~*SYNOPSIS*~
Blair Walton isn't your average tattooed children's librarian. She's
also one half of bestselling romance author, Scarlet Rose. Along with her bff
Raine, she spends her nights writing books so steamy, she's afraid they would
shock her Southern conservative grandmother to death, if she knew about them.
Blair and Raine keep their smut peddling ways a secret from everyone, including
family.
On deadline for their latest book and out of ideas, Raine suggests
(demands) that Blair find a guy and "do some research." It just so
happens that Blair has a guy that's ready and willing. Declan Bennet has all
the qualifications: He's British, looks fabulous in a suit and gets bonus
points for being a single dad. But what started out as a research project
quickly turns into something much more. Someone else is writing this
love story and Blair has completely lost control. But will Declan
still feel the same way when he finds out the truth about Blair and her secret
motives?
Contains adult language
“What’s
another word for ‘pussy’?” Raine said, squinting at me over her laptop. I
looked up from mine and thought for a moment.
“What’s
the context?”
Her
not-quite-blue-not-quite-grey eyes went back to her screen.
“He’s
licking it.”
“Her
pussy?”
“Yeah,
but I’ve already used that word, like, a million times.” I sighed and saved the
chapter I was currently working on.
“Send
it to me.”
Her
fingers clacked on her keyboard and then my email dinged. I ignored the massive
amounts of unread mail in my inbox, including several fan letters (which I felt
horrible about ignoring) and opened the document.
My
eyes did a quick scan as Raine stared at her computer, a frown on her face. I
deleted a few of her uses of the word and tweaked the phrasing.
“Okay,
sending back.”
It
seemed odd, seeing as how our laptops were practically touching on our shared
desk. I reached for my coffee cup, tried to take a sip and found it empty.
“Damn.
I’m out. Want a refill?” Raine handed me her cup without taking her eyes off
the screen. It was nearly one in the morning, but we had a deadline next week,
and we hadn’t missed one yet and had no intention to start.
I
tried to remember the last time I’d made a pot of coffee, and couldn’t, so I
tossed whatever was in the coffeepot and starting making a fresh pot.
“You
know, we really should get one of those Keurigs. You know it would be a tax
write-off. And it’s not like we can’t afford it.”
Raine
just made a non-committal sound.
I
was always the one who had to make the first move. When the two of us had met
as TAs in the English department at college, I’d been the one who’d had the
crazy idea of writing a romance together under a pen name and trying to get it
published.
The
two of us had spent the hours we were supposed to be doing keg stands and
getting STDs typing away. It took us two years to write our first book, and
most of it was spent trying to figure out how to combine our brains into one
story. And then, by some miracle, we’d actually gotten an agent to take us
seriously, and then a publisher and here we were, three years after getting our
first book deal, with five books under our collective belt, three of them
bestsellers under the name Scarlet Rose (Scarlet for my middle name, Rose for
Raine’s mother).
“Ugh,
I can’t look at this anymore, or I'm going to set it on fire,” Raine said,
rubbing her eyes and getting to her feet and stretching her back.
“I
know the feeling,” I said, hoping that by staring at the coffeemaker, it would
somehow brew faster.
“We
are never going to make this deadline.”
I
turned and gave her a look.
“You
always say that and we always meet them. Look, let’s take a half hour break to
recharge and then we can marathon until four. Okay?” That would only give me a
few hours of sleep, but I’d functioned on much less.
That
was the price you paid for being a secret writer.
Raine
came over and put her chin on my shoulder.
“Why
did we sign this contract again?” I sighed for what felt like the millionth
time that day.
“Because
the money was good and we can’t say no to Marilyn.”
“I’m
still terrified of her.”
“You
wouldn’t be human if you weren’t,” I said as the coffee finally started to pour
into the pot. Marilyn, our editor, was one of the scariest women I’d ever met.
Initially, she seemed sweet and nice. But she was deadly with a red pen and she
had an uncanny ability to read people. Her hair was always curled, her shoes
were always spiked heels and her lipstick was always cherry red. She was
beautiful in the way that a sharpened blade was beautiful.
I
poured coffee into both our cups, adding lots of sugar to mine, and lots of
powdered creamer to Raine’s.
“I’m
calling out tomorrow. There’s just no way I can put up with morons after all
this.”
“I
wish I could. Sabrina’s on vacation, so I’m shit out of luck.” I worked in the
Children’s department of our small local library and Raine was a bank teller.
Totally glamorous jobs they were not.
Raine
kissed one of the tattoos on my shoulder and picked up her coffee cup. My arms
were both covered in ink and I had several others on my chest, back, legs and
feet. My mother was convinced I got them to spite her, but really none of them
had anything to do with her.
“Blaiiirrrrrr,”
she whined, shuffling back to the desk. “I don’t wanna write any more.”
“Too
bad, kiddo. We have a deadline.” They say you never really know the measure of
a person until you live with them, but I think you never really know it until
you try to write a book with them.
“Drink
your coffee, babe. It will make you feel better.” She did as I asked, and sat
on the couch. I turned on the television and went through our saved shows. We
had the latest episode of New Girl on
there, which would be perfect for a half hour of wasting time before we had to
go back to work.
I
snuggled next to Raine and before I knew it, my eyes were closing.
****
“Blair!”
A voice pierced my eardrums and then something smacked my arm. My eyes flew
open to realize that the living room was filling with the weak light of
predawn.
“We
both fell asleep,” Raine said, yawning and stretching. I’d fallen asleep tucked
into her side.
“Shit,
what time is it?”
“Nearly
six.”
“Shit,
shit, shit.” I stumbled to my feet and grabbed my coffee cup, intending to
throw it in the microwave.
