August 2011

We're back! Ready to do Lesson 6 from THE POWER OF QUESTIONS? Ready to hear about my goofy cats? See an excerpt from one of the Boardroom Baby stories? How about an excerpt from one of the books in my Maid's Duet? Maid for the Single Dad?

Ready to comment for a chance to win a copy of both books in the Duet Maid for the Millionaire
and Maid for the Single Dad?

It's all here. Along with the information about the Pennwriters workshop PREPPING FOR NANO, which begins in October.

And speaking of workshops. I'm keeping my schedule at four again next year. No repeats. Each workshop only given once. Technically, I'm giving each group that approaches me an "exclusive" for a year! LOL

I haven't decided what RWA chapters to approach...so I thought I'd ask you. Is there anyone here who'd like me to approach their chapter?

Email me through Contact Susan at susanmeier.com. Or comment here.

So what have I been up to this summer?

As most of you know, my husband retired. He's a considerate, quiet man -- mostly because he knows I need mornings to write and we need my income! :)

But he's usually a great guy. Retirement has made him even more so. I asked him about his super-agreeability and he told me that with no bosses to worry about life is pretty fun.

So is golfing every day. :)

My family is continuing our tradition of Wednesday morning breakfasts. Because there are a few teachers and school employees in my family all of whom have summers off, we get together every Wednesday morning and eat breakfast.

These are great events. The kids come, so at least once a week I get to see my nieces and nephews, and great-nieces and nephews. They chase my cats. We all eat blueberries. And no matter whose house we go to that Wednesday, there's always a fantastic surprise. My sisters and nieces are wonderful cooks ... and this year we had a birthday cake for my brother John to go with my eggs and sausage (and blueberries).

There's nothing like a good family tradition to make memories. Our hope is that all the kids who attend these breakfasts someday look back and this and smile.

Okay...on to Lesson 6 where we delve a little deeper into the making of a good list of 20.

susan

For the Writers Among Us

Lesson 6: How to do the List of Twenty

In the last lesson, once we wrote a great question, I hinted that there are specific tricks to doing a list of twenty. I mentioned the power of the ridiculous and the power of writing down opposites. But there are actually four guidelines to a good list of twenty.

1. Write down everything you think of. Don’t judge, just write! Let your brain work!
2. When you’re stumped write down the opposite of what you have.
3. Refine answers that are close but not quite what you want.
4. Never underestimate the power of the ridiculous answer.

Let’s start with point 1: Write down everything you think of. Don’t judge, just write.

When you judge too quickly, your brain begins to shut down. Or it runs along typical, familiar, acceptable paths. That might seem great, but it isn’t. In order to shake yourself out of the familiar, to come up with a story that’s “the same” yet “different” (How many times have we heard that!) your brain needs to be able to stretch. It will not stretch if you criticize. It will stop.

You need to come up with ridiculous answers to free your mind. But we’re jumping ahead of ourselves here, so the best way to explain all this to you is through an example.

Let’s say you have a hero and heroine who are stuck in a cabin in the woods and you think…Okay, now what? Not only are there 10 other stuck-in-the-cabin-in-the-woods books this year, so I need to distinguish myself, but also I want to write something interesting. Something cool.

And by the way, that’s how people like me who write book after book after book and want to satisfy an existing audience without repeating ourselves do it. We figure out the way THIS BOOK can be different. Can distinguish itself. Can be spectacular. And don’t we all want to write something spectacular? Something that fits the market, yet somehow transcends it. No matter if you’re writing fantasy, crime, mystery, thriller or whatever…you still want your book to be spectacular. This is how you make it a cut above the rest!

So, say, we have a hero and heroine who are stuck in a cabin in the woods…and we want to make a "list of 20" so that we can come up with something “fresh” for this story.

At the top of your pages you write…My hero and heroine are trapped in a cabin in the woods…What could happen to make this really, really interesting?

That question might seem a bit vague, but sometimes vague is good. We’re just starting out with this book, feeling our way around, trying to figure out if we can come up with something that’s unique and worthy of our time…so we give ourselves a little leeway! LOL

Okay, so the question is… My hero and heroine are trapped in a cabin in the woods…What could happen to make this really, really interesting?

