WIP Wednesday: Stopped at the border with Tall, Dark and Deported

It's been a busy time around here, wrapping up the short blog tour for King of the Kitchen, which was released Nov. 6. All of my guests posts revolved around food, both because that's a central theme in the book and because I'm currently four weeks into what was supposed to be a five-week kitchen remodel, so I'm really missing being in a kitchen and cooking something that doesn't have to go in the microwave or crock pot. And my suffering isn't over yet--thanks to delays and Lowe's ordering the wrong cabinets, it looks like it'll be mid-December before I have a kitchen. *sob*

I included a recipe with each blog post, so if you haven't checked those out and you're interested in the food in King of the Kitchen plus a few of my personal favorites, like the egg roll recipe that was a family secret for years, it's worth a look.

Duncan's refrigerator velcro frittata on Joyfully Jay
Beck's roasted brussel sprouts with balsamic glaze on Prism Book Alliance
Garlic and shallot pasta on Gay List Book Reviews
Egg rolls on The Novel Approach


I also found out last week that Playing House earned an Honorable Mention in  Gay Contemporary General Fiction this year's Rainbow Awards, which was so exciting! Frank is a character that's so close to my heart, and seeing the judges talk so favorably about him and the book made my day.

And last but not least, here's an excerpt from my current WIP, Tall, Dark and Deported. Crawford and Mateus have fulfilled their promise to Homeland Security and gotten married while they were in Canada, but the US Immigration needs a little more convincing than a marriage certificate and a steamy kiss in front of the border agent.

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Tall, Dark and Deported

The guard cleared his throat again. His eyes looked a little glassy when they met Crawford's. “I, uh, passed along the fact that you and Mr. Fontes seem to be still in the honeymoon phase on to Officer Stewart. She told me to have you check in with her at the US Citizenship and Immigration Office in Whatcom County.”

He scrawled a name and number on the back of a Homeland Security business card. “You'll have to make an appointment, but she might be able to see you today. My understanding was she wanted to meet you and set up future appointments, not put you through an interview right away.”

Well, that was ominous. Crawford flipped the card over and read the name—Office Kathleen Stewart. The guard looked apologetic, though he certainly wasn't the one who had done anything embarrassing. “I'll call her now,” Crawford said. “Should I step outside?”

The guard straightened. “No need. I'll leave you two to set that up. Just stop by the desk on your way out to let them know you've set up your appointment so they can confirm it with Useless—” the man looked stricken. “—I mean USCIS. Shit.”

Crawford laughed, feeling at ease for the first time since they'd been pulled over at the border and told to get out of the car. “Interdepartmental nicknames, eh? I guess there's no love lost between immigration services and homeland security. Though with that , they really were asking for it.”

The man chuckled. “Right? Anyway, I apologize. I'm sure Officer Stewart will do a great job with your case.”

Crawford certainly hoped not.  

King of the Kitchen is out today!

I'm at work today, so sadly I couldn't do a release day party like I usually do. But I'm so, so excited that King of the Kitchen is out today! I had such a blast reading from it at GRL, and the response I've gotten so far has been wonderful.

If you haven't been following my blog tour, be sure to check out my posts on Joyfully Jay and Gay List Book Reviews earlier this week. I'll be hosting a Dreamspinner Press Facebook chat Saturday, Nov. 7, from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. EST, and I'll be over on Prism Book Alliance (Nov. 9) and The Novel Approach   (Nov. 10) next week. I'm including a recipe at each stop on the blog tour, either something from the book or something that's a personal favorite of mine. Come check them out!

Early reviews for King of the Kitchen have been great, and I'm looking forward to hearing from more readers about how they liked Beck and Duncan!

From Divine Magazine: "King of the Kitchen by Bru Baker is the kind of book you can't put down but never want to end."

From The Novel Approach: "I would highly recommend this book if you enjoy a real romance and slow buildup kind of story. This was my first Bru Baker story, but it definitely will not be my last!

