Page 1 of Romancing the Orc

CHAPTER ONE

Lara

“Youcannotbe serious.” I waddle out from behind the privacy screen, pulling at the stretchy fabric crawling up my crotch. “I know I agreed to a makeover, but this catsuit’s way too tight!”

“Thisis the one,” Gerald says, pressing a hand to his heart, a proud look transforming his thin, pale face. I didn’t know his features could do that. The past hour has been nothing but pinched lips and raised eyebrows, the stylist’s all-black clothing only adding to the feeling that he’s a mortician overseeing the death of all my normal wardrobe choices.

After a couple of seconds, he spins and claps his hands.

His assistants scurry for the door of the dressing room. One wheels out the rack of all the pretty clothes, and the other takesthe shoes, leaving me in a pair of hot-pink Christian Louboutons with stiletto heels I can barely balance in.

“Wait!” I reach after them, my hand grasping futilely at empty air. Sure, I’ve tried on lots of outfits since he got here—and they were all fails—but I haven’t tried oneverything. There has to be something else, something less… clingy.

“No. You either wear that, or you don’t get to say Gerald Lebalye styled you.” With that, he swans out the door, closing it with something that’s not quite a slam but is at least a slam’s close cousin.

Sherrie walks over to peer at my reflection. “You look amazing!”

“No, I don’t,” I say in reflex before spinning to face the dressing room’s three-sided full-length mirror. A stranger stares back at me, one brave enough to wear a hot-pink, sequined catsuit. One who looks nothing like a daydreaming romance author who gets dressed out of the dryer.

“It’s so… it’s sopink.” My protest sounds weak, even to my own ears, because I do look good. The push-up bra the stylist picked out is working miracles, and the thong is doing exactly what he promised—there’s not a single panty line to be seen under all that cling.

“Pink is perfect! Pink means romance!” My editor flutters around me like a tall, thin, fashion model, wearing dark skinny jeans and a simple white blouse that looks haute couture on her. She keeps her dark curls cropped short, the better to show off her amazing cheekbones and flawless sienna skin. “And you, my friend, are one of the premiere monster romance authors. You need to embrace it.”

“Like this catsuit is embracing my hoohaa?”

“Gerald’s right. This is the one.” Sherrie points at all the pink gripping my body. “And it’s not like you can wear your regular clothes.”

Can’t I? I look longingly at where my yoga pants and baggy T-shirt hang over the top of the privacy screen. They’re super comfy, perfect for curling up on the couch and typing away at my laptop. Sure, they’re not that flattering, but…

“You’re right,” I say, blowing a lock of hair away from my face. She usually is. We’ve known each other for years. She picked me out of the slush pile and gave me my first shot at publishing, and we came up through the ranks together, my recent success landing her a promotion to full editor. Along the way, she also became one of my best friends.

Flashing me a triumphant grin, she strides over to open the dressing room door. “We’re ready for you, Alex.”

“Hola, chica.” Alex bustles into the room, their tan face splitting into a big smile. Their dark-brown hair has been slicked down on the sides while the top stands straight up for several inches. The daring style would look horrible on me, but works perfectly on Alex. Their slogan T-shirt says, “Yes, I reallyamthis magnificent,” and they’ve paired it with jeans with strategically eaten holes in the thighs.

Jeans sound really damned comfortable right now. I tug at my crotch.Iwant to be wearing jeans.

They lift their wheeled cosmetic case onto the table beside a lighted mirror and open it up to show racks of every type of makeup known to humanity. Waving a brush in the air like the artist they are, Alex says, “Let’s make you more beautiful.”

While they move around me, wielding brushes that work makeup magic, Sherrie says, “So, about today’s interview, I’ve got news.”

I eye her in the mirror. “Good news?”

“Yes. You’re not going to be alone on stage, after all. There’ll be someone else with you.”

“Oh, thank god.” A sigh of relief gushes out of me. The thought of speaking in front of a packed auditorium of readersmakes my little introverted heart shiver with nerves. Having another author there will be a huge help. I make a little list of who it might be. “Who is it? Lana Stevens or maybe Jodie Everett?” I met them both at a romance author conference last year, and we immediately bonded because we were the only monsterfudgers there.

“Nope.” Sherrie’s bright smile wavers for a split second. Then she shoves her phone in front of my face.

I blink, then blink again. The image doesn’t change, the headline blazoned across the top reading, “Meet Lara Jade and Brokk!”

“Brokk!” His name explodes from my lips as I jab a finger at the screen. Beside my regular headshot, a shirtless man stands, muscles rippling. His long black hair blows in the wind, and his face holds the kind of masculine beauty that can stop traffic, especially since his skin is a rich green and he’s wearing tusks. “What do you mean I’m going on stage with Brokk?”

Alex makes a little tsk when I move right when they’re trying to apply blush.

I settle back into my chair and fight to hold my face still as I hiss, “You can’t be serious. He’s my cover model.”

“Your readers love him.”

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