Freelance Love Read online

  Freelance Love

  By Barbara C. Alvarez

  Text copyright © 2013 Barbara C. Alvarez

  All Rights Reserved

  Credit: Anne Teensma (kamidoodles.deviantart.com) for the cover image.

  Credit: Lilipilyspirit (lilipilyspirit.deviantart.com/art/Blooming-Yucca-301397098) for the contribution of the yuccas in the cover.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank a few people who have had a hand in helping me to bring “Freelance Love” to fruition. I have been very fortunate to meet several people who have given me much-needed moral support and guidance as I wrote my book.

  To Deborah Sutton, I would like to thank you for your beta-reading services and advice. Because we are both authors and friends, I’m grateful to have your support.

  To Kathryn Ritcheske, who formatted both the e-book and the print book, thank you for your support, friendship and guidance! I look at the “do this, do that, now do the other,” and I quail!

  To Mary Ylisela, motivational writer and coach, thank you for all your support! Your belief in me helped me to think that, “Yes, I can!”

  To the wonderful Jumpstart Your Day forum group - I just have to tell you that, without your support and all those pom-poms, I would not be where I am today! Instead, I’d be working for “The Man.”

  To the Hardcore Freelance forum group, thank you for your moral support. Seeing all of you “get there” with your dreams helps me to know I can, too.

  To the Writers to Write forum group, I wish I could give you a huge hug!

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 1

  Morgan Adams sighed at the phone call, looking at the Caller I.D. readout. Seeing that it was her former boss, John Mack, she opted to let the call go to voice mail. I have too much happening right now to deal with his nonsense. These articles are due to “Las Cruces Lifestyles” by next Monday, and all he wants to do is beg me to come back to work at the store. As soon as John had left his message, Morgan set the phone’s ringer to “silent.”

  Now that she was able to work in relative silence, she made more progress through the editing notes that her editor, Ian Brady, had scribbled on the manuscripts. She paused as she got to one passage that Ian had red-lined. “Nope, Ian, not gonna happen. You want me to change this, but it’ll weaken that part of the article if I do. I thought about it, toyed with different words and descriptions and they didn’t work. I’m leaving that one in as-is.” Scooting back from her computer, she leaned back in her chair. She let her head drop back, running her fingers through her pepper-and-salt hair. Feeling the tension in her body ease, she groaned.

  Two hours later, she stepped away from her computer and stepped onto her treadmill so she could get in some walking time. After a thirty-minute walk, she stepped off, panting slightly. Checking her phone, she noticed that Ian had called. She called him back.

  “Hey, Ian! How are you? I’m good - making some progress on the manuscripts. I think I’ll finish some time tomorrow.”

  “Okay, then, let’s meet at the coffee shop by the university tomorrow. That article is due tomorrow, right?”

  “Yeah. I’ll try to have the one on the Las Cruces day care for homeless children and the one on the mariachi conference ready to discuss. What time do you want to meet?”

  “The earlier, the better. I have some other work I need to do, but I want to meet with you first off.”

  “Okay, then, 9:30?”

  “Yeah, that works. See you then.”

  Morgan hung up and went out to her tiny back yard. Sitting on the glider, she looked around at the bright, hot day. The sun was heating everything up, making the leaves on the trees and the grass underfoot wilt. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t have to drive to work and battle traffic. I can take breaks when my mind is about to explode. Why would I return to the store?

  Across Las Cruces, John Mack’s clothing store was virtually empty. Aside from the two employees, one customer browsed through the racks. John gazed through his quiet, desolate store, thinking that, if Morgan brought her marketing and sales skills back, he would have more customers buying and fewer just browsing. As the lone customer walked out without buying anything, John swore colorfully under his breath. He thought back to his attempt to call her that morning. She had not picked up, and his later attempts went to voice mail as well. Why the fuckin’ hell doesn’t she pick up her phone if she works at home? She’s probably out gallivantin’ around, going to the mall or sumpin’. I’ve gotta find a way of forcin’ her to come back to the store, or I’m gonna have to close down and admit failure.

  Looking at his two employees, he saw them rearranging tables of merchandise and straightening the clothing on the racks. “Did you get that paperwork done? If it isn’t . . .”

  Both young women gave John frightened looks. “Yessir, we did. It’s sitting in your inbox. We finished it before lunch,” said the more outspoken of his employees.

  Those girls are fuckin’ wusses. Morgan would answer me right back, straight up with a little sass.

  ***

  The next morning, Morgan got a phone call from Grace Scott, one of her closes friends. Grace was an instructor in the English Department at New Mexico State University. “Hey, Grace, how’s it going? Me, I’m loving writing at home. I can set my own schedule and I am bringing a decent income in. I’m looking for ways of refining my schedule so I can add another client to my schedule.”

  “How’s it going with Ian? Is he a great editor or what? He’s not half-bad looking, either,” said Grace, sotto voce.

  Morgan smiled. “Good-looking, he is. He’s a wonderful editor. He explains why he wants changes and I understand why. I just hope he understands when I choose to keep something as I originally wrote it.”

  “You haven’t hit that one yet? Let me warn you – he will be passionate about his decisions . . .”

