A Fashionable Fiasco Read online

  A Fashionable Fiasco

  Book Twelve of The Hot Damned Series

  Robyn Peterman

  Robyn Peterman

  Copyright © 2019 by Robyn Peterman

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is coincidental.

  This book contains content that may not be suitable for young readers 17 and under.

  Cover by Rebecca Poole of dreams2media

  Edited by MYST

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Note From The Author

  Excerpt from: Beauty Loves the Beast

  Prologue

  1. Carter

  Robyn’s Book List

  About Robyn Peterman

  Acknowledgments

  Writing The Hot Damned Series is like coming home. All of these characters live inside me and talk constantly. LOL Mother Nature’s book has been a long time coming and it took me on a ride that made me laugh till I almost peed and then moved me until I ugly cried. I adore this book as much as I adore Mother Nature herself. My hope is that you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it.

  * * *

  Anyhoo, as always, I write the book, but it takes a whole lot of wonderful people to make the magic happen. I am a lucky girl because I have a lot of wonderful people in my life.

  * * *

  Rebecca, thank you for my beautiful cover. You are the bomb!

  * * *

  MYSTP, thank you. You saved me from some embarrassing mistakes. LOL

  * * *

  Donna McDonald and J.M Madden, thank you. You are the most brilliant critique partners in the world!

  * * *

  My Magic Wanda, you kick ass on a daily basis. I’d be screwed without you. Thank you.

  * * *

  Renee George, you rock so hard and will be my favorite Cookie until the end of time.

  * * *

  My beta readers—Wanda and Susan thank you. I adore you.

  * * *

  And to my readers… thank you. I do this for you.

  * * *

  Steve, Henry and Audrey, thank you. I love you and you make everything worth it.

  Dedication

  For Renee.

  You saved my ass on this one.

  I love you.

  Chapter One

  “Sweet Heaven and Hell in a jockstrap,” I shrieked in distress. My eyes grew wide at the horrifying situation unfolding in my glorious garden.

  “Umm… that makes no sense, Gigi,” my granddaughter Astrid said, standing next to me and doing her damnedest not to laugh.

  I was wildly grateful that Astrid had offered her assistance for the afternoon, but the calamity was no laughing matter. My half-Vampyre, half-Demon granddaughter was secretly my favorite, but if she so much as snorted she would lose a body part. Of course, it would grow back. I would never permanently harm someone I loved.

  “What are you talking about?” I muttered, wondering if I closed my eyes for a moment, the catastrophe would disappear.

  It didn’t.

  “A place can’t wear a nut bucket, Gigi. Hence, Heaven and Hell can’t sport a ball basket. Now, a person can. You can say Sweet Satan in a sack jacket or even God in an over the butt nut hut. However, I’d avoid putting God in a dick bra… it just seems kind of wrong. Of course, Uncle Fucker wouldn’t be too pleased to be wedged into a cock sock either. But between Satan and God, I’d go for Uncle Fucker first. You feel me?” Astrid questioned, almost making me forget my own name.

  Closing my eyes for thirty seconds, I quashed my desire to incinerate my beloved granddaughter. Of course, Astrid was impossible to kill as she was a True Immortal like myself, but it would be terrible form as her grandmother to try. Astrid was a wonderfully foul-mouthed pain in my perfect ass, but she was also correct. A place could not wear a jockstrap.

  Nothing was going right this century. Nothing.

  And that’s when the dry heaving started. Thankfully, not mine.

  The forty-pound cake I’d slaved over for two days dropped from my hands and fell to the ground with a squishy thud. Pink gooey icing now covered my Prada stilettos. My stomach clenched in terror and it wasn’t because my shoes were ruined. Nope. I had thousands of pairs of shoes. What I didn’t have were snooty friends who drank tea while gossiping viciously in polite tones and I wanted some of those.

  When the vomiting started, I was fairly sure my luncheon was a failure. This simply couldn’t be happening. I would never get invited into the exclusive Eternal Crème de la Crème Society now.

  Five of the most important ladies in Immortal high society lay in a heap on the ground moaning and convulsing like they were dying, which was ridiculous since they were for the most part indestructible. The gals were known as the Fearsome Five. I was hoping to join and make it the Psycho Six. The chances of that happening now were looking grave. My guests were very unhappy. The gals represented a variety of species and were both feared and revered in the Immortal world. The hurl fest did not bode well for my reputation as the hostess with the most-est… or for me becoming a member of their exclusive posse.

  “Dammit to Hell,” I muttered, wringing my hands and wondering what to do. Normally, I’d just throw a fit and cause an earthquake or a monsoon, but that probably wouldn’t go over too well at the moment.

  I’d been trying to get into the elite club for centuries. Of course, I could have forced my way in since I was Mother freakin’ Nature, but I wanted to be accepted for being me. I was fabulous. I suppose the fact that I could incinerate all of them to ash with a flick of my pinky finger had been a deterrent in my getting a membership, but that wasn’t fair. It couldn’t be helped that I was the most beautiful and powerful being in the Universe.

