Seattle Girl

by Lucy Kevin

  “That’s awesome!” I gave him another spontaneous hug and relished the feel of his firm muscles flexing beneath my fingertips.

  “So, what should we do about Jerry? Should we keep his secret for him with the rest of the board?”

  “Who cares about Jerry? I think the more important question,” he said as he gazed into my eyes, “is what should we do about each other?”

  I looked up at Bill and really saw him for the first time. But before I could say anything he said, “I’ve been in love with you since the first moment I saw you. Since the day I covered you with beer.”

  I had always fallen for temperamental, artistic types. Basically, losers. You know, the kind of guys who always manage to make being poor and unsuccessful and dirty into an exciting art form.

  Now, from out of the blue clear sky, I knew with 100% certainty that I was meant to be with Bill forever. I know it sounds like the words to a cheesy Diane Warren love song, but I’m telling the honest truth. Instinctively, I knew that this time, I had found my true life mate.

  His worth, his essence was clear to me in a single glance. There was no mystery in our connection and yet I knew there were endless discoveries to be made.

  Bill stood out for me as pure oxygen. As radiant light. More attractive, more vital than anyone I had ever known.

  It was true love.

  I knew, suddenly, that all of the men who had come before him were just shadows—forgettable notches on my belt. I was glad for my experiences, glad that I had already tasted something that felt like love, but true love – real love - felt so comforting, so wonderful. I felt like Bill’s kisses could seal shut my box of worries. His touch could banish my fears, replacing them with hope and new belief.

  Suddenly it was perfectly clear what my right path had been all along.

  I leaned forward, put my hands on either side of Bill’s gorgeous face, and kissed him with all of the love in my heart.

  *

  After the excellent interviews we went back to my hotel and…well you know what we did.

  All I need to tell you is that it was awesome.

  AWESOME.

  Oh yeah, and that we finally declared our love for each other.

  It was mushy.

  And I’d never been happier.

  *

  The day before I started my new job doing Seattle Girl at KSEA, I dreamed I was riding a silver and black motorcycle. In the space between awake and dreaming, I rode my bike on endless farm roads, speeding towards the ocean and knew total ecstasy.

  I guess somewhere deep inside I always figured I’d have to change myself to get it right. I spent years trying to act mature, or dumb, or cool, or tough. But, you know what? At the end of the day it doesn’t matter what mistakes I’ve made.

  I’m still the girl I am, right here, right now. I’m still the girl from tomorrow and yesterday. And lord knows, no matter what, I’ll always be the girl I was meant to be.

  Come rain. Come sunshine. Come more rain.

  I’m a Seattle Girl through and through.

  THE END

  More books by Lucy Kevin…

  FALLING FAST (A romance novel about secrets, reality TV…and unexpected love)

  When Alexa is sent by a magazine to be an undercover contestant on the reality TV series “Falling For Mr. Right” she assumes the worst part of the assignment will be having to act like a brainless bimbo to try and win the affection of an arrogant guy who is out looking for his fifteen minutes of fame. Color her shocked when it turns out that not only are several of her fellow contestants intelligent, funny women…but that Brandon – aka Mr. Right - isn’t at all the kind of man she thought he’d be. What’s Alexa supposed to do when instead of digging up dirt for her cover story, she finds herself falling way too fast for the man she’s supposed to tear apart in her first big feature story?

  Please enjoy the following excerpt for FALLING FAST © 2011 Lucy Kevin…

  “You want me to do what?” Alexa Atkison said, her voice dripping with disbelief.

  Alexa’s editor, Jane, pushed her glasses up more firmly on her nose and looked pointedly through them at Alexa. “You’re the one who has been on me about doing the bigger stories. I’m dropping this one into your lap.”

  Alexa opened her mouth to argue and then realized her thoughts were better left unsaid, particularly to her all-powerful boss. So instead of shooting off at the mouth, she took a deep breath and tried, on the fly, to work out the best tactic for steering Jane toward a less objectionable story.