Blurb:

Rising kitchen talents Beck Douglas and Duncan Walters have been on the foodie paparazzi radar for years, since their status as heirs to two of the biggest celebrity chef empires around makes them culinary royalty. Beck is known for his charm and traditional food as cohost of his uncle's popular TV cooking show, while Duncan earned himself a reputation as a culinary bad boy, both for his refusal to work in his father's restaurants and his avant garde approach to cooking.

They're also heirs to a food rivalry that could put the Hatfields and McCoys to shame, and when they're photographed in the middle of a heated argument, the press goes wild with speculation. Damage control ensues, with a fake friendship engineered by PR cronies that leaves both of them secretly pining for more.

Beck chafes under his uncle's micromanagement, and Duncan's relationship with his homophobic father becomes even more tenuous when Beck and Duncan start getting closer. It's hard to hide their chemistry on national television when Duncan joins Beck's cooking show, but they won't be able to take their relationship—or their careers—to the next level without breaking a few eggs.

Buy links: Amazon, Dreamspinner Press, Barnes and Noble, Are

WIP Wednesday: cooking with King of the Kitchen

Photo credit: Brandon Witt

I'm back from GRL 2015 and the usual post-con slump has hit. It's hard coming back to reality after spending a week with so many amazing people. I loved catching up with old friends and making a bunch of new ones, too. There's really nothing like getting to be among your tribe, and that's exactly what GRL is for me. A week where no one looks at me askance when I say I write gay romance, and no one asks me when I'm going to write "real" books. (I usually tell them that my imaginary ones keep me more than busy enough on their own.*g*)

My reading from King of the Kitchen went really well. The audience was amazing and laughed in all the right places, which made me a lot more confident. And the King of the Kitchen T-shirts I made to give away were a big hit, too.

I'm sharing an excerpt from King of the Kitchen with you today because it's finally up for preorder everywhere. Yay! The book will be out on Nov. 6, and I'll be guest blogging during release week. You can find me on Joyfully Jay Nov. 3, GayList Book Reviews on Nov. 5, the Dreamspinner Press Facebook page on Nov. 7 (stay tuned for my chat time), Prism Book Alliance on Nov. 9, and the Novel Approach on Nov. 10.

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King of the Kitchen, Dreamspinner Press, release date Nov. 6

Preorder links: Dreamspinner Press, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, ARe, Kobo, Google Play

The kitchen was as hot as a sauna, and the bandanna Duncan had tied around his head had lost its ability to keep his forehead dry hours ago. His feet ached, his hands were chapped, and despite being surrounded by food, he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. It was long past the dinner hour, but the flurry of frenetic activity hadn’t slowed much at all. People were underfoot everywhere in the small space, bustling around with hot pans and large pots, and no matter which way he turned, Duncan ran the risk of toppling a precariously placed container.

It was perfect.

“Order in! Rancher’s omelet, no onions, no peppers, no potatoes, no meat.”

Duncan rolled his eyes, yanking the ticket out of John’s hand. “So basically they want a cheese omelet? You don’t think you could make it easier on us in here and just write down what they actually ordered?”

John grinned. “She ordered the rancher’s omelet, dude.”

“Without three quarters of what makes it the rancher’s omelet? Did you tell her she could order a cheese omelet and save $3.75?”

“I did, but she’s not the one paying, and she wanted to stick it to him.”

That startled a laugh out of Duncan. John motioned over his shoulder, toward a table, and Duncan leaned through the pass-through, trying to see the couple without being too obvious. He knocked over a battered pot in the process, making most of the diner’s customers look up. So much for subtle.

“Them,” John said, pointing toward a small table in front of the plate-glass windows near the entrance to the diner. The woman was tall and slender, with dark wavy hair cascading down her back. Her clothing and the purse hanging off the back of her chair screamed money, as did the suit on the man she was with. They weren’t the diner’s typical patrons by a long shot, but Duncan did have to concede she looked like the type of person who’d be a special order. When business was slow, he and some of the other kitchen staff passed the time by betting on whether the customers who walked in the door would be complicated. He was almost always right.