You list:

1. The furnace doesn't work and they have to snuggle together. (Remember no judgment! No saying one is right or wrong or better or stupid or ridiculous or too cliché . . . Just keep writing.)
2. She has no luggage and has to wear his clothes. (Could be funny. And eventually intimate.)
3. They sleep in bedrooms across the hall.
4. He sleeps on the sofa and gets a backache.
5. He catches her in the bathtub.
6. Somebody else arrives.
7. Her dad is with them.
8. She has a child.
9. They hear a radio report that a killer is on the loose (Is this a suspense…Or just a really cool way to get them into the same bedroom? LOL)
10. The storm gets worse.
11. The storm ends…

Oh…Oh…what did we just do? Something that was opposite of a good idea was actually a better idea. Or at the very least a unique direction for us to try with our "typical" story idea. In most cabin-in-the-woods books (a/k/a close proximity books) the situation gets worse. Could your situation get better? Could it appear that he's leaving? Could they have a gray moment? Could there be angst? Could they sleep together, thinking it's a fling that will be over the next morning because the storm is over and he'll be leaving, only to discover that after he drives off, he has to come back because the bridge washed out. So now they have to face each other after sex that wasn't supposed to happen.

Wow. That could be cool or funny or powerful! At the very least it would be emotional.

Opposite answers can turn everything on its proverbial ear! And notice how that one answer turned into another five or six possible answers to the "what will make our cabin in the woods story different" question!

So every once in a while writing down an "opposite" of your idea is a very good way to shake things up. Particularly since sometimes the opposite of an "expected" answer is actually the right one.

That’s it for this lesson. For your homework, I’d like you to create a question as well as a list of twenty for a spin on the marriage of convenience story. This is something we’ve all seen…so can you create a crafty question that would help you come up with 20 spins on this story, so that you can eventually find one that hasn’t been done…or one that would make your story stand out in a crowd?

I know not everyone will get to 20, but I think it will be fun for you to see how many spins you can put on a Marriage of Convenience!

(As I’ve said, this is how those of us who have been writing the same six or eight stories for the past 20 years come up with “fresh” ideas for our books!)

susan


Coming Attractions

Coming in October PREPARING FOR NANO at Pennwriters.com

COURSE DESCRIPTION:

Everybody believes NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month, which runs every November at www.nanowrimo.org) is a race against the clock, a fight with procrastination and inertia. In some ways it is. But once you’re in the thick of things, you’ll discover NaNo is really all about ideas. Writers don’t stall because they’re lazy. Writers stall because they don’t know what to write next.

The month BEFORE NaNo, get proven tips from Susan Meier—the author of almost 50 books for Harlequin and Silhouette—and let her take you through several different ways to examine the story you want to write, to capture the natural scene possibilities within your idea, to generate new ideas, and to push yourself through the most grueling, but fun, month you will spend this year! Lessons include:


* The List of 20 (How to generate ideas quickly so you have little downtime when your natural ideas run out)

* Turning a “Want” into “Need” (How does knowing why you’re writing this book provide you with both energy to write and ideas for your story?)

* The One-Paragraph Story Summary (Say it succinctly…3 kinds of one-paragraph story summaries: back cover blurb, core story question, and growth paragraph)

* Could, Might, Must and Should List (How to capture ideas that spring up naturally)

* Storyboard Versus Synopsis (Breaking your idea down into manageable bites)

* The Psychology of Pushing through the Hard Times (What to do when you get stuck)

* The Psychology of a Draft (Push, push, push!)

* What Are You Doing in December? (Editing tips)


TESTIMONIALS:

“I was bowled over by how helpful it was. Susan was ever patient and ready to offer feedback and encouragement. The course material was broken down so that it was easy to understand but it pushed me to dig deeper and really understand my story. I would not hesitate to recommend this course in the future or any course with Susan Meier.”

- SGM

Fantasy writer

“Susan Meier generously shares her knowledge and shapes it to fit your needs. She is enthusiastic and encouraging. This course helped me to fill in the gaps, taking my plot from mundane to magnificent! Thanks, Susan!”

- JBS



Cat Tails


Fluffy in a box.

There's no tail today...just a picture which is worth a thousand words.

If you think it's funny to see him squished in that box, you should see how he twists and turns to actually get himself inside!