  “What about drugs? Or gambling rings? Don’t you have something scary and dirty that I could investigate instead?”

  “No,” Jane said, her lips tight. “I’m handing you this assignment on a silver platter. Once you sign the confidentiality agreement, we can discuss the details of your makeover.”

  Surprise registered on Alexa’s face. “Makeover?”

  “While the editorial staff agrees that you are a perfect fit for the assignment, it is, nonetheless, clear that you need professional help with your appearance.”

  Alexa looked down at her clothes. “What does my appearance have to do with this assignment?”

  Unsmiling, Jane replied, “Everything.”

  Alexa didn’t like being boxed into a corner one bit. Silently, she reassessed her options. Sure, Jane had offered her a huge story, and yes, she desperately wanted the chance to prove herself as a feature writer, as opposed to the fact checking and proofreading she had been doing for the past year, but she also had a healthy dose of self-respect which she didn’t plan on letting go of any time soon. Trying for diplomacy, Alexa cleared her throat and mustered up her most cooperative expression.

  “Look, Jane, I really appreciate this opportunity, and I’m more than willing to go the distance with it, but as I see it, all I need to do is get picked as a single-girl-in-need-of-a-husband by a bunch of dopey TV execs, make it onto as many episodes as possible, and scrounge up dirt on everyone involved, right?”

  Jane cut right to it. “I’m as disgusted by primping and makeup as you are, Alexa. But you aren’t going to be much use to us on this story looking like…” Jane’s words drifted off and she scrunched up her nose in just the way one did when blue cheese had been left out on the counter for too long.

  “Looking like what?”

  Jane sighed. “Looking like you do right at this very minute. The way you look every day, in fact.”

  Alexa tried not to let on just how much Jane’s brutal honesty hurt. But seconds later, when Jane uncharacteristically tried to soften the blow, Alexa knew she needed to work on her poker face if she was ever going to make it as a serious undercover journalist.

  “Don’t worry,” Jane said. “We’re going to get you a little help in the wardrobe department, and-”

  Alexa cut her off. If there was one word that she never thought she’d hear at ROAR, it was wardrobe. She had always thought such terminology was reserved for the offices of Vogue or Elle.

  “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

  Jane pursed her lips, seeming to tally up all the problems in her head before listing them. “I’ve never seen you wear anything but jeans and a T-shirt, except for that awful suit your wore for your interview last year.” Clearly exasperated, she added, “Your shoes don’t even match!”

  Alexa swung her legs out from underneath the desk. When she inspected her feet, she was surprised to see a green tennis shoe on her left foot and a red shoe on her right.

  “I was a little distracted this morning.”

  “Try every morning. In any case, we’ve got you scheduled for the spa this afternoon.”

  Spa was another word that she never, ever thought she’d hear at ROAR. Alexa narrowed her eyes, suddenly suspicious. “This isn’t some kind of office practical joke is it? Last time I looked, I was working for the leading feminist magazine in the country.”

  Jane looked at her watch, making it clear that the conversation was over. “Your first appointment is in thirty
minutes. Do you want the assignment or not?”

  Alexa knew she had no choice: Her self-respect was going to have to take a back seat to her first ever byline. There was no way she was going to miss the chance to leap out of journalistic obscurity and onto the cover of a national magazine.

  “Where do I sign?”

  Jane smiled and handed her a pen.

  *

  “Hold on a second. You want me to be Mr. Right?”

  Joe Randell, the executive producer of the much-hyped Falling For Mr. Right reality TV show, leaned across the conference table as if he was letting Brandon in on a big secret. “You did apply.”

  Brandon Philips worked to wipe the stunned look off of his face. “Yes, I did,” he said, leaving off the pertinent fact that he had only done it to get back at his ex-girlfriend for dumping him because of his so-called “commitment issues.”

