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There was a rabbit's foot clenched in her hand. Her fingers were crossed. A horseshoe tied with bailing wire hung around her neck. Maggie, the clueless intern, warily crept up to the offices of BradParksBooks.com, holding a four-leaf clover like a shield. With a quick toss of salt over her shoulder and a knock on the wooden door frame, she entered. Inside, the scene was festive. A custom-made photo cake with the cover of The Flack decorated the conference table. Above it hung a banner that read, "Happy Publication Day!" The ceiling was dotted with helium balloons emblazoned with "FLACK YEAH!!" "Maggie, where have you been? It's release day! Why aren't you celebrating with us?" asked Sarah, the smart intern, who had actually put on makeup for the occasion. "B-b-because this is Brad's thirteenth novel," Maggie said, her eyes darting left and right. "It's unlucky." "Maggie, no number is any more or less providential than another," Sarah said. "That's just an old superstition with no scientific, rational, or logical basis." "No basis?" Maggie said. "Then why were all those scary movies called Friday the 13th, not Thursday the 12th? Why did Apollos 11 and 12 put people on the moon but Apollo 13 blew up? Why is there no fear of fourteen but 'triskaidekaphobia' is in the dictionary?" "She's got you there," said Zach, the silly intern, who was wearing a T-shirt with a picture of the Karate Kid and the words "Flack On Flack Off" in violation of at least four different trademarks. "You're not helping, Zach!" Sarah bristled. "You realize if H.R. comes in and sees Maggie all hysterical like this we're going to be watching sensitivity training videos all afternoon, right?" Zach weighed this for a moment. "She's got a point Maggie. Try to look on the bright side. This really is a huge milestone in Brad's career. Less than one percent of all published authors ever reach a thirteenth novel." "Is that true?" Sarah asked. "Where did you get that stat from?" "ChatMe3T," Zach said. Before Sarah could inquire, Peter, the slothful intern, chimed in: "He asks himself the same question three times and then picks the answer he likes best." Zach hastened to add, "It's at least as accurate as that other thing." Dubious statistics aside, it really is a big day for Brad and his many tens of fans. Those who remember Carter Ross will appreciate Curt Hinton, the protagonist of The Flack. A former newspaper reporter, Curt is starting a new job as a "flack"—newspaper slang for a corporate spokesperson. But journalistic instincts die hard. And when Curt reports for work on his first day and learns that his best friend Angel Reddish—who recruited Curt for the position—has been murdered, he immediately launches an investigation that leads him down a dark path full of secrets about his new employer. Booklist calls it "The Firm . . . on amphetamines." New York Times bestselling author Julia Spencer-Fleming says it "opens with a bang and hurtles forward like a bullet." And Lori from the "She Treads Softly" blog called it "very highly recommended" and "a great choice for those who enjoy thrillers that read like a movie." None of which is to say it could make Maggie less wary. "What if instead of calling it his thirteenth novel, we call it novel 12A?" she asked. "Sounds like a New Jersey Turnpike exit," Zach said. "That's actually kind of on-brand." Sarah just sighed. "Anything to keep H.R. at bay. Can we have cake now?" Zach proudly served her the first slice. And, at least so far, publication day is roaring along with only positive vibes for The Flack, Brad's lucky 13th novel. So feel free to download it or dash to your local bookstore and pick up a copy. If you happen to find stray grains of salt in the binding, don't worry. That's just Maggie, doing her part. Yours in Continued Good Fortune, The BradParksBooks.com Interns  
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