This Month's Short

FALLING FOR THE PLAYBOY

Even exiting one of his family’s private jets, Michael Andreas didn’t look like a wealthy heir. Heeding his cousin Gino’s warning to avoid being ostentatious, he wore jeans and a T-shirt. He skipped the family limo and instead called a cab, giving the driver the address Gino had scribbled on a business card.

When they reached the old building in an even older New York City neighborhood, Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure this is the place?”

“That’s the address on the card, buddy.” The driver held out his hand. “Pay up.”

Michael handed him a credit card, added a generous tip to the bill and got out. Duffle bag over his shoulder, he walked into the building only to discover there was no elevator. He shook his head. Love had certainly done weird things to his normally sane, pragmatic cousin.

After climbing four flights of stairs, he followed the sound of music to the apartment at the end of the hall. The door was open. Guests dressed in jeans and T-shirts spilled out into the hallway. Edging his way into the apartment, he smiled. Renovated. Thank God.

He tossed his duffle bag behind a beige leather sofa and ambled up to the bar. “Scotch. Neat.”

The bartender grabbed the bottle. A pretty brunette walked up beside him. Her hair was a glossy waterfall of sable curls that fell just a bit past her shoulders. Her wide blue eyes were cautious. The T-shirt she wore showed off an hourglass figure. Something he didn’t often see in his world. Women who lived in his tiny North Carolina beach town seemed to believe that thinner was better. He didn’t like to disagree with ladies but that whole thin thing wasn’t the way to attract a man.

Taking his Scotch from the bartender, he faced the brunette. “So, come here often?” Considering that this was a housewarming to show off a newly renovated apartment that no one had seen, he thought that was a pretty good joke.

She didn’t turn to look at him. Only her eyes moved. Taking him in through her peripheral vision, she asked, “Is that a joke?”

He laughed. “Actually, yes.”

“Well, it’s a poor one.” She took her wine from the bartender. “Excuse me.”

He blinked.

Normally when women saw his chin length curly black hair, catlike green eyes and shadow of dark whiskers, they didn’t actually swoon, but he had seen some breath-stuttering.

Something wasn’t right here.

He pivoted and caught up to her at the sofa. It surprised him that it was empty, considering the number of guests, but he wasn’t complaining.

Acting as if it was a foregone conclusion that he would follow her, he plopped down beside her. “I’m Michael Andreas. Gino’s cousin.” He extended his hand to shake hers. “And you are?”

This time, she turned to him. She studied him the same way a scientist examined a bug under a microscope before she smiled sweetly and rose. “Not interested.”

With that she walked away, blending into the dense crowd. Michael felt as if somebody had slapped him. It wasn’t that he was vain. It was more that women liked him. Having grown up with two sisters and an adorable mom, he’d quickly learned the ins and outs of getting on their good side and he’d taken the experience with him into the dating world. He more than treated women with respect; he was good to them.

He was sweet, damn it!

He hoisted himself off the sofa and angled his way through the crowd. He found the brunette standing in a small cluster of people. His eyes narrowed. She wasn’t actually in the cluster. She was looking at a piece of art on the wall beside the cluster.

He frowned. People normally came to parties to meet other people. To mingle. And he’d introduced himself. It didn’t make sense that she’d ditch him to stand alone.

He downed his drink and walked back to the bar. He ordered another Scotch and a glass of white wine. Holding the two drinks above his head, he made his way through the crowd to the brunette.

“When I finished my drink, I figured you’d probably finished yours.” He offered her the wine with a smile.

She hissed out an annoyed breath and presented her still full glass to him. “No. I haven’t.”

Her blue eyes glittered with irritation, but her attitude didn’t match the soft curly hair falling around her or the soft body outlined by the blue T-shirt and jeans.

Something was definitely off here.

Frustration with her attitude quickly turned into challenge. It had been a while since a woman had flat out turned him away. So maybe he was getting soft? Maybe he needed a test to get him back on his game?

He chugged her wine, set the glass on an available table and smiled. “Problem solved.”

With a sigh of disgust, she turned away at the same time that Gino came ambling over, his arm around his fiancée, blonde-haired, blue-eyed Bethany Johnson.

“Michael!” Bethany caught his shoulders and pulled him down for a kiss on the cheek. “I see you’ve met Lucy.”

He planted his tongue in his cheek. “I’ve been trying to meet Lucy.”