  “Big butts be pissy,” Studly, my favorite pet monkey, said as he dropped from the branch of a rainbow magnolia tree and landed on my shoulder.

  “Hush,” I hissed and pinched his furry little leg. “They’re just big-boned.”

  “Those are some really big bones,” Astrid muttered with a giggle and gave Studly a high five.

  “Enough, you two,” I snapped. “It’s one thing for my luncheon to go to Hell in a handbasket. It’s entirely another for you to insult my guests for having an enormous, jiggling, bulbous derrieres.”

  “Roger that,” Astrid replied with a grin. “I won’t say another word about enormous, jiggling, bulbous derrieres.”

  “Astrid,” I reprimanded her. “That kind of language would not amuse Your Uncle God.”

  “Gigi,” Astrid shot back with a barely disguised eye roll. “I was repeating your description.”

  “Well, Hell’s bells. Did I really say that?” I asked, glancing over at Studly for confirmation. He never lied to me. Actually, Astrid never did either.

  Studly nodded and snickered with delight. He wa
s such a naughty monkey. However, I had no time to enjoy how mischievous my darling pet was. Something was terribly wrong if I couldn’t remember what I’d said two minutes ago. Not to mention five incredibly powerful Immortals were still writhing around like strippers in my flowerbed. This debacle would spread like a wildfire in the basement of Hell. It would take centuries to live this down.

  Darndarndarn. My plan for Immortal domination of high society was going up in flames… or vomit as it were.

  “My apologies, Astrid,” I said contritely.

  Normally I would cause an explosion for being called out on being wrong. But something was amiss and I really hated when I detonated Nirvana and the Garden Palace. My flowers were quite lovely this season.

  Astrid gave me an odd look that I had no time to decipher as my company was hurling.

  The remnants of the beautiful buffet I’d prepared were strewn haphazardly across the sparkling and formerly pristine white tablecloths I’d chosen. My delicate floral china lay in broken pieces amongst the fragrant purple lilies and climbing peach-colored rose vines that surrounded the party area. It was a disaster.

  “What is happening?” I demanded of a putrid green and very uppity Witch named Joan as she sprinted past me muttering something about me being evil and her needing a toilet.

  Joan always had a slight green tint to her skin, but I’d never seen her quite as green as she was at the moment. Had my luncheon been attacked? That was preposterous. We were in Nirvana—my home territory. No one was shortsighted enough to enter my gardens and wreak havoc.

  Plastering a smile on my face that I hoped didn’t appear as fake as it felt, I approached the flailing pile of overweight Immortal socialites and said a quick prayer to my son, God. I even added a silent plea to my other son, Satan. I needed all the help I could get. Rejection was not on my agenda today. I needed to get to the bottom of this travesty immediately.

  “Ladies,” I called out in my outdoor voice they could hear me above the moaning. “Would anyone like some dessert before we vote me into your society? Not all of the cake was destroyed when I dropped it. I’m quite sure I could scrape some off the top that doesn’t have any dirt on it.”

  “Vile woman,” a Vampyre named Hortense snarled, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at me. “Vile.”

  “Poison,” the rather large Gnome called Fran hissed, clutching her pearls and trying not to heave. “You have poisoned us. On purpose.”

  “I most certainly have not,” I snapped, completely insulted.

  A change of subject was in order. I’d worked for a solid week to impress these large bottomed women so I could be a member of their club. To add insult to injury, Hortense the Vampyre’s razor-sharp fangs had popped out and Fran the Gnome had shrunk in size. That was an incredibly bad sign. Not that they could kill me, but these particular hoity-toity gals could do some serious damage. Even Satan was petrified of these women. It was actually one of the things I liked about the group. However, I wasn’t so fond of their ire when it was aimed at me.

  Velma the Elf, done with emptying the contents of her stomach, straightened her lime-green Chanel sheath and narrowed her matching eyes at me. She too had shrunk in size and sounded like she’d swallowed a vat of helium. It was positively terrifying.

  “I have never in my ten thousand years of existence attended a more appalling display of inadequacy by a hostess. This is unacceptable. You do not have the skills to be part of a select group like ours,” Velma squeaked in a pitch so high the crystal goblets filled with my homemade lemonade exploded. The yellowish liquid ate through the tablecloth like acid.

  For a brief second, I wondered if I’d used too much lemon or sugar in my lemonade. Nah. I never used too much lemon. In fact, I was fairly sure I hadn’t used lemons at all.

  Cathy the Fairy glared as she burped repeatedly and mopped her sweaty face with my sky-blue linen napkin. Her wings had appeared and flapped menacingly, blowing the rest of the buffet off the wrecked table.

  “You can’t cook,” Fran gagged out as the contents of her stomach followed.

