When the Smoke Clears (Interracial Firefighter Romance) Read Online Free PDF Page B

Write me something that I can sell.”
    I grabbed the chocolate mint chunk from the freezer and headed for the drawer to grab a spoon. “Well. . . I have been working on this one story, but you won’t like it and neither will my fans. I stopped at the fifth chapter and didn’t write anymore.”
    Her voice brightened. “Oh, really? Let me be the judge. What is it about?”
    Spoon in hand, I headed back to my tiny office. “This guy dies every night in really cruel ways.”
    “Okay?”
    “Each chapter he wakes up in the morning and by the end of the chapter, boom. He’s dead.”
    “O-kay.” Hope left her voice. “And the heroine? Is she smart, pretty, and in need of love?”
    “There is no heroine yet.”
    “Alrighty.” She sighed. “We’ll work on that later. Let’s get back to the hero. Why is he dying every chapter and coming back to life?”
    “He’s not going to fall in love with anybody. I’m thinking he’ll kill himself. Oh, god but there’s this great scene where he puts his dick into a blender and—”
    “Yeah. How about you put that work of art to the side or maybe throw it away in a place where no one will ever read that.”
    “You don’t like it?” I stuffed my mouth with cold chocolate yumminess.
    “It’s not romance and you’re a bestselling romance author. You need two people to fall in love. Then, the relationship conflict. And of course, the happily ever after.”
    “Fuck a happily ever after.” I spooned some ice cream and piled more into my mouth. “I’m thinking, maybe, I should get into horror.”
    She shrieked. “I didn’t hear that. You did not say the h-word.”
    “Maybe, it will be fun.”
    “You spent five years building an amazing platform among romance readers and you want to switch to blender dick stories that disgust people?”
    “It’s just a thought.”
    “You need to write about love!”
    I mumbled between bites, “Yes, ma’am.”
    “I’m sending over Mama Ganga.”
    “I don’t know who this Mama Ganga is. Don’t send crazy people over to my house.”
    “Mama Ganga isn’t crazy,” Sam said. “She’s just eccentric and has counseled several top authors, artists, and singers on breaking out of their mental jails and finding inspiration.”
    “Blah.”
    “I’m flying her down and paying for the hotel. This will be coming out of your expenses, by the way. I’ll email you her details.”
    “Look, Sam. Do not send Mother Ganja down here.”
    “It’s Mama Ganga. Not Ganja.”
    “What?”
    “Gan-Gaa.”
    “With that name, she better have some ganja on her,” I huffed. “Don’t send her down here.”
    “She’s coming.”
    “She’s not.”
    “Trust me. She is,” Sam said. “And how’s my nephew?”
    I set the carton down, caught her up on Rich’s latest problem, and even gave her a few details about the fireman.
    “I’ll call my nephew tonight and talk to him.” Then Sam’s voice brightened. “But on another note, did you say firefighters?”
    “Yes.”
    “Hot ones?” she asked.
    “Yes. Of course. Big arms and pretty eyes. Whatever.”
    “Write a fire fighter romance!”
    “Oh, please. It’s cliché.”
    “It’s not cliché.”
    “It’s been over used.”
    “Oh, really?” she asked. “When’s the last time you read a new firefighter romance?”
    “I’ve only been reading self-help books.”
    “Dear God. You’ve stopped reading romance? I think I just vomited in my mouth.”
    “You represent nonfiction authors. How do you not like the category?”
    “You’re a horrible influence. Here I am trying to better myself and you’re like, ‘No girl, that’s stupid. Read erotica.’”
    “At least read romance.”
    “Fuck romance.”
    “I’m hanging up now so I don’t disown you.”
    “Well then, good day.” Smiling, I shut the phone off and thought back to one of the reoccurring arguments my ex and I would have. I’d been trying to get rid of the old memories, but they continued to come back, over and