“What about him?” Duncan asked, jutting his chin toward the man she was with. He could only see him from behind, but from his immaculately cut hair and his ramrod straight posture—difficult in the rickety diner chairs, Duncan knew from personal experience—he looked like a special order as well.

Duncan looked down at the ticket, frowning as he tried to decipher John’s chicken scratch. No matter how many times the kitchen complained, John’s handwriting never improved. Duncan had worked at the restaurant on and off for more than ten years, and the only constant had been John and his atrocious handwriting. It was kind of comforting, in an extremely exasperating way.

“Seriously? Two eggs over easy, bacon, and whole wheat toast?”

Duncan looked from the ticket to the man, surprised. He peered at him, studying his shoulders and finding himself wishing he could see the mystery man’s face. Duncan’s culinary profiling rarely went astray. Intriguing.

“They’re cousins. It was his week to pick where they had dinner. I’m getting the feeling she’s less than pleased,” John said.

“Which is why she special-ordered something guaranteed to piss him off?”

“That’s just it, though. He didn’t get angry. He laughed and told her if she really wanted to pull one over on him, she should have ordered the eggs Benedict, since that’s the highest profit margin dish on the menu.”

Duncan furrowed his brow. It was true the eggs Benedict was the most expensive breakfast item on the menu, aside from the steak and eggs, but the dish was hardly ridiculously priced. None of the regulars ordered it, but that was more because they had traditional meat-and-potatoes palates.

Francie, the other waitstaff on duty at the moment, broke Duncan’s view of the man as she walked up to grab an order off the warmer, and Duncan shot John a mischievous grin before ducking back through the pass-through into the kitchen.

“Duncan,” John said, his voice holding a note of warning.

“Order in!” Duncan yelled, ignoring him completely.

Ten minutes later, Duncan got his wish when a plate clanked noisily on the pass-through. He looked up absently, about to scold John or Francie for being so harsh with the dishes, when he realized it wasn’t either of them. It was the man in the suit, and even scrunched up in irritation, his face was beautiful. He had a strong, straight nose and full lips—currently thinned in annoyance—and eyes the most interesting shade of blue Duncan had ever seen. He absolutely looked like someone who would special order, and Duncan found himself wishing even harder that he could puzzle him out.

“We didn’t order this.”

Duncan looked at the plate of eggs Benedict and smiled his dopiest grin, the one that never failed to get him free refills and phone numbers whenever he applied it. He’d sent the guy a free meal along with the breakfasts he and the woman had ordered—could he seriously be pissed about that?

“On the house. I heard you had a particular interest in them.”

The man blinked in confusion but seemed to recover quickly, anger clouding his features.

“If you wanted to impress me, you’d have to do a hell of a lot better than a plate of fatty ham and congealing hollandaise. We don’t serve eggs Benedict in our restaurants, Charlie,” he said, eyeing the name on Duncan’s chef’s whites with disdain and drawing it out like an insult, “and even if we did, I don’t appreciate having you encroach on my personal time with your pathetic attempt at a job interview.”

Duncan’s mouth hung open, and he wavered between outraged and completely confused. What was this guy talking about?

“Listen, buddy. I was only being friendly,” Duncan snapped, choosing to go with outraged. He left the plate in the pass-through, pointedly ignoring it—and the man—as he pulled a new ticket off the carousel. “Order in! One deluxe hamburger, one order of chicken tenders, one spinach frittata!”

He turned toward the kitchen to get started on the eggs but was pulled up short by a hand on his shoulder.

“You can’t talk to me like that, buddy.”

Duncan scowled. “Of course, sir. The customer is always right. Yes, the eggs Benedict was part of a convoluted plan of mine to apply for a job cooking for your, what?” He made a point of studying the gorgeous guy’s suit. “Office building? Hotel, maybe? I admit, it’s always been my life’s ambition to run a carving station at a Marriott buffet. How could you tell?”

The man gaped at him and would have responded, but the woman he was with—his cousin, John had said?—walked up behind him and unceremoniously placed her hand over his mouth.

