SPIN THE WHEEL. DATE THE GUY.
Six years ago, debut author Kitty Valentine took the book world by storm when her sweet romance hit #1 on the New York Times Best Sellers list, which was followed by a string of successful releases.
Her latest novel totally bombed, causing her publisher to suggest she write much sexier books.
To Kitty, writing smut is the literary equivalent of stripping.
But with no advance coming in and her royalties dipping to an all-time low, Kitty has no choice.
Armed with a romance-trope spinning prize wheel made by her best friend, listing all the different types of men she will date and then write about, Kitty will be spinning—not stripping—her way back onto the best-sellers list.
CHAPTER ONE
“So, I have some news about work,” Hayley calmly says while rooting through my closet.
It’s been a few months since her inappropriate relationship with her boss came to an end when he was found sleeping with another staff member and got fired, so I can’t imagine it could have anything to do with that.
“Spill it.”
“Well … I might or might not be in consideration for junior associate depending on the outcome of a case I’m working on,” she says distractedly while pulling out another sundress.
“Hayley! Are you serious? That’s awesome.”
“I know. I’m in shock. I don’t want to jinx it, but I had to share.” She grabs my arms, and we start jumping up and down, practically trampling the clothes strewn all over my bedroom floor.
“They must have noticed your hard work and all those hours you’ve been putting in. I told you your brilliance and talent would pay off someday.”
“Well, I don’t want to celebrate yet. Since my old boss was fired, I’ve been doing all I can to show the new guy how professional and capable I am. I won’t know until after we get back from the wedding how this will play out.”
I hold up a long, flowy sundress, my eyebrows raised. “Is this worthy of a fabulous island resort?”
“For sure. You’ll look awesome.”
“You mean that?” I can’t help but feel a tiny bit skeptical. I mean, sure, I’m a best-selling author, and my grandmother has more money than God, but that doesn’t mean I’m accustomed to fancy-schmancy destination weddings at resorts that look like something out of a dream.
My eyes just about fell out of my head when Hayley first showed me the website for the resort at which her sister is getting married in a little over a week. Pristine white sand, water so clear that you can see straight through it to the bottom, infinity pools, jaw-dropping views of lush mountainsides in the distance.
And she’s taking me as her plus-one because she’s the best friend in the entire world, and neither one of us has a man in our lives right now, but I fully expect there will be plenty of men interested the second Hayley sits by the pool.
“You look awesome in just about everything, as if you didn’t know,” she chides with a grin before sorting through the handful of bathing suits in front of her.
I normally buy a new one every year, though I almost never have a reason to wear one. Weird, I know—though that’s hardly the weirdest thing about me.
“Anything worthwhile in the pile?”
“They’re all cute as hell. I’d have to see them on you though.”
“Eek. I didn’t know I’d actually have to wear them.”
She laughs. “Kitty.”
“I’ll probably wear a cover-up most of the time anyway. I have a couple of adorable caftans. I’ll look fabulous when sitting by the pool, sipping a fruity cocktail under a dramatic sun hat.”
“You’re young and gorgeous and hot. Why spend your time lounging in a caftan and sun hat when you can dive into the pool and make a dramatic exit with water pouring off your bronzed skin?”
Nice mental image, but it doesn’t stop me from snorting in disbelief. “Honey, I think you have your life and my life mixed up. I love you, I do, but you’re the bronzed goddess. I’m the girl walking behind you, slipping and falling on the water dripping from your skin.”
She laughs before throwing a balled-up bikini top at me. “Shut up. It’s almost boring, how hard you are on yourself. You’re beautiful, and you know it. You need a little confidence.”
“I need a lot of things.”
“Once we get there, you’ll see. You’re just as hot as any of the other girls who’ll be there.”
I bite my tongue since arguing isn’t getting me anywhere. It’s not that I think of myself as an ogre. It’s more like I’ve never seen myself as the type who lounges gracefully by the pool, being waited on hand and foot, catching the eye of a tanned stranger in a lounge chair across the way and beckoning him with a sly smile.
Dang it. Even my this will never happen fantasies end up looking like a romance-novel setup. Call it habit.
She stands with a satisfied look on her face. “I think a quick shopping trip is all you’ll need, and don’t even bother pouting and grumbling.”
“Not even a little?”
“Not even a little. You need something to wear to the actual wedding and maybe the rehearsal dinner, but I think you’ll be okay otherwise.” She goes to the vanity, where my jewelry box is open, and toys with a few pairs of earrings.
“What about activewear? Like sneakers and shorts. Didn’t you say there are tours and stuff on the schedule?”
She pulls a face that I catch sight of in the mirror. “Yawn. You can tell my mom had a hand in planning this event. Why we have to be there for a week is a mystery to me. The rest of the guests won’t even show up until right before the wedding. Two days at most.”
Only she would complain about a week in paradise. I, on the other hand, know a good deal when it lands in my lap. “Come on. It could be fun. Life can’t be all lounging by the pool and ordering daiquiris.”
“You close your lying mouth,” she warns, snapping the box shut. “I refuse to hear such blasphemy.”
“Come on.” I laugh, stepping over the piles of clothes. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m famished from all this planning.”
It’s easy for me to feel lighthearted right now. My latest book hit the market last week, and my editor is pleased with the sales so far. I’m thankfully back on the calendar for the rest of the year and starting to get used to this quick-turnaround business. I can afford to feel smiley and generous.
We’re on our way to dinner, walking in the early March sunshine, when Hayley brings up what’s been on my mind. “So, it looks like they’re pushing your e-books pretty hard. Your publisher, I mean.”
“You noticed that, huh?”
“I’ve seen a few ads for your latest. I guess I’m part of the target audience.” She rolls her eyes and blows out a heavy sigh. “As if I would be caught dead reading romance.”
I know she’s joking. It’s a common misconception that only bored housewives read them, but nothing could be further from the truth.
“E-books save on publishing costs, I guess. And the turnaround is quicker since there’s no waiting for print and shipping to stores.” Not that my books aren’t in stores, but I’ve noticed the trend too. And not only with my books.