Author: Gabrielle Tozer
Genre: New Adult
Publish Date: 10/1/14
Publisher: Harper 360
Event organized by: Literati Author Services, Inc.
~ Book Synopsis ~Seventeen-year-old Josie is studying journalism and ends up at Sash magazine to do an internship. Josie has little enthusiasm for fashion and wants to be a serious journalist. But she has little choice. It’s Sash or the local cat fancier’s magazine. Once at Sash, Josie comes to grips with the fact that the fashion industry isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Plus she has to contend with her fellow interns and the editor, Rae, who is in charge and arbitrary - one day Josie’s her hot new favorite, the next, who knows? Country girl Josie also has to get used to living in the city, and sharing a small flat with her cousin Tim, and his hotter-than-hot roommate James, is an education. Things come to a head at Sash when Josie manages to connect with Billy, a troubled rock star. But a disastrous episode at a nightclub and the fallout on social media causes Josie to wake up and see the real person behind his glamorous front. Josie starts to wonder if she’ll ever get the journalistic break she longs for …
First published in Australia in 2014
by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia Pty Limited
Copyright © Gabrielle Tozer 2014
This work is copyright.
Cover design by
Author photograph by
For JT, my first reader and fellow sweet tooth
Melons. The girls. Gazongas. I could rattle off every
nickname in the world for my boobs — oops, nearly
forgot jubblies — but it didn’t change the fact they were
small. Embarrassingly small. Think grapes over melons,
fun-size bags over fun bags, shot glasses over jugs.
Which was why I shouldn’t have been surprised when
my boobs were the catalyst for squeals of laughter from
my younger sister, Kat, on the eve before an important
day. A Very Important Day.
‘Geez, put those puppies away,’ Kat smirked from my
bedroom doorway. ‘Some of us haven’t had lunch yet and
I’d hate to lose my appetite.’
I paused from rifling through piles of crumpled clothes
on my bed. ‘What? I don’t know what you —’
‘Just look down,’ said Kat, tossing her jet-black
ponytail. I hated when she did that.
Following her instructions, I looked down and saw
my left nipple peeking out of my bra. ‘Argh!’ I yelped,
yanking at the faded material. ‘Kat, get out! Get out!’
Kat cackled, then plonked onto my bed, squashing the
heaving mass of clothes. Too tired to argue, I sat down
next to her and double-checked that my boob hadn’t
made another escape.
Kat fussed with her thick fringe. ‘So, found something
to wear tomorrow, Jose?’
Broken shoes, stained shirts and fraying dresses burst
from the wardrobe, spilling into an unwearable mess. A
personal stylist would’ve come in handy to tell me why
I shouldn’t tape my sneakers together instead of buying
a new pair, and how to dress like a normal seventeenalmost-
‘Yep. Well, maybe. Probably. No. I’m screwed. My
sister just saw my boob and I’m screwed.’
Cursing, I lay back on the bed. Kat reapplied her gloss.
It smelled of cherries, reminiscent of summery desserts.
‘Hey Jose?’ she said.
‘I won’t tell anyone I saw your boob.’
‘Well, except Tye,’ Kat added. ‘I tell him everything.
You know, boyfriend rules and all that.’
I sighed. One of those melodramatic I-hate-my-life
sighs, where the air rushed up from the depths of my
stomach and exploded with a raging ‘whoosh’. But if Kat
noticed, she didn’t show it.
‘Hey Jose?’ she said again.
‘You’re going to have to look amazing tomorrow, you
‘I know.’ I know. I know. I know.
‘Amaaaazing. Seriously, tomorrow’s important. Mum’s
been yabbering to everyone about it.’
‘Heard you the first time.’
During the past few weeks, Kat had been firing off
tips about the Very Important Day. Wear this, don’t
wear that, do this, don’t do that, say this, don’t say
that. I knew she was trying to help me reduce the risk
of embarrassing myself, but it only made me more
panicked. You see, life loved handing me something
amazing, only to backhand me almost straight after.
It had always been that way. In Year Eight, after my
first kiss, the delectable Pete Jordan vomited from
food poisoning and hadn’t spoken to me since. At Year
Ten presentation night, I was named ‘Most Likely
To Succeed’, only to faceplant the ground as I walked
back to my seat. Some moron recorded my historic fall,
making me an overnight YouTube sensation. I won’t
even go into what happened at my Year Twelve formal,
although it involved a spiked punch bowl, ninety rolls
of toilet paper and a paddock of mud. I don’t know why
I thought the next day — the Very Important Day —
would be any different, but I was counting on a fairygodmother-
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