Nov 21, 2013
I was honored recently to address the annual meeting of the Norwich (CT) Women’s City Club. I used to live in Norwich and was a club member myself in the last century, and I was delighted to see old friends and new faces. I want to thank everyone so much for making me feel welcome and sitting so politely while I rambled on!
At the end of the talk, I asked them to help me plot a story. I promised to incorporate their ideas in a back cover blurb and sample first chapter. I’m liking this scene so much I may actually have to write more about Alexandra and Will. If I do, the book will be dedicated to the Norwich Women’s City Club!
Back cover blurb:
Alexandra Robinsonâdonât call her Alexâfinally has the chance to get herself and her daughter out from under her domineering motherâs thumb. Alexandraâs worked hard and is tired of paying for her bad judgmentâsheâs more than learned her lesson. No smooth-talking man is going to worm his way into her heart again with big diamonds and deception. Sheâs all business now, an aspiring fashion consultant whose sales job at Chicoâs is strictly temporary. Alexandraâs interview with media mogul Tonya Lassiter is going to change everything.
If she can get there. That quick look in her rear view mirror to check for lipstick on her teeth resulted in plowing into Will Garrityâs construction truck. The last thing she needs is another car repair bill, or the attitude from the scruffy, sawdust-covered builder. She remembers him from high school, and he hasnât changed a bit, except gotten bigger and rougher around the edges.
Will hasnât seen âPrincess Alexandraâ in over ten years. They didnât exactly run in the same crowd, then or now. She was still decked in pearls and superiority, and he didnât have time for that. Was she going to screw up the Lassiter job for him because she couldnât see straight?
Will tells himself he has to get her number for the insurance company. But her pretty pink card is burning a hole in his pocket. He canât stop seeing her in her pearlsâand nothing else. He knows heâs asking for trouble, but one date with Her Highness should get her out of his system, shouldnât it?
Chapter 1
Chanel on the cheap. Not real Chanel, of course. She couldnât afford that. But Alexandra was satisfied with her short boxy houndâs-tooth jacket and black pencil skirt from T.J. Maxx. Her pearl bangles didnât clack against each other too loudly, and the rope of pearlsâfake, of courseâwere knotted just so over her almost-silk blouse. She wore killer heelsâthe last pair of red-soled Laboutins she still owned.
She was dressed to impress Tonya Lassiter. If she got the job, Alexandra would kiss Chicoâs good-bye and be responsible for wardrobe at four cable TV channels. Sheâd be dressing all the on-air personalities on the mini-media mogulâs Long Island, Connecticut and Rhode Island stations, from weather girls to that weathered-faced guy who did the political commentary every Friday night in Providence. He was in desperate need of her help; his ties were hideous.
If she got the job, that meant she could travel a little and shop again. Not for herself, of courseâher debts, well, Randyâs debts, were still staggering. It would be a long while before they were paid off, and she needed a bigger paycheck than she got as assistant manager of the Chicoâs at Mohegan Sun Resort and Casino. There were times when Alexandra wondered if she should stick a dollar in a slot games machine after work to improve her odds, but thatâs what got her ex-husband in so much trouble.
It wasnât slots, though, but blackjack. Racked up on her credit card. It had been worth it to borrow money from her mother to pay for the divorce.
Moving in with the woman had been a big pill to swallow three years ago, but where else was Alexandra going to go with a toddler and no job? Juliet was the only good thing out of her marriage.
Enough with the gloom and doom. Alexandra shot a smile into the rear view mirror to perk herself up and check for lipstick on her teeth. Sheâd gone for a strong red, and there was nothing worse thanâ
Wrong. Here was something much, much worse. A hulking tricked-up truck was coming around the bend in the narrow Norwichtown back lane straight at her.
Brake brake brake.
She hadnât been going fastâyou couldnât on this winding roadâbut it was too late. Alexandraâs ancient little Audi hit the vehicle with a sickening crunch.
Damn. She was just yards away from Ms. Lassiterâs secluded house. She could see the roofline through the treetops.
Out of the hulking truck came the Hulk himself, a construction worker who looked extremely unhappy. He was familiar. Someone from the casino? No, high school. It was that Neanderthal Will Garrity, whoâd captained the football team and had given her such crap when she was head cheerleader.
Good grief. They were a clichĂ©, except theyâd never dated.
Eleven years had bulked him up and didnât look like theyâd improved his disposition any. She rolled down her window.
He towered over the car. âWhat the hell were you doing? Putting on lipstick?â
It was too close to the truth. Alexandra lifted her chin and tried to smile. âSorry. I didnât expect to see anyone else on the road. Thereâs only one house on this end.â Alexandra had grown up in Norwich, and this road was unknown to most of its residents. It was private, expensive and exclusive. Tonya Lassiter had other houses, but she retreated here for the quiet and anonymity in this sleepy New England town.