  Morgan stopped listening when she heard “passionate.” She thought about her editor’s looks – he wasn’t very tall, but he was muscular and slender. His blue eyes could warm up or, she suspected, freeze glacially. Like Morgan, he had dark hair liberally sprinkled with gray. She was lost in a private reverie about Ian – kissing, caressing . . .

  “Hey, hello? Morgan, you there?” Grace asked.

  “ . . . Oh! I’m sorry. I was thinking . . . about my articles,” Morgan said, fumbling.

  “Ah-hah. Right. You were thinking of the delectable Editor Ian. I know you. You need to go out and have some fun – you’re closed up with your cat and that’s not good for you.”

  Morgan blushed. “Well, he is gorgeous! I’m not blind – or dead!”

  Grace laughed heartily. “Okay, I’ll give you that. Here’s what we’re going to do. You and I are going out, say tomorrow evening. Girls night out, just you and me.”

  “What about Kevin?”

  “He’s been out of town all week long and won’t be back until next Tuesday. He’s attending a long business training.”

  “Wow, that’s a long one!”

  “It’s for new graduates who have been hired to start working for several corporations and the government.”<
br />
  “Okay, then, I’m good for tomorrow night. Where are we going?”

  “Just dress up. We’ll decide then.”

  Morgan, hearing this directive, remembered when she had been in the Journalism and English programs at the university – going out on Friday or Saturday nights, taking over several tables at a local watering hole and closing it down. “Yee-hah! I can’t wait!”

  “Okay, ‘yee-hah lady,’ I have office hours, so I’d better go. See you tomorrow – look for an email from me. Bye!”

  Having plans energized Morgan – she made the changes to both articles and printed out hard copies of both. Dressing carefully for her meeting with Ian, she selected a casual skirt and pull-over that she knew complemented her. She combed her hair, arranging it carefully, then brushed on light makeup, remembering the heat. Packing her laptop, she added the new versions of her articles. Not wanting her computer to die while she and Ian argued over the changes, she threw her plug-in charger in and left.

  ***

  At the coffee shop on the corner of University Avenue and Espina, she grabbed a parking spot before it was taken. Waiting inside, she set up her laptop and went over her manuscripts one more time.

  Ian walked up and tapped Morgan on the shoulder. “What would you like to drink? My treat.”

  “Sweet iced tea and I’ll have a scone, thanks. No breakfast. I was busy talking to Grace.”

  “You got it. I’ll be back.” Five minutes later, Ian set her order down in front of her, along with his own beverage.

  “So, how’s Grace? What’s she up to?”

  “Kevin’s out of town, so we’re going out tomorrow evening. She’s teaching classes this summer session, it looks like.”

  Ian gave an amused chuckle. “So you’re going to close the bar down? That should be a sight to see!”

  Morgan grinned. “We might just close it down, wherever we go.”

  After they had chatted and eaten, Ian read through the manuscripts. On one, he nodded and said, “This one is ready.”

  Morgan wrote a note to herself on that article – “Print final draft for magazine.”

  Ian began reading the second feature article. When he came to the phrase that he had told Morgan to change, he frowned.

  “Didn’t I tell you to change this?”

  “I told you I’d take it under consideration. I read it, tried it with different wordings and decided that it’s fine as-is. If I choose an alternate wording, I’ll weaken the statement that the need for homeless child day care is going up. I’m treating this article as a call to action, Ian. After magazine readers put this down, I want to them to donate clothing, funds, time – something, so the day care can function seven days a week.”

  “Morgan, it’s too strong. You’re going to push people away. Change it.”

  “No. People need to know that we have homeless families here in Las Cruces . . .”

  The discussion between Morgan and Ian continued, with both holding stubbornly to their positions. As they spoke, their voices gradually rose, to the point that their other coffee shop patrons started hearing what they were saying. Some customers began to titter. Ian and Morgan failed to see that they were getting others’ attention and, as their discussion became an argument, they leaned closer and closer to each other. Finally, they were positioned nose-to-nose as they argued. Ian, realizing how close he was to Morgan’s very kissable lips, stopped talking and stared at her face. The breath leaked out of his lungs as he stared at Morgan’s mouth and, moving infinitesimally closer, he touched his lips softly to hers.

  Chapter 2

  Morgan had not realized how close she was to Ian’s face, and she kept arguing her points. Feeling Ian’s warm, well-shaped lips caressing hers, she gasped and stiffened. Her body began warming, feeling as if it was giving off soft shimmers as she kissed her editor. Coming back to reality, she realized she was in a public setting. Her eyes opened wide and she tore her lips away from Ian’s. Placing her hand over her thumping, traitorous heart, she sat back and stared at Ian.

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing? A kiss isn’t going to make me change my mind,” she said.

  Ian appeared to be breathless. Morgan saw him trying to get control of his breathing as he sat back in his own chair. His eyes gleamed with desire. When he finally spoke, his voice was gritty and lower than normal.

  “Leave it as it is. You’re right, after all. Let me know when you’re done with that third article,” he said. Grabbing his glass of iced tea, he stood up and nearly raced out of the coffee shop.

