“Really? Haven’t you read any of my books?” Kane’s voice was teasing.
“I’ve read all of them,” she began, then stopped. “Hey! I’ve seen pictures of Candee Appelbaum, and you—”
“Aren’t in any of them.” He nodded. “Those were my assistant. The publisher didn’t want it known at first that I was a guy, and later it didn’t seem important to correct it. They thought women might be prejudiced against a male romance writer. But Ellen is leaving in a few weeks, and I think they’re planning some kind of big reveal to coincide with this book’s release. A ‘Guess who’s coming to the book signing’ kind of thing.”
Dante’s brain exploded. “Oh my God, dude! That’s got so much potential! We could get so much publicity for you both out of that! It’ll be epic!” He looked at Nikki, who was staring at him. Kane was staring, too, but he didn’t care. “Do you know how lucky you are to be in on this? It’s going to be huge! Everyone is going to want this book.”
“Wait. Aren’t you working on Allie’s book?” Kane sounded confused.
“Well, yeah.” Dante forced himself to slow down. He tended to get a little excited when a new idea hit him. “Listen. I know I don’t have any business in this, but it has so much potential and it would be major fun. We could really work together and increase exposure for all of us. Since you’re here anyway, let’s use that. It’s a BDSM resort, for God’s sake! Your fans are curious about you. We find out what your publisher has planned and offer to start hyping it up before the book even comes out. ‘What is Candee Appelbaum doing at a BDSM resort? Is she hooking up with someone, exploring her kinky side? Is all this going to be put into her next book? Who’s her cowriter and what are they doing at Clifftop Fantasies?’ I can work the shit out of this if you’ll let me. We can get articles on Allie, her business, her new book, all based on the fact that you’re staying here with some unknown person. There’ll be pics of the two of you with speculation about what’s going on and who Candee Appelbaum really is. No offense, Nikki, but you’re not famous already, are you?”
Nikki shook her head.
“Good, then people will wonder if you’re Candee, who he is, and what kind of nasty, kinky things you’re getting up to here. We’ll put out teasers about what’s going to be in the book and what you’re learning. It’ll generate all kinds of attention. Every day some new tweet filled with innuendo and double entendres.” He pointed at Kane’s shirt. “What’s a street team?”
“It’s a group of readers that help promote your books. I give them swag and free advance excerpts, things like that.”
Dante’s face lit up. “That’s great! We can use your street team to help, then. This is going to be the best buildup ever.”
Nikki spoke up. “You think people will believe we’re a couple?”
At Nikki’s question, Kane shot her a slightly offended glance. Dante went on. “I don’t see why not, if you’re willing to play along. You’re both attractive people. We’ll put a floppy sun hat and big sunglasses on you and get some pics of both of you driving through Grandpointe. Keep people guessing. Maybe a few publicity stunts along the way—Allie, do you have a kink club in town?”
Allie had come through the door with a plate of sandwich meat and cheese and a basket of rolls. She narrowed her eyes at Dante. “Yes. It’s called The Keep. Why? What are you thinking?”
He gave her his most innocent smile. “I’d like to talk to the owner and see if he or she is willing to let us do a little acting there. I could get some shots—not showing any faces, of course—of some scary-looking scenes. It’ll be media gold!”
Kane got up to take Allie’s burden from her and put it on the table. “I’m starting to see the possibilities. Would it be even more effective if we mixed it up a little? Have you be seen with Nikki occasionally? Really keep ’em guessing?”
Nikki made a small, protesting noise, but Dante winked at her with a grin. “Not a bad idea. What naughty fantasy is Candee exploring for the book? One guy or two? It never hurts to create some mystery.”
Plus, it would give me the opportunity to get to know her a little better. She was very cute, even though her thick, dark hair was pulled back a little too strictly. If he were with her he’d encourage her to wear it long so that it framed her heart-shaped face and accentuated her eyes. He could really get lost in those big, brown eyes. She looked a little like a deer in the headlights at the moment, but he hoped he could help with that.
