Hello to you all wonderful, beautiful people!
Our trip on Venus is coming to a close this week. But, not to mean that the intriguing topic of heroines is closed. Far from it!
Catch us this week as the 2 regular contributors - T.J. and Aasiyah/Nolwynn - round up their takes on the quest for the perfect heroine. What do these women have on their mind?
And, on Wednesday, we welcome another Royal Blush Author who's making her debut with us at the blog - Chiron O'Keefe. Don't miss this post - Chiron is asking you Which Desperate Housewife you happen to be? If you're tickled, tune in on Wednesday!
Friday will see another episode of the life and love of Prudence Tempest. In the arms of Malcolm, Prudence sees her fantasy shattering when her flatmate Stacey catches them in the act. What will she do? And more inportantly, how will Malcolm handle it all?
This March, we at RBA have been delving deep into our hearts and soul.
This March, we have taken you on the inner quest:
Searching for the perfect heroine...
The best of us for the best of you, that's our promise as we deliver the full flush of romance.
From now till later, enjoy!
With love, from Ms. Blush
Showing posts with label Prudence Tempest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Prudence Tempest. Show all posts
Monday, March 23, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009
Ongoing Free Read
The gall of the man! Who did he think he was, questioning me as if he were the wronged husband who came home to find his wife with another man?
“Chambers, that’s none of your goddamn business. Prudence is free to do as she pleases.”
Malcolm’s icy tone brooked no argument. Yet, I heard the implicit support he offered me with his words. Taking a deep breath, stepping away from the cloying proximity of Des, my gaze when to him as my arms crossed in front of my chest.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“What’s he doing at your place, Prue?”
I felt Malcolm take a step forward but my hand reached out and touched his forearm, the gesture silently asking him to stay put.
This was my battle, and wage it I would. “Malcolm and I are working, Des.”
He snorted, and my hand clasped tighter on Malcolm’s wrist.
“Is there a reason why you’re here?” was my prompt.
“You’re not hurt?” Des asked.
I could feel my forehead scrunch into a frown. What was he getting at? “I beg your pardon?”
“Why would she be hurt, Chambers? If you’re implying she’s not safe with me—”
“Of course she’s not safe, what with that crazy wife of yours assaulting her earlier today,” Des cut through.
Oh my God. How did he know that? My puzzlement must’ve been obvious because he then added,
“It’s the talk of the town. How she was hauled to the police station and how another woman is responsible for her outburst.”
Horror grabbed me and I took a step back, only to bump against Malcolm’s broad chest. To my utter shame, my frame sagged against his and his arms came up to wrap around me, keeping me snugly upright braced to his warm body.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Des exclaimed.
I looked up into Malcolm’s face. His features were taut with repressed tension.
“Chambers, if I were you, I’d leave right now.”
Des stiffened his spine and stood his ground. Malcolm’s body went rigid too, and I knew I had to play the referee before things got ugly.
“Des, I’m fine. It would be better if you left.”
“But Prue—”
“Please go.” My voice was barely above a whisper.
He threw a glance at Malcolm, before his gaze landed on me again. I turned my head to evade the condemnation in his dark irises.
Without another word, he turned on his heels and left. I breathed a sigh of relief and suddenly realized where I was.
In the arms of my dream man, his hot body pressed against the length of my back.
I wanted to revel in the feeling, especially given the fact that he hadn’t yet released me. Actually, it was almost as if his arms were accommodating me even more, tightening to bring me more in contact with his frame.
My eyes closed of their own accord at the same time a small puff of air left me.
I felt him lower his head, and his breath was now warm as it tickled my ear. Any second now, his lips would graze my cheek, and I knew the feeling would make sparks sizzle through my whole being.
With baited breath, I waited. The seconds took on a life of their own, stretching into an eternity.
Say my name.
“Prue!”
But it wasn’t Malcolm’s husky whisper that I heard. No. It was a very strident and disbelieving, feminine shriek.
My eyes flew open, to stare at the shell-shocked face of Stacey, my flat mate.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “And with Malcolm Gainsborough, of all people?”
To be continued in a fortnight…
“Chambers, that’s none of your goddamn business. Prudence is free to do as she pleases.”
Malcolm’s icy tone brooked no argument. Yet, I heard the implicit support he offered me with his words. Taking a deep breath, stepping away from the cloying proximity of Des, my gaze when to him as my arms crossed in front of my chest.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“What’s he doing at your place, Prue?”
I felt Malcolm take a step forward but my hand reached out and touched his forearm, the gesture silently asking him to stay put.
This was my battle, and wage it I would. “Malcolm and I are working, Des.”
He snorted, and my hand clasped tighter on Malcolm’s wrist.
“Is there a reason why you’re here?” was my prompt.
“You’re not hurt?” Des asked.
I could feel my forehead scrunch into a frown. What was he getting at? “I beg your pardon?”
“Why would she be hurt, Chambers? If you’re implying she’s not safe with me—”
“Of course she’s not safe, what with that crazy wife of yours assaulting her earlier today,” Des cut through.
Oh my God. How did he know that? My puzzlement must’ve been obvious because he then added,
“It’s the talk of the town. How she was hauled to the police station and how another woman is responsible for her outburst.”
Horror grabbed me and I took a step back, only to bump against Malcolm’s broad chest. To my utter shame, my frame sagged against his and his arms came up to wrap around me, keeping me snugly upright braced to his warm body.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Des exclaimed.
I looked up into Malcolm’s face. His features were taut with repressed tension.
“Chambers, if I were you, I’d leave right now.”
Des stiffened his spine and stood his ground. Malcolm’s body went rigid too, and I knew I had to play the referee before things got ugly.
“Des, I’m fine. It would be better if you left.”
“But Prue—”
“Please go.” My voice was barely above a whisper.
He threw a glance at Malcolm, before his gaze landed on me again. I turned my head to evade the condemnation in his dark irises.
Without another word, he turned on his heels and left. I breathed a sigh of relief and suddenly realized where I was.
In the arms of my dream man, his hot body pressed against the length of my back.
I wanted to revel in the feeling, especially given the fact that he hadn’t yet released me. Actually, it was almost as if his arms were accommodating me even more, tightening to bring me more in contact with his frame.
My eyes closed of their own accord at the same time a small puff of air left me.
I felt him lower his head, and his breath was now warm as it tickled my ear. Any second now, his lips would graze my cheek, and I knew the feeling would make sparks sizzle through my whole being.
With baited breath, I waited. The seconds took on a life of their own, stretching into an eternity.
Say my name.
“Prue!”
But it wasn’t Malcolm’s husky whisper that I heard. No. It was a very strident and disbelieving, feminine shriek.
My eyes flew open, to stare at the shell-shocked face of Stacey, my flat mate.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “And with Malcolm Gainsborough, of all people?”
To be continued in a fortnight…
Monday, March 9, 2009
With Love, from Ms. Blush
Hello to you all wonderful, beautiful people!
We're still taking a stroll down the avenues of Venus, trying to check out what heroines can tell us.
What does the modern-day heroine have to say for herself? And what does the Royal Blush Authors posse have to say about this woman?
Catch us again this week as we follow upon the topic we started last week.
On Tuesday, T.J. will give us a view of heroines in the past decades, when romance really emerged.
On Thursday, Aasiyah/Nolwynn will tell us a bit more about clocking in a 'real' heroine.
And on Friday, don't miss 'the' heroine of RBA - Prudence Tempest. Sandwiched in a power struggle between her sticky colleague Des and the man of her dreams, the handsome Malcolm, what will happen to our dear Prue this week?
Women writing about women...
This March, we at are RBA are delving deep into our hearts and soul.
This March, we're taking you on the inner quest:
Searching for the perfect heroine...
The best of us for the best of you, that's our promise as we deliver the full flush of romance.
From now till later, enjoy!
With love, from Ms. Blush
We're still taking a stroll down the avenues of Venus, trying to check out what heroines can tell us.
What does the modern-day heroine have to say for herself? And what does the Royal Blush Authors posse have to say about this woman?
Catch us again this week as we follow upon the topic we started last week.
On Tuesday, T.J. will give us a view of heroines in the past decades, when romance really emerged.
On Thursday, Aasiyah/Nolwynn will tell us a bit more about clocking in a 'real' heroine.
