Okay, I’m Max Valentine and this blog is MINE!
I’ve been talking to Theo Savas. You don’t know Theo? If I tell you that this is the guy who doorstepped the seriously tough Anne McAllister and, when she refused to reveal the whereabouts of his (and my!) bride (although from all that stuff about Dublin on Kate Walker’s blog we have a fair idea of where they’re whooping it up) refused to leave until she’d handed over the password to her blog.
What can I say? The man races ocean-going yachts for a living; she didn’t stand a snowball’s chance of holding out against him.
Anyway, fired up by his example I made my own author an offer she couldn’t refuse; I run some of the finest restaurants in the world and Liz, it's no secret, loves to eat.
Diet? She’s on a diet? She didn't say...
Anyway, Liz was a total pussycat. Or maybe not. She waited until she’d eaten a dinner to delight the gods before informing me that she’s so deep in something involving a sheikh at the moment (these authors live very strange lives) that she’s glad to have me take over for a while.
I’d feel suckered, except, honestly, I think even Theo would have fallen for it. Really. Butter wouldn't melt in that woman's mouth.
Anyway, here’s the plan. Theo and I are doing our best to round up a guy called Dom something (his author has been mixing with the likes of Maeve Binchy in Dublin so nothing much is getting through right now). Apparently his bride-to-be is holed up with our women and the minute we’ve got our heads together we’ll be back. You've had the brides. Now you're going to get the groom!