Chapter 3
Nikki checked her watch. Kane was ten minutes late for their first brainstorming session. This was definitely not a good sign. She took a sip of her tea and rearranged her writing accoutrements. Laptop, which she’d gone three months without meat to pay for, eating only ramen noodles, rice, and macaroni and cheese. Thesaurus, dictionary, notepad, sticky notes, and a selection of colored pens for brainstorming ideas. Now all she needed was her writing mentor.
She sighed, wondering if she would have come if they’d told her Candee Appelbaum was a man. Really. A man. How could she be expected to write romance novels—hot, steamy, kinky romance novels—with a man? Especially this god of a man. Hell, she’d be lucky to be able to say the word sex around him without blushing.
Not that it would matter if he wasn’t even going to show up for their first brainstorming session. She shook her head and started taking her own notes. The publisher was paying her to write while she was here, and writing was what she was going to do, with or without him.
There was a roar outside and a minute later Kane and Dante came through the door like two tall, sexy hurricanes. Kane carried a huge bag, which he put on the table with a flourish, grinning at her. “Hey, there.”
His T-shirt today read, “I’m writing you into my next novel. Your character will meet a painful, violent death. Have a nice day.”
Nikki forgot about the shirt, though, as he proceeded to pull three bottles of wine out of the bags and displayed them for her benefit. Great. He was going to turn into an alcoholic writer. Maybe that was the only way he could write. That would be just lovely.
Dante was chattering about something as he went to the corner where the wine glasses were stored and looked back at her expectantly. “Drink?”
She shook her head silently and he winked at her. “Suit yourself. More for us then.”
Kane was hooking up an iPod to a small speaker and fiddling with it. Indian music started, drums and flutes and strange, unidentifiable instruments. He caught the corkscrew that Dante tossed him from across the table and opened the first bottle of wine, giving her a smile that was half apologetic and half mischievous.
Seriously? Her writing partner—her idol—was a drunk with a Bollywood fetish?
“What a great idea,” Dante said, taking a glass from him and planting himself at the table. He lifted it up in Nikki’s direction. “I love Transglobal Underground. Cheers.”
“You know them?” Kane looked impressed as he poured himself a drink. “This is the only way I can work. It gets my brain going.”
Nikki rubbed her hands over her eyes. This was just too much. “I don’t think I can work like this,” she said.
Kane’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
She made an impatient gesture. “We’re already like fifteen minutes late in starting. You’re both drinking. The music I could probably live with, but I expect a professional environment. It might just be romance, but I am trying to take it seriously.”
“Okay, okay. Slow your roll there, babe.” He held up his hands. Nikki almost growled when he exchanged a look with Dante. Now they were ganging up on her.
That wasn’t a helpful image. She dragged her thoughts away from the ménage fantasy that sprang to mind. They were here to write, not for her to drool over him. Or over Gorgeous Surfer Dude.
“First of all, professional is not the same as stodgy. I haven’t had twenty-five books published by twitching my nose, you know. If I like to have a glass of wine while I write, that doesn’t mean that I’m not ta
king my career seriously.” He looked almost stern. “Second, I will turn the music down if you don’t like it, or we can try your music if you’d rather. But I have to have music going. It’s just a quirk of mine, not a sign of insanity. I’ve been tested.”
She opened her mouth to retort, but then caught sight of Dante’s face and closed it again. He was looking at her with wide eyes, as if he was wondering about her sanity. Okay, maybe she was overreacting a little.
She sighed again. “Sorry. But can we please get down to business now?”
Kane gave her a crisp salute and took a small notepad out of his pocket. “Aye, aye, boss. Shall we start with our characters?”
This was better. Nikki poised her favorite pen over the notebook, excitement rippling through her stomach. He might be unconventional, but he was still her favorite writer, even if he wasn’t the woman she had expected, and he was going to teach her how he wrote those wonderful, moving books. Maybe it would be worth becoming a lush who listened to hippie music. She waited for his words of wisdom.
