Smooth Operator Read online

  Smooth Operator

  by Jennifer Lucia

  Copyright ©2018 Jennifer Lucia Vilasboas

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Captain Rafe Daniels stood in the crow's nest of his beloved ship The Fair Maiden, staring out at the vast shoreline that stretched before him. The open lapels of his loose white linen shirt flapped in the soft breeze as he raised a golden spyglass to his eye. Rafe searched the coastline up and down, intently looking past every dune and palm tree. His eyes fixed upon something, and he put down his spyglass with a satisfied smirk. He'd found his target- Mademoiselle Emmeline Pauvrefille, his one true love.

  As always, Emmeline was biding her time at their secret hideaway while she waited for Rafe to return to her from one of his many adventures. Rafe's heart swelled with gladness, desire, and love as he gazed at his sweet Emmeline.

  Emmeline was hanging sheets on the clothesline on the beach of the Caribbean island, looking wistfully out at the sea while doing so. Her body was very trim, though her belly was swollen with child, and Rafe worried she wasn't eating while he wasn't there. He gazed at her rounded stomach and the unborn son that lived there, the son that Emmeline would bear him any day now, and his chest swelled with pride. Though she would soon be the mother of his child, Rafe had not yet married Emmeline, but there was no chance of scandal on this remote island. Savages entirely populated the island. The only civilized people here were Rafe and Emmeline. Once he got her back to England, though, they'd have to be married before Rafe ever declared his son legitimate.

  The Fair Maiden docked in a harbor not far from Rafe and Emmeline's cozy seaside cottage. Rafe disembarked as soon as the ship touched shore, jumping down with not a further glance behind him. He had been too long without a woman and was eager to be in the arms of the one he loved, his patient paramour, who'd been waiting these last four months for him to return from pirating.

  Rafe's feet hit the white sandy beach, and he inhaled deeply. How he loved the fresh air of the Caribbean, the wild winds, the unflinching sun, the glaringly bright sand of the beaches. He shook his head to free it from the ribbon that had been used to tame his hair against the harsh winds of the sail back to his island, tousling his raven locks in the process. Rafe looked down the shore in the direction of his one true love, and as if by divine decree, she was there, hurrying towards him with a look of utter adoration. He moved towards her as she moved towards him in perfect harmony. When they met, he swept her into a passionate embrace.

  "Rafe, mon amour! How I've missed you," Emmeline purred in her lilting French accent, cupping his face in her hands and staring into his face adoringly.

  Rafe set Emmeline down and bent on his knee in front of her rounded belly, placing his hands on either side. He gazed up at Emmeline reverently. "How is my future heir faring?"

  "Far better than his long-suffering mother, I would say. He is thriving, and already missing his father as much as I do," she scolded with a dismayed frown. "Darling Rafe, I implore you- stop your pirating. Marry me. Stay here with our child and me, my love," Emmeline pleaded.

  "Would that I could, heart's desire. But alas, I have the soul of a wanderer, and something so wild could never be tamed or be content in one place."

  I stopped writing. Too cheesy? I thought about it for a minute, then forged on. There was no such thing as too cheesy.

  … "Something so wild could never be tamed or be content in one place."

  "You are the essence of my soul, my one true love, but Rafe Daniels, you are tearing me apart!" Emmeline sobbed.

  I stopped typing again. That wasn't right either. I hit backspace. Maybe Rafe shouldn't make Emmeline cry. Fans of the series would not like that very much- and the fans paid my bills. I'd have to figure out a solution to how to end this later. I hit "save" and shut the lid of my laptop, yawning and stretching out in the chair I'd been sitting in for the last seven hours.