And on Friday, don't miss 'the' heroine of RBA - Prudence Tempest. Sandwiched in a power struggle between her sticky colleague Des and the man of her dreams, the handsome Malcolm, what will happen to our dear Prue this week?
Women writing about women...
This March, we at are RBA are delving deep into our hearts and soul.
This March, we're taking you on the inner quest:
Searching for the perfect heroine...
The best of us for the best of you, that's our promise as we deliver the full flush of romance.
From now till later, enjoy!
With love, from Ms. Blush
Friday, February 27, 2009
Ongoing Free Read
He gave me no time to reply or discuss the matter further. His arm clasped my elbow and he steered me out towards the car, almost pushing me into the passenger seat.
“Malcolm!”
My plea fell onto deaf ears. He slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, backing out of the driveway in a screech of tires.
I heard the click of the central locking activated and a small tremor of fear rushed through me. I wouldn’t have considered jumping out of a car that went at nearly ninety in suburbia – I wasn’t insane – but to know he blocked the way out made me uneasy.
We reached the police station all too soon and there he was again, opening my door and clasping my elbow. In we went into the big, stone-walled building.
From previous experience, I knew this statement business would take ages. How did I know? Because I was the one who had bailed my sister out of jail not so long ago. Sage had assaulted her husband and there was no way I would allow our parents to know she was a bully in her house. Sage Martin – she went by her husband’s name; easier to carry than Sage Tempest, especially when one knew how easily she blew a fuse or two – was the kind of person who could brew a typhoon in a teacup.
But, it seemed things went differently in West Haven where the rich and the rags were concerned. In the blink of an eye, the officers had taken Malcolm’s statement and mine as well, settled as we were in a comfy, well-heated room with warm mugs of coffee. A far cry from the full afternoon and night I had spent when Sage had been here.
It was dark however when we emerged. Malcolm took one look at the lit parking lot and he said, “I’ll take you home.”
It would be pointless to try to wheedle out and say I’d call a cab. So I acquiesced and we found ourselves in the Mercedes again, on the way to my apartment.
I gave Malcolm the address and he stopped the car in front of my brownstone building. I noticed his gaze scanning the area through the windshield.
For once, I was grateful I lived in the posh south-western section of town. Mind you, I didn’t own the place. I shared it with the owner, a wealthy heiress by the name of Stacey Walton. Like many young girls in her situation, she had come to the agency to look for an apartment in town as the gift for her eighteenth birthday. Nothing suited her, and throughout the weeks we worked together to find her a place, friendship developed between us. We weren’t bosom buddies, but we got along well. Now here comes this huge apartment on the market. It was actually two individual residences merged together. The owner wanted to get rid of it before his assets were valued for his divorced proceedings.
Stacey is the kind of girl who loses all reason the minute she hears the word ‘deal’. ‘Sales’ or ‘discount’ worked just as well too, getting her pen poised on her chequebook before she even realized what she was buying. So Stacey ends up with this huge place, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world, asks me if I’d like to be her roommate.
She also cited a paltry sum as rent, and I didn’t think twice before jumping on the offer. The money I saved every month could afford me one such place in five years.
“I’ll walk you to your door,” Malcolm said, bringing me back to the here and now.
“Oh, no need to. You must be exhausted. I wouldn’t want to keep you.”
“I insist,” he added and he exited the car to come open my door.
I wasn’t about to fight. Time spent with him was still what it was – time spent with him. I wasn’t going to spit on that.
We walked to the elevator and stepped into the carriage. The air was heavy and thick around us. I risked a glance at his profile and noted the tense set of his jaw. Fatigue was etched on his features, and my heart went out to him.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” I found myself asking on the threshold of my door.
He rubbed his hand over the nape of his neck. “Wouldn’t say no.”
“Come in,” I said as I pushed the door open and he followed me inside. “The living room is this way,” I said with a sweep of my hand while I headed to the kitchen.
I blanked all thoughts from my mind as I made coffee. No way would I think about the hunk who was probably draped over my sofa right now.
With the two steaming cups in my hand, I walked into the living room and nearly stopped in my tracks.
Malcolm wasn’t sprawled on the sofa but he stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window at the far end of the room. He had shed his jacket and tie, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his elbows.
I had never seen a more breathtaking, masculine sight.
He turned and walked to me, taking one cup from my hand.
“Thanks,” he said in a husky whisper. “Come sit down,” he added. His green eyes held me captive and like a hypnotized creature, I went where his gaze indicated.
We sat there side by side, sipping our coffee in silence.
“We didn’t get any work done,” I ventured to say when the thought crossed my mind.
“Tomorrow,” he replied.
“Won’t we lag?”
“No.” He took a sip of his coffee before he looked at me. “What do you know about Waltner?”
“Not much,” I replied.
This got us talking about the project. Before we realized, a good deal of time had passed. Malcolm threw a glance at his watch at one point and suddenly said, “Aren’t you hungry?”
Come to think of it, my stomach was hurting.
“Let’s have dinner,” he suggested.
Dinner? With him? Alone? How had I gotten so lucky?
“How does pizza sound?” he asked.
I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Not many men would’ve suggested this so nonchalantly, and he impressed me with his quiet confidence. This wasn’t a man who felt he needed to dazzle and belittle people around him.
“Pizza sounds great,” I replied.
He took out his cell phone. “What would you like?”
He even asked me what I wanted? Who was this? The perfect man? “Pepperoni, with lots of cheese?”
He smiled, and it wreaked havoc in my heart. “A woman after my own heart,” he said, further sending me down the road to la-la-land.
I walked on air and breathed bliss in as we sat there talking about work. When the delivery came, we sat down on the floor with the boxes between us.
But bliss doesn’t last, does it? The doorbell rang, shattering the cocoon-like world we were ensconced in.
Who could it be? I stood and walked to the door. Throwing a quick glance at the peephole, I gasped.
What was he doing here?
“Prue, open the door,” Des said from the other side.
I swung the panel open. There he stood, looking at me with concern on his face.
He threw his arms around me. “Oh Prue, I was so worried.”
Worried? What on earth was going on?
“Are you okay?” he said as he released me.
“She’s fine, Chambers,” Malcolm’s cold voice said behind me.
Des froze, his gaze going from me to Malcolm and back again. He probably took in Malcolm’s casual attire, the kind a man wore in a house where he was completely at ease.
Anger flared on Des’s face.
“What’s he doing at your place at nine in the evening?” he spat out.
To be continued in a fortnight…
“Malcolm!”
My plea fell onto deaf ears. He slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, backing out of the driveway in a screech of tires.
I heard the click of the central locking activated and a small tremor of fear rushed through me. I wouldn’t have considered jumping out of a car that went at nearly ninety in suburbia – I wasn’t insane – but to know he blocked the way out made me uneasy.
We reached the police station all too soon and there he was again, opening my door and clasping my elbow. In we went into the big, stone-walled building.
From previous experience, I knew this statement business would take ages. How did I know? Because I was the one who had bailed my sister out of jail not so long ago. Sage had assaulted her husband and there was no way I would allow our parents to know she was a bully in her house. Sage Martin – she went by her husband’s name; easier to carry than Sage Tempest, especially when one knew how easily she blew a fuse or two – was the kind of person who could brew a typhoon in a teacup.
But, it seemed things went differently in West Haven where the rich and the rags were concerned. In the blink of an eye, the officers had taken Malcolm’s statement and mine as well, settled as we were in a comfy, well-heated room with warm mugs of coffee. A far cry from the full afternoon and night I had spent when Sage had been here.
It was dark however when we emerged. Malcolm took one look at the lit parking lot and he said, “I’ll take you home.”
It would be pointless to try to wheedle out and say I’d call a cab. So I acquiesced and we found ourselves in the Mercedes again, on the way to my apartment.
I gave Malcolm the address and he stopped the car in front of my brownstone building. I noticed his gaze scanning the area through the windshield.
For once, I was grateful I lived in the posh south-western section of town. Mind you, I didn’t own the place. I shared it with the owner, a wealthy heiress by the name of Stacey Walton. Like many young girls in her situation, she had come to the agency to look for an apartment in town as the gift for her eighteenth birthday. Nothing suited her, and throughout the weeks we worked together to find her a place, friendship developed between us. We weren’t bosom buddies, but we got along well. Now here comes this huge apartment on the market. It was actually two individual residences merged together. The owner wanted to get rid of it before his assets were valued for his divorced proceedings.