“So what did you have in mind for this book?” He leaned back, swirling his wine and regarding her with interest.
“What did I have in mind?” She stared at him, her pen hovering uncertainly. “I don’t know. You’re the expert. How do we start this?”
“I usually start with the characters,” he said seriously. “Plot is important, of course, but really likeable characters are what make people remember you.”
“Okay.” That made sense. She considered. “They’ll have to be strong male characters, right? Military? Ex—”
“If you say ex-Navy SEALS, I’m going to pour this wine over your head.” His lips were smiling, but his eyes glittered dangerously. Dante snorted.
She glared at them both. “What’s wrong with ex-Navy SEALS? I think they make great heroes. They’re brave, and tough, and caring—”
“And they’re all six foot two, sunkissed, tortured, and between twenty-five and forty,” Kane finished. “No. No ex-military of any kind. That goes for CIA, FBI, Scotland Yard, USMC, SS, KAOS, or KGB. We use regular old American guys. You do realize”—he seemed to be settling himself into a lecture as he took a sip of wine and gave her a strict look—“if this country had as many ex-Navy SEALS as there are in these books, we’d own the world. There would be so many of them running around they would be asking if you want fries with that. I am a huge fan of real Navy SEALS and don’t want to diminish them or their work with my humble writing.”
Nikki ignored Dante’s stifled laugh and took a deep breath. “Okay, then. Regular guys. Can they at least be good-looking?”
“Of course.” He nodded regally, as if conferring an honor on her suggestion. “They can even be tall. For some reason that seems to be very important to women. Wealthy, even, although I draw the line at billionaires.”
“Okay. Tall, good-looking, and wealthy.”
“Yep, that will work. Now, how many of them do you want? Two? Three? More?”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought about that,” she stammered, as images of the two men in front of her slowly taking off their shirts danced in her head.
“Okay, I am going to ask this again. You have read my books, right? Keep in mind my fragile male ego.”
“Of course. I’m your biggest fan.”
“Nice save, babe.” Dante eyed her over the rim of his wine glass.
Kane raised his own glass in salute to the other man. “Now that my vanity has been soothed, what do I write?”
“Well, BDSM ménage, of course. Oh—”
“Yes. They all have at least two men for my pretty little lass. It is a very popular formula, and one I would caution you to consider.” He sounded much firmer now.
“Right. Two men it is, then.” She made her voice contrite. “Since that’s settled, what about our heroine?”
He gave a morose sigh. “She’ll have to be either very inexperienced, very insecure, or very angry—or all three.”
“What? I thought women wanted to read about strong female characters,” Dante protested.
“They do, but there are two problems with that,” Kane said with the air of someone who was going to ask for a blackboard and start lecturing. “One is that she needs to become strong and confident but she can’t start out that way. Two, she needs to be relatable, so she needs to have some of the same failings as the readers. Most women can relate to insecurity, for some reason.”
Dante looked at Nikki. “Why is that? Women never seem to think they’re pretty enough, or thin enough, or something. It’s silly.”
Her face went hot as she stared back at him. How the hell could she answer a question like that? “I don’t know,” she said finally, as both men seemed to be waiting for a response. “People always seem to expect women to be perfect. Look at television. No matter how ugly or fat or old the guy is, the wife is always a gorgeous twenty-three-year-old with perfect hair and a size-zero figure. How can we compete with that?”
“There is some truth there,” Kane admitted. “Maybe we can work with it. Let’s take you, for example. How much pressure do you feel to, say, wear the right clothes or have perfect hair?” He looked appraisingly at her pony tail. “Now, see, I like the fact that you’re comfortable the way you are, even though—”
“Even though I’m not perfect?” Her voice was harsher than she intended. Both men reared back a little, as if she’d threatened them.
