"He has to be tall. Well, taller than me. Don't get me wrong, I am not THAT kind of girl. But then again, tall guys look good in suits.

I love broad shoulders too. He must have a good smile, and he has to smell good. A good sense of humour works like magic.

Good in bed? Well yeah. I mean if there is no passion, then no fire."

"Is that all?"

"Look, he needs to have a stable job and a good bank balance. A girl, who has been taking care of herself since she was sixteen, would like to have someone else taking care of her now."

"And you want all that in one guy?"

"Yes. Did that sound like too much? Too demanding and vain?"

"At least you are honest."

The woman smiled and added, "It's your main character, Cece. Make him look like someone great, but real."

"Readers won't read stories written about real guys." Cece sighed and made a face. "I once wrote a story about a real guy I met once. I thought it was good, my writer friends said it was good, even my editors admitted it was good. But it got so few views that soon I started feeling embarrassed of my own story."

"And then you wrote 'White Hot Passion' and became one of the top romance writers. It's a good experience, but still, I would like you to start trying to break the loop you've been circling in since the last four years."

Cece thought about it. The woman is not absolutely incorrect. All her male leads are made out of similar moulds. They are hot, wealthy, mysterious, crazy about their female leads and great at making love. It's the perfect combination. Even their names are not the usual ones you would hear in a busy street. They are always something exotic and fantastic.

"How about you start working on that real guy story once again, and try to make it a little contemporary? See, my client loves your work, and he will pay you whatever money you want, in exchange for a good story. The only condition is that you will make this story an unique one, something that becomes one with your heart. Do you think you can do that?"

Cece looked at the advance payment she had received. The hefty amount makes her salivate. Truth to be told, she is tired of writing about the same themes and tropes. The werewolves, vampires, wizards in her fantasy world are begging to be left alone. She has run out of ideas. It's not like she cannot come up with another good plot, the plots about soul mates always hit the right spots, but she just wants a break.

"What else does your client expect from me?" Cece asked timidly. The prospect made her a little nervous and giddy, all at the same time.

"Well, the story has to be a genuine one, not a generic cliche. Of course it has to be a story where you will write details about the characters. It cannot be a half baked story with poorly written characters. But I don't have to tell you these things as you are already in this job. He may ask you to modify the plot if he seems fit, but that will not bother your original storyline in any way. The most important condition of this job is that he wants you to quit your day job and dedicate yourself completely to this project."

"Wait, quit my day job? How am I going to survive? You know this doesn't pay enough to pay the bills," Cece interjected.

"That is why a contract will be prepared and you will be hired as a permanent and full time employee. You may take your time to read the contract or even seek legal consultation. Remember, nothing will be done without your consent."

The last sentence made her even more nervous. She glanced at the amount proposed as advance. She needs the money. It is hard enough to be alone in this cold world. If a girl is broke, everything becomes worse. In a flash, she remembers all the things she desired and she had to let go of because she didn't have money.

She nodded and said, "I am okay with most of the conditions, but I'd like to see the printed version of it first. Also, do I have the liberty to negotiate the terms and my remuneration?" Her professional tone and choice of words surprised the woman. She probably did not expect her to change so suddenly, after all the confessions of her dreamy romance.

"Sure thing. You can go collect it right now." She fished a file from her bag and extended it towards her. "Take it home and read it carefully. Tomorrow, we will meet again, at the same place and time, and you can return it with your signature."

The whole matter was done in just an hour. Cec thought to herself, was it this easy? It was like a wish coming true, or a miracle she didn't even ask for. Just yesterday she was planning to save some extra money so that she can buy a nice dress for her cousin's wedding, and now she has enough to buy a dress and a classy gift. She typed a text to Ada, her cousin and best friend and sent her informal rsvp. She will come, alone, as she still has no plus one, and she will enjoy as Ada suggested.

She chose to walk home. It has a two fold advantage– cardio, and savings. She opened her umbrella and held it up her head, all the while thinking about the contract. There is a website where she has to post each instalment of her story, everyday, and she has to send a text after posting to the woman.

Sandra Lee. She gives her a vibe of the vamps in the dramas and novels. She is pretty, always dressed in expensive formal wear; she generally seems to be friendly but still she emits an unfriendly vibe. It's a wonder that Cece was able to talk, keeping her head high, and not squirm under her sharp gaze. Cece is not a coward, but Sandra is something else.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice when she had reached the crossing. The rain is like a fine spray. It is not visible, but it is strong enough to get the pedestrians drenched. She loves rain, until she has to get out on the roads and get dirty. She stood at the crossing, waiting for the signal to be green, and watched the road.

How different this same street looks at the peak time of the day, when the corporate workers chase their life. She doesn't work in a very big company, or earn much; she is always curious how these people may plan their days. It has to be very different from hers. She would have continued thinking more of things she didn't really need to think about, but her chain of thoughts were broken soon, as soon as a tall, strong body crashed into hers.

"Ouch!"

The umbrella fell from her hand, leaving a small bruise caused by the sudden friction. She herself landed on her hips, the impact with the concrete surface of the road reminded her that she had a back pain this morning, that she had decided to ignore. Her frilly pink dress turned into a soaking mess in no time, just like her hair. She squinted to see the face of the man who caused this sudden ordeal, and found a pair of dark brown eyes staring down at her.

The disgust in those eyes made her cheeks heat.

She expected him to help her up. That is just the courtesy any gentleman would show. Apparently, chivalry is dead. She stayed on the road, her legs sprawling like broken twigs, mouth wide open due to the shock, and two small drops of tear forming at the corners of her eyes. The man didn't help her. He moved on, throwing a last disgusted and annoyed glance at her.

"People are fucking stupid nowadays," he said on his phone to someone else, but Cece was more than certain it was directed to her.

She watched as the man walked away, holding his phone closer to his ear. He doesn't have an umbrella, or a raincoat on, but he looked hardly bothered. His tall and lean body disappeared from her sight as he took a left turn and entered an alleyway. Cece felt the teardrops getting bigger and heavier.

She felt thankful that it was raining. The last embarrassment she needed right now was to cry like a lost child in the middle of the street.

"Hey, beautiful. Do you need some help?"

A young man stood in front of her. Similarly tall, but much more warm in his red hoodie and faded denims, he smiled at her. His long hand was extended towards her. She took his hand and stood up with some difficulty. As soon as she raised herself up, she understood what had caused her eyes to water. Her back pain was back, with more aggression. Her hands shivered, partly because of the temperature of her body that was rapidly dropping, and partly because of the pain.

"My name is Oliver. Do you need a ride, maybe?"