“Words.
We have to make words,” I said, but Raine’s eyes had closed again.
“No
words. Sleep.”
I
had two options. I could go back to sleep for a little while, or I could force
myself to stay awake.
Normally
I would do the second, but I was so beyond tired that I knew if I didn’t get at
least a little more sleep, I was going to pass out on the copier at the
library. Again.
“Bed.
Going to bed.” Raine didn’t answer.
I
stumbled toward my bed and fell face first on it, and was out until my alarm
rang again at seven thirty.
****
“And
they lived happily ever after,” I said for what felt like the ten thousandth
time in my life. I closed the book and looked out at the faces that stared at
me with rapt attention. I had a good turnout for the toddler story hour, and
everyone had been on their best behavior. I stifled a yawn behind the book and
got up from my rocking chair.
“Thank
you everyone for coming. We’ll see you next week.” Then we sang “The Goodbye
Song” and each kid gave me a hug. More often than not, at least one little
bugger would wipe their nose on my shoulder. I must have an immune system of
steel because I rarely got sick.
As
the tots were collected by their frazzled parents and taken off for naps or
snacks, I went to re-shelve the books I’d used.
The
children’s room at the Sullivan Library was decorated to look like the pages of
Where The Wild Things Are, complete
with the monsters and Max in his costume. There was even a little jungle nook
with plastic vines hanging down. I loved it here and I couldn’t believe I’d
managed to get this job right out of college.
I’d
worried that my appearance would hinder my chances, and undo the good of
getting my Master’s in Library Science and my summer internship with the
Library of Congress.
But
Madeline, the head librarian, had taken one look at my resumé,
then me, smiled, and said I was hired. I’d been working here ever since.
They
had no idea about what I did at night with Raine. I gave no explanation for the
fact that I often appeared weary, and constantly covered up my dark circles
with makeup.
The
most ironic part was that the library carried my books. Mine and Raine’s.
Sometimes the other librarians would ask me if I’d read them and I always said
no.
I
did various chores around the room, picking up some of the toys, re-shelving
books that had been scattered around by little fingers, and checking them to
make sure none had snot on them. Anti-bacterial wipes were my friend.
Focused
on my tasks, I almost didn’t hear the tiny voice, humming in a corner. I peered
between two of the shelves and found a little boy wearing an outfit nice enough
for family pictures. His hair was so blond it was almost white, and gelled back
from his face to show his bright blue eyes. A quick glance around showed that
he was sans parent.
“Hey
there,” I said, using my soft library voice. I’d honed it over the past few
years of working with kids.
“Shhh,”
he said, putting a finger to his lips. He looked about three or four, I’d
guess. I got closer and I saw that he even had little dress shoes on. Poor kid.
“Okay,
I can be quiet,” I said, sitting down next to him, folding my dress under me.
“I’m Blair, what’s your name?”
“I,
Drake,” he said in a whisper that wasn’t a whisper. This kid was adorable.
“Hi,
Drake. It’s so nice to meet you. Are you here all by yourself?” We’d had more
than one child go missing, hidden in between the stacks. I kept expecting his
frazzled mother to come around the corner and sigh in relief before yelling at
him not to run off.
“Yup.
I big boy.”
“You
are a big boy. You’ve even got your big boy clothes on. Did you pick those out
yourself?” He was about to answer when I heard footsteps and a woman, looking
frantic, emerged around the corner.
“Drake!”
she said, nearly falling over in relief. I wondered if this woman was his
mother, because where he was fair as could be, she had silky black hair, dark
eyes and gorgeous tan skin. Drake didn’t look pleased to be found.
“Thank
you for finding him,” the woman said as I stood up to let her collect him.
“No,
I don’t wanna!” Drake said.
“But
we’re going to meet your daddy. Don’t you want to see Daddy?” At the mention of
seeing his father, Drake’s eyes lit up and he grinned.
“Daddy!”
“That’s
right, we’re going to see him.” She leaned down and picked him up. She was
tiny, but had the body of a woman who had probably run a marathon or two. She
was also dressed just as well as Drake, with a black skirt, white ruffled top
and gorgeous heels. I looked down at my cute-but-sensible red ballet flats and
sighed. I never got to wear sexy shoes like that at work.
“Bye,
Drake. Come and see me again and I’ll help you choose a book,” I said, waving
at him as the woman carried him to the door.
“Bye-bye,
Blair!” he called in his sweet little voice.
~*ABOUT THE AUTHOR*~
Chelsea M. Cameron is a YA/NA New York Times/USA Today Best Selling
author from Maine. Lover of things random and ridiculous, Jane Austen/Charlotte
and Emily Bronte Fangirl, red velvet cake enthusiast, obsessive tea drinker,
vegetarian, former cheerleader and world's worst video gamer. When not writing,
she enjoys watching infomercials, singing in the car and tweeting (this one
time, she was tweeted by Neil Gaiman). She has a degree in journalism from the
University of Maine, Orono that she promptly abandoned to write about the
people in her own head. More often than not, these people turn out to be just
as weird as she is.
Her New Adult Contemporary Romance titles include My Favorite Mistake,
which has been bought by Harlequin along with a sequel, Deeper We Fall and
Faster We Burn (April 20, 2013)
Her Young Adult books include Nocturnal, Nightmare and Neither, the
first three books in The Noctalis Chronicles. The fourth and final book,
Neverend will be out in 2013. Whisper, the first in The Whisper Trilogy is also
available, with the second book in the series, Silence and the final book,
LIsten coming out in 2014.
~*SOCIAL LINKS*~
No comments:
Post a Comment