Gino slapped him on the back and pointedly steered him away from the girls. “Let me buy you a Scotch.”
He glanced back to where Bethany was happily chatting with the woman he’d intended to pursue. “I’ve had two and a glass of wine.”

“Are you driving?”

“I took a cab.”

“Then you can have seven and as much wine as you want.” He ordered two Scotches and handed one to Michael. “Besides I want to show you what we’ve done to the place.”

Lucy Donovan blew her breath out on a sigh, watching Michael Andreas walk away with her cousin Gino.

“Are you okay?”

She returned her gaze to Bethany. “I’m fine.” Seeing the concerned expression on her friend’s face, her chest tightened. Not with sadness but with misery. Would she forever be the poster girl for being dumped and unhappy? “I’d actually be better if everybody would stop asking if I’m okay.”

Bethany winced. “I know. But it’s only been two weeks since Justin… well…asked for his ring back. We’re all just feeling a little protective.”

She tried to smile. “I’m fine.”

“Of course, you are. Let’s go meet some people.”

She led Lucy into the crowd and introduced her to six or seven members of the Andreas Holdings staff, people ranging from their early twenties to late fifties, but her gaze drifted over to Michael Andreas.

He was tall, gorgeous, exasperating … Still, he didn’t take himself too seriously. Otherwise, he’d have scurried away when she rebuffed him.

She studied the way his T-shirt caressed his perfect shoulders and well developed chest. There were probably six-pack abs under there too. And why not? The guy lived in paradise. He played volley ball the way Northern guys played golf. Which explained why he was also golden brown.

She’d even been to his family’s beach house a time or two when she was younger. Though she was Whitney Ross Andreas’s second or third cousin, she’d always treated Whitney like an aunt and Whitney and Darius’s children like her cousins. So they’d taken her on beach trips. She knew Michael’s mom and dad. Knew his sisters.

Which meant she also knew he wasn’t the kind of guy to settle down …

But right at this moment she’d shoot the first man who tried to get her into a serious relationship.

She paused. Now that she thought about it, she and Michael Andreas wanted the same thing. A little relief from boredom. A little fun with somebody who wouldn’t take the affair too seriously.

Maybe she’d been too hasty in brushing him off?

To finish the story ... http://susanmeier-happilyeverafter.blogspot.com/

Blast from the Past


MAID FOR THE SINGLE DAD

Chapter 1

Ellie Swanson had not signed up for this.

Yes, she’d agreed to run Happy Maids while her boss, Liz Harper Nestor – took a well deserved honeymoon after remarrying her gorgeous ex-husband Cain. And, yes, she was perfectly capable of supervising the fourteen or so employees on Happy Maids’ payroll for the four weeks Liz would be in Paris. But she wasn’t authorized to make a change in the company’s business plan, as the man across the desk wanted her to do.

“I’m a friend of Cain’s.”

Of course he was. Tall and slender with perfect blue eyes and black hair cut short and businesslike, Mac Carmichael wore his tailored navy blue suit with the casual ease of a man accustomed to handmade suits, fine wines, and people taking his orders. Just like Cain.

“And he told me his wife’s company was the best in town.”

“But we’re a weekly cleaning service. We don’t place maids in clients’ homes.”

“You should.”

A bead of sweat rolled down Ellie’s back. The air conditioning had broken the day Liz left. But Ellie could handle the heat and humidity of June in Miami. What she couldn’t abide was failure. Her first day on the job and already she was turning away a client. An important client. A client who could not only tell Cain that Happy Maids hadn’t come through for him; he could also tell all his wealthy friends – the very people Liz would be marketing to when she returned.

Ellie leaned back on the chair, tapping a pencil on the desk blotter. “Explain again what you’re looking for.”

“My maid quit unexpectedly. I need to hire a temporary replacement while I interview for another one.”

“I can send someone to your house a few times a week to clean,” she said hopefully.

He shook his head. “I have a daughter and a son. They need breakfast every morning.”

“Then I’ll be happy to send someone every day at seven.”

“Lacy gets up at five.”

“Then I’ll have someone at four.”

“I work some nights.”

Ellie gaped at him. “You want the maid to be a nanny too?”

He caught her gaze. His sinfully blue eyes held hers and she fought the urge to swallow as pinpricks of attraction sparkled along her nerve endings.

“And live in.”

She gasped. “Live in?”

“I also pay very well.”

