“Oh, you’re referring to my books.” The revelation came as a relief to Chloe. For about five seconds anyway. “Wait. What do you mean my readers want sexy times? Lovestruck has always been a sweet romance series. I don’t and never will include s—”
“Sexy heat between the sheets is what the market is thirsty for.” Libby cleared her throat. “Look, I know your signature niche has always been on the lines of Hallmark. Nothing more than kissing. However, JBM wants their star author to crank up the heat.”
As if her books were cold? She was JBM’s best-selling author, for crying out loud. Why try to fix something that’s not broken?
“So, what exactly are you saying?”
“Yeah…you’ll need to add some spice to this book. JBM wants you to end the series with lots of heat.”
“LikeFifty Shadesheat?”
She’d probably need a ghostwriter, if that were the case—erotica was definitely a far cry from what she was used to writing. Well, reading too, for that matter. In fact, her style—both in reading and writing—much mirrored her personal life. A life that didn’t include much heat between the sheets even before she and her boyfriend of five years, decided to call it quits thirteen months ago.
Libby chuckled. “Notthathot. Yet, they are expecting at least two or three scenes in which the hero and heroine engage in detailed sexy times.”
Chloe pulled the throw pillow over her face.Detailed sexy times? The thought made her want to puke.
How was she to pull this off?
Or better still,wouldshe be able to pull this off?
“Libby, I don’t think I’ve got enough experience to fulfill this type of a demand.”
“By experience, you mean you don’t have any in writing sex scenes, right?”
Head still buried under the pillow, Chloe practically whispered, “No. I meanexperience.” The admission made her want to run and hide. At twenty-five, she’d had only one boyfriend, one intimate partner. And to be honest, he hadn’t been the best at rocking her world.
Libby’s silence on the other end of the phone only magnified the sound of Chloe’s own rapidly growing heart rate. Why make such an admission? All she had to do was simply agree to the publisher’s demands, then conduct copious research.
And what exactly would research entail?
“Sweetie,” Libby finally muttered, “I know for a fact you’ve got a sumptuous imagination. I’ve got faith you can pull this off. And if you need help, Google to the rescue. Anyway, I’ve gotta hop on a conference call. Call you tomorrow.”
Hours later,after a lengthy nap, a somewhat relaxing shower, and time spent writing the first chapter of the manuscript she decided to labelProject Sizzle,Chloe connected her laptop to a portable printer. While writing, she preferred to review hard copies of what she’d written, then make red-inked edits before moving on to the next few chapters.
After collecting the pages that spilled out of the printer, Chloe moved from the desk to the couch, armed with her red marker. The cool ocean air, streaming throughout the room via the open bay window, seemed to mollify her anxiety, as did the sound of the waves crashing in the distance. Libby might be on her shitlist for saying she needed to add heat to her novel, but there was no denying the demanding editor at least had rented prime space. Completely furnished, the two-story, with an ocean backdrop, was tidy and cozy, flecked with charming, yet simplistic, nautical décor. The pantry was even stocked with a few essentials to prepare a small meal until she was able to get to the grocery store.
Wherever that was.
She’d make it a point to get out and explore Fortune’s Bay tomorrow. People watch. Make more friends who were willing to share the scoop about themselves, much like the four she met at Destiny’s Brew earlier. She had a knack for extracting information out of folks—a talent honed in college while majoring in investigative journalism.
Perusing over the first chapter, Chloe couldn’t ignore her yawns, tired eyes, or…the sound of loud music.
What the hell is wrong with the people on this block?
First the motorcycle noisemaker. Nowthis?
If all the racket was going to continue, Chloe would never get her novel written. Not that she was confident it would get written without distractions, anyway.
Her characters doing the bed boogie?
Not. Her. Thing.
Lovestruck was a classy, sweet, tug-at-your-heartstrings series. A breath-of-fresh-air escape to nothing but pure romance. Sure, the books had been compared to Hallmark movies, but that’s what she was known for. Now, in order to meet the publisher’s demands, Chloe would most likely need to change her style of writing.
Adapting to change was never one of her strong points.
And neither was adapting to a noisy environment. Music—definitely coming from next door—seemed to get louder.
