Ben Delicious

Flavia loved her career. Even after a grueling international flight and jet lag that would knock out an elephant, she looked forward to the start of the writer's conference where she would represent the publisher as she gave several workshops and met with the writers—those she already worked with, and all the new writers looking for a home for their manuscripts.

Some things didn't change—not the writing, not the reading, and not the fans who waited with bated breath for their favorite author's next book. Pausing over her perfect martini, she thought down her To Do list. Get over jet lag. That was the point of arriving a day early. Catch up her reading—or the manuscripts would follow her like a puppy. Which order for the points she would emphasize in her presentation? Formatting your manuscript—it might sound repetitious to her, but to the newbie writers up early and ready to start their day, her presentation should be as new as their interest. That was tomorrow. And sometime over the next three days, a quiet and discreet meeting with the Queen of Romance.
Flavia loved her work.

She loved the writers who came to have fun and advance their careers.

She loved impossibly handsome men like the one now sitting at the other end of the bar. The wish he were mine but I'm never that lucky romance hero of her dreams. Before she could catch his attention, the squealies surrounded him.

Squealies. They shrieked their enthusiasm, they worried more about the length and polish of their manicures than the length and polish of their manuscripts, but sometimes they transformed into real writers. You had to love them.

They dragged Handsome into the center of their group. Everything started to go slowly wrong from then.