  After seven years of swashbuckling romance, I was writing the fifth and final book in the Pirate Duke series. It's an epic regency romance about a duke, Rafe Daniels, whose heart calls him to the sea and he becomes a pirate and captain of the ship The Fair Maiden. While back home from one of his many adventures, he falls in love with Emmeline Pauvrefille, an impoverished French housemaid that has just been hired at his country estate in England. Rafe kidnaps Emmeline and forces her to sleep in his cabin and wear boys' clothing so that his crewmates don't know there's a woman aboard his ship. She falls in love with him despite his rakish ways and the whole kidnapping thing, and they have exciting high seas adventures together. I'd been in love with these characters for the better part of ten years, ever since I'd been inspired by a particularly bad Pirates of the Caribbean fanfiction, and somehow other people had fallen in love with them too.

  I pushed away from my desk. I was done writing for the day. I needed some time to think about how Rafe and Emmeline's story would end, and for that, I needed my old friend Chardonnay. Wine and some relaxation always helped with the creative process. I reached down into the mini-fridge under my desk and pulled out a half-full bottle of wine. My best friend Kat had gotten me the mini fridge as a gift when Smooth Operator, the first book in the Pirate Duke series, had gotten to number one on a bestselling list. It had been one of the best moments of my life.

  I eschewed a glass, opting instead to drink straight from the bottle. I stared out the open window behind my desk. Come on, inspiration. Would Rafe choose to stay with Emmeline and their unborn child, giving up on his love of pirating and finally marrying Emme? Or would he choose the sea, which I'd always considered to be his one true love despite the allure of Emmeline and wedded bliss? One way, I would be catering to everyone who wanted Rafe to stay with Emmeline and have the happily ever after. The other way, I would be staying true to who Rafe was- a seafarer with the soul of a pirate. I needed to find a middle ground, and fast. I was on a deadline, after all, and my manager was breathing down my back constantly, wondering when she could tell people a solid release date.

  I flipped the lid of my laptop back up and maximized the Internet browser window that was already on Facebook. Don't do it, I warned myself. You're only going to regret it. Despite my good sense, I typed the name "Dave Richards" into the search bar.

  I clicked on the first result, one I'd clicked many times in the past few months- my ex's profile. I scrolled through his page and clicked on the picture of him in a hot air balloon, bent on one knee in front of his perfect girlfriend. Fiancée, now, I guess. Weird. Dave and I had been together for seven years, and he had never even mentioned marriage. Five months with a supermodel and he's falling all over himself to lock that shit down. Fiona Farley. Homewrecker.

  I clicked the link to her profile and began the familiar ritual of staring at her pictures and wondering what she had that I didn't. She was a far cry from me. I was tall, with kinky brown hair that was most often in a messy bun and thick thighs from all the running I did. Fiona was perfect- tiny waist, petite, perfect blonde waves, manicured hands. Fake boobs, I thought uncharitably. I shook my head. It wasn't her fault that Dave had left me for her. I'm not sure whether or not he'd even told her that he had
a long-term girlfriend while they were banging in a hotel room during Dave's company's annual conference. I frowned and tilted back the bottle of Chardonnay, fully committed to this self-pity session now.

  My musings were interrupted by the shrill ringing of my cell phone, making me jump. I shut the lid of my laptop guiltily, hiding the evidence of my pathetic pity sesh even though I knew no one was in the apartment but me. I searched for the phone as it continued to ring, looking under several stacks of paper and stained napkins before finally finding it under the wheels of my chair. "Hello?" I leaned back in my chair, not looking at the caller ID before answering.

  "Miss Olivia Holman?" The man on the other side of the phone was brisk and businesslike.

  "Yes?" I asked. Had I forgotten to pay the water bill again? I really needed to start paying my bills online, or at least set up auto-pay so I’d remember to get them taken care of. Dave had always taken care of the finances, and since we’d broken up, I had been a bit forgetful of what I owed to the various utility companies.

  "Hi. Doug Wiseman here-" the man said genially.

  "Yep, I'm sorry, Doug. I'm going online right now to pay it," I said, opening my laptop again and typing the name of my water company into the address bar of the web browser.

  "What?" A pause, then, "No, Miss Holman. Doug Wiseman."

