get married?” There. She’d said it. She held her breath and sat very still, studying his face.

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