Ah, the magic words. A victim of domestic violence herself, Liz had gotten involved with A Friend Indeed, a charity that helped women transition out of their abusive homes and into new lives. It was a natural fit that Liz should begin employing the women from A Friend Indeed until they got on their feet. Ellie had actually been the first client Liz had hired through a meet at the charity. The company needed every job – especially the good paying ones – to provide work for all the women who wanted help.

Mac rose from his seat. “Look, if your firm can’t handle it, I’ll be on my way.”

He turned to the door.

Stop him!

She bounced out of her chair. “Wait.”

He faced her again. This time she did swallow. His eyes reminded her of the ocean in the dead of summer, calm and deep, and perfect blue. His dark hair gleamed in the sunlight pouring in from the window to his right. High cheekbones angled to blissfully full lips, the kind that made most women take a second glance and wonder what it would be like to kiss him. It should have been pure pleasure to look at him. Instead, the scowl on his face caused Ellie to doubt the intuition that guided her life.

“Yes?”

“I –“ Why had her intuition told her to stop him? She didn’t have anybody who could work as a maid/nanny. Most of Liz’s employees had kids of their own and homes to get back to every night. They couldn’t live in. And that’s what he needed.

“I – um – maybe we can work something out.”

His scowl grew even darker. “I don’t work things out.”
No kidding. She didn’t need intuition to tell her that.

“I want someone today.”

Don’t let him go.

She groaned inwardly, wondering why her sixth sense was so insistent on this. But accustomed to listening to the intuition that had saved her life, she couldn’t ignore it.

“I’ll do it.”

His scowl shifted into a look of confusion. “You?”

“I know I’m behind the desk today, but I’m only filling in for Cain’s wife, Liz. She runs the business herself, but this month she’s on her honeymoon. I’m more than capable of cooking, cleaning and caring for children.”

His eyes held hers for another second or two. Then his gaze dipped from her face to her pretty red dress, and Ellie suddenly regretted her decision to wear something as exposing as the short strapless creation made more for having lunch with friends on a sunny sidewalk café than working in an office. But not having air conditioning had made the choice for her. How was she supposed to know a client would show up?

He smiled and all the air whooshed out of Ellie’s lungs. The temperature in her blood rose to an almost unbearable level. She could have melted where she stood. If this guy lived up north, snowflakes wouldn’t stand a chance against that smile.

“We have air conditioning, so you might want to change into jeans and a T-shirt.” He took a business card out of his jacket pocket, scribbled on the back and handed it to her. “That’s my home address. I’ll meet you there in an hour.” Then he turned and walked out the door.

Ellie collapsed on the office chair. Damn it! What had her intuition gotten her into? Now she not only had all of Liz’s work, she also had a full-time job. More than full-time! She had to live in!

With a sigh of frustration with herself, she lifted the receiver of the phone on the desk and quickly dialed the number for Cain’s personal assistant, Ava.

“Are you busy?”

“Hey, good morning, Magic. How’s your first day going?”

“Abysmally. Don’t call me Magic anymore. I think my intuition is on the fritz.”

Ava laughed.

“I’m serious. Some guy came in here this morning, demanding a full-time maid and nanny – someone to live in – and I volunteered to take the job.”

“Yourself?”

Angling her elbow on the desk, Ellie cradled her chin on her palm. “Yes.”

“Oh, that’s so not like you!”

“I know. But he’s a friend of Cain’s and I worried about disappointing him. My intuition got all jumbled while he was here and before I knew it I was taking the job myself.” She winced. “I was thinking maybe you could find an agency that can get him a real temporary maid, then call him back and tell him I made a mistake.”

“All right. I’ll handle it. Give me his name.”

Ellie flipped the card over. “Mac Carmichael.”

“Oh, damn.”

Oh damn?

“Oh, damn what?”

“Ellie, you’re stuck. He is a major pain in the butt, so not even finding him a real full-time maid would fix this. He’d never change a deal he’s already made. But he’s also somebody Cain’s been courting for years.”

“Courting?”

“His family owns hotels all over the world. Cain’s been trying to get in on the construction end. This might be a test for Cain.”

Ellie lowered her forehead to her palm. “Which is probably why my intuition wouldn’t let me tell him no.”