Stacey is the kind of girl who loses all reason the minute she hears the word ‘deal’. ‘Sales’ or ‘discount’ worked just as well too, getting her pen poised on her chequebook before she even realized what she was buying. So Stacey ends up with this huge place, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world, asks me if I’d like to be her roommate.
She also cited a paltry sum as rent, and I didn’t think twice before jumping on the offer. The money I saved every month could afford me one such place in five years.
“I’ll walk you to your door,” Malcolm said, bringing me back to the here and now.
“Oh, no need to. You must be exhausted. I wouldn’t want to keep you.”
“I insist,” he added and he exited the car to come open my door.
I wasn’t about to fight. Time spent with him was still what it was – time spent with him. I wasn’t going to spit on that.
We walked to the elevator and stepped into the carriage. The air was heavy and thick around us. I risked a glance at his profile and noted the tense set of his jaw. Fatigue was etched on his features, and my heart went out to him.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” I found myself asking on the threshold of my door.
He rubbed his hand over the nape of his neck. “Wouldn’t say no.”
“Come in,” I said as I pushed the door open and he followed me inside. “The living room is this way,” I said with a sweep of my hand while I headed to the kitchen.
I blanked all thoughts from my mind as I made coffee. No way would I think about the hunk who was probably draped over my sofa right now.
With the two steaming cups in my hand, I walked into the living room and nearly stopped in my tracks.
Malcolm wasn’t sprawled on the sofa but he stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window at the far end of the room. He had shed his jacket and tie, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his elbows.
I had never seen a more breathtaking, masculine sight.
He turned and walked to me, taking one cup from my hand.
“Thanks,” he said in a husky whisper. “Come sit down,” he added. His green eyes held me captive and like a hypnotized creature, I went where his gaze indicated.
We sat there side by side, sipping our coffee in silence.
“We didn’t get any work done,” I ventured to say when the thought crossed my mind.
“Tomorrow,” he replied.
“Won’t we lag?”
“No.” He took a sip of his coffee before he looked at me. “What do you know about Waltner?”
“Not much,” I replied.
This got us talking about the project. Before we realized, a good deal of time had passed. Malcolm threw a glance at his watch at one point and suddenly said, “Aren’t you hungry?”
Come to think of it, my stomach was hurting.
“Let’s have dinner,” he suggested.
Dinner? With him? Alone? How had I gotten so lucky?
“How does pizza sound?” he asked.
I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Not many men would’ve suggested this so nonchalantly, and he impressed me with his quiet confidence. This wasn’t a man who felt he needed to dazzle and belittle people around him.
“Pizza sounds great,” I replied.
He took out his cell phone. “What would you like?”
He even asked me what I wanted? Who was this? The perfect man? “Pepperoni, with lots of cheese?”
He smiled, and it wreaked havoc in my heart. “A woman after my own heart,” he said, further sending me down the road to la-la-land.
I walked on air and breathed bliss in as we sat there talking about work. When the delivery came, we sat down on the floor with the boxes between us.
But bliss doesn’t last, does it? The doorbell rang, shattering the cocoon-like world we were ensconced in.
Who could it be? I stood and walked to the door. Throwing a quick glance at the peephole, I gasped.
What was he doing here?
“Prue, open the door,” Des said from the other side.
I swung the panel open. There he stood, looking at me with concern on his face.
He threw his arms around me. “Oh Prue, I was so worried.”
Worried? What on earth was going on?
“Are you okay?” he said as he released me.
“She’s fine, Chambers,” Malcolm’s cold voice said behind me.
Des froze, his gaze going from me to Malcolm and back again. He probably took in Malcolm’s casual attire, the kind a man wore in a house where he was completely at ease.
Anger flared on Des’s face.
“What’s he doing at your place at nine in the evening?” he spat out.
To be continued in a fortnight…
Monday, February 23, 2009
With Love, From Ms. Blush
Hello to you all wonderful, beautiful people!
A world of heroes... A world without those special men... A world where fiction and reality hover close to each other, with a thin line separating them...
This has been our topic for the month of February. And for the last week of the month, we'll pretty much be rounding up our discussion and views on the elusive ideal hero.
Catch T.J. on Tuesday to get her full scope on this man.
On Thursday, Aasiyah/Nolwynn will bring you her overall take on heroes - who is he, and what is he made up of?
Little aspects such as naming your hero and where to parachute him (what sort of hero for what sort of story) - this is what you need to look forward to in the coming days.
And, on Friday, Prudence Tempest will be back again. Remember, in our last instalment, she came face to face with the hunky Malcolm's slightly loony future ex-wife. What will Malcolm do now in the aftermath of this disagreeable encounter?
Tune in on Friday for the latest instalment of our online free read.
Don't forget - This February, we at Royal Blush are sending the hormones flying high.
This February, we're taking you on a quest:
Searching for The Perfect Hero...
The best of us for the best of you, that's our promise as we deliver the full flush of romance.
From now till later, enjoy!
With love, from Ms. Blush
A world of heroes... A world without those special men... A world where fiction and reality hover close to each other, with a thin line separating them...
This has been our topic for the month of February. And for the last week of the month, we'll pretty much be rounding up our discussion and views on the elusive ideal hero.
Catch T.J. on Tuesday to get her full scope on this man.
On Thursday, Aasiyah/Nolwynn will bring you her overall take on heroes - who is he, and what is he made up of?
Little aspects such as naming your hero and where to parachute him (what sort of hero for what sort of story) - this is what you need to look forward to in the coming days.
And, on Friday, Prudence Tempest will be back again. Remember, in our last instalment, she came face to face with the hunky Malcolm's slightly loony future ex-wife. What will Malcolm do now in the aftermath of this disagreeable encounter?
Tune in on Friday for the latest instalment of our online free read.
Don't forget - This February, we at Royal Blush are sending the hormones flying high.
This February, we're taking you on a quest:
Searching for The Perfect Hero...
The best of us for the best of you, that's our promise as we deliver the full flush of romance.
From now till later, enjoy!
With love, from Ms. Blush
Friday, February 13, 2009
Ongoing Free Read
I froze on the spot, my gaze never leaving Malcolm. He had stilled too, but a riot of emotion danced onto his features. Surprise made his eyes widen, before anger stormed in and his jaw tensed. Deep lines appeared on his forehead.
Time stood still for a moment before I made myself turn to look at the woman who had spoken. My eyes encountered a sight that left me quizzical. You see, she didn’t look like a real, live woman. No, she resembled one of those perfect, plastic models in bridal shops. Carved out of alabaster, with perfectly smooth cheeks, big blue eyes and a wide, very red mouth. Her hair was dark and severely pulled back from her face, accentuating her perfect forehead.
“I’m calling the police,” Malcolm said, as if through clenched teeth.
Those words startled me and my gaze darted to his to see him already bringing his cell phone to his ear.
“This is still my house,” the doll said. “And I asked you who that whore is!”
“I would control my tongue if I were you,” he replied with a warning glare.
I suppose the police picked up on the other end, because he started talking, mentioning a case of breaking and entering.
This was her house? Oh God. It was Malcolm’s wife.
Ex-wife actually. Or, more precisely, future ex-wife. Their divorce wasn’t final yet.
“I asked, who is this?” she spat as she took a step forward. Fire burned in her blue irises, and I could smell danger as she approached. She stopped a hair’s breadth from me, and before I could figure out what she wanted, her hand had viciously closed on my upper arm.
“Oww.” The pain was staggering, but then she started shaking me. Who knew a slim, bony woman like her could pack such strength in her grip?
Malcolm stormed over and grabbed her arm, jerking her none too softly. “Let go of her.”
“Why? So you can cheat on me?”
“Elise, it’s over between us. Has been for a long time.”
She released me and I stumbled back a few steps. I had never been the recipient of such violence before and the shock propelled me into a misty world where perception was a little warped.
“Prudence?” Malcolm asked. “You’re okay?”
I nodded, noticing he still held her arm in his firm grip. She tried to shrug away but he jerked her back.
“I’ve had it this time, Elise. I’m not gonna let you get away with this.”
The sirens of a police car broke through the quiet, the sound going in crescendo until the engine stopped right outside the house. Two uniformed officers entered the hall and Malcolm handed Elise over to them.
