Undeniably my most successful series has been my Fullerton Family Saga. It really isn't even a contest. Even two years after its release, I sell more of these books than anything else I've written - the GROUPIE saga included. This series touched a nerve with so many readers, even though it was probably one of the riskiest story lines I had ever crafted. The accepted wisdom among writers is that you should always write in a way that scares you, and I try my best to live up to that mantra. The further I got into this story, the more it had me nervous as hell. With each click of "publish," I was sure I was going to lose everyone with how each book ended. Given the first and second books were so well received, publishing that third book, not knowing how these readers who had invested so much time in these characters would react to the way it all ended, was one of the scariest fucking things I'd ever done. And it's true, I lost some readers just like I feared I might. In fact, I think it'd be safe to say that ENRAPTURED, the third book in this series, probably garnered more 1-star reviews than any of my other books, from readers who simply hated the way I ended it. I shattered their hearts with this story, and Drew Fullerton was a huge reason why.
He's also the of the biggest reasons why there are enough people who loved the story to keep the average rating well above 4 stars, which came as a pretty big surprise to me. Many a reader clicked 5-stars through their tears, which I didn't expect. Many were cursing me all the way, which I kinda did.
"Why?! That same question has been on repeat in my head over and over and over since I finished this book. Why?! Ginger, WHY?! I waited a full day after finishing the book before even attempting to write up this review and I'm still not sure how I'm gonna get through it without completely losing my $**t. I should have know, I did know, that there was a real good chance this book was going to destroy me-between the blurbs leading up to this final installment and that terrifying little sneak peak at the end of Entangled....I wasn't wrong to be worried, typing this up days later (now months later) and I'm still in an emotional tailspin. If I could hunt down Ms. Ginger Voight I would hug her, beat her with my pitchfork, then cry on her shoulder. I can't remember the last time a book has affected me like this, so I guess no matter how I feel about how it all went down at the end, there is no denying Ginger Voight is an amazing author for bringing such strong emotions out of me through her pen alone." - 5- Heartsick, Broken and Pi$$ed off -Stars*****, Jenn Green August 21, 2014
And I feel your pain. Really I do. This book devastated me too. Part of me wants desperately to apologize, even though I know that this was how the story was always meant to be.
Some backstory, for those who don't know. I originally wrote the book the FFS was based on in 1995. This was the year my youngest son died when he was only nine days old, so there wasn't a whole lot of rest that year. We're talking endless sleepless nights where I needed something to keep my mind preoccupied. I needed to focus on those things I could control. Like always, I took to the page. I immersed myself in the highest highs, and the lowest lows, to make sense out of a world that suddenly didn't make any sense at all. I worked day and night to finish. It took only a few months, and... truth be told... it wasn't very good.
I actually have a copy of that first book somewhere around here, written out in longhand.
I wrote this story based on the genre tropes I had been introduced to when I was a kid. The very first romance novel I remember reading was a Harlequin. It was pretty old when I got it (easily early 70s, and I didn't read it until 1980,) and it was exotic in that the book was both published in and centered around England. A young ingenue moved in with a handsome, rich single dad, to work as a nanny for his child where the question of "will they/won't they" wasn't answered until the very end, which kept me turning the pages furiously to see them act upon this undeniable attraction.
Somehow that stuck when I'd craft this tale some fifteen years later.
By then, though, I wouldn't have known how to be an ingenue if I tried. I was pretty broken and beaten by that point, so the heroine I wrote ended up wearing my scars. In those early days my heroine was still breathtakingly beautiful though. When I was writing books in the 1990s, I thought that was just how it was supposed to be done. I made her everything I wasn't physically, even though I really didn't have any experience what it is like to live in that kind of woman's skin. The book ended up being very long, much longer than what you might find in your typical Harlequin romance novel. This meant it felt muddled and unfocused, with me going way too far on things that didn't really matter while stopping just short of tearing the wounds off of all the things that did. I knew when I finished it that I had a lot of work in front of me to turn it into the story it deserved to be.
