Although the next book, THE IVY LEAGUE RAKE, in the billionaire rake series I’ve been working on for Ravenous Romance has not been released yet, I’m finishing up edits on the next book and I wanted to post a preview of the plot summary and a short excerpt.
This title is THE WALL STREET SHARK, and this hasn’t even been submitted to the publisher yet, so it’s still in its rawest form. I’ve become fond of doing things like this before I submit a book to a publisher to see how the summary looks in print and whether or not I should tweak it a little.
After being released from a private rehabilitation clinic for the fourth time, Evan Littlefield is turning thirty and determined to stop drinking once and for all. He’s only interested in being the best dad he can be and getting back to the work he loves most.
But he knows this isn’t going to be easy. He’s also married to a ruthless Wall Street shark who insists they can only remain together if they have an open marriage and he’s allowed to have sex with other guys on the side. Evan agreed to this arrangement because the only thing he’s ever wanted was a good marriage and a happy family.
Although Evan’s always been determined to change his husband and turn him into a loving faithful man, he soon discovers he might not be strong enough to do that any longer. And in spite of how much he loves his bad boy billionaire husband, he knows he has to face reality if he’s going to remain sober for the rest of his life.
It all comes down to whether or not Evan’s husband loves him enough to change, and if there’s still time left for them to be the happily married monogamous couple Evan’s always wanted them to be.
“I can’t help feeling as if this is my last chance,” Evan said. He was sitting opposite Dr. Lorne, a psychiatrist at the Havilland Recovery Cabin in north western New Jersey. It was the next to the last day of his fourth pass through a twenty-eight day program for sex and alcohol addiction. The sex addiction was questionable; the alcohol was not.
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean by your last chance,” said Dr. Lorne. He sat at his desk in the usual position: leaning back in his chair, with his elbow on the blotter, tapping a ball point pen against his chin. He showed no emotion or any signs of bias. There were times when Evan felt like kicking him in the leg to see if he was still breathing.
But Evan Littlefield had been through enough sessions like this to know Dr. Lorne wanted to draw out his feelings and emotions, without influencing him. This was the first time Evan had ever been this honest in all the times he’d been to rehab. He spoke with a smooth even tone, without much emotion. “I can’t keep doing this,” Evan said. “It’s become a way of life and I’m tired. It has to stick this time. I want to write again, I want to enjoy my kid while he’s still a kid, and I want my life back once and for all. And I’m going to get all this, and more, if it kills me this time. Because I’d rather be dead than go back to waking up drunk in the back of some strange guy’s pick-up truck, with my head between his legs and an empty bottle of vodka in my hand.”
“Do you think you’re putting more pressure on yourself this time?” Dr. Lorne asked. Nothing Evan said ever seemed to shock him.
“I love all bars, not just gay bars,” Evan said. It was the first time he’d ever admitted this aloud to anyone. “I love bars where there are men drinking and looking for nothing but casual sex. I love that hungry look in their eyes and the way they smell and feel. I love the way they look at me. The first time I ever went into a bar I felt as if I’d gone home again. I’d never felt so comfortable in my life. All the stress and anxiety and problems in the world disappeared within those dark walls. And that was a straight bar. When I started going to gay bars and I realized the power I had over other men there, it felt as if I’d won the lottery and nothing was beyond my reach. Combine that feeling of elation with vodka and you get the most fantastic concoction the universe has ever known. But it’s gets tired after a while, and soon you begin to block out reality and nothing else matters but getting drunk and pleasing other men. It reaches the point where you can’t stop thinking about your next drink. And I just can’t do it anymore. I want to know what it’s like to walk past a bar and not feel as if I’m going to shatter into a million little pieces. I’m turning thirty years old soon and I know deep down that if I don’t get it right this time I might not get another chance.”
“Does turning thirty bother you?”
Evan shrugged and said, “It’s an interesting feeling. It’s like saying good-bye to a youth that I’m not sure I ever really had. I’ll be completely honest with you. What I’d love to do is celebrate turning thirty by taking on thirty rough football players in a locker room with thirty bottles of vodka. But I’m not going to do that anymore. I’ve been lucky in one respect, and I know it. I didn’t always have safe sex and I could be in a very different position right now. How I managed to dodge the HIV bullet I don’t know. How I managed to avoid herpes I don’t know. But I’m not taking any more chances, and turning thirty is just another fucking number. I’ll be spending this birthday with my son and friends.”