  "Okay," I said. "How much is the late fee, Mr. Wiseman?"

  "Doug Wiseman, movie producer. Hollywood. How are you not getting this yet?" Doug Wiseman bristled, clearly unused to not being fawned over.

  "Ohhh, Doug Wiseman, movie producer. How silly of me not to realize when a movie producer calls my cell phone," I said, rolling my eyes.

  "Right you are," Doug agreed. "Also, you should pay your bills before collectors come calling."

  Well, excuse me. "How can I help you, Doug?"

  "You are the author of that Pirate Duke series, are you not?" Why did he bother asking when he obviously knew who I was?

  "I am," I said, wondering where this was going.

  "My wife Cookie is a big fan of your books. Our twentieth anniversary is coming up, and I want to get her a gift that will blow her away," Doug said.

  "Would you like me to send you some signed copies for Cookie?" I asked.

  "No, I said I want to blow her away." Ouch. "I'm going to make your books into movies," Doug proclaimed.

  Movies? This had to be a prank. "Who put you up to this? Was it Kat? This is a little mean-spirited for her, but I can see how she would think it’s funny."

  "Put me up to this? This isn't a joke," Doug said in an offended tone. "I want to make a movie with you."

  I leaned back in my chair again and held the phone out suspiciously. This guy was really committing to the prank. After a few seconds of silent contemplation, I put the phone back to my ear.

  "This is for real?" I asked warily. I typed Doug Wiseman into my web browser and was surprised to see one hundred thousand hits. Doug had produced a lot of movies, most of which I'd seen. I scrolled through the results, hope taking seed in me that this could be real life. This could be happening for real.

  "Yes, I'm for real," Doug said.

  My little book series was going to be turned into a film series? This was beyond my wildest dreams. I'd never even dreamed about this or thought it to be a possibility. Things like this didn't happen in real life to people like me.

  "Miss Holman? You still there?" Doug prodded.

  "Still here. Just processing. This is kind of insane," I said.

  "Insane though it may be, I won't take no for an answer. I would do anything for my wife. I would bring her the moon if NASA would let me," Doug said.

  "That's not how that works," I said with a frown. I don't think Doug had a thorough understanding of what NASA does.

  "I can offer you a considerable sum of money to sell me the exclusive rights," Doug said, ignoring me.

  I stopped thinking about NASA."What's a considerable amount?"

  Doug listed an astronomical number, and I blanched. My mind spun with the possibilities. I could quit my day job as an editor. I could buy a house with that. And then a smaller version of that house to put inside the first house. And then a bunch of miniature houses to put on the front lawn of my house-within-a-house.

  "I take it from your silence that you agree. I'll get a screenwriter started on the script right away," Doug boomed, satisfied.

  Hold the phone. A screenwriter? "Wait, I'm not going to write the screenplay for the film version of my series?" I asked.

  "Have you ever written a screenplay before?" Doug asked.

  "No," I said truthfully. How hard could it be though?

  "Then I'll get a screenwriter started on the script right away. Relax, you've already done the hard part. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the fruits of your labor," Doug said breezily.

  "Wait just a minute. I haven't agreed to anything yet, Mr. Wiseman," I said. "I don't know if someone else will be able to connect with these characters the way I have and have that translate to the screen." I didn't want Doug to rescind his offer, but I also didn't want some unknown screenwriter butchering the Pirate Duke series.

  Doug sighed in annoyance. "Tell you what. Write me a spec script while I get my guy on his script. When you're done with that, we can compare the two and see which one is better. In the meantime, I'll have my lawyers contact yours with paperwork."

  My lawyers? I didn't have lawyers. I got all my legal advice from Google. I played along, though. "Okay, good plan. Doug, I'm going to give you the best spec script you've ever read in your life."

  "I doubt it, kid," Doug said. "I'll email you my contact info, and you can send it there."

  "Sounds great," I said. It did not sound great.

  "Okay, kid, get started on that script. You've got two weeks." With that, he hung up.

