Here Tomorrow
Tammy L. Bailey

Author of:
Edmund Rushwood is a single English Lord in possession of a great fortune who is in desperate need of a rich wife.

In accordance with his father’s will, Edmund has until he turns twenty-six to find a wealthy bride or lose his vast inheritance. To retain his selfish lifestyle, he agrees to join an American dating game show to find the woman who can save him. He doesn’t bargain on meeting Abby Forester, an impoverished, spirited American woman who is content to live out her father’s dreams in his vintage record shop.

With covert intervention from an unlikely source, Abby lands on the dating game show as one of Edmund’s potential brides. As their worlds entangle and love begins to bloom, Abby discovers Edmund cannot marry her and retain his wealth at the same time. Will love keep them together, or will greed triumph and tear them apart?


To postpone her reunion with Will, she turned to the other man, who, in a span of two and half minutes, had flirted, charmed, and even rescued a table full of giggling bridesmaids from a clumsy drunk carrying two pitchers of beer.
Hell, Edmund. I say, screw them all,” Will said, and then snorted. Mortified over their private chat, she started to twist away until a haughty British accent stopped her.
“There’s no need to run off.” Called out, Abby sighed and turned back to Will’s friend, Edmund. She expected him to be handsome. After all, she’d watched dozens of women drop their phone numbers into his lap on the way to the ladies’ room.
“I…I wasn’t running,” she said, her middle-school reaction to his good looks and regal demeanor, causing heat to spread from head to toe. “You came to give me your number, then?”
The Englishman smiled, his dusty eyebrows rising over hypnotic ocean-green eyes with Caribbean blue flecks. His gaze was so alluring that she thought if she stared too long, she might drown. She blinked to save herself, her attention lifting to his hair. It was longer and ruffled on top, but short in the back and tapered on the sides. She knew right away he was rich.
“What? No. I came to—” Damn. His perfect posture and arrogant smile had her so flustered, she’d forgotten why she was there. She knew after meeting him she’d imagine him as either Mr. Rochester—or worse, Mr. Darcy—while reading her English Lit assignment.
“It doesn’t matter. I only called you back to ask if it’s true—”
Her somewhat reserved and relaxed nature snapped. “No, Weaver’s Beer does not have the same effect as erectile dysfunction meds, but if you’re looking for something that does, I would suggest talking to a doctor about a prescription.”
His sensual mouth twisted into an amused smile. The subtle, yet dangerous gesture caused a fiery blush to rise from Abby’s belly to her cheeks. She had jumped to the wrong and worst conclusion. She wanted to pull the tray in front of her face, slide out the side door and back to her father’s record shop. Entranced, she remained standing before the man.

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