Client: One week  Lancelot

Client ten sat at the opposite side of the bar smoking a cigarette.

I bet you wondered are wondering why I referred to him as the client when the man sitting in the chair did hadn’t hired me. My best friend suggested a title it, victim or rat bastard. It was ’s about engaging and what lesson they were about to receive. So One Week Lancelot was about to be served his sentence. Today was his judgement day. He was about to feel the same pain heartache he caused so many young girls heart ache. (Combined these two paragraphs.)

Rejection was is a scar, a scar that runs so deep penetrating a hole to see the core. (Expand on this and what it means to feel this kind of heartache.)

I walked into the bar in my red leather dress and high heel hooker boots, reaching inside my purse to give my lips some extra color. (Did she scan the room? Did she stand in the corner? Tell us how she saw the bar.)

He sat in the far corner, drinking his favorite beer, scanning the room for the next victim. Oh, he had charm. He carried himself like he was the master of his own domain. There were moments when he would position his face so he looked would like Jim Carey and Dopey. (Tell us why he did it.)

It was his normal hang out.  Sometimes he would work her, either acting as a bouncer or play with lights.  He even told the story about him touring with Ozzie Osborne and some sucker would fall for his worldly adventures. What he failed to tell the young ladies was is that he lived in a small trailer court with his mother. Nor did he ever work, yet wore Tommy Hilfiger and Polo. (Moved the last two sentence up to complete this paragraph.)

So?

(Bring us back into the bar here by having her do something that might get his attention from across the bar.)

He turned in my her direction, and smiled, quickly cuing me her to join him.

In order to sell a product, a person must see it and become mesmerized, I strutted in the way models owned the cat walk and She reached out, helping her myself to his drink.

“This week has been amazing,” he said, his hand sliding over my thigh.

She I ignored him and ordered a glass of merlot.

“I thought maybe we could try to recreate that shower moment.”

“I’m sorry, it can’t work,” I said cunningly going in for the killer shot.

“But you’re the one I’ve been looking for.”

“You do nothing for me.”

And it was one of his favorite lines.

“I don’t understand,” he said. (Show us his confusion, maybe even his anger.)

She I inhaled my her wine, reached in my her pocketbook, then handed ing him a card.

“Karma girl.” He read out loud. “What goes around comes around."

“Who am I, you ask?”

I’m here to tell you, I was born to showing others, the power behind karma and how one simple decision cause ruin the rest of their lives. (Is she saying this to him or the reader? If to him, then put it in the dialogue above after the question.)

“Hell has no fury like a woman scorned.”

It was is so easy to break someone, to make them believe they have no worth. (Expand here on how to break a person's spirit.) In breaking someone spirit comes in phases first putting them in

It took takes longer to rebuild confidence. (Expand here on what it might take for them to rebuild their confidence, about how shattered they might be, about how long.)

I often wondered if I ever came across a psychic what would they see. What color would my soul be?

Black, or red evil the way most people see me as a bitch, someone who has been scorned so many times that I was lashing leashing out. (Show us her scorn here. Give us a hint as to what she went through. Maybe not the entire story, but something to put this karmic job into context.)

The truth: is I was am not a superhero.  I just put a simple universal law into action. 

Philip felt liberated and each time he reached for his cell phone with the picture of the engraved business card on the bathroom wall. So many questions, what was the purpose of it and did anyone ever call.  Perhaps it was all just a line of bull, and if he pursued it this he would become a laughing stalk. 

Back in College, his journalist professor stated, "Taking risks is was the first instinct of a true reporter."

He started to pace. Pacing was a good thing, especially as a story presented itself. (Tell us why here. Does it get the mind moving? Did it help him build up courage? Did it help him work out a plan?)

During the night, he started to devise diverse a plan that would cross him and karma girl in the same direction. By the time, his alarm clocked buzzed, he was already showered and out the door.  

His plan started to bloom and he even  (got excited? Felt the rush of his youthful reporting days?)

For the first time in several years, did he bypassed the coffee shop and headed straight to work.

Cecile sat at her desk, her attention to the computer screen.  She was his temp while his other secretary was out on maternity leave.  

He sat down his a piece of paper with the number for Karma girl on it. “I want you to call the ad department and I want them to post this picture.”

“So why am I sending a picture of a filthy bathroom?” She paused. “Are you going to do research on toilets?”

Philip hesitated and chuckled at Cecila’s quick wit.

He chuckled, that (What was? Her quick wit? Her questions?)was one attractive feature he found so compelling.  “It’s a business card.”

“Surely you don’t think she is real?”

“Put out an ad—What is your story Karma Girl?”

(Add a lead-in for interest like – She gave him a sharp glance or She eyed him cautiously. ) “Then what?”

“Not sure, I don’t have a plan.”