Monday, September 22, 2014


Title: Cameo
Author: Tanille Edwards
Genre: YA thriller / romance 

New Pop R & B Song "Baby Comeback to Me" by Tanille are included. Email us for your songs. Cameo by Tanille is your next sinful beach read. Be 17 again!

This page turning who done it is packed with mystery, drama, and steam. Nia is a high school beauty who discovers she's being stalked by someone in a secret underground society. Everyone is suspect. The pressure is mounting and problems are stacking up. Who is behind all of this? Which one of her friends is connected with this secret society? And why?

 Author Bio
Tanille is the co-author and creator of the children's green book series "Jordan & Justine's Weekend Adventures." She is also the author of the new media young adult novels with music "Cameo by Tanille," and “Broken by Tanille.” The Undercover Starlet Journal is a title Tanille created to inspire young women and has extended Undercover Starlet into brand extensions that appear throughout her novels. Tanille has been writing music and books since age 16. She earned an MBA at 21 and graduated magna cum laude. Readers of her latest young adult romance novel “Broken by Tanille” get free music downloads of her new Pop R&B hits "All of Me," “Feel It,” “Baby Comeback to Me,” “It’s Not Okay,” and "What's a Girl to Do" all written, performed and co-produced by Tanille. 

Links Cameo eBook: Tanille Edwards: Kindle Store 

Book Excerpts:


It was pitch black outside as the full moon glistened through the vinyl blinds that adorned Gary’s half window in his bedroom. His room was nestled in the far corner of his parents’ craftsman-style house in Hempstead, Long Island. The scrawny seventeen-year-old sat at his desk in an oversize, droopy wifebeater and Snoopy boxer shorts. His hair was jet black and gelled down into a curly fade. His bedroom was dull, full of computer science books and a series of coveted Stephen King thrillers—a lonely boy’s surrogate girlfriend. 

“Uh! Got to keep these passwords straight,” Gary exclaimed out of frustration. 

Gary slid open his desk drawer full of colorful Post-it notes with various codes and passwords written all over them. It seemed like nowadays you needed a password for everything. There was even a code to get into his front door. He took out a new pad and wrote down a username and password for his Tracebook account. A lamp slammed to the ground behind him near his bedroom door. The bedroom went dark. Gary turned around to see what had happened. He heard footsteps in the hallway. He slapped his hand over his open mouth as if a fly might make its way inside while he trotted to the door. 

Senior quarterback Craig stood outside Gary’s bedroom with his back against the wall like an operative from Mission Impossible. Dressed in a tight, black mock-turtleneck muscle shirt, his muscles bulged like those of a beefy club bouncer. Michelle crept up the hallway to stand next to Craig, dangling a large roll of duct tape in her hand. Craig ducked his head into the room to see what was going on. Michelle pressed her nude lips together and batted her overdone smoky eyes. She ran across the bedroom door to the opposite side. With her back to the wall, she took a look
inside the room. Gary had picked up the lamp and was reaching to turn it on. There will only be light when I say there will be light, she thought to herself.

Michelle tugged on her black Kangol hat to signal. Craig charged into the room, grabbed a hold of Gary, and forced a pair of socks into his mouth. He pulled Gary’s hands behind his back like a crooked cop from a gangster movie. Gary struggled like an insect caught in a spider web. He wiggled every which way to no avail. Michelle stood at the open bedroom door with a wicked half-smile playing across her photo-perfect, dark-chocolate face. She batted her false eyelashes for a dramatic finish. 

Gary jammed his heel into Craig’s toes. Craig threw Gary down onto the floor, and Michelle slammed the roll of tape against Craig’s chest. 

“Tape his hands up,” Michelle commanded. 

Craig grabbed the tape. She walked in to examine the room. “Lucy! Get in here, now!” Michelle called out. 

The petite, mousy-brown-haired Lucy walked into the room, looking as pale as a ghost. She had missed her last two tanning sessions to complete photo excursions for Michelle. It didn’t bother her, though. Lucy was just glad to have been the one asked to be in Michelle’s exclusive presence. Lucy had a digital camera hanging from her wrist. The camera hung down lower than the hemline on her denim miniskirt. Lucy snapped several pictures of Gary as he squirmed on the floor. Michelle worked her way over to Gary’s computer. 

Craig came from behind and put his hand in Michelle’s. 

“This is sooo great. The yearbook committee will love it,” Lucy whispered in a little girl’s voice. She always thought it made her seem nicer and less threatening, the complete opposite of Michelle. 

“This better get me prom votes. I don’t have time to waste,” Michelle said. 


Damaged would describe the way I feel, literally and figuratively. By weeding out all the loser guys and waiting for the right one to really love, you think you’re avoiding becoming one of those jaded girls—the girls who are cynical about love. They can’t trust anyone. They think every move the opposite sex makes is just for the purpose of humiliating or hurting them for sport. Yet, somehow, I ended up becoming wreckage. I’m just what is left of a girl who used to believe in love. 



Chapter 1

The doorbell rang. I could feel my heart start beating in double time. I need to get a life! The entertainment was here. I looked at him through the peephole. He appropriately had a swelled
head through the tiny looking glass. I was hasty with opening the door. God, every bone in my body wanted to hate him. 

“Hey,” Jason said. I tilted my head all until I caught myself gawking at him like he was a science project. “Going to invite me in?” he asked. 

“The door is open … isn’t it?” I said. He stared at me blankly. “Come in,” I said. 

Duh! This guy definitely has some screws loose. “I’ve been thinking about the project,” I continued. He turned and looked at me in shock. “No, really, I’ve been thinking about the school project,” I said. He nodded his head like he understood me. Girls usually spoke in code to boys like Jason. When they said “doing” a project they usually meant “doing” him. Kind of gross in a feminist kind of way. I guess he thought I was lying. Women are smart, not sex objects. We’re not like guys, who think about sex every five minutes. Of course, at times it seemed that no one had clued in the girls at my school about such characteristics. 

“Right. I just wonder how dumb you think I am. I know I’m here for the school project. I got it, loud and clear,” he said flatly.

A tiny part of me was disappointed. So there was nothing between us? I didn’t want him, but I wanted him to want me, at least in light of our history. It was hard to admit there were some things I couldn’t control. Being around him brought back this good feeling I used to get when I had a boyfriend. Part of me liked to stand next to a boy in all of my five-nine stature and look up at him, knowing that he dug me. 

Oh, and there was the fact that at the end of sophomore year we kind of talked in between a very, very sloppy, back-of-the-staircase kiss. He never called me that summer. The next semester, I walked passed him like I never knew him. Even Cindy didn’t know about that. We became best friends junior year. We had a rule about secrets: If it was a secret before we met, we kept it that way, but if it was a secret after we met we were obliged to dish. 

He waited for me to walk through the entrance of our Art Deco dining room. I cut my eyes. That courteous crap wasn’t going to fly with me. He caught a glimpse of the elaborate marble chess set in the living room. I could see he wanted to ask me something. He almost put his hand on top of mine when I reached for the chair. 

“I’ve got it,” I said. I pulled out my chair and sat down. He watched. I made sure I caught his eye when he sat down right next to me. What the hell did he think he was doing? 

“What are you doing?” I lashed out at him. Who said he could sit down right next to me? He should have sat far away, like across the table. If we were going to get this project

No comments:

Post a Comment