Series: Ad Agency Series #1

Road-Tripped is a stand-alone novel and the first book in the Ad Agency Series.

What’s worse than losing everything? Try driving a phallic-shaped RV across the country with a coworker you hate?

Copywriter Callie Murphy has a bad attitude, a vicious tongue, and a serious aversion to Shimura Advertising’s resident manwhore, Walker Rhodes. Know where he can stick his good looks and Southern charm? She can think of a few creative places. Avoiding him wouldn’t be a problem, except her boss threatens to fire her if she doesn’t go along with him on their RV client’s cross-country tour.

Burnt-out art director, Walker, is sick of his job, tired of women, and in a big old creative rut. The upcoming client road trip is just what he needs to shake things up and rediscover his lost passion. But his plans go south when his partner drops out at the last minute, and Callie, the foul-mouthed tiny terror, takes her place. Unless he can find a way to thaw his icy coworker, he’s looking at two months of pure hell.

On the road, they experience one hilarious misadventure after another and soon find themselves on a life-changing journey. But when their paths veer off in different directions, will they hit a dead end?

Excerpt

A dissecting blue glare hit him. “Now what?”
“Out of curiosity? Do you come on to every woman you meet?”
He draped an arm over the back of the booth. “Aw, Bluebell, are you jealous of that sweet waitress?”
She examined her fingernails. “Horribly.”
“Just being friendly is all. Not that you’d know what that means.”
She rubbed her chin. “Friendly? Is that the hillbilly translation for acting like a dick?”
Getting all bent out of shape wouldn’t do him any good—that’d just give her more ammunition. He needed
to stay calm or at least appear to be calm. He stretched his legs in the aisle and put his hands behind his head.
“I know it’s difficult, but try to focus on something besides my dick.”
“It’s hard when it’s over six feet and spewing bullshit.”
“It’s hard and spewing all right.”
With a loud exaggerated sigh, she stuck the menu in front of her face, cutting off eye contact, as well as
his awesome retort.
After a peaceful few minutes of Callie shutting her pie hole, the waitress returned for their order. “Tell me
about the Intercourse special, pretty girl.” He dialed up the Cheese-a-Tron 3000 for his coworker’s benefit.
Poppy chattered on about the amazing steak until his ears bled.
“Perfect, darlin’. We’ll have two of those. Medium-rare.” He handed the menu back. “Can’t wait to see what
you have for dessert.” Leading the waitress on wasn’t very nice, but riling Callie up gave him such a perverse
thrill.
An ice cube hit him in the head. “Ow!” He rubbed his head. “Are you insane? Do I need to hide sharp
objects from you now?”
“Did you just fucking order for me?”
“Thought you could use a nice big piece of meat. Not sure how you’re gonna eat it though with that filthy
mouth of yours.”
She gripped the table. “Ever consider I was a vegetarian.”
Of course she was. “No wonder you’re so violent.”
Bogus laughter roared out. Eventually, she stopped and wiped fake tears from her eyes with both middle
fingers. “God, you’re so funny.”
Heat surged through his balls. She had to be a hellcat in bed. But that was dick logic talking. It’d be a cold
day in hell before they ever hooked up. And if they did, she’d probably kill him in his sleep.
That being the case, he gathered his scattered wits and headed for the jukebox. After carefully making his
selections, “Evil Woman” blared from blown-out speakers by the bar.
Chuckling, he hurried back to the table to see if the devil had heard her theme song. Unfortunately, Poppy
showed up right then, bearing juicy steaks and a flirty smile.
“Thanks, beautiful,” he said. “Bet they’re as delicious as you are.”
Callie snorted. “Un-fucking-believable.”
Poppy frowned and dragged her feet back to the bar.
“Something funny, Bluebell?”
“Stop calling me that!”
“But it fits you so well. You’re so dainty and sweet. And with those great big blue eyes of yours, you look just
like a bluebell blossom.” The truth? He’d come up with the nickname at the Liberty Bell because her ballbusting
had given him the blues.
“Cute,” she said. “I have a pet name for you too, but since you don’t like potty language. . .” She sliced off
a piece of steak and stuck it in her mouth.
“Hold on. I thought you were a vegetarian?”
She swallowed. “No, I’m a don’t-tell-me-what-to-do-atarian.”

About The Author

Nicole Archer

Nicole Archer

Nicole Archer’s lengthy career as an advertising copywriter not only polished her writing skills—it provided a lifetime of book material. Many months her book purchases are as high as her mortgage. As a full-time, working single mom of a beautiful boy, she has little time to do much else, but work, write, read, drink wine, and breathe. In real life, she lives in Dallas, Texas, but she’d rather live in Switzerland. Maybe if the book takes off.