I love to tackle challenges. Okay, wait a minute, let me back up. I love to tackle some challenges. When I was running (I hate to use the past tense there, but no, I'm still not back at it. Slow to heal I am, I guess), I'd often charge up hills or I'd try to run just a little farther with each successive long run. With writing, I wasn't sure I'd be able to complete a story in the present tense, so I decided to write one, and I did it. Now, it just needs a home. (Anyone want to read about a fairy tale/science fiction mash-up? Sort of a Doctor Who meets Cinderella? Let me know. Or let your nearest literary agent know. What a poor attempt at self-promotion, no?)
So I've been thinking about what I can do next to challenge myself as I revise my other works-in-progress. Well last night, I figured it out.
You see, our tablet has the Kindle app on it, so I can download books if I'd like to do. I tend to only download the free ones, but so far, I've managed to snag a short story of Jodi Picoult's as well as an offering by local author, Sharon Short. What I've noticed, however, is the enormously large number of books (usually of the romance genre) that concern a well-muscled, dark-haired billionaire and a vapid female protagonist. (I have to be fair here and say that I'm not certain that all the female protagonists are vapid. Actually, I don't think they are. Sometimes, they are strong, independent women who for whatever reason, decide that a controlling, dominant billionaire is what they are secretly longing for. I must also be fair here and say that I haven't read more than one or two of these books, so maybe I am rushing to judgment.) And since I love well-muscled, dark-haired nerds, I thought that maybe I could make the leap.
Which gets me to my new challenge. Yes, that's right, I'm taking on a deliriously silly book and I'm going to call it Breakfast with the Billionaire. I figure with a title like that, it will fit in quite well with Bedding the Billionaire, Baby for the Billionaire, and The Billionaire's Make-Believe Fiancée. (I think you can find every one of those on the Amazon site, in case you're interested.)
So what's the plot? I'm sure you're dying to know. I'd probably have my brief synopsis look something like this:
Trevor Windsnap knew without a doubt that his restaurant's new chef, Chelsea Bartlett, was exactly the breath of fresh air he needed. Sure it might have had to do with the fact that getting her in his corner took more effort than usual, but he loved the hunt. Now, he just had to go in for the kill. So when a business trip takes him across the country, Trevor decides that Chelsea is just the person to go with him to help manage his new cafe. But taking her with him means she needs to understand his terms and conditions. No getting close. No talking. Just sex.
Chelsea Bartlett, middle child extraordinaire, has always been the sensible one, the peacemaker. She isn't the type to throw caution to the wind, especially when it comes to the subject of men. That is until she meets Trevor Windsnap. The billionaire restauranteur is domineering and controlling, and yet so damn sexy and alluring. And he wants her--no commands her--to accompany him on the trip cross country. She needs this job, so how can she say no? And does she really want to say no? But how to get across to this man that a simple fling will never be enough? Should she risk it all for a few hot nights with Trevor?
How's that for fantastic writing? Can't you just imagine a scene? (Can you hear me laughing, right now, at this post?!?)
Trevor pushed the door to the kitchen open and spied his new chef, Chelsea Bartlett. She was covered from head to toe in a light dusting of flour, and her finger touched her lips, as if she had just sampled a bit of the concoction in front of her. Trevor imagined himself taking a sample of her--she'd be warm, and wet, and absolutely delicious. He felt his pants grow tight across his crotch.SMACK!
"Ahem," Trevor cleared his throat so as not to startle Chelsea. When he'd hired this sprite of a woman, he feared she might scare easily. But he'd been so taken in by her large doe eyes and sprinkling of freckles across her nose that he'd decided to give her a chance. She might be exactly what he was looking for. In more ways than one.
Chelsea's eyes opened wide as she accessed his form and then moved toward the sink to wash her hands. Trevor watched as her hips swayed back and forth, keeping time with the pop music that poured forth from the kitchen speakers. Clearly, Chelsea had no idea how good her tight ass looked under a simple pair of blue jeans; maybe he should tell her not to wear such items of clothing. In fact, he'd prefer for her to wear nothing at all.
"I'm just checking in," Trevor continued, his eyes trained on Chelsea. "How's it--"
"Oh, Mr. Windsnap, I had no idea you'd be in today. But we're doing fine here." Chelsea gestured to the lineup of breakfast goodies that spread across one of the stainless steel tables and over to her assistants, who were in the middle of chopping fresh vegetables for the omelet bar. "As you can see, I think I've got everything under control here."
"Interesting choice of words," Trevor uttered and stared at his new chef.
"Oh really?" her lips quirked as she spoke. She wondered exactly what was so interesting about her statement, but let it go. She wondered though...
Chelsea's eyes sparkled with mischief and Trevor realized, in that minute, that there was more to Chef Bartlett than just a pretty face and good cooking. And somehow, even though he didn't know much, he knew that he wanted to be in control of her. And soon.
"Show me what you've got." Trevor's voice sounded thick and charged, even to his own ears.
"Well, you told me that your clientele prefers sweets and breads, so I went ahead and made a large batch of my specialty pastries," Chelsea said as she picked up a sample in front of her. The flaky crust fell to the table as she fingered the pastry. "The dough is thick, and warm, and...extra sweet." Her eyes flashed with laughter, as well as want and need. "I thought maybe this recipe would be too hard to accomplish on such short notice," she said, a wicked gleam in her eye. "But I realized that I needed to challenge myself in the kitchen at times, so I pulled out my old recipe book and ta-da. A little taste of heaven, if I do say so myself." Her lips suggestively wrapped around the confection as she took a nibble, and then she turned away from him.
Trevor's breath hitched and a shiver of excitement passed through him. What the hell was that? He thought. He'd never had such a visceral response to someone like this before. Sure he'd conquered countless women over the last several years, but something was different this time. He quickly adjusted his pants and moved toward the refrigerator. Something needed to cool him down, and fast.
Did you just hear that loud noise? That was me, falling over in my chair from laughing too much. I have tears scattered across my cheeks right now. I can't finish this piece of shit, I just can't. Although with the help of Tim (who aspires to be a dirty old man), I could probably whip this literary garbage into some semblance of erotic writing. (And by help, I don't mean that sort of help--get your mind out of the gutter. I mean that I would ask him to help WRITE the book because he's so versed in sexual innuendo.)
Which means maybe my first published novel won't have anything to do with hippos or fairy tales or ALS. Stranger things have happened.