Page 72 of Driven Daddy

And not the first one in the series.

No, this was well into theKnights of Chaos. She read my work?

“So, now you know one of my secrets.”

I looked up at the sound of her voice. “Only one?” I dropped the book and turned toward her. “And yet, you didn’t recognize me?”

She shrugged, and then she leaned on the doorjamb. “I don’t Google all the people I read. It’s not like your face is on the back of the volumes. Just the pen logo.”

She’d swapped the robe for a lightweight sweater in a rich amber that made her green eyes glow. A pair of cropped brown pants showed off her toned legs and bare feet with teal toenails.

She hadn’t bothered washing her hair. Instead, she’d scooped it up into one of those female twist things that made my fingers itch to release it.

Because I wanted to go to her, I sat on the edge of the chair, linking my fingers between my knees. “So, which of your books should I read?”

She rolled her eyes and turned to go back inside. “No need for quid pro quo, the orgasm suffices.”

I bowed my head. “I didn’t mean it like that.” I stood to follow her inside, but she was already gone.

I swore and grabbed my shirt, pulling it over my head as I strode out. I heard her gently talking to Bruce about his manners from the lower level. When I got downstairs, she was standing in front of the wall full of sticky notes.

Back to business, evidently.

Which was probably for the best. I mirrored her folded arms. “I think we both could use storyboarding as part of the workshop.”

She tapped her forefinger on her upper arm. “That’s a good idea.”

“Don’t sound so shocked.”

“Well, you said you had nothing in mind.”

“It’s part of my process.”

“Mine too.” The confession seemed begrudging.

“Drawing?” Surprised, I turned to her.

“Pinterest. I don’t have that sort of talent.”

“Ahh. Well, I have studies and images that inspire me too.”

The corner of her mouth tipped up. “You have Pinterest?”

“Not quite, but similar. There’s far too much artificial intelligence art on there for my liking.”

She sighed. “That I can agree with. No AI in my life, that’s for sure. Every word and mistake is ours—well, mine.”

That was an interesting correction. I couldn’t imagine how co-writing worked. Did they each write something and share? One write a chapter then the other takes over?

One of the foundational things about being an author was the urge to puzzle out a problem. I was convinced that was why most of us became writers. Some definitely did it for the money, but they quickly found out that there were far easier ways to make cash if you didn’t love the art profoundly. There were plenty of days when I’d barely made rent when I first started out.

And back then, that had been with roommates.

Now, I had a whole new set of problems—both career-wise and with a woman who fascinated me as much as she made me cranky and crazy.

We hashed out a few more ideas, arguing over the specifics of plotting, outlining, and series.

I’d been writing in the same world for as long as I could remember. There had been a few missteps when I first started, but then I’d created Moksha and that had been the end of searching for me.

---