Okay, I know ya’ll hate me. I’m not too happy with myself right now. And this shit gets stickier and smellier (if that’s possible).
Truth is…I’ve been going through some shit. I’m still trying to climb my way onto solid ground again. Though, hopefully, these flood waters are a bit more shallow than they were.
The good news, or the bad, is that as always….
I write myself out of depression and heartache.
The good news is….
After swearing I was not doing #NaNoWriMo this year, that I was focusing on the house and other things…I’m doing NaNo. So, November is National (now international) Novel Writing Month challenge of writing a 50,000 words novel in 30 days is officially accepted.
The bad news? It’s not finishing #Reconciliation or #Apokalypze or even 2nd Best. It’s a whole new *F*ing trilogy called The Truth About Billionaires.
But I am determined to stick to 50K words, or pretty damned close to it. And to finish it this month.
Then I will get back to the others. I promise. Or I think so. I wish I had more control of my muse. But I’m not one of those kinds of writers. Correction, I’m no fancy author. I’m more a storyteller. Whatever story is in me to tell at that moment. So off to it with the blurb for….
To Love A Rich Man
Amanda Joiner’s mother always told her, ‘It’s as easy to love a rich man as it is a poor one.’ Not that her mother would know. But Amanda had lost herself for over two decades in her ‘rich’ husband’s world. His career. His friends. His projects. His house.
Sure, Jason was a good man. She had loved him. And he loved her. But there’s more to marriage than love. Respect and common values matter too. That was a hard lesson for her to learn.
Now, as a widow, Amanda is finished with men, especially rich ones. She’s sold his house. Transferred all those stocks and bonds into ethical investments, and she’s gone back to her roots. The tiny wood-frame house in Drayton, South Carolina, where her grandmother raised her.
At sixty, Amanda plans to use her remaining thirty or so years and Jason’s millions to make a real difference in this world. Or at least her little corner of it. Except she’s discovering that a few million doesn’t go as far as you’d think.
And she’s haunted by the generational curses of poverty in a capitalistic society. Hard work isn’t enough any more than love is. Why can’t those with ‘privilege’ ever see that?
Take her grandfather. He died before she was ever born. Working in that textile mill probably caused his cancer. Leaving his wife alone and destitute to raise three children. Her mother’s drug addictions and lifestyle were a direct result of that. She’d been born to a teen mother crying out for attention.
But, of course, billionaires like the Millners who still own that plant accept even less responsibility for the lives they ruin than mere millionaires. But some ‘rich’ man can’t quiet her truth. Not this time.
Peter Millner III is your average billionaire. Working fifteen-hour days, a couple of hours in the gym, and maybe two or three hours of sleep. After all, his grandfather always taught them that life, like business, is about the bottom line.
At fifty, he doesn’t waste time on people or relationships. It’s simpler to hire someone – to cook, clean, garden, drive, and yes, that too.
His life is working just fine. He’s taken the successful textile company his grandfather left him in charge of and made his whole family into billionaires. That’s what ‘hard work’ does, right?
The shit hits the fan over some crazzy eco-activist’s claims that his grandfather’s factory caused her grandfather’s death. But he knows just how to handle her type. A nice fat check and an air-tight contract – no liability and no disclosure.
Except she won’t accept the money and sign the damned contract. Or shut up about corporate responsibility. Some problems you have to handle yourself.
Why is she the one woman he can’t forget? And what the hell is he going to do to make her his?