“Breaking and entering, violation of a restraining order and assault on the person of my colleague,” he said.
She started to scream and fight when the officers tried to handcuff her, but they restrained her easily and led her away to the patrol car.
“Sir, we’ll need your statement.”
Malcolm nodded. “I’ll be right there.” He watched them leave from the doorstep before he turned and stared right at me. In a few strides of his long legs, he was by my side where I had slumped on the first step of the stairs.
“You’re okay?”
I blinked, the sudden silence in the house registering on my mind and bringing me out of my stupor. “What was that about?”
Malcolm sat on the step next to me. “That was my ex-wife, Elise. She doesn’t get it that it’s over between us and she’s been hounding me for the past months. It’s the second time she’s broken into the house in my absence.”
A loon as ex. Not exactly a pretty situation.
“I’m sorry.”
He gave a small, sardonic smile. “Come on,” he said as he stood. “We need to go to the station.”
I stood too. “It’s okay. I’ll call a cab and head back to the office. The work day is nearly over.”
“No,” he replied. “You’re coming with me, because you’re pressing charges too.”
“I am?” What was he getting at? I wanted nothing to do in his conjugal disputes. God, why did I not know life close to a man like Malcolm Gainsborough had to be a roller coaster?
“She assaulted you, and I’m gonna see if you cannot even press charges for defamation.”
“Wait.” This was real. He meant what he said. “I don’t want to be involved in all that.”
“Too late. You already are.”
To be continued in a fortnight…
Time stood still for a moment before I made myself turn to look at the woman who had spoken. My eyes encountered a sight that left me quizzical. You see, she didn’t look like a real, live woman. No, she resembled one of those perfect, plastic models in bridal shops. Carved out of alabaster, with perfectly smooth cheeks, big blue eyes and a wide, very red mouth. Her hair was dark and severely pulled back from her face, accentuating her perfect forehead.
“I’m calling the police,” Malcolm said, as if through clenched teeth.
Those words startled me and my gaze darted to his to see him already bringing his cell phone to his ear.
“This is still my house,” the doll said. “And I asked you who that whore is!”
“I would control my tongue if I were you,” he replied with a warning glare.
I suppose the police picked up on the other end, because he started talking, mentioning a case of breaking and entering.
This was her house? Oh God. It was Malcolm’s wife.
Ex-wife actually. Or, more precisely, future ex-wife. Their divorce wasn’t final yet.
“I asked, who is this?” she spat as she took a step forward. Fire burned in her blue irises, and I could smell danger as she approached. She stopped a hair’s breadth from me, and before I could figure out what she wanted, her hand had viciously closed on my upper arm.
“Oww.” The pain was staggering, but then she started shaking me. Who knew a slim, bony woman like her could pack such strength in her grip?
Malcolm stormed over and grabbed her arm, jerking her none too softly. “Let go of her.”
“Why? So you can cheat on me?”
“Elise, it’s over between us. Has been for a long time.”
She released me and I stumbled back a few steps. I had never been the recipient of such violence before and the shock propelled me into a misty world where perception was a little warped.
“Prudence?” Malcolm asked. “You’re okay?”
I nodded, noticing he still held her arm in his firm grip. She tried to shrug away but he jerked her back.
“I’ve had it this time, Elise. I’m not gonna let you get away with this.”
The sirens of a police car broke through the quiet, the sound going in crescendo until the engine stopped right outside the house. Two uniformed officers entered the hall and Malcolm handed Elise over to them.
“Breaking and entering, violation of a restraining order and assault on the person of my colleague,” he said.
She started to scream and fight when the officers tried to handcuff her, but they restrained her easily and led her away to the patrol car.
“Sir, we’ll need your statement.”
Malcolm nodded. “I’ll be right there.” He watched them leave from the doorstep before he turned and stared right at me. In a few strides of his long legs, he was by my side where I had slumped on the first step of the stairs.
“You’re okay?”
I blinked, the sudden silence in the house registering on my mind and bringing me out of my stupor. “What was that about?”
Malcolm sat on the step next to me. “That was my ex-wife, Elise. She doesn’t get it that it’s over between us and she’s been hounding me for the past months. It’s the second time she’s broken into the house in my absence.”
A loon as ex. Not exactly a pretty situation.
“I’m sorry.”
He gave a small, sardonic smile. “Come on,” he said as he stood. “We need to go to the station.”
I stood too. “It’s okay. I’ll call a cab and head back to the office. The work day is nearly over.”
“No,” he replied. “You’re coming with me, because you’re pressing charges too.”
“I am?” What was he getting at? I wanted nothing to do in his conjugal disputes. God, why did I not know life close to a man like Malcolm Gainsborough had to be a roller coaster?
“She assaulted you, and I’m gonna see if you cannot even press charges for defamation.”
“Wait.” This was real. He meant what he said. “I don’t want to be involved in all that.”
“Too late. You already are.”
To be continued in a fortnight…
Monday, February 9, 2009
With Love From Ms. Blush
Hello to you all wonderful, beautiful people!
Heroes make our hearts beat faster. Heroes make us believe in love. Heroes make us rise above the drudgery of everyday life.
Do you agree? Or don't you?
Last week, we started our discussion on this theme. Sandra came up with a very pertinent post about the search for a perfect hero.
This week, we continue in that same vein.
What is the basis for a hero? What makes him heroic? Is there a way to take any man and make him a worthy hero? Or is it that taking a toad and changing him into a prince is easier?
Catch us this week as we ask and attempt to answer these questions.
On Tuesday, catch T.J. as she takes us further down the path of hero archetypes. Tune in here for explanations about what actually constitues those definitions.
On Wednesday, Angela Guillaume wonders whether reality and fiction meet where heroes are concerned. This promises to be a very dynamic thread.
On Thursday, Aasiyah/Nolwynn brings you a bit more about the specifics of a culture-based hero. (Yes, culture plays into how a man is).
And on Friday, catch Prudence Tempest again. Remember, last fortnight, the divine Malcolm took Prudence to his house for a work meeting. But once inside the dwelling, a woman questions the integrity of Prudence... Who is this mystery woman? Stay tuned, it will be revealed this week!
Don't forget - This February, we at Royal Blush are sending the hormones flying high.
This February, we're taking you on a quest:
Searching for The Perfect Hero...
The best of us for the best of you, that's our promise as we deliver the full flush of romance.
From now till later, enjoy!
With love, from Ms. Blush
Heroes make our hearts beat faster. Heroes make us believe in love. Heroes make us rise above the drudgery of everyday life.
Do you agree? Or don't you?
Last week, we started our discussion on this theme. Sandra came up with a very pertinent post about the search for a perfect hero.
This week, we continue in that same vein.
What is the basis for a hero? What makes him heroic? Is there a way to take any man and make him a worthy hero? Or is it that taking a toad and changing him into a prince is easier?
Catch us this week as we ask and attempt to answer these questions.
On Tuesday, catch T.J. as she takes us further down the path of hero archetypes. Tune in here for explanations about what actually constitues those definitions.
On Wednesday, Angela Guillaume wonders whether reality and fiction meet where heroes are concerned. This promises to be a very dynamic thread.
On Thursday, Aasiyah/Nolwynn brings you a bit more about the specifics of a culture-based hero. (Yes, culture plays into how a man is).
And on Friday, catch Prudence Tempest again. Remember, last fortnight, the divine Malcolm took Prudence to his house for a work meeting. But once inside the dwelling, a woman questions the integrity of Prudence... Who is this mystery woman? Stay tuned, it will be revealed this week!
Don't forget - This February, we at Royal Blush are sending the hormones flying high.
This February, we're taking you on a quest:
Searching for The Perfect Hero...
The best of us for the best of you, that's our promise as we deliver the full flush of romance.
From now till later, enjoy!
With love, from Ms. Blush
Friday, January 30, 2009
Ongoing Free Read
With Malcolm?
I was bound to be dreaming. Did she just say my new job was full-time with Malcolm? All my life I’d waited for this opportunity, and here it was. My Ken was finally mine.
That didn’t make sense, did it? Let me explain.
I was five when I received my first Barbie. I played with her all the time. Took her out on rides in her pink car. Held parties with her and my other rag dolls in her beautiful house. Barbie was kind, because she allowed everyone into her place. A far cry from the people of West Haven. You flocked to your own herd here, and one never strayed.
