Broken-hearted when her live-in boyfriend impregnates her best frenemy, Indigo Adams accepts a one-way ticket to Seoul, South Korea, and a challenge from her Great-Aunt Matilda: Forget that boy. Go and make something of yourself. Bruised from an international public relations nightmare as the new heir to the multi-billion-dollar Han Incorporated, Hyunkyung Han seeks positive publicity in the form of a wedding. She consults with Madame Eve to find a nice, well-behaved Korean American with bilingual and bicultural skills. Instead, Madame Eve sends Indi, a naïve philosophy major graduate working for minimum wage at the local pub. Enraged to find Indi can’t speak one word of Korean, Hyunkyung orders her sent home on the next plane to Spillville, Iowa. Then Hyunkyung shakes Indi’s hand, and the sparks fly. With all of her professional responsibilities, how can Hyunkyung allow herself to fall for the wrong woman? How can Indi feel attraction for a woman who despises her?

Seoul Spankings offers a light-hearted romp through the perils and joys of navigating an intercultural romance. Certain to delight all fans of a happily ever after with a kinky twist.

Seoul Spankings
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Excerpt

“Say my name,” she demanded, startling me with her fierceness. Korean For Foreigners had told me saying someone’s name was rude.

“Hee-yon,” I stammered, unable to form the alien syllables. “Huh…huh-yawn.”

She pursed her lips, circling my chair. “Indi Go,” she enunciated in the odd, separated manner seeming to order me from her presence. “Here, I am not Ee Sajahng. I am Hyunkyung Han, and you will call me by name.”

“Ee,” I faltered. Some of her employees had said something familiar. “Ee?” I latched onto the only sound I could replicate.

“Ee Sajahng,” she repeated. “Founder. Investor. A title, not a name. Call me Hyunkyung.” This time, as she walked around me, her knee brushed against mine. A tiny gymnast vaulted somewhere underneath my ribs, and I spoke without thinking.

“Can’t I say HK?” After all, her staff called me Miss Go. Why insult her by butchering the sounds I couldn’t form?

She paused behind me, delaying long enough to highlight the ludicrous nature of my request. Yo, Barack ol’ buddy. I can call you BO, right?

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“Americans are so familiar,” she said, in an undertone.

“Koreans are so formal!” I protested.

“Yes,” she answered, tapping one manicured finger against another. “Let’s show you how formal.”

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