California Man - The Author's Cut Edition (26 page)

"I'm surprised your bank hasn't already," Jonesy said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. "You're not taking this seriously, you know."

"You're serious enough for both of us. And I want to get this section done before noon. Hennessy's coming by with more projects." She shoved her hair back and off her forehead, but it did no good. Masses of screeching red hair, wildly curly, swirled around her face and brushed against her skin. Skin that was the site of an ongoing war for territory between creamy alabaster and golden freckles. For now, it being late spring, the alabaster was winning.

A distinct "ahem" brought Rosie's attention back to her longtime friend and accountant. Resigned to a lecture, she rotated her upper body to face a still glaring Jonesy.

"Okay, I give up. Why am I certifiable?"

"You've lost a lot of time—and money—as a result of your surgery and convalescence. The result being these." She waved a hand over the table she'd been working on. It was piled high with unpaid bills. "As a technical writer, you work by the hour, right?"

"Right."

"And Moore Write wants to give you more work, right?"

"Right again." Rosie would have nodded, but the neck brace she was wearing precluded so much as a dip of her chin. She ran her index finger between it and her itchy neck. Damn thing!

"But instead of taking the more lucrative work to make up for lost time, you're writing love letters for the dating impaired for pennies a pop."

"Hey, that's not fair. My clients—"

"Humph!"

Rosie gave her a stern look. "I repeat, my
clients
are not, as you so callously put it, 'dating impaired.' If they were, they wouldn't have anyone to write to, would they?"

"Cyrano Inc.
is an idea gone wrong. It's been over a month now and you have nothing to show for it. Your skills would be better employed elsewhere. Logic—and your current financial pickle—says your time should go to the highest bidder. And that, dear heart, is Moore Write Technical Inc. Economics, pure and simple." Jonesy clamped her lips firmly together and gave her a hard stare.

Rosie frowned. Jonesy was right, but it didn't matter.
Cyrano Inc.
might have started on a whim, but it had turned out to be oddly fulfilling. Telling someone—anyone—they were loved and desired was a ton more interesting than writing, "If all else fails, check your power source. You may have neglected to plug in."

And writing the letters gave her hope.

In the hospital, she'd become acutely aware someone was missing from her bedside crowd of friends and colleagues—a very special someone. Okay, maybe it had been just post-op blues, but it had made her think about what she wanted from life. Or to be exact,
who
she wanted from life.

At twenty-eight, after what seemed a lifetime of trial-and-error dating, she'd struck out. Maybe writing anonymous love letters was a bit off-the-wall, but at least her customers didn't have to check their wiring. They were already connected, which was more than could be said for her.
That
was about to change—and soon.

Rosie had an agenda.

 

 

 

Meet the Author

 

EC Sheedy, who also writes as Carole Dean, lives in British Columbia. She is an island dweller—and loves it. Every morning she wakes to the ever changing sound and colors of the ocean outside her window. Whatever its mood, summer calm or winter storm, she finds it the perfect background for writing romance. She lives with her husband of many years and a Rhodesian Ridgeback who has convinced them both he is a person in dog's clothing.

For more about EC Sheedy and to see some views from her window, visit EC’s webpage
www.ecsheedy.com

Or follow her on Twitter
@EC_Sheedy

To contact EC Sheedy, email: [email protected]

Table of Contents

Cover

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Epilogue

The Inspiration for Bailey

A Note from EC Sheedy

Excerpt from LOVE LETTERS, INC. by EC Sheedy

Meet the Author

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