Well, Barbie was my princess, but after a while, I thought something was lacking. When I told my mother, she laughed, and bought the Ken doll a few days later. Finally, Barbie was fine. She had someone who looked after her, opened her car door. Someone who loved and cherished her.
I would look at Mom and Dad and think they were like Barbie and Ken too. Until the day Dad crossed the threshold and never came back… Mom came to my bedroom and she sat on the floor with me while I played with my dolls. I remember she sighed, and then she said, while looking at Barbie and Ken, “At least this couple won’t break up. Ken will always love Barbie.”
I know it sounds silly now, but for a six-year-old, these words meant a lot. To this day, I cannot help but think that Ken really wouldn’t ever leave Barbie. Theirs was an enduring love, and I wanted my Ken too.
Malcolm was this Ken for me…
“I’m not the devil, you know,” a deep, husky voice said in my ear.
Startled out of my thoughts, I jumped away from the table in front of me and bumped smack into a solid warm wall.
Strong hands came up and clasped my shoulders. “Whoa, careful, girl. No need to be so on edge.”
Oh. My. God.
It was him. I froze, but his firm grip was on me and he made me turn around to face him.
My breath caught when I looked up into his face. Never had I seen him so close. He smelled of expensive after-shave, but the scent was light and elusive, not overpowering as if he’d taken a shower in the fragrance. Like Des.
I gave myself a mental shake. Why was I thinking of Des now?
“Prudence?”
Oh, the way he said my name. It was like a sinful treat rolling off his tongue. My eyes wanted to close in sheer bliss, but I caught a grip on myself.
“Yes,” I answered softly. Too softly, like a moan.
He watched me, before cocking an eyebrow. “Do I make you afraid?” he asked oh so gently.
“No,” I quickly replied. You’re simply the devil in disguise.
“Prue, I need you for the Vaulmann project,” Des called out from the doorway of the office in an extremely whiny voice.
What was wrong with him?
Both Malcolm and I turned to him, and what I saw for a fleeting second on his face made my blood freeze in my veins.
It was hatred. Pure, unadulterated hate.
“I’m sorry to barge in, but Prudence will be busy today. She can help you another time,” Malcolm said. He still hadn’t released my shoulders, and I’m sure we painted a pretty cozy picture.
“I need her—”
“No more than I do,” Malcolm coldly cut in.
“Marie said Prue has to work with me on the Vaulmann deal.”
I felt Malcolm stiffen.
“Chambers,” he said, “as your direct superior, my needs take precedence. I repeat, Prudence will work with me for the rest of the day.”
Both men eyed each other with distrust in their eyes and aggressive poise tense in their bodies. Des finally turned on his heels and departed, but not before sending a withering glare onto Malcolm.
He let out a breath when Des left. Malcolm still towered above me, and I felt the rush of warm air tickle my face when he exhaled. By God, even his breath smelled nice. Like fresh mint.
He released his hands on my shoulders only to clasp my elbow. As he steered me out of the office towards my desk, he said, “We’re leaving.”
Hold on one second. We were leaving? Didn’t we have work to do? Unless… “You already have the sites located?” I assumed he was taking me on a site tour.
He stopped near my desk. “Actually, we’re going to my place.”
What?
“I work from home usually, and all the papers we need are there.”
“Oh,” I said in a small voice.
Alone, with him, in his house. What was I asking for? Trouble with a big T? I took another look at his near-perfect face and the quiet confidence on it staggered me. I also couldn’t but think of the arrogance in his tone when he had spoken with Des.
Suddenly I had doubts. What was this man really like?
The question plagued me all the way to his home. As expected, he lived in one of the posh neighborhoods. Late Victorian manors stood side by side with enormous Colonial-inspired dwellings.
Malcolm pulled the Mercedes-Benz Coupe into the driveway of one such Victorian abode.
Before I could pull the latch open, I saw he was already outside and pulling the door open for me. A warm flutter picked up in my stomach, but it was quelled on the spot when the chilly wind of January hit me hard on the face when I stepped out.
“Let’s go in,” he said, and I followed him through the massive wood front door and into the quiet of the house.
I was awed by the surroundings. Quiet elegance. I had no other way to describe the setting. A huge crystal chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling of the entrance hallway. Against the far wall, a wide staircase with an intricate wrought-iron banister curled up smoothly towards the upper floors. Delicate plaster moldings finished off the walls and the floor was of Italian marble with Persian rugs scattered here and there.
Malcolm closed the door behind him when he entered. I turned to face him, about to ask him if he lived alone in such a big house.
But I barely had time to open my mouth before a smooth, cultured voice asked,
“Who’s the trollop with you?”
To be continued in a fortnight…
I was bound to be dreaming. Did she just say my new job was full-time with Malcolm? All my life I’d waited for this opportunity, and here it was. My Ken was finally mine.
That didn’t make sense, did it? Let me explain.
I was five when I received my first Barbie. I played with her all the time. Took her out on rides in her pink car. Held parties with her and my other rag dolls in her beautiful house. Barbie was kind, because she allowed everyone into her place. A far cry from the people of West Haven. You flocked to your own herd here, and one never strayed.
Well, Barbie was my princess, but after a while, I thought something was lacking. When I told my mother, she laughed, and bought the Ken doll a few days later. Finally, Barbie was fine. She had someone who looked after her, opened her car door. Someone who loved and cherished her.
I would look at Mom and Dad and think they were like Barbie and Ken too. Until the day Dad crossed the threshold and never came back… Mom came to my bedroom and she sat on the floor with me while I played with my dolls. I remember she sighed, and then she said, while looking at Barbie and Ken, “At least this couple won’t break up. Ken will always love Barbie.”
I know it sounds silly now, but for a six-year-old, these words meant a lot. To this day, I cannot help but think that Ken really wouldn’t ever leave Barbie. Theirs was an enduring love, and I wanted my Ken too.
Malcolm was this Ken for me…
“I’m not the devil, you know,” a deep, husky voice said in my ear.
Startled out of my thoughts, I jumped away from the table in front of me and bumped smack into a solid warm wall.
Strong hands came up and clasped my shoulders. “Whoa, careful, girl. No need to be so on edge.”
Oh. My. God.
It was him. I froze, but his firm grip was on me and he made me turn around to face him.
My breath caught when I looked up into his face. Never had I seen him so close. He smelled of expensive after-shave, but the scent was light and elusive, not overpowering as if he’d taken a shower in the fragrance. Like Des.
I gave myself a mental shake. Why was I thinking of Des now?
“Prudence?”
Oh, the way he said my name. It was like a sinful treat rolling off his tongue. My eyes wanted to close in sheer bliss, but I caught a grip on myself.
“Yes,” I answered softly. Too softly, like a moan.
He watched me, before cocking an eyebrow. “Do I make you afraid?” he asked oh so gently.
“No,” I quickly replied. You’re simply the devil in disguise.
“Prue, I need you for the Vaulmann project,” Des called out from the doorway of the office in an extremely whiny voice.
What was wrong with him?
Both Malcolm and I turned to him, and what I saw for a fleeting second on his face made my blood freeze in my veins.
It was hatred. Pure, unadulterated hate.
“I’m sorry to barge in, but Prudence will be busy today. She can help you another time,” Malcolm said. He still hadn’t released my shoulders, and I’m sure we painted a pretty cozy picture.
“I need her—”
“No more than I do,” Malcolm coldly cut in.
“Marie said Prue has to work with me on the Vaulmann deal.”
I felt Malcolm stiffen.
“Chambers,” he said, “as your direct superior, my needs take precedence. I repeat, Prudence will work with me for the rest of the day.”
Both men eyed each other with distrust in their eyes and aggressive poise tense in their bodies. Des finally turned on his heels and departed, but not before sending a withering glare onto Malcolm.
He let out a breath when Des left. Malcolm still towered above me, and I felt the rush of warm air tickle my face when he exhaled. By God, even his breath smelled nice. Like fresh mint.
He released his hands on my shoulders only to clasp my elbow. As he steered me out of the office towards my desk, he said, “We’re leaving.”
Hold on one second. We were leaving? Didn’t we have work to do? Unless… “You already have the sites located?” I assumed he was taking me on a site tour.