Not to mention I broke some pretty big rules, so I knew that I would have to shelve that project because there wasn't any way it was going to get past any kind of gatekeeper in the shape it was in.
Back then you had to worry about those things.
I didn't resurrect the story until 2013. I had always planned to rewrite and release it, and by then I had the beyond brilliant idea to change my heroine into a size-12 and allow it to guide my story accordingly. This made it way more interesting to me, especially when I also decided spread the story out into three books, since this particular plot worked best broken off into manageable chunks that were made that much stronger by how focused I could be.
Since I was an indie, I didn't let the so-called "rules" deter me from writing the story I knew I needed to write. This was way more a saga than a traditional romance story, and truthfully, these are the kinds of books I like to write best. Don't get me wrong. I love a good romance like anyone else. But I also don't mind getting down and dirty, talking about life and love and pain and death and loss and fear and all the other ingredients that spice up our lives outside of the bedroom. If you're going into the book to see a woman hook up with a billionaire, this book will probably frustrate you. Most of the connection my heroine, Rachel, initially has with any Fullerton male is with the billionaire's son she has come to tutor exclusively. Theirs is a tender, healing relationship, where she swoops in to save this poor kid from getting lost in the drama that surrounds his life, and he saves her from a painful cocoon that has left her isolated and afraid to give her heart away.
We get around to the romance because I mean come on. This is Drew Fullerton. He is a commanding, take-charge alpha, one who didn't get to become CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company by shyly letting opportunities pass him by. He was a man who took what he wanted and felt very entitled to do so, thanks to his privileged breeding alone. He was born to be the king of his world and planned to do whatever it took to keep it that way.
But this story is so much bigger than a romance between a billionaire single father and his nanny. The reason I call it the Fullerton Family Saga is because that is exactly what it is - a family saga. I go after everything in this story. I deal with divorce and death, pregnancy, marriage, infidelity, betrayal, parenthood, brotherhood, murder, power, corruption... you name it, it's in there. It's about our modern life, but turned up to 11. (Why? Because life GOES to 11.)
So what can I tell you about Drew Fullerton?
Well, he's ridiculously rich, obviously. He lives in a $28-million-dollar home in Beverly Hills, with a fleet of exotic cars he can change right along with his mood.
“You certainly don’t mind making a statement,” I muttered as he peeled away to scream down the street to the very next stoplight.
“We weren’t created to live small,” he responded with a confident smirk.
He's also ridiculously handsome, obviously. Because he demands excellence in every area of his life, his physical health is in as good of shape as his bank account. By the time he is 30, he has created a world around him that he can control with nothing more than the crook of his finger, much like his formidable father before him, who trained him well on how to be one of the privileged elite.
To put it bluntly, he's a sophisticated, self-involved smooth-talking asshole.
He's a very powerful man because he was raised to be powerful at any cost, which might explain his failed marriage. Well, that and the many rumors that this magnate had a roving eye for the ladies, one that only got worse after his beautiful ballerina wife gained a ton of weight when she was pregnant with their son. Despite any allegations of his infidelity, he somehow retained custody of their son when they finally split. He ran one of the biggest companies in the world, amassing a fortune and making or breaking the lives of all the little people that might get in the way. He's not used to being denied or having his plans circumvented, making sure anyone who might dare to do so - including the mother of his child - would be punished accordingly.
Enter Rachel Dennehy, a strong Texas woman with even stronger principles and a low tolerance for bullshit. And Drew's life is filled to the brim with bullshit, thanks to a bitter divorce and even more contentious rivalry with his only surviving relative. His brother Alex has defected to "the other side" in a vain attempt to save vulnerable Jonathan from the curse of the Fullerton family. His main purpose in life? Being such a big thorn in Drew's side that he can't ignore him.
As you can see, it's complicated from the start. I needed a strong heroine who could, despite their different economic classes, stand toe-to-toe with Drew Fullerton to demand - and get - the respect she deserved.
