She is allowed
to be a handful.

The man gets a brooding silence. The woman gets a personality complaint.

I sometimes wonder how many beloved romantic heroes would survive a chapter if we judged them by the standards applied to the women standing opposite them. The ego. The temper. The appalling timing. Somehow he is deliciously complicated, while she really ought to work on herself.

I would like to offer her a drink and a better brief.

A heroine has a story to live through. If she spends it anticipating every objection a reader might have to her personality, she will be exhausted before anything interesting happens. She may also become the sort of person who says she is fine when she very clearly has three excellent reasons to be furious.

I want to hear those reasons. I might disagree with them. I would still like her to have them.

The heroines who interest me can be proud of something they should probably question. They can know exactly how to run a meeting and have no idea how to admit they are lonely. They can misread a situation because believing the wrong thing protects something they are afraid to lose.

Those contradictions give me a way into a character. If I understand what she is protecting, even a choice that makes me mutter at the page can feel painfully plausible. I can want her to do better while remaining completely invested in her.

Of course, there is a difference between a complicated woman and a character who treats everyone badly while the novel applauds. Cruelty does not become fascinating because someone delivers it in good shoes. Other characters should be allowed to object. An apology should occasionally cost more than a raised eyebrow.

But I want the same scrutiny for the charming man beside her. His jawline cannot keep appearing as evidence for the defence.

Desire makes this particularly interesting. A heroine who openly wants someone can disturb the pleasant arrangement in which she waits to be chosen, then expresses the appropriate amount of surprise. She might flirt first. She might enjoy having an effect on him. She might decide that being a little dangerous to his concentration is a perfectly reasonable use of her afternoon.

Let her.

Wanting him does not have to make her suddenly agreeable. I am interested in what happens when attraction meets a woman who already has opinions, ambitions and a life she has put considerable effort into arranging.

In Ideally Positioned, Evie Hartley's world is luxury Sydney real estate, where presentation is part of the job. Tristan Davidson is a council worker with a very inconvenient effect on her composure. That combination gives me plenty to play with: the polished version of a person, the private reaction, and the effort involved in keeping the two from meeting.

I do not want a romantic relationship to sand every interesting edge off a woman. She can learn to be more honest without becoming easier to manage. She can discover that she was wrong without surrendering the right to have an opinion next time.

The thought of being wanted by someone who has actually seen your difficult bits is far more compelling to me than being adored for a flawless performance. There is intimacy in a person staying curious when you stop making an excellent first impression.

A reader is perfectly entitled to dislike a heroine. Sometimes she is badly written. Sometimes her choices are exhausting. Sometimes you simply do not enjoy her company. But when the complaint is that she is too ambitious, too direct or too aware of her own desirability, I think it is worth asking what a male character would get away with in the same scene.

I want a heroine who can ruin a man's concentration without spending the next chapter apologising for her tone.

She may be a handful. Fortunately, this is romance. Give him something to do with his hands.