He stopped near my desk. “Actually, we’re going to my place.”
What?
“I work from home usually, and all the papers we need are there.”
“Oh,” I said in a small voice.
Alone, with him, in his house. What was I asking for? Trouble with a big T? I took another look at his near-perfect face and the quiet confidence on it staggered me. I also couldn’t but think of the arrogance in his tone when he had spoken with Des.
Suddenly I had doubts. What was this man really like?
The question plagued me all the way to his home. As expected, he lived in one of the posh neighborhoods. Late Victorian manors stood side by side with enormous Colonial-inspired dwellings.
Malcolm pulled the Mercedes-Benz Coupe into the driveway of one such Victorian abode.
Before I could pull the latch open, I saw he was already outside and pulling the door open for me. A warm flutter picked up in my stomach, but it was quelled on the spot when the chilly wind of January hit me hard on the face when I stepped out.
“Let’s go in,” he said, and I followed him through the massive wood front door and into the quiet of the house.
I was awed by the surroundings. Quiet elegance. I had no other way to describe the setting. A huge crystal chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling of the entrance hallway. Against the far wall, a wide staircase with an intricate wrought-iron banister curled up smoothly towards the upper floors. Delicate plaster moldings finished off the walls and the floor was of Italian marble with Persian rugs scattered here and there.
Malcolm closed the door behind him when he entered. I turned to face him, about to ask him if he lived alone in such a big house.
But I barely had time to open my mouth before a smooth, cultured voice asked,
“Who’s the trollop with you?”
To be continued in a fortnight…
Monday, January 26, 2009
With Love From Ms. Blush
Hello to you all wonderful, beautiful people!
It's already the final week of January and we'll be bringing you a little bit more about the quest for Identity.
Remember , in the past weeks, each one of us has taken you on a trip to find out more about your identity as a writer and about the identity of your work.
T.J. has explained about the defining aspect of the impact moment for your characters, and then she followed it up with a little expose on how to plant your characters in the story using basis and logic.
Sandra gave us a peek as to who she is in her post about her identity as a writer.
Angela then blogged to show us the multiple facets of her that make the woman and the writer she is, and how these facets mingle and merge to create characters, and how characters can influence the writer too.
Z(Aasiyah/Nolwynn) started her topic on how to find your ID calling card in the writing world and she followed with how to further this ID and make it work for you using he branding strategy.
So, what do we have in store for you this week?
T.J. will have another scintillating one for you tomorrow as she delves yet again into the inner workings of a story and its characters.
On Wednesday, we welcome another weekly contributor - Diana Castilleja will make her debut and will tell us about her take on the world of writing, marketing and promotion.
On Thursday, Z(Aasiyah/Nolwynn) will conclude the final leg of her topic on Branding. Catch her as she tells you a bit more how to 'escape' the pitfalls of branding strategy.
Friday, get ready to meet Prudence Tempest, her hunky colleague Malcolm who features in all her dreams and fantasies, her pain-in-the-arse other colleague, Des (shiver here, will ya?), and the boss from hell, Marie.
Last time we met them, Prudence was being sent on a hands-on job with Malcolm.
What will happen now? Catch us, and you'll know!
Join us as we continue
Searching for an identity...
The best of us for the best of you, that's our promise as we deliver the full flush of romance.
From now till later, enjoy!
With love, from Ms. Blush
It's already the final week of January and we'll be bringing you a little bit more about the quest for Identity.
Remember , in the past weeks, each one of us has taken you on a trip to find out more about your identity as a writer and about the identity of your work.
T.J. has explained about the defining aspect of the impact moment for your characters, and then she followed it up with a little expose on how to plant your characters in the story using basis and logic.
Sandra gave us a peek as to who she is in her post about her identity as a writer.
Angela then blogged to show us the multiple facets of her that make the woman and the writer she is, and how these facets mingle and merge to create characters, and how characters can influence the writer too.
Z(Aasiyah/Nolwynn) started her topic on how to find your ID calling card in the writing world and she followed with how to further this ID and make it work for you using he branding strategy.
So, what do we have in store for you this week?
T.J. will have another scintillating one for you tomorrow as she delves yet again into the inner workings of a story and its characters.
On Wednesday, we welcome another weekly contributor - Diana Castilleja will make her debut and will tell us about her take on the world of writing, marketing and promotion.
On Thursday, Z(Aasiyah/Nolwynn) will conclude the final leg of her topic on Branding. Catch her as she tells you a bit more how to 'escape' the pitfalls of branding strategy.
Friday, get ready to meet Prudence Tempest, her hunky colleague Malcolm who features in all her dreams and fantasies, her pain-in-the-arse other colleague, Des (shiver here, will ya?), and the boss from hell, Marie.
Last time we met them, Prudence was being sent on a hands-on job with Malcolm.
What will happen now? Catch us, and you'll know!
Join us as we continue
Searching for an identity...
The best of us for the best of you, that's our promise as we deliver the full flush of romance.
From now till later, enjoy!
With love, from Ms. Blush
Friday, January 16, 2009
Ongoing Free Read
What's in a name, they ask? Well, if you ask me, a whole hell of a lot of trouble. If you had a moniker like mine, you'd understand what I mean.
I am called Prudence. Nothing strange there, except that it's a really old, old name. Well, forget about that for now. I could get used to it. Now, imagine your family name being Tempest.
I am Miss Tempest. Miss Prudence Tempest, actually.
Oh yes, laugh all you want. Imagine carrying this load around. It could have been worse. My parents are of the hippy generation, so I could have been tagged with a name like FlowerChild, or SweetBreeze. That one would've been the pits. Beats Prudence hands down any day.
But, with Prudence I am saddled, and make the most of it, that's what I do. Being pretty much an oxymoron in itself, my calling title however comes in handy in trying to make myself a name out there in the world. You see, I am a writer. I write stories and have them published. Okay, I try to have them published. It's such a big, bad shark-infested pond out there in publishing. Prudence Tempest allows me to already cause a stir without needing to do anything. If only this could work in my favour...
In the meantime, trying to publish books doesn't pay the bills, and like almost every struggling writer, I have a day job. What do i do? I'm a real estate agent. It isn't the ho-hum thingie, no, mind you. Let me shed some light on this.
Do you know of the one rich, powerful family that exists in every soap opera? Take this family, and then place it right in the middle of a town where every house boasts such a setup. Welcome to West Haven, home of the utterly, disgustingly rich. Kids here receive gifts for their twenty-one-and-a-half birthday, or whatever other birthday and a half. And not just any gift. An Arabian stallion for the equestrian inclined. A Harry Winston priceless set for the bling-dazzled. A penthouse or a detached dwelling for the ones who want to span their wings and fly, all within reach of Daddy's credit card, of course.
I cannot complain, if you look at it this way. Being a 'trendy' twenty-something myself, is it any wonder that I handle almost all of the brats' gift requests at the agency? Mind you though, West Haven may be paradise on Earth for the filthy rich, but it is also a town of rags and riches. The rags would be considered middle-class in any other location, but here, you're rags. No need to tell you to which category I belong. Being surrounded by so much money often infuses you with an unhealthy desire to earn even more of the moolah yourself. Climb the ladder. Flash off. Keep up with the Joneses, who here happen to be called Walchester or whatever other posh-sounding name.
The only way I can climb up the ladder here is to either become a phenomenally renowned and rich author of the likes of J.K Rowling and Stephenie Meyer, penning down the next book to become a Hollywood blockbuster. Or, I can move to other, higher pools of in the real estate world.
"Daydreaming again, Prue?"
The jolly voice pulls me out of my thoughts, and I look up from my highly polished walnut desk into the face of Des Chambers, my colleague, and unfortunately, also the bane of my existence. You see, Des is insufferable. Why? Because he is so goddamn jolly all the time. Handling the portfolio of family homes, Des has a track record that is outstanding. One simply has to look into his barely-legal-good-boy face, complete with curly brown hair and sparkling coffee-toned eyes, to be won over by his angelic charm.
I wasn't won over though, far from it. Des could be so... positive, it grated on my nerves. He also seemed to have this huge crush on me. It gave me the shivers. Being with Des would be like being with a choir boy. Totally inappropriate. He also wasn't my type.
"I think Marie is gonna pair us together for the Vaulmann deal. Big family that one, and their twin daughters are looking for a chic apartment near the campus," Des said.