“I’m guessing,” Ava agreed. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. It doesn’t matter where I work, so I’ll forward my calls to the Happy Maids office and handle your phone and walk-ins during the day. Then we’ll spend an hour or so together every night doing the day’s paperwork.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course! This isn’t just Happy Maids on the line. It’s also Cain’s business and I’m Cain’s assistant. I have to do whatever needs to be done. Beside, I like you.”

Ellie laughed. “Okay.”

“Okay? Miss Magic, it will be more than okay. We will make it great. You’ll do such a good job for Mac that you’ll earn all kind of brownie points for Liz and Happy Maids, and you might just get Cain the “in” with Carmichael Incorporated that he’s been lobbying for for the past years.”

Elllie sat up. “Yeah. You’re right. This is a good thing.”

“This is potentially a very good thing,” Ava agreed. “And I will do anything at all you need me to do.”

“Handling the office during the day should be all the help I need.”

“I’ll be over in an hour.”

“Bring a key because I have to leave right now. Mr. Carmichael wants me at his house in--” She glanced down at the card again -- “Coral Gables in an hour and I need to pack a bag if I’m going to be living there.”

“You better get a move on.”

“Okay. And Ava?”

“Yes.”

Ellie winced. “You might want to stop on your way and buy a tank top and shorts.”

Ava laughed. “How about if I just call an HVAC repairman?”

“That’ll do it, too. I’ll see you tonight.”

Mac Carmichael raced his Bentley along the winding streets of Coral Gables and onto his driveway. He stopped at the gate, punched a code into the box on the left, opening the gate, and then roared up the stone drive to the side of his huge house. The garage door opened with another press of a button and he zipped inside. As the door closed behind him, he hopped out of his car, walked through the garage, into the butler’s pantry then into the huge gourmet kitchen.

His blond-haired six-year-old daughter Lacy sat at the long weathered-wood table by the French doors, coloring. Nine-month-old son Henry sat in a high chair beside her. His former nanny and current next door neighbor, Mrs. Pomeroy, wiped baby food off his mouth with a wet cloth.

“How did it go?”

He sighed. “Well, I found someone.”

“Great.”

“I’m not sure. She’s--” Tall and blonde and so good looking he damned near turned around and sought out another agency. “Well, she seems a little spacey.”

Eighty-year-old Elmira Pomeroy laughed. “Spacey? Is she a drinker?”

“No, she’s just--” Inappropriately dressed, too pretty for words – “Kind of odd.”

“Are you sure you want her around your kids?”

“She’s not that kind of odd. Besides, I don’t have a
choice. I need total and complete privacy. I can’t risk hiring a big impersonal firm or someone who doesn’t need me enough to keep her silence.”

“You think she’s made the connection yet that if she does well her boss’s husband could make millions?”

He tossed his suit coat over the back of a chair. “I’m hoping. If she hasn’t yet, one call to anybody in Cain’s office will get her the info. That should be the carrot on the stick that keeps her here long enough for me to find someone.” He leaned in over Lacy. “Hey, baby. What are you doing?”

She gave him a patient look. “Coloring.”

“Why don’t you put on your swimsuit and we’ll take a dip while Mrs. Pomeroy is still here for Henry.”
Her heart-shaped face wreathed in smiles. Her blue eyes danced with delight. “Okay!”

She raced from the room and Mac pulled Henry from his high chair. “And how are you today?”

Yellow-haired, blue-eyed Henry slapped a chubby fist on his father’s cheek.

“Feisty, I see.”

“You better believe he’s been feisty.” Mrs. Pomeroy took his bottle from the warmer and tested the temperature. “I’m not sure if he tired himself out enough that he’ll fall asleep immediately after he drinks this or if he’s too wound up to sleep at all.”

“If you have any problems, come and get me from the pool.”

Mrs. Pomeroy’s wrinkled face fell in sympathetic lines. “No. You take the time with Lacy. You both could use a few minutes of fun.”

“I’m fine. I don’t want to shirk my responsibility to the kids.”

“You’re a good dad.”

He pulled in a breath and turned away, trying to make light of her compliment. “I only do what any father should do.”

That was why it never would have even crossed his mind to desert his children the way their mother had. He couldn’t believe any person would be so narcissistic that she’d abandon her kids just because a second child had been inconvenient to her career. Pamela had been so angry to be pregnant again when she’d read the results of her early pregnancy test that she’d packed a bag, left him and filed for divorce within days. She returned to Hollywood, California, where she immediately resurrected her movie career.

