Aspiring writers are told “write what you know”.
I took that advice to heart.
I know two things… business (based on decades in new business development) and romance (based on falling and staying in love with the man of my dreams).
September 2, 2009
September 3, 2009
September 10, 2009
A Short Story On Author Island
September 10, 2009
September 15, 2009
September 21, 2009
October 12, 2009
Interview And Fave Paranormal Book Contest
December 1, 2009
December 6, 2009
Host - My Christmas Traditions
February 15, 2010
Although Emily was purposely a few minutes late, she wasn’t late enough. Vince wasn’t in the room. The three artists circled a dark hair man with his back to Emily. Judging from the wide smiles and flirtatious laughter, the man was their host, the reclusive billionaire Rafael Medina. Juanita stood by the wall, a tray in her hand. Classical music played.
Emily hovered in the doorway, smoothing out the wrinkles in her simple black sheath dress. It was her best outfit and usually she felt beautiful in it. Tonight, she felt woefully underdressed.
Emily wasn’t the only woman in black. Martika’s black dress was a dramatic creation with geometric cutouts, highlighting her stick thin body. Bess sparkled in a playful silver sequined mini with matching cowboy hat and boots. Viola resembled a goddess. The draping of her white gown accentuated the blonde’s curves.
Emily took one last hopeful look behind her. There was no Vince lurking in the hallway. She was alone. She fixed a smile on her face and stepped forward. She’d pretend that he followed her. That was what she’d do.
“Champagne, Miss Emily?” Juanita offered her a glass.
Emily preferred water, champagne making her light headed, but everyone else had a crystal flute in hand so she took it. “Thank you, Juanita.”
The man she thought was Mr. Medina turned and all Emily’s worries evaporated. “Vince.” He had shaved, his chin square and determined, but there was no mistaking those green eyes.
They darkened as he examined her. “Emily.” His voice was husky with appreciation.
He had been attractive in a t-shirt and shorts. In a tuxedo, he was devastating. The white of his shirt accentuated his tanned skin. The form fitting jacket made his shoulders appear even wider. He held himself with confidence, a half filled champagne flute in hand.
Some of that confidence transferred to Emily. If he could fit in, she could also. “Evening everyone.” She waved. Vince’s lips twitched. No one waved back.
“Em, you sly girl, you.” Bess marched over, looping her arm in Emily’s. “You didn’t tell us, hon, you knew Mr. Medina.” The redhead pulled her closer to the group. “I thought you were tight with the captain, not his employer.”
“I don’t know Mr. Medina.” Why would Bess think she did? Emily looked to Vince for an explanation.
“We haven’t been formally introduced, Emily. I’m Rafael Vincent Medina.” He bowed his head slightly. “A rare few call me Vince.” The rest of the room blurred. It was just him and her.
“You’re Mr. Medina,” she repeated, her mind spinning. Vince was Mr. Medina, the billionaire. He wasn’t a captain. He wasn’t someone like her.
“And you’re the rarest of the few.” He took her hand, his thumb stroking circles on her skin. “Call me Vince.”
Since I’m writing about a Vince,
I figured I’d feature a photo of a Vince.
Vince Vaughn, for a funny guy,
doesn’t joke around with his suits.
They always fit very well.
He also loves the bright colored shirts
and that makes his outfits pop.
Photo taken by cessemi
(See Link For Copyright Information)
Bobby at Book Wenches reviewed Flawless.
Wow, wow, wow, I’m SO happy she loved it.
Here is a little of what she had to say…
“Ms. Chin tells a wonderful and involving story, and while I’m crushingly disappointed that this one is now over (can I rewind time to read it for the very first time again, please?), I’ll continue to look forward to her next offering. Please, Ms. Chin, keep up the good work.”
For some unexplainable reason, knowing Vince would stand by her side as she confronted Mr. Medina made the butterflies in her stomach go away. He’d be with her on the return trip also. They’d be alone. Would he kiss her then?
She glanced at his mouth. She’d like it if he did. Her cheeks heated. She looked forward. A dot sat on the horizon. As they sped toward it, it increased in size.
“Is that it?”
“Si.”
“Wow.” She had pictured a sandy cay like the several they’d passed. This was an actual island with palm trees, rocky cliffs, and a big house perched on top of a hill. As they neared, buoys marked the route. “It is paradise. Mr. Medina must spend a lot of time here.”
“Not as much time as he would like to spend.” Vince slowed the yacht as they approached the dock. A man stood on it, waving his hands.
“What would you like me to do?”
“Throw the dock lines to Jose. He will tie-up for us.”
That she could do. Emily wasn’t as comfortable docking a boat as she was casting off. She tossed the bow and stern lines. The smiling man caught them with a ‘gracias’ and tied-off expertly.
When the docking procedures were done, Vince addressed the women, back in his formal captain role. “If you ladies will go with Jose, he will take you to the house in the golf cart. There, Marie will take care of you. Your bags will be delivered shortly.”
“But…” Emily protested. He said he would be by her side.
“Go with them, Emily. Mr. Medina isn’t there.” He read her concerns. “You will be fine.”
She summoned up a smile. “Okay.” Turning to Jose, she introduced herself, “Jose, I’m Emily.” No one else said anything, arranging themselves on the 6 passenger golf cart.
