I addressed the items requested for the application, directed the potential client to my portfolio of writing samples, and clearly stated my rates. ​This person contacted me: had I written gay romance before? No, I had not. Of course, I assumed the prospective client actually read my bid. Would I be willing to write a short sample of 200 – 300 words? I took a chance. I’m an idiot. The prospective client liked my sample, but would I expand upon it, take the burgeoning relationship from attraction to sizzle? I expanded upon the scene, but didn’t go “all the way.” The second request made me suspicious.

I allowed myself to be duped. The prospective client asked if I would accept $100 for the 15,000-word novella. Um … no. (Actually, that’s hell no. Would you put in approximately 50 hours of work for only $100?) I stated my rates clearly in the bid. He replied that my rate was beyond what he was willing to pay. So, why did he ask for writing samples? Why carry on the conversation? Why not just proceed to the next quote from a low-bid writer?

We know why: he wanted to take advantage of free content of a higher quality that a low-bid writer hasn’t the skill to produce. I attempted to reply, but he closed the conversation. Guru will not allow me to respond.

I am angry with him and myself. He’s an asshole and I’m an idiot.

Another client for whom I wrote two blogs (for which he did pay) has dropped off the face of the planet with a draft of a third blog in his hot little hands. I’m not happy about that, either, especially as I felt we’d established that he could trust me and I could trust him.

To quote Charlie Brown: “ARGH!” I prefer to begin professional relationships from a position of trust. It generally works out and both the client and I are happy. But that’s twice this month someone unscrupulous has taken advantage of my good nature. It’s enough to make me change. I hate that. I don’t want to be that mistrustful, cynical, manipulative businessperson who plays hardball and is always looking for an angle to fill my pockets and to serve my advantage regardless of whom I trample.

I hope a client comes along who will restore my faith in the basic decency of humankind again.

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n nIn the northern reaches of Scotland rests Loch Saorach, home to an ancient legend—a dragon. The Matasan family has guarded the loch and its dragon for centuries. n nOver the years Saorach has claimed humans, imbuing them with his fae magic. Connor Matasan, the arrogant Earl of Glencarol, is a recent acquisition. Like all those possessed and transformed by the dragon’s ancient magic, Connor is sith, immortal and commanding powers beyond the human norm. n nMiddle aged wife and mother Lila is vacationing in Scotland when Saorach chooses her to join his brood. Her transformation to an eternally young sith is painful and compounded by the loss of everything she holds dear. Waking to a new life, she is utterly dependent upon Connor and his family. Lila feels trapped and resents that the dragon has bound her to Connor, soul to soul, passion to passion: a passion Connor cannot control, a passion Lila fears. n nWill the magic that brought them together destroy them?n n

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/B014N34IU2

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Excerpt 

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n​He gathered the woman in his arms and grunted as he stood, the thick muscles of his thighs and calves bulging beneath his old, worn kilt which clung to him most uncomfortably and smelled unpleasantly of wet sheep. As comfortable as the old garment was dry, it did not bear close acquaintance when soaked through. The tendons and muscles in his arms bunched and bulged as he hefted the woman’s weight and settled her against his chest.
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n“You’re a mess, Connor. If you’ll wait, I’ll fetch a wagon.”
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n“I’ll walk,” he said and made good on his intent. The wet wool clung wetly to his thighs and his boots squelched, but the steady movement generated much needed heat to his chilled muscles.
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n“Let me carry her for a bit then,” Liam offered with sympathy. “She’s got to be heavy and you’re soaked to the bone and cold besides.”
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nThe woman was heavy, but Connor did not want to relinquish his burden and did not really know why. It was not as though she were a sterling example of feminine pulchritude. She was as old as Liam’s mother would have been had she not died a few years ago. She was fat, carrying extra weight that some disciplined food consumption and exercise could remedy. Her skin was doughy and old pock marks on her face showed the remnant scars of adolescent acne. Her hair was thin, light brown, and liberally streaked with gray. But he held on to her. Liam ran ahead to alert his grandmother of their impromptu guest. When Connor finally walked into the old manor he called home, his sister clucked her tongue at him and ordered him to relinquish his burden. 
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n“Liam will take her to the rose bedroom,” Brenda said, hands on her hips and tolerating no disobedience from the men. “You get yourself to your tub and soak until you’re warmed through.” 
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nThen Connor did give over the woman to his grandnephew. He headed for the comfort of his own chambers to strip the cold, wet garments from his clammy skin. The tub steamed gently and he sighed appreciatively as he sank into the scented water to soak the cramps from chilled muscles.
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