Nine months later, she handed Henry over to Mac. She visited once a month, saying it was difficult to fly across the country anymore than that. But on her last visit she told Mac she might not be able to visit in July. The movie she had made while pregnant with Henry was being released and she would be making the rounds of talk shows promoting it. Mac tried not to panic but he couldn’t help it. If anybody asked Pamela about her divorce or her kids, he had absolutely no idea what she’d say. But he did know that if she mentioned their names, he and the kids would become fodder for the paparazzi.

He’d lived his entire life with bodyguards, alarm systems and armor-plated limos. He’d thought he knew how it felt to live under lock and key, but that was nothing compared to living in a fishbowl. As the ex-husband of a movie star with custody of that movie star’s kids, protection and visibility had risen to a whole new level. Not only were his kids targets for kidnappers and extortionists because of his money, but their mother’s career could put their faces on the front page of every tabloid in the world. He’d had to go to extreme measures to protect them, and even with those measures in place he wasn’t quite sure they were safe.

“You’re thinking about that crappy wife of yours again aren’t you?”

“No.”

Mrs. P. laughed. “Right. You always scowl before a morning of fun with your daughter in the pool.” Satisfied with the temperature of the milk in Henry’s bottle, she took Henry from Mac’s arms. “You know what you need? A good woman to replace the crappy one.”

Mac laughed. “It will be a cold frosty day in hell before I trust another woman.”

Mrs. P. harrumphed as she headed for the door. “Don’t let one bad apple spoil the whole bunch.”
Lacy skipped into the room, dressed in a bright blue one-piece swimsuit. Mac lifted her into his arms. It was very easy for Mrs. P. to spout quaint sayings, quite another for Mac to heed their advice. Pamela had broken Lacy’s heart when she left. Henry would know a mother who only popped in when the spirit moved her. Mac couldn’t risk the hearts of his children a second time.

Ellie debated sliding into one of her Happy Maids uniforms. Nothing said hired help better than a bright yellow ruffled apron and a hairnet. But Mac had suggested she wear jeans and she wasn’t taking any chances. If she had to endure being a full-time maid, then she intended for Cain to get the recommendation into Carmichael Incorporated. The best way to do that would be to follow Mac’s instructions to the letter.

She slowed her car as she wound through the streets of Coral Gables looking for the address scrawled on the back of the business card. Finally finding the property, she turned onto the driveway only to be face-to-face with an iron gate. She rolled down her car window, pressed a button marked “visitors” on a small stand just within reach of her car and watched as a camera zoomed in on her. She expected a voice to come through the little box, asking for identification. Instead, within seconds, the gate opened.

Good grief. How rich was this guy?

Slowly maneuvering up the wide stone driveway that was a beautiful yellow, not brick red or brown or even gray, but beautiful butterscotch yellow, Ellie swiveled her head from side-to-side, taking in the landscaping. Trees stood behind the black iron fence that surrounded the huge front yard, increasing the privacy. Flower gardens filled with red, yellow and orange hibiscus sprang up in no particular order, brightening the green grass with splashes of color. But it was the house that caused her mouth to fall open. Butterscotch yellow stucco, with rich cocoa brown trim and columns that rose to the flat roof overhang, and a sparkling glass front door, the house was unlike anything she’d seen.

She followed the stone driveway around to the side where she found cocoa-brown garage doors and a less auspicious entryway than the front door. She parked her car and got out.

Oppressive heat and humidity buffeted her, making her tank top and jeans feel like a snowmobile suit. The sounds of someone splashing in a pool caught her attention and she walked around back and stopped. Her mouth gaped.

Rows of wide, flat steps made of the same butterscotch-colored stone as in the driveway led from a wall of French doors in the back of the house to an in-ground pool. Shiny butterscotch-colored tiles intermingled with blue and beige tiles, rimming the pool and also creating a walkway that led to a patio of the same stone as the stairs. Behind the patio was a huge gazebo – big enough for a party, not merely a yard decoration – and beyond the grassy backyard was the canal where a bright white yacht was docked.

“Ellie?”

She glanced at the pool again. Mac Carmichael was swimming with a little girl of around six, probably his daughter.

She edged toward them. Trying to sound confident she said, “Hi.”