“I think you misunderstood exactly what kind of educator I was seeking for my son. He is going to be a titan in business, following four generations of Fullertons before him. He needs to be prepared. You’ll forgive me if I don’t think measuring ingredients and shopping at the market qualify as the higher education for which I’m paying very good money.”
I placed the fork on the plate, my appetite totally obliterated under his heavy disdain. “You wanted me to teach your son, and I have done that. More importantly, I’ve reached him. He knows he can trust me, especially after I shielded him from that family debacle yesterday. This morning I gave Jonathan four different tests. In math, he was tested on fractions and word problems. The skills he learned with a quick trip to the store helped him score in the 99th percentile testing at near seventh-grade levels. He earned similar marks on his science paper, where he was tested on how certain elements react to each other, something he learned hands-on with a simple cooking lesson. For his history essay, he researched and wrote a thousand-word document on the Greystone Mansion and Park where we walked and explored which—if I’m not mistaken—qualifies under your physical fitness requirement as well. Finally I tested him on the book he’s been reading for pleasure, with a questionnaire that helped him think critically about the material he was reading simply for the joy of it, giving him several key vocabulary words to note as he read along. Though it isn’t a classic, it is a book that has been in my own curriculum for years, and I’m confident at least one student who reads it will go on and get an Ivy League education.”
His jaw clenched as he realized what I had done. I had taken Jonathan from a stale, unchallenging classroom environment with endless tests and bookwork, all of which had been crippling his curious and playful nature. By putting him in an entirely foreign setting, he learned how to do the things Drew wanted him to do, right down to the budgeting skills at the market, but in new ways that would naturally keep him more engaged than the boring ol’ status quo. All these experiences had been an adventure for him. And Jonathan had never even realized what I had done until I had quizzed him on it that very morning.
My hazel eyes glittered just as hard as Drew’s icy blue ones. “You may question my methods, Mr. Fullerton, but my results are indisputable. Considering I did all this in two days, even playing keep-away with your ex-wife and your pain-in-the-ass brother, I’d say I’ve done a hell of a lot more than the previous instructors you have hired to do this job.”
Normally I wouldn’t have cursed at an employer. But his elitist attitude really pissed me off. Did he really believe his son was too good to wash a dish or cook a meal, as if these mundane tasks held no value for such powerful, wealthy people? And if that was true, how did he regard anyone who had the misfortune of being born average? Did he think we were all beneath him, simply because we had no one to treat us like gods? The Texan was coming out, and he was either going to prove he could deal with that or he was going to send me home anyway. I had nothing to lose. In fact, the only one who had anything at all at stake was Jonathan.
“Now, if you don’t approve of my more unconventional methods, then you can gas up the jet and send me home tonight. But I’m willing to bet that you won’t find anyone else who can reach Jonathan the way that I have. I have a connection with him. That was what you wanted. That is what you got.” I grabbed a glass of ice water and gulped it down. “Do with that what you will.”
Before he could reply, Jonathan raced back into the room, wearing a new jade green kimono and holding the entire box set of his favorite Anime program. “Thanks, Dad!” he said as he rushed to hug his father. “Let’s watch it together,” he pleaded hopefully.
I used that opportunity to slide my chair back and rise from the table. “I think I’ll retire for the evening. Let you two catch up.”
Jonathan was crestfallen. “No, Rachel,” he said with a plaintive whine in his voice. “Please don’t go. You haven’t even had any pudding.”
“Pudding?” Drew echoed.
Jonathan nodded. “She made homemade Southern banana pudding.”
I shook my head. “You enjoy it. I’m stuffed,” I lied easily. “The dinner was excellent, Jonathan. You did a great job.” I turned to Drew. “It was very nice meeting you, Mr. Fullerton. I trust you’ll think about what I said and let me know if there has been any change in plans.”
Jonathan was panicked as he looked between his father and me. “Change of plans? You’re not leaving, are you, Rachel?”