“Si, si, Miss Emily.” Her hand was shaken enthusiastically. “Come, you ride with me.” The three women had spread out in the back, their hand luggage piled on the extra seat. “It is a beautiful day, no?”
“Yes, very beautiful.” She looked over her shoulder at Vince. He was scowling as he unloaded the bags. He’d bring them to the house and she’d see him then. “Will we have the light for long, Jose?”
“Asked like an artist, hon,” Bess piped up.
Emily took that as a compliment, sitting taller in her seat. The vehicle jerked into motion. She held on tighter. Viola cursed. Martika sucked air through her teeth. Bess laughed.
“Many hours, Miss Emily.” Jose smiled. The engine groaned under the strain of the hill. “Two, perhaps three, who knows?” He shrugged.
“I bet the sunsets are something.”
Martika sniffed. Sunsets were her specialty, bold reds and oranges against black.
“Si, something, beautiful something, like love in the sky, no?” The man chatted as they climbed. The house loomed above them. It was a stunning mix of Colonial and contemporary, the many windows framed by brightly painted shutters. There were no curtains or blinds, she could see right inside to the all white living room. There’d be no need for privacy, Emily supposed. Mr. Medina had the island to himself.
A dark haired woman in a crisp blue apron stood on the front steps. “Juanita,” Jose called out. “Come.” He motioned her forward. “Ladies, this is JuanitaMarie.” She bobbed her head, her smile shy. “She will see you to your rooms. JuanitaMarie.” He dropped his voice. “This is my new friend, Miss Emily. You take special care of her, si?” Jose winked at Emily.
“Si, si, I will, very special care. Come Miss Emily, come ladies. I show you rooms.” She opened the door.
Emily bit her lip, not correcting Jose. She didn’t require any special care and she wouldn’t be here long but they would learn that soon enough. She followed the woman into the house.
“Whew whee, this is a nice little place.” Bess’s boots rang against the tiled floor. “Look at all this natural light.” The windows stretched from floor to ceiling, giving inhabitants a stunning view of the water.
“Dah, very good.” Even Martika was impressed.
“And notice, ladies.” Viola put away her handheld, waving at the stark bare walls. “Not a painting anywhere. Can we say ch-ching?”
The three of them grinned at each other. They’d paint here all week and then sell those paintings. Emily squashed a pang of envy. She’d do neither but, she pulled her camera out of her purse, she could paint the views when she returned home. She snapped a photograph of the empty dock, the yacht gleaming white against the turquoise sea.
“No, Miss Emily.” Juanita criss-crossed her hands in front of the lens. “No photo. No sketch. No paint. Not yet.”
Of course. This was Mr. Medina’s private home. To take photos without his permission was rude. “Sorry.” Abashed, Emily put the camera away.
“What do you mean ‘not yet?’” Viola demanded, unconcerned about appearing rude. “Why ‘not yet?’ What are we waiting for?”
“Senor Medina explain.”
“Well, golly, girls.” Bess hooted. “Slap a brand on my rump and call me dinner, I believe we have ourselves an eccentric billionaire. He invites three of the best painters in the world and won’t let us do what we do best.”
Four, the eccentric billionaire invited four painters. Only three arrived. Emily looked around, committing the beauty of her surroundings to memory, her brain capturing images as well as any camera.
Some images she’d never forget. One of those was the sight of Vince bending over to cast off. Another was of the dolphin arching above the surf. That had been a magical moment. The upcoming awkward confrontation with Mr. Medina was a small price to pay for having shared it.
Emily was the last to be shown her room. It was bigger than her entire apartment with a massive bed and a bedroom suite in a rich red wood. She stood in front of the window. The view was spectacular. A stretch of pebbled beach hugged the ocean. Palm trees waved in the wind. Gulls flew overhead.
The sun-baked stones would be hot against the soles of her feet. The water would be cooler than the air but much warmer than in the lakes back home. Blue tangs, French angels, yellow butterfly fish and other tropical fish would add a splash of color to the water. Emily wiggled in place, longing to explore. Would she get the opportunity before she was asked to leave?
There was a tap on her door. Juanita entered, followed by Jose. They carried her bags, her luggage appearing shabby against the crisp newness of the room. Emily took the heaviest bag from Juanita. “Vince?” Where was he? The sooner he rejoined her, the sooner they could talk to Mr. Medina. Emily preferred that they explain the situation to him in private.
“Mr. Vince get ready for dinner.” Juanita nodded. “You get ready too. Fancy party. One hour.” She unzipped Emily’s dusty duffle bag. “I unpack for you later.”
Vince was busy. Emily took a big breath. She’d do this alone. “I need to talk to Mr. Medina, Juanita.” Her host wouldn’t want a scene made at this fancy party.
“No. No time. Talk later. You get ready now.” The woman smiled as she left.
Emily was too concerned to smile. This party would be a debacle. She slipped out of her sandals. Mr. Medina expected someone else. She unbuttoned her sundress, dropping it to the floor, removing her bra and panties. He’d be angry. She strode to the en-suite bathroom. At least, Vince would be there, standing by her side. She ran the shower, waiting for the water to warm. That was the one bright spot.