The little blonde wearing water wings waved shyly.
Mac wiped both hands down his face and headed for the ladder in the shallow water on the far side of the pool. “I’ll be right with you.”

She wanted to say, “Take your time,” or “Don’t get out on my account. I’ll find my way to the kitchen,” but the sight of Mac pulling himself onto the ladder stopped her cold. His dark swimming trunks clung wetly to his firm behind. Water pulled them down, causing them to slip as he climbed the ladder. By the time he got out of the pool his trunks clung precariously to his lean hips. He walked to a beige-and-white-flowered chaise and grabbed a huge towel.

“You got here quickly.”

She stared. With the blue skies of Florida as a backdrop, his eyes turned a color closer to topaz. Water ran in rivulets down the black hair on his chest. His still-dripping swimming trucks hung onto his hips for dear life.

“I…um…” She cleared her throat as attraction rumbled through her. It had been so long that she’d been overwhelmingly attracted to a man that she’d missed the symptoms. But here they were. Sweaty palms. Stuttering heart. Inability to form a coherent sentence.

Now she knew why her intuition wouldn’t let her allow Mac to leave the Happy Maids office. It wasn’t because of Cain. It was because she was attracted to Mac.

Telling herself not to panic, she could handle one little attraction, she smiled. Her intuition might have brought her here for a frivolous reason, but once Ava had told her about Cain wanting an “in” with Mac, she knew she couldn’t back out. Liz had saved her when she desperately needed someone. Now she finally had a chance to repay the favor. This was a mission. “I just had to run home to put on jeans and pack a bag.”

He motioned to the steps. “You go on up. It’s too hot for you to stand out here in this heat in those jeans. As soon as I get Lacy from the pool I’ll be in.”

This time she could say, “No hurry. I’ll be fine,” because she seriously needed a minute alone to compose herself. How did one man get so lucky as to not only be rich and live in a house that took her breath away, but also be so good looking he rivaled the pristine Florida sky?

“Just go up the stairs and turn left, into the kitchen. We’ll be there in a minute.”

She nodded and started up the steps, feeling as if she were walking the stairs to a museum or some other prestigious building rather than someone’s residence. Of course, she wasn’t exactly well versed in what a “normal” home should look like. She’d grown up in foster homes until she was seventeen when she ran away. Then she’d slept on the streets and fought tooth and nail just to find something to eat each day until she met Sam. She’d stayed with him, enduring increasing verbal and emotional abuse until the night the abuse became physical. Then she’d run. A Friend Indeed couldn’t take her in because they were a charity chartered to care for women with children, but Liz had offered her her couch and ultimately a job. After four years with Happy Maids, interacting with Liz and the friends she’d made through A Friend Indeed, she was only now coming to understand what normal relationships were.

So, she could forgive herself for being a tad awestruck by this house. She might clean for Miami’s elite but this guy was in a class by himself, and from the outside, his house absolutely looked like a museum.

Pushing open the second door of the four French doors lining the back wall of the house, she found herself standing between a huge kitchen on the left and a comfy family room on the right. Decorated with an overstuffed brown leather sofa and chairs with shiny cherry wood end tables and a huge flat-screen TV between bookcases that ran along the entire back wall, that part of the open floor plan appeared to be where the family did most of their living.

That she liked.

But only a few steps into the kitchen, she swallowed hard. The stove had eight burners. The refrigerator was actually hidden behind panels of the same cherry wood as the cabinets. Copper pots and pans hung from a rack above the stove. Pale salmon-colored granite countertops accented the rich cabinets. A sink with a tall copper faucet sat in the middle of the center island and another sat in a counter along a far wall. Crystal gleamed behind the glass doors of all the cabinets on the right wall.

She looked around in awe. She’d been in kitchens almost as elaborate as this one. She did, after all, clean for some fairly wealthy people. But men in Mac’s caliber weren’t wealthy. They were beyond wealthy. They didn’t hire weekly cleaning services. They had full-time employees and gourmet kitchens big enough to cook food for parties attended by hundreds of people. As a Happy Maid she only cleaned, didn’t cook for any of her clients.

She glanced around again, her mouth slightly open, fear tightening her chest.

She grabbed the cell phone she had stashed in her jeans pocket and hit a speed dial number.

“Ava, I think I’m gonna need a cook book.”


***

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