“I was going to say even though you’re dressed casually,” Kane went on in a calm tone. “See, that’s the problem. Now, personally, I would say you’re pretty close to perfection the way you are, but you seem to think I just insulted you.”
“Sure you do.” She gave a little snort of derisive laughter. “I think we’re getting a little off-track here. Maybe we should go back to the story.”
“Absolutely, but that was where I was going. If we take a woman like you, who’s gorgeous but doesn’t believe it, what kind of situation can we put her in where the guys will need to convince her of it?”
“Maybe she could be doing something undercover,” Dante suggested. “You know, like in Miss Congeniality.”
Nikki smiled. “She couldn’t be like me.”
“Why not?” Dante sounded genuinely curious.
She gave him a pitying look, debating whether or not to ask him to please not bother flirting with her. It was no doubt a conditioned habit with him, but there was no point here. She just wasn’t going to buy it.
“I’m way too old and overweight to carry off something like a beauty pageant,” she said.
Both men exchanged an eye roll. Nikki stood up. “Look, there’s no point in this discussion. I’m going to get some more—” She stopped, eyeing her tea mug. “Actually I’m going to have a glass of your wine, if you don’t mind. Then we need to stop with the fake flirting and really get down to business. We’ve only got a month to get this written. We don’t even have the plot started yet.”
“Sure we do,” Kane said, pulling the cork back out of his bottle and waiting for her to bring over another glass. He filled hers and then topped off Dante’s and emptied the rest into his own. “We’re getting a feel for our heroine. The plot will come from her. All the best stories are told by the characters themselves.”
“Oh, no.” She put down her pen and gaped at him. “Don’t tell me you don’t use an outline!”
“Of course I don’t. Outlines kill creativity.”
Nikki put her face in her hands. “We’re never going to get this book written. I’ll have to start flipping burgers for a living.”
He laughed. “I’m messing with you. Sort of.”
She lifted her head. “What? Do we burn incense and pop some peyote until we have a vision of the story?”
“Now you’re talking,” Dante said, chugging his wine. “That sounds like fun. When do we do that part?”
Kane smirked at him. “I’m game if you two are. But for now, let’s decide what our protagonist wants, then we can figure out what rocks to star
t throwing at her.”
“Rocks?” Dante sounded confused.
“I don’t remember who said it,” Kane said. “But somebody said the art of writing consists of sending your character up a tree, throwing rocks at them, and then bringing them back down.”
“Uh-huh.” Nikki smiled in spite of herself. “So how do we get her in the tree?”
* * * *
Two hours later, Allie came down to start dinner. She paused on her way through to ask how things were going.
“Let me know if you have any preferences on food or dinnertime,” she said. “My guys and I are planning to have most of our meals in the kitchen to give you some privacy to work.” She gave Dante an apologetic smile. “You’re welcome to come eat with us if you think it would be helpful.”
He sent a quick glance to Kane. “Would you guys mind if I hang around you? I’m really fascinated by this writing process of yours. It’s giving me some good marketing ideas that will help with your book.”
“That’s fine with me.” Kane’s first reaction was to say no. He wanted the good-looking blond around Nikki as little as he could manage it. But he also realized that he liked the guy, despite himself, and he was starting to look forward to hearing his ideas. He waited to see what Nikki’s reaction would be. She’d loosened up a bit once she’d finally tried the wine, but he had a feeling this was going to be an uphill battle. She seemed to think that every detail of the book needed to be determined before anything got written down. He’d finally convinced her to take a shot at writing the first scene and introduce the characters. They’d come up with a preliminary situation and some basic character traits and he was going to let her take the lead, at least as long as she was comfortable with it. He would wait and see where the book started heading before choosing which scenes he wanted to write. He just hoped she wasn’t too hung up on the plotting thing. He was more of a seat-of-the-pantser himself, and it had worked pretty well for him so far.
Writes of Submission Page 3
