Still plugging away on Liar, Liar, Tabloid Writer, but I'm so close to the finish line I can actually see it. Of course, there are still rewrites to be done, but that's the fun part. You can see other excerpts of this story here.
This takes place on Cleo's first day at her new job as a writer for a tabloid. In the first line, she's just been busted with her head on her desk, having a pity party that circumstances have derailed her once bright and shiny career and brought her to this.
“Contemplating suicide already?”
Cleo jumped upright so hard that her chair nearly tipped over backwards. She grabbed the desktop with both hands to keep herself from going ass over teakettle. When she was sure she was no longer in danger of showing the world the color of her thong underwear, she discovered that, sitting in her chair, her eyes were level with Alec’s crotch.
He apparently found uncoordinated women a turn on, because he either had a hard-on that would choke a giraffe or he stuffed his pants with rolled up socks. Given their environment, her money was on the socks.
She forced her gaze up and found herself staring into his dark eyes. He looked as if he expected her to reach into her handbag, pull out a gun, and shoot herself in the head. “No, I’m not suicidal. Not yet anyway.”
Intrigued at all?
And as a special treat, this is how I see Alec:
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