“I apologize for Beck’s behavior. Charlie, is it?” Duncan nodded, figuring it was easier than correcting her. He was too busy watching as the man fumed silently behind her hand. “He’s a bit on edge at the moment, and he misread your intention in sending the plate. He’s used to having dishes we didn’t order sent over to our table when we go out, and it’s almost always a gesture followed by the chef coming out to ask a favor or chat him up.”

She leveled a look at Beck, her sculpted eyebrow arched in challenge as she removed her hand. He huffed ungraciously but didn’t resume yelling at Duncan, so Duncan was going to go ahead and call it a win.

“I apologize,” Beck bit out, the words sounding forced. “Please add the eggs Benedict to our check in recompense for the misunderstanding.”

Duncan was struck by a familiar pang of guilt. He could never hold a grudge against anyone. It was well known among his friends—and often taken advantage of. But he had sent the eggs over as a prank, and now he felt bad because he’d obviously ruined their meal. As he looked closer, he could see the designer suit was wrinkled, as if the poor guy had been wearing it all day, and dark circles smudged the skin under his brilliant blue eyes.

“No need,” Duncan said, lifting the untouched plate down from the pass-through and setting it aside. He and John were both off shift in twenty minutes; the dish wouldn’t go uneaten. He looked over at their table, noting that neither of them had touched their food. “I’d be happy to remake your meals. I’m sure they’ve gone cold by now.”

The man stared at him with an unreadable expression, but the woman chimed in.

“We’ve had a long day, and I don’t think we were that hungry anyway,” she said, smiling slightly. She slipped a business card on the pass-through. “I’m Lindsay. I realize you’re not looking for a job right now, but if you ever are, give me a call.”

Beck looked a bit sour at her parting words, but he followed her silently back to their table, pulled his wallet out, and dropped some cash on the table. Duncan watched them leave, Beck’s posture stiff and menacing until Lindsay wound an arm through his and leaned into him. He seemed to melt against her, his shoulders relaxing and his gait less abrupt as they walked down the sidewalk and out of sight.

Duncan looked down at the card on the pass-through, his eyes widening when he read it. Lindsay King, Assistant Producer, King of the Kitchen.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, staring at the empty sidewalk. The Kings were legends in the restaurant and culinary television worlds. Lindsay’s father, Christian, hosted what was widely considered the most popular cooking show on the air, and he had a huge stable of high-class restaurants as well. Duncan had been forced to listen to rants about the evil King empire practically every time he talked to his father.

Reading from King of the Kitchen

I missed #WIPWednesday this week, and even though I have a hundred excuses, none of them are all that great. I just didn't have time to write, and since I didn't write I didn't have anything to share. 

Today is my day off, though, and I've spent the morning going through King of the Kitchen to figure out what passage I want to read at GRL. I thought I'd share a bit of the one I settled on with you as penance for not having anything on Wednesday. (And bonus, since this I'm more than a little anxious about reading at GRL, this lets me practice! *g*)

I'm reading the opening scene, which sets up Duncan meeting Beck for the first time. The book jumps ahead almost ten years after this first chapter, but these first impressions they get of each other take a long time for them to revise.

Enjoy!



 

WIP Wednesday: Into the Kitchen again!

I made a few of the T-shirts Duncan wears when
he guest-hosts on Beck's cooking show. See all of
them on my Facebook page!                                 

Before I was published, I labored under the very misguided belief that a writer wrote their manuscript, sent it off into the world, and that was that. Sure, there would be editing. Consultations on covers and blurbs. But the writing? That was done.

That, my friends, was a fallacy. Because editors aren't just there to catch typos and bad clauses--they're there to tighten up the writing and make the plot the best it can be. Which means pointing out errors in the arc, characters who are acting OOC, and basically wreaking wonderful havoc on your manuscript until it's the best it can be. Editors have a hard job, and I'm incredibly lucky that my publisher employs editors who are both talented and tactful, because it can't be easy to find nice ways to telling writers to cut sections because they're bulky, add things for clarity and pump up dialogue (and in some cases, as happened with Finding Home, add entire chapters, eek!). But I've never walked away from an edit feeling anything less than excited about how much better the book was, which is all down to how awesome the editing team at Dreamspinner Press is.