Will stepped back as Alexandra slid out of the car to inspect the damage. Her bumper was toast, and one headlight looked ready to pop out to greener pastures.
His hazel eyes narrowed. âI know you. Youâre Alex Something, arenât you?â
âAlexandra.â How she hated to be called Alex. One might as well call her Al and be done with it. She was worth those four syllables, darn it.
âAlexandra Elliot, right?â
âRobinson now.â She couldnât change her name backâit would be confusing for Juliet.
He peered into the back seat, where Julietâs booster seat was in all its crumbs and glory. âMarried with a kid, right? Well, if you want your kid to grow up with a mother, youâd better watch where youâre going. Ditzy blonde.â
The last two words were muttered, but Alexandra heard them all the same. âI beg your pardon. You were just as much at fault as I was. You could have killed me with that behemoth. Do you do those stupid monster truck rallies?â
âOf course I donât!â he said, annoyed. âThis is my work truck. Iâm on a job.â
Alexandraâs heart sank. âYouâre working at Ms. Lassiterâs?â
âNot that itâs any of your business, but yes. My crew is putting up an addition. An office and a media room. Two bathrooms, guest bedroom. And FYI, she hates it when people come spying down here. Youâd better back it up.â
âI have an appointment with her,â Alexandra said in her iciest voice. She could hear the whine of electric saws and hammering now, breaking the silence of the countryside.
âI wonât keep you then.â He reached into his back jeans pocket and pulled out a tattered business card. âFor the insurance company. I donât think we need to bother the cops with this, do you?â
As far as she could tell, there wasnât a scratch on his truck. Her poor Audi, on the other hand, was not going to make a good impression on anyone. Alexandra prayed Ms. Lassiter would not look out her window as she rolled up the driveway.
She reached into the car and retrieved her used red Coach clutch. She preferred to view it as pre-owned. Vintage. Her brand-new cards were in a little leather case her mother had bought for her to celebrate her inevitable success as an independent fashion consultant and stylist. Elizabeth Elliot did not like to think of her only child as a mere shop girl.
Alexandra passed him a pink and black card. Much thought had gone into the designâfirst impressions and all that. Willâs lip curled as he held it between two callused fingers.
âClothes Encounters? Youâve got to be kidding me.â
âI graduated from RISD. My degree is in apparel design.â She even knew how to make fine leather shoes, not that sheâd tell this big lug in his scuffed-up work boots. But sheâd never really had the drive to succeed in the cut-throat fashion world, and once sheâd married Randy sheâd enjoyed being a Connecticut housewife in her big-ass colonial, buying designer clothes rather than sewing them.
Sheâd had to sell most of them on consignment, and the house had gone into foreclosure years ago.
Alexandra still had a good eye, and she was only twenty-nine. There had to be more to life than ringing up sales at a high-end womenâs store. If she could get Tonya Lassiter to give her a break, other doors would open.
But first, she had to knock on her door. âIf weâre done hereâŠâ She waved a well-manicured hand. Pale pink polish. No rings. She hadnât bitten the bullet yet to sell her three point five carat engagement ring, but she never wore it. That rat Randy had wanted it back, but the judge disagreed.
Will Garrity noticed. âNo wedding ring? Whereâs Mr. Robinson?â
âNot that itâs any of your business, but Iâm divorced. What about youâŠâ She made a point of looking at his card as if she couldnât remember his name. âMr. Garrity? Uh, Will.â
âNo wives, no kids, no problems. Enough with the high school reunion. How do you want this to go? Itâs too narrow for either of us to turn around.â
Backing up was not really one of Alexandraâs skills. Apparently going forward wasnât either. âIf you donât mind, Iâm late. Could youâŠ?â
âAs you wish, Princess.â There was that unholy spark of glee in his eyes she remembered so well. Heâd teased her mercilessly. Thought she was stuck-up. Well, she probably had been, a little. It was hard to escape from Elizabethâs influenceâher mother was a dreadful snob, and Alexandra had been raised with the best of everything.
Until Randy.
She got into her car and sneaked a glance at the rear view mirror again. Though her hair was still pulled back in a neat ponytail, she felt decidedly ruffled. But she wasnât going to let a man like Will Garrityâor any guyâget under her skin or into her heart again.
It has been eons since I posted a blog! Lots of great stuff has happened–foreign rights sales of both London List and Ladies Unlaced books, so eventually I’ll be translated into nine languages! (That’s In the Arms of the Heiress’s German cover–love the car!) I’m going through the final version of August’s The Reluctant Governess, and hope to have the cover to reveal soon. We’ve done a lot of traveling, too. Earlier this spring I spent a month in a charming Cotswold village soaking up atmosphere for a brand new series. I’m about 1/3 of the way through the first book and loving every word. Okay, I’m making that up, but that’s what I do for a living. đ