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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