NovelConcepts: The Greatest Love Story Ever Written (Story Two Novel Concepts)

Starting us off is Author Amity Grays

The huge dining area, lit softly along its cream-colored walls with dim yellow lighting, was actually two large conference rooms merged. Enormous chandeliers hung down from its high ceilings, lighting the many decorative tables and the bright, orange-and-black-colored carpet beneath.

Despite the mouthwatering dishes sitting enticingly upon the many plates, the well-polished silver sat motionless within the hands of all three-hundred-plus diners present. Not a fork clattered or clanked. Not a whisper desecrated the silence.

Clarisse Heartfelt looked out into her audience. She had them, every one of them, waiting on the edge of their seats for the same grand finale she’d been delivering for nearing ten years. God, she loved them for all their eagerness, their hope and, yes, their adoration.

She took a deep breath. This was her star moment, her greatest joy, the ultimate validation for years of hard work and countless sacrifices. For the moment, she was queen and this, oh yes, this was her court. She would serve them well.

“We are visionaries.” She fed them slowly, savoring their indrawn breaths, living vicariously through their optimistic expressions. “We are hope and we are dreams.” They were nodding, ready, and charged. “We are Romance Writers, and we…are…magic!”

Roars of approval mixed with the scooting of chairs and the dropping of silver. Applause, warm and unending, exploded throughout the room. As always, she teared.

“Thank you,” she said, waving to her fans and fellow authors, most of them still in the want-to-be stage. God, help them, they were in for some heartache. This was not a field for the light-hearted. Oh no, this was the ultimate arena for the true masochist. She threw them kisses. They would need all the extra love they could get.

Meredith Albert, the Conference Chairperson, placed her hand against Clarisse’s back and quickly led her from the room. In the background, she heard the assistant chairperson promising the crowd Clarisse would return later that afternoon for the book-signing.

“They adore you,” Meredith said, hurrying her through the second-floor lobby and into a small holding room near the stairs.

“They do, don’t they.” She smiled. It might be egotistical, but she knew it was true. Denial would feel ridiculous. Endless fan mail, countless requests for appearances, and the true affection seen in their eyes said it all. And it wasn’t as if she didn’t appreciate it. She did. She lived for it. And as much as they might adore her, she truly adored them.

Meredith smiled as she handed her her coat. “You’re a blessed woman, Clarisse Heartfelt, as well as a blessing.”

Sliding into her long, white suede overcoat, she laughed. “Well, definitely blessed.” She wrapped her fluffy, pink cashmere scarf around the coat’s collar. “Thanks, Meredith,” she said, taking her matching pink purse from the helpful chairwoman then turning to leave. “I’ll be back as promised.”

“And I’ll have everything set up and ready for you,” Meredith assured.

Elation. It could be described no other way, this wonderfully fulfilled feeling inside her. She’d achieved every one of her goals—financial security…check, bestselling author…check, sell-out speaker…check.

She’d done it all and reached her destiny. And she’d arrived there at only sixty-two years of age.

Her life was perfect. She could ask for nothing more…well, perky breasts perhaps, but she couldn’t even complain about that. Her “girls” had served her well. They’d not only seen her through several years of passion with the three handsome and exciting lovers of her life, but more importantly they’d been healthy. After watching her oldest and dearest friend fight the vicious war of breast cancer, she would never begrudge her “girls” less than perfect posture.

She stepped onto the escalator heading down to the first-floor lobby. Not a single head from the escalator heading up turned to look her way. She hated to admit it, but it definitely put a wrinkle in her otherwise perfect day. Admittedly, she needed the attention. She was an attention junkie. It was why she never married. Eventually, all men failed to pay her enough attention.

Oh well, not everyone could be a fan. Not everyone would know her. Wait! A nice-looking gentleman just boarded down below. If she couldn’t dazzle him with her fame, perhaps she could beguile him with her feminine assets. Fluffing her professionally dyed blonde hair, she bit some color into her slightly thinning lips and posed—an intentionally nonchalant, yet sexy, stance.

He wasn’t looking. He still wasn’t looking. Dang, he never once looked.

She let loose her pulled stomach and held breath. Oh, heaven help her, she was even beyond pathetic. She was too old to still be needing men’s attention. Shouldn’t she be past that by now? She was an internationally renowned author, a success by anyone’s standards. Why was it not enough? Why did she always need more?

Stepping off the escalator and into the hotel’s large reception area, Clarisse stopped just in front of the main entrance. The cloudy, dismal day outside wasn’t much of an invitation. But she’d promised her publisher she’d stop by Northside Books and leave them a few signed copies. She didn’t mind. It was bookstores such as theirs which had turned her into the success she was today. And chances were, in a bookstore that size, she’d meet at least a couple fans. That, alone, was always rewarding.

Tucking her purse tight against her side, she stepped inside the revolving glass doors heading out. She loved her oversized pink purse. It had really been quite the find, and it had fit so perfectly today’s outfit. Perhaps she’d head back down to the mall and see if they had another in black. Pink, of course, was her favorite color, but black went with everything.

A warm sensation suddenly wrapped its fists around her heart. If the revolving door hadn’t been there to push her along, she likely would have stopped right there and then.

The feeling passed. It was probably nothing, just the pull of a muscle. She stepped out of the spinning doors and onto the busy sidewalk.

The second tug, deeper and far more severe, set off her internal alarms. Something wasn’t right. Her chest was now burning as though it were on fire. Everything was starting to blur. Oh, dear Lord, she couldn’t possibly be having a heart attack?

Searching the crowd for a helpful face, she saw not a one. Not a soul looked her way. Not a man offered her a hand. Was chivalry dead? If so, the world was welcome to end.

The burning intensified and the tug turned into a vicious, unyielding squeeze. She grabbed the next person passing by. “Help!” Had she said it out loud or simply thought it to herself?

Suddenly the ground reached up and grabbed her, slapping hard against her torso and none too gently catching the side of her head. The world went black.

Clarisse Heartfelt is about to become a guardian angel to a want-to-be-writer