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Chapter One
Cami
It's strange to express your emotions best in words. In some ways, it's easier to deal with life when you don't have to come in personal contact with others. For example, when you need to end a relationship or have something difficult to express. I prefer to write down my feelings, then I can choose how it's delivered. No interruptions, just truth and honesty as it pours from my fingertips. It’s entirely different from being interrupted or misunderstood as I stutter through a conversation where the majority is left unsaid in order to save face and possibly preserve what little respect I have remaining for myself.
My name is Camille Richards and I'm a writer. I have been my entire life. Just recently I've swallowed my nerves and published a series of books that I wrote years ago, so I guess I can finally say I'm an author. But in truth, I write because I need it to breathe. It's my escape from reality. I think I'd go insane if I lost my ability to carry out my passion.
It's my way of creating a world where the woman gets the man of her dreams. Where he isn't out to take away her hopes of love and trust, only to get his thrills with a random whore on the side. Yes, my history with men is the reason for my self-imposed sheltered life. Who could blame me with my track record.
I roll over in bed and face the laptop that never leaves my side. Lifting the lid lights up the room instantly, just like it does every morning at four. My internal alarm clock won't let me sleep past that, I have my father to thank for that.
My childhood was less than stellar, but isn't that the usual story told? Father was abusive and demanding while the mother stands by and allows it out of fear for her own life. Maybe that's why I'm not the slightest concerned that I'm single.
“Cami. I know you're in there.” My sister on the other hand is determined to save me from myself. She's bringing me breakfast on her way to work. It's something she does three days a week. She says it's because she wants to see me, but I know she's just trying to make sure I at least get out of bed on those days.
“Coming.” I pry myself from the mattress and stumble to the door. “You have a key, why don't you use it?”
“My hands are full, you ass.” She walks into my small kitchen and places everything in its usual spot on the bar. “Besides, I like to see your welcoming face.” Her snide snicker is her way of teasing me, but I can see behind her sarcasm.
“Let’s sit at the table this time.”
“Nope. I'm going back to bed. You know the drill.” I grab my biscuit and coffee before I turn to retreat to my office. My bed.
“I'm going to kill that asshole for setting you back like this.” Brock McGregor. The most recent love of my life who seems hell bent on ruining me. “Promise me you’ll never let him back in.”
“I promise.” I sip the hot coffee and close my eyes to savor the divine peace that flows through my veins.
“I'm holding you to it this time. This is ridiculous.” I begin to ignore her usual attempt to make me see the error of my ways. Yes, I know I make bad decisions when it comes to men. Blah blah blah. I heard her years ago and still hear what she's saying today. I'm just not listening. I guess that's my problem. Maybe if I picked the preacher-to-be as my boyfriend in high school, things would be different.
“Tell me about the wedding.” Distraction... my go to with her.
“One month. You do realize you'll have to shower and look alive that day.”
“Only for you.” I won't love it, or even feel like doing it, but I won't miss her big day. However, I’m not thrilled about being front and center in a bright pink dress.
“And the bachelorette party is tonight.” I swallow hard as she drops the bomb on me. “So be ready at seven. We’ll be by in the limo to get you.” Her fiancé is loaded. I'm sure he’ll send one of his family drivers to take care of us for the night.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Yes. You can choose what dress you'll wear.” She raises her brows as she stands to leave me.
“Well at least you're allowing me to dress myself.”
“Seven, Cami. I’ll see you then.” She yells to me from outside my bedroom door. Before I can take another sip of coffee, she's out of my apartment.
I sit up in my bed and begin my morning, checking emails and working on my calendar.
It's not unusual for me to have a few hundred emails, especially when I only check them once a day. The books I published have brought me more attention than I imagined possible, so most of them are relative to that. Readers wanting more from me even though I'm not sure I have it in me to publish again. Truth of it is, I have countless stories already written if I ever decide I want to publish any.
I open my emails and quickly see one with the subject line that says ‘Potential Job’ from someone who visited my website. I open it as I sip my coffee.
Ms. Richards,
It's with my sincere admiration that I come to you. I'm looking for someone to help write a few scenes that will be played out in a future movie. These scenes are sexual in nature and require originality. I'm looking for someone to aid in the creative side of this film. Your work was brought to my attention and I'd love to talk more if you're interested. The compensation will be ample as the work done will be key to the success of the film. Please consider this an offer, but I'll require an application if you'd like to make this official.
Sincerely,
D~
