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Book & Author Details:

Crunching Her Numbers
by Mia Sivan
Publication date: March 31st 2022
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance


Kelly, a successful investment manager from Tel Aviv, is living it up. She is single, rich and happy to be with men just to scratch an itch. Embarking on a no strings attached relationship with the hot, much younger Slava feels like a great idea—and he’s totally up for it.

Ilan, an ambitious and charming investigator working for the Israeli Securities Authority, is trying to untangle a huge market manipulation scheme. He needs Kelly to crack the case, but whistleblowing might jeopardize everything she’s ever worked for. Ilan, however, can be very persuasive. Soon, and against their better judgment, they start mixing business with pleasure.

But, when Ilan asks her to stop seeing Slava, Kelly realizes that no-strings doesn’t mean it’s easy to let go. With her livelihood on the line and her love life a mess, can Kelly keep it together, or has she thrown one too many balls in the air?


Mia Sivan is an Israeli woman who lives, works and loves in Tel Aviv. The city is as much a part of her books as any other character.

Mia has worked as a senior investment manager for many years, and the books she writes draws much from her personal experience, as well as real-life scams that took place in the Israeli financial market.

When not writing or dreaming up steamy scenes, she lives with her handsome husband and even handsomer two sons, and enjoys long walks by the beach (it’s Tel Aviv, it’s never too cold).

 Excerpt #1

Kelly couldn’t afford to waste more time. She booked a scooter from her app, changed into sneakers, and entered the elevator—just when Ilan ran squeezing in.

I’ll reschedule my appointment,” he said. “Your boss needed to take care of something.” They stood close in the small elevator. Kelly breathed in his cologne, which smelled woody and spicy without being overbearing. It suited him.

He looked down at her sneakers and smiled slightly. Now that she wasn’t in heels, they were the same height.

"Let's have coffee together, Kelly." It wasn’t a question. "I have some time now." He oozed confidence. He acted cocky, and his masculinity reminded Kelly that she hadn’t had a decent cock in quite a while.

Kelly looked into the serene brown-green eyes. He emitted quiet power without any conscious effort, and she fought his effect on her. “How did you know my name?”

He shrugged. “Have coffee with me”—she was treated to another charming smile— “or maybe something stronger. I’ll tell you everything.”

Kelly looked away and kept quiet. He unnerved her.

They reached the lobby. She walked faster and so he picked up his pace. They were already out in the street, Kelly reaching for her scooter, when he grabbed her elbow lightly. Kelly halted, turning, and Ilan let go of her arm. They locked stares, his cool eyes searching hers, their noses nearly touching. If she leaned a little forward, she could bite the juicy lower lip of his half-open mouth. She wondered what he would do if she did. His slight aroma of masculine sweat smelled of rosewood, and Kelly felt a desire to nuzzle against the dark chest hairs that were showing through the unbuttoned collar of his shirt.

His face was somewhat flushed, so maybe he liked her closeness too. He reached into the front pocket of his jeans, his arm almost touching her breast, and Kelly looked down and noticed a bulge, which she wanted to touch very badly. God, she needed to get herself a good fuck. Soon.

Ilan extracted a business card and handed it to her. She took it, careful not to brush his hand. It read “Ilan Ohayon, Private Investigator” in Hebrew and English. The card didn’t include a street address or a website address, just a mobile phone number.

Please,” he said, somewhat hoarsely. Yep, he wasn’t indifferent to her. He cleared his throat. “Call me. It’s important.”

Do you have a different card in the other pocket?” she asked. “You introduced yourself to my boss as a potential client.”

Ilan broke into a dazzling smile, one that showed white teeth and attractive wrinkles in his eyes.

Clever girl,” he said, extracting a second business card.

Ilan Ohayon, CEO, SMA Business Solutions. This card specified a website, a landline number, a different mobile, and a street address.

I’ll think about it.” She pocketed both cards before putting on her helmet, unlocking the scooter, and riding off. When she looked back once, Ilan hadn’t moved. His hands were deep in his pockets and he was watching her with an inscrutable expression.

Excerpt #2

Slava took off his T-shirt and used it to pat his armpits. He heard a few scattered catcalls and whistles, giggling girls elbowed each other and young moms pushing strollers stared. Slava took it in stride. He applied fresh deodorant, rummaged some more in his bag, pulled out a clean white T-shirt, and put it on. A slight sea breeze zigzagged its way past the seaside hotels to reach his bench and caress his flushed face.

The weather was warm, but the relentless Mediterranean sultriness hadn’t yet arrived in full. He thought about how unbearably hot the small Bat Yam apartment he shared with his mother would get in the summer. Slava chuckled—the Hebrew word for apartment, “dirra”, sounded like “dryannaya dyra”—Russian for “crappy hole”. Slava and Olga Korman both agreed that Bat Yam’s gray, crowded tenement blocks warranted the cheap rents. It had two redeeming qualities: its closeness to Tel Aviv, and the beautiful beaches. Slava would get up early every morning—even before his mother went out to clean houses—walk 1.5 km to the Bat Yam boardwalk, and practice Tai Chi for twenty minutes. It was the best time of his day, not counting the days when he treated Kelly. Somehow, some time ago, the ninety minutes he spent touching her had become the highlight of his week.

Slava checked his phone. It was twenty-five past six—Kelly was seriously late today. Fortunately, her appointment was always the last one. She truly needed his massages. At the beginning of every session, her shoulders were knotted, her neck was rigid, and her back stiff. It would take Slava nearly thirty minutes to de-stress Kelly—more than double the time it took his other clients.

Kelly was different in every other way too. She was the only one who lived in Tel Aviv proper, south of the Yarkon river. Slava knew she must make a lot of money to afford the two-bedroom apartment she rented. She never tried to flirt with him or make small talk. Slava wasn’t good at small talk and didn’t like it. Flirting made him acutely uncomfortable. Kelly would turn off her phone and stay quiet, and Slava could relax, put on music, and attune himself fully to her body.

He recognized her dark hair and light blue helmet. Standing up, he waved, and she braked right next to him. Her brown curls danced as she freed her head from the small, stylish helmet. Her wide mouth was curved into an apologetic smile.

Hola, Slavito. Sorry I’m late—it got crazy at the office.”

Slava shrugged and smiled back without answering. How could he be angry with her when she called him “Slavito” and gazed at him with those liquid, caramel eyes of hers? Slava stole a glance at the slender, attractive woman striding confidently alongside him. She was totally out of his league.

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