"You're sure?" I was certain I had paled. Marie was the woman who ran the agency. A cinnamon-coloured woman coming straight up from South Africa, she spoke with a quirky, thick accent. Everything about Marie was strange, from the hypnosis-like hold she seemed to have on her husband, the original owner of the agency, to the way she pronounced her name - Ma-ree-ay. She was the employees' collective nightmare with her hand of steel in a glove of steel approach. If she told me to work with Des, there was no way I could worm out of it.
I shook my head to ward off the dismal fog that had enclosed me upon Des's disclosure. "What makes you think she'll split the acquisitions? It'll be a single account. You could handle it all."
Des smiled, and opened his mouth to reply. I braced myself for what reason he would invent for us to work together - knowing him, he could very well have asked Marie to put us both on this deal. But he had no time to say anything as the door opened and Marie walked into the office. I lost my breath when I realised she wasn't alone, and right across from me, Des swore softly.
Why did we react this way? With Marie was a man. His name was Malcolm Gainsborough, and he was pure sex on legs.
No woman could be immune to Malcolm. Tall, with a broad, toned physique - from playing tennis every weekend, golfing twice a week, and swimming every single day - he was the epitome of masculine perfection. His black hair was worn short, but not so short that a woman couldn't run her fingers through the locks in the throes of passion. His eyes were like gleaming emeralds, the colour I used to obtain when I dipped my paintbrush of Viridian Green in a pot of water. A clear, vibrant and captivating hue. And his face. Chiselled and always freshly shaved, he carried his square jaw, strong chin and broad forehead with the poise and quiet, discreet allure of movie stars of the fifties.
The best thing about Malcolm however was that he wasn't a pig, far from it. A man with all he had - looks, name, money - could've easily become an ass. Malcolm was respectful, courteous, and newly single. What more could a girl ask for?
Maybe for the man of her dreams to notice her. Malcolm didn't even know me. I wonder if he even saw me when he came by the office. As the biggest agent for the agency, his deals were conducted anywhere but in the drab confines of the walls around us.
Unattainable. That's what he was. But a girl could wish, right? A soft sigh escaped my lips, and this made Des snort.
"God just graced us with his presence," he said in a tone dripping with sarcasm. The men in the agency couldn't really stomach Malcolm's success like real men. And they had the guts to say women were biatches. Malcolm was the onl person I knew who could bring Des out of his jolly bubble. What he showed when he came out wasn't that pleasant either. Another reason why I couldn't fancy Des.
On the threshold of her office, Marie stopped and turned around to face us, the dozen agents who made up the work force of the agency. She clapped her hands while saying, "Meeting. Now," then entered her lair with Malcolm right behind her.
The weekly assignment of accounts. We all moved to the boss's office and stood against the wall like a lineup of usual suspects while Marie pinned her bulging dark eyes on us. She started rattling off, like a military drill sergeant, the new accounts everyone was now responsible for.
"Prudie," she finally said. Marie is the only one who calls me by that stupid name, and if it was anyone but her, she wouldn't have escaped alive. I called myself Prue. Period.
"So, Prudie, you'll be helping on the Vaulmann deal with Des. Twin girls, eighteen, need a big place where they can entertain. I'll leave that up to you, since this is your arena, and not Des's forte, as he's mentioned already."
I wanted to slither to floor and disappear through the carpet. Or go up in a poof of smoke. Anything but feeling this churning nausea creeping up my throat while watching the smug smile on Des's face.
"Now," Marie continued, "I guess you all know Malcolm was to meet with the directors of Waltner Informatics. The company planned on making the northern outskirts of West Haven the new Silicon Valley." She paused. "I am pleased to announce that, thanks to Malcolm's perseverance and hard work, we have landed the contract to find all the locations needed for this venture." There was a round of applause, and Marie put her hands up to make everyone quiet down. "This will mean offices, conferences rooms, leisure resorts, houses, apartments. Everyone will have to knuckle down on their own area of expertise and make sure we deliver on this deal.
"Everyone, except you, Prudie. There won't be many young adults of the likes you cater for in this group, so you will be reassigned to another area."
I waited with baited breath for her to tell me I was going to have to work with Des on the search for family homes.
"Your job will be to coordinate everything and make sure the requirements of Waltner are met to the dot. For this, you'll be working full-time with Malcolm."
To be continued in a fortnight...
I am called Prudence. Nothing strange there, except that it's a really old, old name. Well, forget about that for now. I could get used to it. Now, imagine your family name being Tempest.
I am Miss Tempest. Miss Prudence Tempest, actually.
Oh yes, laugh all you want. Imagine carrying this load around. It could have been worse. My parents are of the hippy generation, so I could have been tagged with a name like FlowerChild, or SweetBreeze. That one would've been the pits. Beats Prudence hands down any day.
But, with Prudence I am saddled, and make the most of it, that's what I do. Being pretty much an oxymoron in itself, my calling title however comes in handy in trying to make myself a name out there in the world. You see, I am a writer. I write stories and have them published. Okay, I try to have them published. It's such a big, bad shark-infested pond out there in publishing. Prudence Tempest allows me to already cause a stir without needing to do anything. If only this could work in my favour...
In the meantime, trying to publish books doesn't pay the bills, and like almost every struggling writer, I have a day job. What do i do? I'm a real estate agent. It isn't the ho-hum thingie, no, mind you. Let me shed some light on this.
Do you know of the one rich, powerful family that exists in every soap opera? Take this family, and then place it right in the middle of a town where every house boasts such a setup. Welcome to West Haven, home of the utterly, disgustingly rich. Kids here receive gifts for their twenty-one-and-a-half birthday, or whatever other birthday and a half. And not just any gift. An Arabian stallion for the equestrian inclined. A Harry Winston priceless set for the bling-dazzled. A penthouse or a detached dwelling for the ones who want to span their wings and fly, all within reach of Daddy's credit card, of course.
I cannot complain, if you look at it this way. Being a 'trendy' twenty-something myself, is it any wonder that I handle almost all of the brats' gift requests at the agency? Mind you though, West Haven may be paradise on Earth for the filthy rich, but it is also a town of rags and riches. The rags would be considered middle-class in any other location, but here, you're rags. No need to tell you to which category I belong. Being surrounded by so much money often infuses you with an unhealthy desire to earn even more of the moolah yourself. Climb the ladder. Flash off. Keep up with the Joneses, who here happen to be called Walchester or whatever other posh-sounding name.
The only way I can climb up the ladder here is to either become a phenomenally renowned and rich author of the likes of J.K Rowling and Stephenie Meyer, penning down the next book to become a Hollywood blockbuster. Or, I can move to other, higher pools of in the real estate world.
"Daydreaming again, Prue?"
The jolly voice pulls me out of my thoughts, and I look up from my highly polished walnut desk into the face of Des Chambers, my colleague, and unfortunately, also the bane of my existence. You see, Des is insufferable. Why? Because he is so goddamn jolly all the time. Handling the portfolio of family homes, Des has a track record that is outstanding. One simply has to look into his barely-legal-good-boy face, complete with curly brown hair and sparkling coffee-toned eyes, to be won over by his angelic charm.
I wasn't won over though, far from it. Des could be so... positive, it grated on my nerves. He also seemed to have this huge crush on me. It gave me the shivers. Being with Des would be like being with a choir boy. Totally inappropriate. He also wasn't my type.
"I think Marie is gonna pair us together for the Vaulmann deal. Big family that one, and their twin daughters are looking for a chic apartment near the campus," Des said.
"You're sure?" I was certain I had paled. Marie was the woman who ran the agency. A cinnamon-coloured woman coming straight up from South Africa, she spoke with a quirky, thick accent. Everything about Marie was strange, from the hypnosis-like hold she seemed to have on her husband, the original owner of the agency, to the way she pronounced her name - Ma-ree-ay. She was the employees' collective nightmare with her hand of steel in a glove of steel approach. If she told me to work with Des, there was no way I could worm out of it.
I shook my head to ward off the dismal fog that had enclosed me upon Des's disclosure. "What makes you think she'll split the acquisitions? It'll be a single account. You could handle it all."