Anyway, now that I'm a grizzled writing vet (ha!) I realize that when I send a manuscript off to my publisher, I am most certainly NOT done writing. That was the case with King of the Kitchen. I had some really great editors working on it, with some great (but hard to hear) suggestions about where I could cut the manuscript to make it flow better and what I needed to add to make it really shine. Which is why now, months after the manuscript is finished, I'm still using King of the Kitchen for #WIP Wednesday. *g*


Beck and Duncan are playing up their friendship to the press, which now includes playing racquetball with Duncan's father, Vincent, and Beck's uncle, Christian. Vincent and Christian have a long-running feud, and here we see why.

King of the Kitchen, Dreamspinner Press, November 2015

“We’ll meet you on the court, then,” Christian said, brushing some invisible lint off his pristine white shorts. He and Vincent were both already dressed in their racquetball clothes. He gave Duncan’s jeans a distasteful look. “Do hurry.”

Beck wondered if he and Duncan should take turns changing just to have one of them on hand to act as a buffer between Vincent and Christian, but Vincent spoke before he could suggest it.

“I’ll head to the court to make sure they don’t give our reservation to someone else,” Vincent said. He sneered in Christian’s direction, his chest puffed out like a peacock. “Perhaps you could wait in the café. I believe they’re selling that brand of glorified tap water you’ve been hawking.”

Christian’s face went puce. “I only put my name on the very best brands,” he sniffed. “Not that you’d know anything about being judicious.”

Beck grabbed his uncle’s arm when Vincent took a step toward them. “Didn’t I see Arnie in the café on my way in? When I was in last week he asked me about placing an order for some premade dinners from Brix to sell here. Maybe you should go touch base with him about that. We’ll meet you on the court in five.”

Duncan snickered. “Save it for the court, old men.”

Christian glowered but held his hands up and stepped away. “I’m always happy to discuss new business ventures.”

“Expand or die, isn’t that your motto?” Vincent muttered, but he turned and headed down the corridor toward the courts when Duncan cleared his throat menacingly.

“This is such a bad idea,” Duncan said.

The photographer from the restaurant was just outside the plate glass window, so Beck slung his arm around Duncan’s shoulder and gave him a sunny smile. “The absolute worst,” he said through gritted teeth.

WIP Wednesday: Back into the kitchen

Photo: Raleys

I'm on deadline with Some Assembly Required so it's almost all IKEA all the time in my brain right now, but I've got a little space left over for my lovely King of the Kitchen boys. The book is in edits right now, and I'm currently testing recipes for the addendum. My plan is to have one for everything Beck cooks (he's into the slow food movement, with local ingredients and minimal fancifying) and at least a few of the things Duncan cooks. That's a little harder, since he's a molecular gastronomist and I doubt most of you have the tools to spherify liquids (easier than you'd think, but requires chemicals from specialty shops) and sous vide meat to tender perfection. *g*

In this excerpt Beck cooks one of my very favorite things to make in the kitchen, roasted brussel sprouts. This recipe will definitely be in the book!

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King of the Kitchen, Dreamspinner Press, November 2015

Beck pulled a plate out of the warmer, sitting it on the counter between them. The camera came forward, zooming in on it, and Duncan had to force himself not to take an instinctive step back. Filming television was hard.

“We're taking on brussels sprouts today. They get a pretty bad rap, but when Duncan and I are done with them today I think you'll see that they're a flavorful and nutritious addition to any dinner table,” Beck said.

“I'll be going the more traditional route, slow roasting my Brussels sprouts with grape tomatoes and finishing them with a balsamic reduction,” Beck said. The camera panned over the ingredients a stage hand had set out moments before.

“And I'll be bringing some chemistry into the kitchen and showing you how to make a bacon foam that will complement my crunchy smoked Brussels sprouts perfectly,” Duncan said. He'd brought his smoke gun and his whipping siphon, and both had caused quite a stir in the prep kitchens. He held them up now. “These probably aren't tools you'll find in your home kitchen, but there are plenty of affordable models out there for the home cook. They look a little intimidating, but we'll talk through the process today. You'll find that science in the kitchen can be fun and tasty.”