“No decisions have been made,” Drew filled in before I could speak. “Why don’t you go get us some pudding, Jonathan? That sounds delicious.”
Jonathan nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. Drew rose to his feet and walked around the table to face me. “Obviously I’m not used to being spoken to in such a way in my own home,” he said, his voice hard but quiet. “But obviously I offended you. I apologize.” He offered his hand.
It was a gesture of civility, but his eyes were still lethal as they stared down at me. My hand shook as I placed it in his. His fingers closed around mine powerfully as he pulled me closer. I gasped as I stopped short mere inches from that massive chest. I hadn’t been this close to a man in many years, especially a man as intimidating as Drew Fullerton. I was certain that he could feel the tremble in my grasp when my eyes shot to his. His face broke apart in a victorious smile. “Start over?” he asked softly. “Rachel?”
She wasn't going to put up with his mess, and she let it him know it in short order. But he was sure to wrestle the power back the minute he could... in whatever way he could. And he could simply because he's Drew Fullerton, and he plays to win.
The boys approached the traveling rings course, where they could swing from ring to ring and work out their upper bodies. Drew hoisted Jonathan up to grab the first ring, and then encouraged him (and spotted him) along the course as far as he could make it, which was about six rings. Jonathan hopped down, rubbing his arms with happy grimace. “Dad, can you believe it? I can do six now!” he said, beaming with pride.
“Way to go!” Drew praised with a congratulatory fist bump. “My challenge is seven, then.”
“Five!” Jonathan giggled.
Drew turned to me. “Looks like you are my impartial observer. How many do you think I should do?”
I held up my hands. “Don’t get me involved. This is a testosterone thing.”
He laughed as he peeled his shirt from his body, which he tossed to me for safe keeping. I nearly choked on my tongue as my eyes scanned across his perfectly chiseled torso. His skin had a satiny glow under the blazing sun overhead, and a light smattering of dark hair covered his chest, tapering all the way down to a thin line pointing straight towards his shorts like nature’s arrow. I was speechless as he walked to a more advanced ring course. We followed silently behind.
His muscles rippled under his skin as he jumped to grab that first ring. His arms were rock solid as he swung from the first ring toward the second. He maneuvered his body with such mastery along the course that bystanders gathered to watch. He paused only briefly from ring five to ring six, glancing down to his son with a teasing smile. “Should I go for it?” he asked.
Jonathan’s head bobbed up and down. “Go for it, Dad!”
Drew swung easily all the way to the end of the course, where he used two rings to do a flip and hold before he dismounted. When he landed on both feet in the sand, his audience of fans clapped, even though I was willing to wager not one of them knew who he was. He gave them a salute before he trotted over to where we stood. He grabbed the shirt I had forgotten I was holding to wipe the glistening sweat from his face and chest.
Though I never considered myself one of those girls who would go bug-eyed over a hot physique, I found myself unable to speak.
He wore that same affable grin. “Your turn.”
I shook my head but Jonathan bounced next to me. “Yes! Rachel, do it!”
“Do I look like a gymnast to you people?” I asked as they pulled me back to the wussier course.
Drew took me by the hand and guided me under that first ring. “You can do this. Summon your superpower,” he added with a wink.
I glanced at the ring and shook my head. “This is more your thing,” I said, but Drew was undaunted. He stepped closer, and I had to physically stop myself from taking a step back.
“I’ll help you,” he said softly as he wrapped those strong hands around my waist. “Jump,” he commanded softly.
I jumped, and he effortlessly lifted me higher to reach the ring. “Swing backward, use your momentum to get to the next ring,” he instructed, his hands still around my waist as he guided me to swing to the next ring. I missed it twice before I grabbed it in my hand, but I couldn’t muster the transition to the third ring.
“You got it, Rachel,” he said.
I tried to swing and let go, but ended up slipping right out of the ring and toppling headlong into the sand, taking one of the most powerful men in the world along with me. We landed together in a thud, his body covering my own.
For a moment, I was completely discombobulated. His eyes drifted to my open mouth as I gasped.
