After a night spent with hunky Raphael, the alarm goes off at an astonishingly early six a.m. Even though I have no desire to climb out from underneath warm covers and leave Raphael, I must get up to keep my body in shape. Ah, yes, the dreaded workout and exercise. A few laps in my indoor pool should do the trick.
Half asleep, I stumble to the sliding glass door. I force it open with all my strength because my night with Raphael has zapped most of my energy. I step out onto my adjoining deck to dip my toes into the heated water of the shimmering pool only to discover my toes have landed in Beau’s water dish. Beau is my loyal little, bug-eyed pug. But when I finally come to my senses, when I finally come out of my dream-like state enough to realize I don’t have an indoor pool, Beau gives me one of his looks that clearly says, “Crazy woman. I knew I should’ve gone to live with the dog whisperer, Cesar Millan, when I had the chance.”
I decide coffee is what I need to wake up and plenty of it. After I wander into my gourmet kitchen, a voice from the walk-in pantry calls to me. “What can I fix the most talented, the most awesome writer in the business this morning for breakfast? Your wish is my command.”
As I drift over to the coffee pot, I tell my personal chef, “You know what I like. An egg white omelet with an avocado on the side and a toasted muffin with a tall glass of orange juice.”
Suddenly the male voice replies, “Okay, it’s either whole-grain Cheerios or instant oatmeal with a toasted waffle. What’s it gonna be?”
I sigh. Another bubble bites the dust and it isn’t even six-thirty yet.
Over my bowl of gruel, which grows cold while I pour my own cup of coffee, we go over the day’s schedule. I mention I should probably set up a meeting with my marketing department, my publicist, and my agent. I remind my personal secretary that my agent is brokering a deal to sell the rights for Promise Cove to Disney for several million dollars.
He nods back but counters, “We do have that trip planned to the grocery store for later because the cupboard’s getting bare. Plus, we’re out of toilet paper. As for the meeting with your department heads, I did get a confirmation that Del Taco is continuing Taco Tuesday so we’ll set up lunch there. How’s that sound?”
“I do like tacos,” I muttered into my cereal. “But just once, couldn’t we splurge and go to that cute little restaurant over the water for shrimp and lobster?”
He shakes his head. “That’ll blow the budget for this month.”
I sigh again. Time to head back into my fantasy world. The voices in Pelican Pointe are calling to me.