  Two weeks? I had to figure out how to write a movie script in two weeks? I couldn't write a book in two weeks, how was I supposed to do something I'd never done before in such a time crunch?

  I knew what I had to do. I had to go MIA. I sent a few texts to family and friends so they knew I wasn't dead, then turned off my cell phone and locked it in my desk drawer. I opened a search engine, I typed in "how to write a screenplay," and the challenge began.

  Chapter Two

  After thirteen days of doing nothing but eating, sleeping, and writing, I emerged from the cave that was my bedroom with what I thought was a pretty good screenplay- considering I'd never written one before. I checked it over a few times for typos and inconsistencies. I was finally satisfied after the third draft. Now all I had to do was send it to Doug, wait for his reply, and hope he liked it enough to use it.

  I saved the screenplay to my desktop and a backup copy to my flash drive, then I meticulously typed in Doug's email address, double- and triple-checking that I typed every letter correctly. Once the file was sent, I sat back and stretched, staring anxiously at the computer screen. Five minutes passed with no reply. Maybe he hadn't gotten the email yet. Did I type the email address incorrectly? I went back to my email folder and triple-checked the email address against the one I'd scribbled on a notepad two weeks earlier. The two addresses matched, so why hadn't Doug opened my email yet?

  After ten more minutes of anxiety, I figured it was probably unhealthy for me to sit in front of the computer and obsess. I needed to go outside for the first time since I'd sequestered myself. I needed a change of pace, to eat something other than corn chips and diet soda. But first, I needed to make contact with actual humans.

  I unlocked my desk drawer and pulled out my cell phone, which had long since died in that locked drawer. Once it was fully charged, I checked it for messages I'd missed.

  There were ten missed calls and voicemails from my mother, who'd called me multiple times even though I'd told her I was going to be unavailable. She was predictably frantic, urging me to call her as soon as I get the messages. I sent her a text assuring her I was alive and rechecked my voicemail. Other than my mother, surpri
singly few people had tried to reach me. It was a bit of a blow to the ego.

  I typed the first couple of digits of Kat's phone number, and the rest of the number filled itself in automatically. I held the phone to my ear, checking my nails and noting my need for a manicure while I listened to the line trilling.

  "So you're finally emerging from your writing cave?" Kat said as way of greeting, and I snapped back to attention. "I'm glad you're no longer a recluse. It's been a boring couple of weeks without you."

  "Aw, you missed me?" I joked. It felt good to be missed.

  "Yeah. Without your influence, I've been sober, I've been productive at work, I've been eating healthy. It's been awful," Kat moaned.

  I chuckled. "I just finished the project I've been working on, and I'm in serious need of lunch. You want to go eat something greasy and unhealthy?"

  "Lunch? It's six in the evening," Kat said. "Did you also lock up all your clocks when you went into hiding?"

  I looked down at the clock on my phone. She was right. I didn't even know what day of the week it was. Time tended to bleed together when you weren't watching the clock. "Are you down for dinner then?"

  "Meet me in an hour at Blue Crab Seafood," Kat said. "I have some stuff I need to get done before dinner."

  "Stuff?"

  "Grocery shopping for work." Kat was a private chef. "I need to get very specific, locally sourced, organic food for this client, and he prefers that I get it at a particular local organic market that he chose for me."

  "Gross. I'll meet you at the restaurant, then. Good luck shopping," I said.

  "Ha." She hung up.

  Now it was time to make myself presentable for human company. I went into the bathroom and cringed at my appearance before getting to work. Twenty minutes later, I emerged from the bathroom plucked, perfumed, and shaved. I looked at the pile of dirty clothes at the foot of the bed and frowned. I hadn't exactly made laundry a priority while I was writing the screenplay. This made my options pretty limited. Blue Crab Seafood was fancy enough that I needed to wear pants without a drawstring waist, but not nice enough to actually dress up. I rifled through my closet, producing a clean pair of jeans and a sweater. Perfect.