  Stalling for time to figure out just what the hell he had got himself into, he asked, “How many applicants were there?”

  “Thousands. But I knew you were our best prospect the minute you walked through the door. Your screen test confirmed that the camera loves you and your resume is excellent.”

  Brandon took a moment to digest the unexpected news. “If I signed on, what would you expect me to do?”

  Joe slid a copy of the Falling For Mr. Right contract across the table. “The show will air over a period of two weeks. This gives you fourteen days to decide who you want to marry among the thirty women we introduce you to.

  Brandon’s mouth went completely dry. How could he possibly fall for anyone that fast? He took a sip of coffee and kept his expression bland, waiting for his brain to click back into the ‘on’ position. “How often would I be filmed?”

  Joe looked Brandon straight in the eye. “Brandon, I want to be completely upfront with you today, before you agree to sign anything.”

  Brandon nodded for Joe to continue.

  “There will be cameras filming you during every interaction with the girls.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Not quite.” Joe straightened his tie before continuing. “There is one special clause in the contract that I need to draw your attention to.”

  He pointed out a paragraph in the middle of page one. Mr. Right will allow Producer to pick one wild card for each of the selection ceremonies, until only three women remain. At that point, Mr. Right will have complete control over his contestant selection.

  “Can you live with that?” Joe asked him.

  Brandon leaned back in his chair. He couldn’t have cared less about one wild-card out of thirty women. How bad could one woman be? The big question was how they were going to make sure he wanted to choose any of the women?

  “That depends. How are you planning on finding thirty women that I would be interested in dating in the first place?”

  Joe slid another piece of paper over. “Here’s a questionnaire we would like you to fill out. We will find women that fulfill as many of your requirements as possible.”

  Brandon’s raised eyebrow gave away his skepticism. “What if none of the thirty work out?”

  “The paragraph at the top of page eight has the answer you are looking for.”

  Brandon flipped through the contract and scanned the legal speak. “You expect me to marry a stranger on the air July 1st?”

  “We do.”

  “And if July 1st comes and there is no wedding?”

  Joe cleared his throat before speaking with a determined edge to his voice. “Brandon, I think you will find this contract more than reasonable. During the two weeks of taping we will treat you to five star accommodations, exotic destinations, and thirty gorgeous, accomplished women. This is an opportunity of a lifetime and we hope you will agree to join us in producing a truly excellent program.”

  Brandon was about to say “No way,” when he was suddenly assailed with a heckling chorus of several ex-girlfriend’s last words to him.

  “You’ll never settle down!”

  “Why won’t you open up?”

  “No woman will ever be good enough for you!”

  And then the worst one, which he hadn’t been able to get out of his head since his last break-up, “You’re going to die alone and you deserve it!”

  He knew he had applied for the TV show for all of the wrong reasons. Spite. Annoyance. To prove his exes wrong. But just because he didn’t want to marry any of them didn’t make him an emotionally crippled commitment-phobe.

  He certainly didn’t want to date and get married in front of millions of people. But now, sitting in the studio, he wondered if his exes were right. Could he ever let any woman get close enough to him to get married and have a family like the rest of his friends and co-workers?

  If he were to sign a contract that made it so he had to get married, there would be no way out. And since he didn’t believe in true love — the lie that there was actually one person out there for him that would complete him and give his life meaning — being “Mr. Right” would be the optimal way to check marriage off his list of life goals. He would put his criteria down for his perfect woman, and Joe’s staff would hunt her down.

  It was the perfect, easy solution to his marriage problem. No long courtship. No games. Just a selection of thirty beautiful, available marriage-minded women to choose from.

  He flipped to the last page of the contract and said, “You got a pen handy? Let’s get this ball rolling.”

  …Excerpt from FALLING FAST by Lucy Kevin © 2011.