Both of their dishes took a long time to make, which was why Andre and the prep kitchen had supplied them with multiple switch-out dishes so they could show the cooking process to the audience as they went. Some of Duncan's steps couldn't be prepared in advance, though, like setting up the smoke gun and preparing the siphon to make the foam.

He was more than a little nervous about things not working as they should, but everything moved along seamlessly, aside from a minor spill when he and Beck collided.

“And that's why you always say call out 'behind' in a professional kitchen,” Duncan joked, brushing the balsamic vinegar he'd spilled on his coat off. “It's also why no one but Beck wears these monkey suits while we're cooking.”

He put his pot down and peeled off his sports jacket, handing it off to the stage hand who darted forward to take it. Having all this off-screen help was nice. Kind of like what he'd imagined having Thing would be like when he'd watched The Addams Family as a kid.

“Ah, that's better.”

WIP Wednesday: King of the Kitchen excerpt!

It's Wednesday! Lex and I have been working away at Some Assembly Required, but I wanted to share something else with you today. King of the Kitchen was accepted and will be released in early November, just in time to hit the preorder page for GRL. I'll be reading an excerpt from it there (and man is THAT going to be interesting...I already feel like I've swallowed a swarm of butterflies just thinking about it!), and I thought I'd share a different excerpt here today.

King of the Kitchen (Dreamspinner Press November 2015) 

 JULY 2006 

The kitchen was as hot as a sauna, and the bandanna Duncan had tied around his had lost its ability to keep his forehead dry hours ago. His feet ached, his hands were chapped, and despite being surrounded by food, he hadn't eaten since breakfast. It was long past the dinner hour, but the flurry of frenetic activity hadn't slowed much at all. 

People were underfoot everywhere in the small space, bustling around with hot pans and large pots, and everywhere he turned Duncan ran the risk of toppling a precariously placed container. It was perfect. 

“Order in! Rancher's omelet, no onions, no peppers, no potatoes, no meat.” 

Duncan rolled his eyes, yanking the ticket out of John's hand. “So basically they want a cheese omelet? You don't think you could make it easier on us in here and just write down what they actually ordered?” 

John grinned. “She ordered the rancher's omelet, dude.” 

“Without three quarters of what makes it the rahncher's omelet? Did you tell her she could just order a cheese omelet and save $3.75?” 

“I did, but she's not the one paying and she wanted to stick to him.” 

That startled a laugh out of Duncan. John motioned toward a table over his shoulder and Duncan leaned through the pass through, trying to see the couple without being too obvious. He knocked over a battered pot in the process, making most of the diner's customers look up. So much for subtle. 

 “Them,” John said, pointing toward a small table toward the front of the diner, right in front of the plate glass windows. 

The woman was tall and slender with dark wavy hair cascading down her back. Her clothing and the purse perched on the floor near her feet screamed money, as did the suit on the man she was with. They weren't the diner's typical patrons by a long shot, but Duncan did have to concede that she looked like the type of person who'd be a special order. When business was slow, he and some of the other kitchen staff passed the time by betting on  whether or not the customers who walked in the door would be complicated. He was almost always right. 

 “What about him?” Duncan asked, jutting his chin toward the man she was with. 

He could only see him from behind, but from his immaculately cut hair and his ramrod straight posture—difficult in the rickety diner chairs, Duncan knew from personal experience—he looked like a special order as well. He looked down at the ticket, frowning as he tried to decipher John's chicken scratch. No matter how many times the kitchen complained, John's handwriting never improved. Duncan had worked there on and off for more than ten years and the only constant had been John and his atrocious handwriting. It was kind of comforting, in an extremely exasperating way. 

 “Seriously? Two eggs over easy, bacon, and whole wheat toast?” Duncan looked from the ticket to the man. That was a surprise. He peered at him, studying his shoulders and finding himself wishing he could see the mystery man's face. It wasn't often that Duncan's culinary profiling went astray. It was intriguing. 