Des smiled, and opened his mouth to reply. I braced myself for what reason he would invent for us to work together - knowing him, he could very well have asked Marie to put us both on this deal. But he had no time to say anything as the door opened and Marie walked into the office. I lost my breath when I realised she wasn't alone, and right across from me, Des swore softly.
Why did we react this way? With Marie was a man. His name was Malcolm Gainsborough, and he was pure sex on legs.
No woman could be immune to Malcolm. Tall, with a broad, toned physique - from playing tennis every weekend, golfing twice a week, and swimming every single day - he was the epitome of masculine perfection. His black hair was worn short, but not so short that a woman couldn't run her fingers through the locks in the throes of passion. His eyes were like gleaming emeralds, the colour I used to obtain when I dipped my paintbrush of Viridian Green in a pot of water. A clear, vibrant and captivating hue. And his face. Chiselled and always freshly shaved, he carried his square jaw, strong chin and broad forehead with the poise and quiet, discreet allure of movie stars of the fifties.
The best thing about Malcolm however was that he wasn't a pig, far from it. A man with all he had - looks, name, money - could've easily become an ass. Malcolm was respectful, courteous, and newly single. What more could a girl ask for?
Maybe for the man of her dreams to notice her. Malcolm didn't even know me. I wonder if he even saw me when he came by the office. As the biggest agent for the agency, his deals were conducted anywhere but in the drab confines of the walls around us.
Unattainable. That's what he was. But a girl could wish, right? A soft sigh escaped my lips, and this made Des snort.
"God just graced us with his presence," he said in a tone dripping with sarcasm. The men in the agency couldn't really stomach Malcolm's success like real men. And they had the guts to say women were biatches. Malcolm was the onl person I knew who could bring Des out of his jolly bubble. What he showed when he came out wasn't that pleasant either. Another reason why I couldn't fancy Des.
On the threshold of her office, Marie stopped and turned around to face us, the dozen agents who made up the work force of the agency. She clapped her hands while saying, "Meeting. Now," then entered her lair with Malcolm right behind her.
The weekly assignment of accounts. We all moved to the boss's office and stood against the wall like a lineup of usual suspects while Marie pinned her bulging dark eyes on us. She started rattling off, like a military drill sergeant, the new accounts everyone was now responsible for.
"Prudie," she finally said. Marie is the only one who calls me by that stupid name, and if it was anyone but her, she wouldn't have escaped alive. I called myself Prue. Period.
"So, Prudie, you'll be helping on the Vaulmann deal with Des. Twin girls, eighteen, need a big place where they can entertain. I'll leave that up to you, since this is your arena, and not Des's forte, as he's mentioned already."
I wanted to slither to floor and disappear through the carpet. Or go up in a poof of smoke. Anything but feeling this churning nausea creeping up my throat while watching the smug smile on Des's face.
"Now," Marie continued, "I guess you all know Malcolm was to meet with the directors of Waltner Informatics. The company planned on making the northern outskirts of West Haven the new Silicon Valley." She paused. "I am pleased to announce that, thanks to Malcolm's perseverance and hard work, we have landed the contract to find all the locations needed for this venture." There was a round of applause, and Marie put her hands up to make everyone quiet down. "This will mean offices, conferences rooms, leisure resorts, houses, apartments. Everyone will have to knuckle down on their own area of expertise and make sure we deliver on this deal.
"Everyone, except you, Prudie. There won't be many young adults of the likes you cater for in this group, so you will be reassigned to another area."
I waited with baited breath for her to tell me I was going to have to work with Des on the search for family homes.
"Your job will be to coordinate everything and make sure the requirements of Waltner are met to the dot. For this, you'll be working full-time with Malcolm."
To be continued in a fortnight...
Monday, January 12, 2009
With love from Ms. Blush
Hello to you all wonderful, beautiful people!
You may be wondering who I am, and what I'm doing here. Let's put all your concerns to rest, shall we?
My name is Ms. Blush, and I'm the gal who rounds off each and every one of the Royal Blush Authors' posse. Every week, I'll bring you a little reminder of what we at Royal Blush have in store for you.
So, what can you expect from us? Certainly not the hum-drum pace of what you usually see out there.
We give you fresh. We give you news. We give you views. Every week, stick around and get to know us better as we open the doors of our world to you and share what's on our minds and what's on our writing plate.
Speaking of 'we', who are 'we'?
Well, behind this blog stands the posse and crew of the Royal Blush Authors. Some you'll see more often, some you'll see fleetingly, but we can all tell you we're here to stay. We want to get to know you, and we hope you do too.
Basically, what we have in store for you is something a little different. The authors of Royal Blush come with a full package of information, education, and entertainment. Separated into themed months, you'll all know what we're talking about at any given point in time.
Catch author T.J Killian every Tuesday for a little lesson on craft. Or else come find out what she has on her mind that day.
Every Thursday, the author behind the pen names of Aasiyah Qamar & Nolwynn Ardennes brings you her take on an aspect pertinent to the month's topic.
Every Wednesday, we bring you one of the Royal Blush Authors and she'll be sharing her take and view on the topic of the month. Sandra Marshall, Angela Guillaume, and Diana Castilleja will be your date on each of these days.
Friday is a special day here, because every other week, Prudence Tempest will make her appearance. You don't know who she is? Worry not, you'll find out soon enough as the fictional heroine will take you through an account of her topsy-turvy life at each fortnight.
We'll also have ongoing contests, promos and opportunities to meet our authors.
In case you're still wondering who the people at Royal Blush are, catch us this month as we take you on a wild ride that'll make you discover our personas.
This January, the Royal Blush Authors want to announce their presence in the blogosphere.
This January, they're taking you on a quest:
Searching for an identity...
Don't forget to catch T.J tomorrow, Sandra on Wednesday, and Aasiyah/Nolwynn on Thursday.
Our ongoing fictional story also begins on Friday, where you'll meet Preudence Tempest, striving author, striving young woman of today's world, striving singleton and basically, a striving everything kinda gal!
The best of us for the best of you, that's our promise as we deliver the full flush of romance.
From now till later, enjoy!
With love, from Ms. Blush
You may be wondering who I am, and what I'm doing here. Let's put all your concerns to rest, shall we?
My name is Ms. Blush, and I'm the gal who rounds off each and every one of the Royal Blush Authors' posse. Every week, I'll bring you a little reminder of what we at Royal Blush have in store for you.
So, what can you expect from us? Certainly not the hum-drum pace of what you usually see out there.
We give you fresh. We give you news. We give you views. Every week, stick around and get to know us better as we open the doors of our world to you and share what's on our minds and what's on our writing plate.
Speaking of 'we', who are 'we'?
Well, behind this blog stands the posse and crew of the Royal Blush Authors. Some you'll see more often, some you'll see fleetingly, but we can all tell you we're here to stay. We want to get to know you, and we hope you do too.
Basically, what we have in store for you is something a little different. The authors of Royal Blush come with a full package of information, education, and entertainment. Separated into themed months, you'll all know what we're talking about at any given point in time.
Catch author T.J Killian every Tuesday for a little lesson on craft. Or else come find out what she has on her mind that day.
Every Thursday, the author behind the pen names of Aasiyah Qamar & Nolwynn Ardennes brings you her take on an aspect pertinent to the month's topic.
Every Wednesday, we bring you one of the Royal Blush Authors and she'll be sharing her take and view on the topic of the month. Sandra Marshall, Angela Guillaume, and Diana Castilleja will be your date on each of these days.
Friday is a special day here, because every other week, Prudence Tempest will make her appearance. You don't know who she is? Worry not, you'll find out soon enough as the fictional heroine will take you through an account of her topsy-turvy life at each fortnight.
We'll also have ongoing contests, promos and opportunities to meet our authors.
In case you're still wondering who the people at Royal Blush are, catch us this month as we take you on a wild ride that'll make you discover our personas.
This January, the Royal Blush Authors want to announce their presence in the blogosphere.
This January, they're taking you on a quest:
Searching for an identity...
Don't forget to catch T.J tomorrow, Sandra on Wednesday, and Aasiyah/Nolwynn on Thursday.
Our ongoing fictional story also begins on Friday, where you'll meet Preudence Tempest, striving author, striving young woman of today's world, striving singleton and basically, a striving everything kinda gal!
The best of us for the best of you, that's our promise as we deliver the full flush of romance.
From now till later, enjoy!
With love, from Ms. Blush
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