Francine Carver was a bitch and Elise Michaels knew it. How she had become friends with the forty year old slightly eccentric woman was something she had never understood. They had met at a RWA conference and had, for some reason, clicked.
"Champagne?" The waiter at the four star French restaurant Francine insisted on treating her to held out the bottle waiting to tip it into her glass.
She put her hand over the top of the champagne flute.
"No, thank you." Elise sighed again wondering what she was doing her. "Just a Perrier with a straw please."
"Oh, come on, Elise." Francine cajoled after the waiter left patting the bun at the back of her head to make sure every one of her bleach blond hairs were in place. "This is a celebration. It's not everyday a writer as talented as you wins such a prestigious award. RWA Romance Writer of the Year is hardly something to sneeze at."
"I know, but I'm not particularly fond of champagne." Elise tried to keep her smile in place. "I just can't drink in the middle of the afternoon."
Especially in Francine's presence. The woman was so austere and somber with one exception. She dressed like an expensive hooker. She was five foot two with a petite waist despite the fact she'd had five children. She had an oval face that was perfect and flawless due largely to the plastic surgeries her husband willingly paid for. Her breasts were large; her nipples constantly hard something Elise had no choice, but to notice because of the sluttish clothes she wore.
"Your loss." Francine watched her as she took a long sip from her glass. "I read one of your novels. I can see why you received the award. Your love scenes are quite steamy. And your hero...mmmm, yummy."
"Thanks." Elise felt uncomfortable. She knew where this was heading. Francine had a fascination with sex and used every opportunity to talk about it.
"What's your inspiration?" Francine put down her glass and arched a brow. "You must have a man in your life like your hero to write about him so realistically."
"Francine, you know I don't date. Pure imagination." Elise hoped if she kept the answers short she could steer the conversation elsewhere.
"Oh come on. Between us girls." Francine practically purred. "I saw your father once from a distance. The description of your hero matches your father to a tee."
Elise stared at her for a long moment. Where had Francine seen her father? She lived in New York City. Her father lived in Stamford, Connecticut. Very rarely did he ever come to the city to visit her.
She did draw inspiration from her father. He was the best of men and the handsomest, but she wasn't about to admit it to her. It was something she would never admit to anyone.
"No. My heroes come from my imagination."
She tried to understand where Francine was going with this. She normally could see exactly where their conversations were leading. That wasn't the case now. Francine had no expression on her face now. Her green eyes were ice cold.
The waiter returned with her Perrier. Elise ordered a salad as did Francine. She took a sip of her water knowing Francine would get to the point sooner or later whether she wanted her to or not. Elise suspected she wouldn't like where this conversation was going.
"You're telling me you have never noticed how sexy your father is." Francine frowned at her as if this wasn't something she expected.
"I don't think of my father that way." Elise stared at Francine as if she were insane. "Why are you asking these questions?"
"I just..."
Francine looked away for a moment as if she were thinking of how to say it. She turned back to her; her gaze wary and vulnerable.