  Morgan looked around – her fellow patrons were making an effort to pay attention to their own business. She saw two people discussing the upcoming presidential election and working on a laptop. At another table, she saw an older man peering at his laptop screen and pecking carefully at the keyboard. Swiveling her eyes to the counter, she saw the wait staff engaged in taking and preparing customers’ orders. She slid down in her seat, wanting to disappear. Blowing a shaky breath out through pursed lips, she tried to get her heartbeat back under control. She picked up her pen in a shaky hand and scribbled, “Keep as-is” on the article that had spawned the entire argument/kiss. Looking at her work, she decided she’d be better off – and much less embarrassed – if she went back home and worked there. Looks like the citizens of Las Cruces have gotten their thrill of the day. Damn Ian! I could strangle him! After kissing him senseless, of course.

  At home, Morgan tossed her work materials onto her desk and changed into comfortable jeans and a t-shirt. Looking at herself in her dresser mirror, she pulled her hair back and braided it so it would be out of her way. She looked at her face more closely – her eyes still glowed from the seismic kiss she had just shared with Ian. She saw her cheeks blush a dark pink at the memory of his lips on hers. “Oh, Morgan! You’re not a starry-eyed teenager! Get your damned gray head out of the clouds. You have no future with Ian Brady.” Stalking into her kitchen, she grabbed a refillable bottle and poured cold water into it. Grabbing fruit, she plopped into her office chair and forced herself to focus on her work.

  Two hours later, the ringing of her house phone dragged her out of the article she was working on. Growling under her breath, she answered, “Hello?”

  “Well, she finally answers!” said John Mack in his characteristic, Texas-tinged drawl.

  “John, no. I am not interested . . .”

  “Well, maybe you’ll stop fooling around on the damn Internet when you realize you can bring in a dependable check every month. That’s all you do – you don’t ‘work.’ Come on, Adams. I’ll make you assistant manager and you can set your own hours.”

  “No, John! You don’t realize it, but I am earning a good income. I set my own hours as it is. I don’t burn gas or run my car into the ground driving to and from an office every day. I have no overhead, other than my rent and utilities for my house. I have everything I need and I don’t want anything else. Please, John, stop bothering me. Look at resumes from marketing and business students who’ve just graduated – you’re more likely to find someone there. Now, I have to go. I’m under a very tight deadline. Goodbye.”

  At the sharp click, John sighed and muttered several colorful swear words under his breath. He saw one of his employees give him a scared, wide-eyed look as she heard him. “Melissa, get over here. I’m going to go for my lunch now. Have those new prices posted by the time I get back. Tell Cindy to put them into the register.” Pulling his truck keys out of his pocket, he stalked out of the store and drove quickly to Day’s Burgers, where he met with other Downtown business owners. After lunch, the others left and John decided to order another soda. As he sipped his drink and thought, he saw a friend come into the restaurant. Motioning her over, he said, “I’ll buy your lunch if I can pick your brain, Valerie.”

  Valerie accepted his offer eagerly. Twenty minutes later, as she ate her burger and fries, she explained what “outsourcing” meant – “Basically, John, it means that someone gives work that she
has said she’ll do to someone else. It makes it easier to get the work done, but she might have to check the quality of work she gets back. Clients don’t really like it and many of them forbid that in writing. If they find out a writer is outsourcing, they can basically fire her. That just happened to me. I got canned after someone turned me in. Damn shame, because I really need the bucks.”

  “Interesting. So, does that apply only to writing? Or can it apply to anything else?”

  “It’s applied mainly to writing, although some clients and writing sites don’t allow their freelancers to give research duties or editing work to anyone else. Whoever the work gets assigned to has to do that work, in other words. When you’re trying to earn a little more money, I don’t see why it’s such a big damn issue. Thanks for the lunch, John. I gotta go apply for a brick and mortar job now, thanks to whoever ratted me out.”

  “You’re welcome – hey, stop at my store. I might have a part-time opening for you.”

  Valerie smiled widely. “Aw, John, you’re sweet! I’ll be there, say tomorrow morning. Thanks!”

  John sat at his booth, spinning his glass of soda absentmindedly. He thought about everything Valerie had told him, finding a way to apply it to his situation with Morgan. Now that I know a little bit about this writin’ bidness, all I need to do is find out where she’s writin’. Talk to them and put the bee in their ear that she’s ‘outsourcing.’ I like it. I can take some of her damn writin’ bidness away from her and force her to come crawlin’ back to me for a job. John laughed mirthlessly, tossed off the rest of his soda and left the restaurant without throwing his lunch remains into the trash can.

  ***

  Morgan stretched and groaned, popping several bones in her back. She pushed her chair back and grabbed a snack from her kitchen. She stretched out on her sofa, thinking back to the happy day when she was finally able to hand John her resignation letter.

  Morgan had worked hard for several years, earning double degrees in English and Journalism at New Mexico State University. She had worked at John Mack’s downtown store – Mack’s Country Clothing– while she was a student. Knowing she needed a stable income as she built her client base, she stayed at the store, working unpredictable hours, working on the weekly employee schedule and handling the discipline while John stood around and chatted with other business leaders.