“They're cousins. It was his week to pick where they had dinner. I'm getting the feeling that she's less than pleased,” John said.

WIP Wednesday: More King of the Kitchen

Today's my deadline for King of the Kitchen (and if you're reading this Lynn, it's coming, I promise!), so today's snippet is from that manuscript. I had so much fun writing the recipes for it, which hopefully will be included in the back of the book.

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King of the Kitchen

“So we won't get busy for another hour or so,” Duncan said as he used the spatula to break up the cooking chorizo and move it around the cook top. The onions and peppers got another squirt of oil and a similar treatment. “You want to poke around and familiarize yourself with the kitchen? John keeps a binder of recipes somewhere in the office if you want, or we can double team things and you can be in charge of eggs and protein while I put everything together since I know the menu.”

“Here I thought we were taking things slow, and then on what, our third official date? Now you're asking me to double team. Nice.”

Duncan poured a healthy dollop of the ranchero sauce on the chorizo, noting that he'd would have to start a fresh batch before the rush hit because they definitely wouldn't have enough to get through the breakfast shift tomorrow with what was in the fridge.

“I have a feeling you're going to keep things interesting enough that I won't really want to bring in anyone else,” Duncan teased.

“Have you?” Beck asked, his voice a little strange.

Duncan turned around, wondering if the thought of a threesome was really that disturbing for Beck, but the slight glaze of sweat over his brow made Duncan reevaluate. Clearly Beck was not disgusted by the thought. Interesting.

“Double teamed someone? No,” he said, raising an eyebrow in challenge. “But I have been double teamed?”

Beck outright choked at that, and Duncan grinned in triumph.

“Actually, the answer to that is also no. But it's a fun thought.”

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WIP Wednesday: King of the Kitchen

As some of you already know from Twitter and Facebook, I recently started a new job. I've been a freelance writer and editor for eight years, so heading back into a structured professional environment was a bit daunting.

I was worried it would really put a damper on my writing, since I have considerably less time to do it in. But I guess I shouldn't have worried, because we all know creativity is kind of like a gas--it expands to fill whatever space you can give it, and mine is going gangbusters in the smaller space I've allotted for it now.

Which is good, because I've got two projects with quickly approaching deadlines, and I'd be pretty well screwed if I wasn't cranking out chapters. *g*

I thought I'd start a WIP Wednesday feature here on the blog to keep you updated on what's on my plate--and it also helps keep me accountable, since I have to make sure I have a  new snippet to share each week.

Today I'm sharing part of a scene from King of the Kitchen, my rival-chefs-turn-lovers lark that is due out in early November. I'm skating up hard and fast to that manuscript deadline, so send good wishes for Beck and Duncan to keep chattering away in my head so I can get them onto the page!

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King of the Kitchen

“If you wanted to impress me, you'd have to do a hell of a lot better than a plate of fatty ham and congealing hollandaise. We don't serve eggs benedict in our restaurants, Charlie,” Beck said, eyeing the name on Duncan's chef's whites with disdain and drawing it out like an insult, “and even if we did, I don't appreciate having you encroach on my personal time with your pathetic attempt at a job interview.”

Duncan's mouth hung open, and he wavered between outraged and completely confused. What was this guy talking about?

“Listen, buddy. I was just being friendly,” Duncan snapped, choosing to go with outraged. He left the plate in the pass through, pointedly ignoring it—and the man—as he pulled a new ticket off the carousel.

“Order in! One deluxe hamburger, one order of chicken tenders, one spinach fritatta!”

Duncan turned toward the kitchen to get started on the eggs but was pulled up short by a hand on his shoulder.

“You can't talk to me like that, buddy.”

Duncan scowled. “Of course, sir. The customer is always right. Yes, the eggs benedict were part of a convoluted plan of mine to apply for a job cooking for your, what?” He made a point of studying the gorgeous guy's suit. “Office building? Hotel, maybe? I admit, it's always been my life's ambition to run a carving station at a Marriott buffet. How could you tell?”

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