  Closing my eyes, I counted to ten. Impulse control was not normally in my wheelhouse. Secretly, I was delighted that I hadn’t blasted Fran’s ass off with a bolt of lightning—although a derriere reduction would be a vast improvement.

  My therapist had insisted I try to calm myself before I caused a natural disaster. It wasn’t working out so well. Since I paid the Demon exorbitant amounts of money to help me get a grip on my hair-trigger reactions, I figured I should at least try his suggestions.

  “Say that again, Fran,” I ground out between clenched teeth as my wild red locks began to blow around my head while sparkling silver and rose-colored drops of rain began to leak from the darkening clouds in the sky.

  “What should we have expected?” Joan the green Witch—or rather bitch—grunted as she rejoined the shit show. “She’s the mother of the Devil. She doesn’t belong with high-class ladies like us.”

  Joan was the color of an emerald. Warts covered every inch of real estate on her pinched face. She looked diseased. Plus, she was wielding a fire wand. The old crone meant business.

  Unfortunately, I did too. Unfortunate for them… not me.

  “Oh shit,” Astrid muttered as she yanked Studly off my shoulder and dove for cover.

  I would simply have to get a new therapist. The counting method sucked. I never should have taken Lucifer’s advice about a headshrinker.

  “I can cook. I’m a brilliant cook. You all must have some kind of stomach bug,” I bellowed as hundreds of silver stripper poles burst from the ground, trapping my rude guests in sparkling prisons.

  “We’re Immortal. We don’t get sick,” Joan grunted. She then pursed her green lips and raised her middle finger.

  “That is not an excuse. You would be lucky to have me in your little club,” I shouted, extending my middle finger in response.

  I was sorely tempted to bust a move or two on one of the poles and show off my sublime skills. But these women didn’t deserve to see me Wiggle and Flash into a Slinky Cat and then do my famous shoulder roll dismount. I’d never actually done those three moves successfully, but I was feeling lucky today.

  With a wave of my hand, the ladies of the Crème de la Crème Society disappeared in a raging funnel cloud of glittering peach magic. Did they really think they could get away with saying I couldn’t cook? I was a world-renowned cook. Everyone knew of my prowess in the kitchen. Of all the ridiculous and insulting things they could have come up with, they had to pick that?

  “Gigi?” Astrid whispered as she crawled out from underneath a bush and warily approached me.

  “Yes, darling?”

  “Where are the big-bottomed… I mean, big-boned ladies?”

  “I sent the uncouth asses to Purgatory,” I explained with a shrug and a tight smile. “They’re lucky that they’re not frogs living in my pond right now. Although, Joan would have fit in with my toads sporting all those warts.”

  Astrid glanced back at Studly, who was unfortunately flinging his poo. I’d been adamant about the monkeys not participating in that kind of pastime, but I was too tired to zap his hairy disobedient butt.

  With a slight gag, Astrid turned her attention back to me. “Gigi, why don’t you go lay down and let me take care of this mess.”

  Sighing and trying not to cry, I nodded. She was such a good girl.

  “I think I will,” I said, kissing her cheek. “I suppose banging your grandfather cross-eyed and then getting a little shut-eye is would be wise.”

  “Mmmkay,” Astrid replied with an eye roll and a giggle. “While that was TMI, I’d have to say I agree.”

  There was a fine reason Astrid was my favorite. I could be myself with Astrid—something that was very rare in my unending existence.

  Chapter Two

  The sky turned an ominous inky purple. Twenty-foot waves crashed violently against the shiny stainless-steel appliances. The massive refrigerator groaned as it swa
yed and shuddered in the storm. An industrial-sized box of Betsy Cocker double chocolate deluxe fudgy cake mix fell from the top of the fridge and exploded, causing me to cough as I inhaled the sugary powder. An unfamiliar chill floated on the air and I willed my heartbeat to quiet so I wouldn’t be discovered.

  Discovered by what? Or who?

  That was the million-dollar question.

  The refrigerator’s garishly made-up eyes fluttered shut and then popped open so fast I gasped. The expression of terror reminded me of something I couldn’t put my finger on. Granted, I was as old as the beginning of time, but I had an outstanding memory and a fabulous figure. Of course, I couldn’t put my finger on anything in the literal sense of the word since none of this was really happening… or was it?

  A replica of my gorgeous pink frosted cake from the failed luncheon did a jazz run across a bed of nails while screaming obscenities. The confection had arms and legs and an ass that rivaled the rude society gals I’d sent to Purgatory.

  If this wasn’t a dream, I was in tremendous trouble. Had I lost what was left of my mind?

  Pink-eyed beasts with seven heads each circled above and tore jagged holes in the puffy purple clouds with their horns. I shivered involuntarily as drops of ice fell from the sky and exploded, covering a circus full of little people. Twenty of them were on fire, standing not even ten feet from me.