  *

  SPARKS FLY (A fun romance about the “magic” of falling in love)

  Angelina Morgan is a beautiful consultant who practices an ancient art form called Feng Shui. Will Scott is an all-business CEO who doesn’t believe anything he can’t see and touch. With the help of a meddling ex-wife, a well-meaning best friend, and a matchmaking mother, Angelina and Will are about to find out what happens when opposites attract…and sparks fly.

  Please enjoy the following excerpt for SPARKS FLY © 2011 Lucy Kevin…

  “Wow,” Angelina Morgan said as she got out of her car in front of a huge mansion. “That is one seriously huge house.” She’d seen pictures of places like this in magazines, but had never actually been inside one.

  She’d planned two hours for this Feng Shui consultation.

  She’d need two weeks.

  Feeling much as she imagined Maria must have felt in the Sound of Music when she saw the Captain’s house for the first time – I need to have confidence, she thought – Angelina took a deep breath and headed up the long front path.

  She rang the doorbell and waited. Long enough that she rang it again.

  Finally, the door opened. Angelina was about to introduce herself….but the words dried up on her tongue.

  The man standing before her was, in a word, perfect. Dirty blond hair contrasted with blue eyes. Tanned skin highlighted bold cheekbones, a strong nose and gorgeous lips.

  “Are you Angelina Morgan?”

  Stunned by her unprofessional thoughts about her client, she barely managed a “Yes.”

  She hadn’t had a sexual thought about a man in months and was alarmed that her dead libido should perk up at such an inappropriate time.

  She was even more alarmed when her client said, “Will Scott,” then shook her hand, causing a frisson of heat to surge through her.

  Quickly pulling her hand back, she said, “I’m so sorry about being a few minutes late. I’ve rarely been to this neighborhood and I’m afraid I got a little lost. In any case, given that your house is larger than I anticipated, I want you to know that I’m happy to stay and work with you for as long as it takes.”

  “Actually, I’ve got some important work to take care of, so the quicker we can get this done, the better.”

  Angelina knew she should be accommodating. Not only was she late, but judging by the size of his mansion, he was probably counting every minute in her company as millions of dollars lost.

  Intending to start again with a cle
an slate, she conjured up her most genuine smile. “First of all, Mr. Scott—”

  “Call me Will.”

  Angelina gave a slight nod of her head in acquiescence. “OK, Will, I’d like to find out how much you know about Feng Shui. Particularly as this consultation was given to you as a gift from a friend.”

  “Not a friend exactly.” He paused slightly. “Susan is my ex-wife.”

  Angelina barely stopped herself from exclaiming, “How strange!” Clearing her throat, she said, “As I was saying, due to the fact that this Feng Shui consultation was given to you as a gift from your, uh, ex-wife…” She stopped to clear her throat again. “It’s important for me to know how much I’ll need to explain.”

  “Frankly, the only thing I’m worried about is the neighbors finding out I’m dabbling in magic and witchcraft.”

  Silently reminding herself that she had always been able to convert staunch disbelievers into the ancient art’s greatest proponents, she said, “Why don’t we discuss the ideas behind Feng Shui for a few minutes before we jump into the consultation? That way you will understand why it has absolutely nothing to do with magic or witches.”

  “Just as long as we’re done before my meeting.”

  Angelina felt a tension headache coming on. “Didn’t Susan make it clear to you that we need at least two hours?”

  “Two hours? I don’t have two hours.” Will’s cell phone rang and he lifted it up to look at the screen. “I need to take this call.”

  As he moved away from the door, a sudden breeze slammed it shut in her face, leaving Angelina standing alone on his front step.

  Utterly shocked by how things had played out, for the first time in her life, Angelina actually wished she did know some witchcraft.

  If this man thought she was going to wait around for him to get his act together, he was sorely mistaken. His ex-wife Susan—what a forgiving, calm person she must have been to deal with him for as long as she did—could have her money back. First thing Angelina was going to take care of when she got back to her office was getting rid of Mr. Scott as a client, once and for all.

  And good riddance.

  *