Jonathan was on his knees beside us in a flash. “Are you OK?”
A smile tugged at the corner of Drew’s mouth as those knowing eyes scanned my face. “She’s perfect. Aren’t you, Rachel?”
Granted it is not uncommon for me to break down my Asshole Heroes, rather gleefully in fact, to turn them into something even remotely resembling a Prince Charming worthy of the heroines and happily ever afters we all want for them. With some stories, this is more of a struggle than others. With Drew, we battled daily. Just when he would do something terrible, where I was absolutely sure no one could forgive him, he'd take control back away from me. He was Drew Fullerton, g*ddammit, and he was going to have his way one way or the other.
“Tell me, Rachel,” he continued as he fit my body against his hardening contours, “do you long to be held? To be kissed?” He bent toward me and whispered, “To be taken?”
My brain scrambled as he lifted me up to crush his mouth on mine. It was every dream realized, though I was blissfully conscious. I groaned under him as he parted my lips and dominated my mouth. Every alarm in my head sounded, but my treacherous body ignored each and every one as it strained for him with a hunger so strong I felt powerless to control it.
His fingers wound in my hair as he stole the very breath from my lungs with each kiss. His mouth dragged to my neck, his breath hot in his ear. “Tell me you want me, Rachel.”
I shuddered against him. “Drew.”
“Tell me,” he begged in a hoarse whisper as his hands slid down the arch of my back and over the curve of my hip.
My hands braced on his chest, but instead of pushing myself away, my palms delighted in how solid he felt. This was no dream. It was real. He was real. This was actually happening. It sent a jolt through my entire body. “I don’t want you,” I eked out in a pitiful whisper.
“Liar,” he growled as he picked me up into his arms and carried me around to the bed.
So... yeah. Suffice it to say, I couldn't say no to Drew either.
Drew is such a strong presence to me that I can't even cast him, even if I wanted to. I have never found anyone anywhere who matches the guy I have pictured in my head. I have yet to find the man who is that intoxicating mix of male beauty and sheer strength, one with a strong chin and sculpted cheekbones, or those bright eyes framed with jet black lashes that only make those icy blue depths appear bottomless. And they need to be intense. He needs to be intense, with such a powerful aura that alone will take your breath away. All the physical stuff is just gravy. But even then, their hair isn't black enough. Their eyes aren't blue enough. They don't have his same physical build, which I can only describe by referring to Bruce Willis in his David Addison Days. Tall but not too tall. Broad but not too big. Strong enough to take control of an embrace, but slight enough that you don't disappear entirely. The kind of guy that whether he's wearing a suit or nothing at all, you kinda want to climb just like a rock wall.
(That's one of the songs from the playlist, by the way. And quite appropriately, I think.)
Ian Somerhalder comes the closest, but even he looks almost too boyish for the picture I have in my head.
He left a lasting impression on my readers and reviewers, too. From Bookworm Betties:
If you take a chance on Drew, I can only tell you that he will break your heart. Repeatedly. Despite his being a gazillionaire Hottie McBody, he's a real fixer upper. He was born out of the ashes of my own life. I met my first husband when I was 17 and he was 27. For the next seven years, I walked through the fires of bipolar hell without even knowing what it was. He struggled with two parts of himself, the good one, the one who would walk my mother to her car in the snow so she wouldn't slip, and the "Shadow," the one who would push his weight around even (sometimes especially if) if it terrified around him. It was his way or the highway, and God help anyone who might challenge him.
Drew was born from this dominant side and brings with him all the complications that entails. He needs the love of a good, strong woman to save him from the curse of his family name. Whether she does or doesn't, I won't say. This is strictly a spoiler-free zone, simply because these books have a stronger emotional impact if things are revealed in the timeline of the books.
I will only say that if you're the kind of person who needs a warning to read a book, these are *not* the books for you. In fact, you might want to skip my catalog altogether.
Discover Drew Fullerton in ENTICED, which is free across all platforms.
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