Tempted by Mr. Write (What Happens in Vegas)

by Sara Hantz

  How they’d manage to get together with their busy schedules she didn’t know. Although she guessed he could write anywhere.

  Stop.

  What the hell was she doing? They’d known each other for twenty-four hours and already she was planning to move in with him. She needed a shower, to get dressed, and to concentrate on doing her job. How could she even think of letting a man come between her and her career?

  Chapter Nine

  Mac glanced down at his note pad and swallowed hard. What the fuck? Without realizing, he’d been sketching Sheridan’s face on the sheet of paper in front of him. He hurriedly covered it with his hand and took a quick look to either side of him at his fellow panel members to see if anyone had noticed what he’d been doing.

  “Is everything okay?” whispered the woman sitting next to him.

  Had she seen? He didn’t think so, judging by the way her eyes were on him and not looking down at his paper. He drew in a long, deep breath, wanting to appear calm.

  “Yes. Yes. All good. Could do with a coffee,” he whispered back.

  “Me, too.” She smiled at him.

  Shit. He hoped she wasn’t suggesting they went together. He knew her vaguely from attending the convention. And they shared an agent. But they didn’t normally hang out together.

  He turned his head away from her, feigning interest in the editor at the end of the table whose turn it was to talk. The panel had been fun. They’d had a heated, though enjoyable, discussion about heroes in romance. In particular the role of those who were extremely alpha, like Sheikhs. The audience was mixed in their response, some preferring the alpha and some leaning more toward the beta, less controlling men. Like the guys he’d always written about. Like he was himself. When he found himself introspecting, he guessed it was probably the result of having no adult male role models in his life after the age of ten.

  His aunt had raised him on her own after his parents died in a tragic boating accident. She was a God-fearing Baptist, extremely strict, and didn’t believe in open shows of affection. He couldn’t remember her ever giving him a hug, however upset he’d been. Or whenever he’d had any successes. She’d always instilled in him the need to have a respectable profession and wanted him to go into banking like her father. But Mac hated anything to do with math, so it was never going to happen. He much preferred the arts. The only books she would have in the house, though, were the classics. He suspected she’d turn in her grave if she knew about him writing such lightweight stuff. The thought brought a smile to his lips.

  A gentle nudge in his ribs made him start. “We’re done. Fancy that coffee?” the woman next to him asked.

  He’d been miles away and hadn’t realized the panel had wrapped up. The attendees were standing and heading toward the back of the room, apart from the usual few who were hanging around to speak to the panel members. He hoped he could get past them without being stopped.

  “Sorry, I can’t.” He paused a moment. “I’m meeting a journalist who I’ve promised an interview,” he added, not wanting to appear rude.

  “Another time, then,” she replied, gently touching his arm and flashing him a big smile.

  “Sure.”

  He picked up his bag from under the chair and hurried off the podium. Luckily, no one stopped him, and he quickly made it to the elevator. Except there were hoards of people waiting, so he detoured to the escalator and rode down uninterrupted. He reached the Barakoa coffee bar and scanned the room but couldn’t see Sheridan.

  “Hey.”

  His heart raced at the sound of Sheridan’s husky voice in his ear. “Hi. Grab a booth, and I’ll order coffee. Latte?”

  “Mmm. Please.”

  He forced his arms to remain by his side and not pull her close. There were too many people around to risk it. All bets would be off when he got her alone in his room later.

  She headed toward the back, and he joined the end of the line. The wait to get served seemed interminable, though probably only five minutes. Finally, he made it to the booth, placed their coffees onto the table, and slid in opposite Sheridan, not stopping until their knees were touching. She leaned across the table and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

  “Good panel?” she asked.

  What would she think if she knew he’d spent most of it thinking of her and not participating as much as he would normally?

  “Yeah, it was good. When I could keep my mind on it.”

  Okay, so he’d admitted it.

  “What preoccupied you?” She took a sip of coffee and ran her tongue along her top lip to remove the faint line of foam. So irresistible. He had to jam his hand under his thighs to stop from ravaging her.

  “Like you need to ask.” They locked eyes. The flirty twinkle in hers almost sending him over the edge.

  “It was hard for me, too.” She sighed.

  “You were thinking of me?” He’d hoped that she reciprocated his feelings, and it seemed that she probably did.

  “Not just you.” She bit down on her bottom lip.

  He sensed something was wrong. His stomach dipped.

  “What’s happened?”

  “Nothing. Well, my editor called.”

  Crap. Just his luck for something to get in the way.

  “Don’t tell me. They’ve ordered you back there, and you can’t stay for the rest of the convention.” He couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice.

  “I wish.”

  Mac leaned back in his seat and stared at her. She wanted to leave. He hadn’t expected that.

  “You want to go?”

  “No. Of course I don’t. It’s just…just…”

  “Tell me. It can’t be that bad.”

  If it meant she’d be staying, he didn’t care. He was sure it was something they could sort out together.

  “I mentioned meeting you, and now she wants me to do the whole article on male versus female writers. And make a big deal about you being a man in a woman’s world.”

  His heart sank. That, he hadn’t expected. Being a male writer at the convention was one thing. Advertising it to a much wider audience was something different.

  “And are you?”

  Sheridan looked away from him, a guilty expression on her face. “She’s my editor. I’m meant to do what she demands.”

  “Without a say in it?” He let out an exasperated sigh.

  “Do you want me to refuse?” She glanced up, staring at him from under her eyelashes.

  This was a whole new side of Sheridan. He might have only known her a short while, but he would wager that under any other circumstances she’d have told him to suck it up. But here she was, offering him a way out. Except how could he take it?

  “No. I don’t want you to get in trouble.” He shook his head.

  “Will it damage your career?”

  Good question.

  “Pitting me against female writers won’t do me any favors. Inflammatory articles never do.”

  “And that will affect future sales, I suppose?”

  “Possibly. I don’t really know. When I compromised and went with B.A. Mackenzie, it was because of my publisher’s demographic. Women are the main buyers, and they believed some women would react against a male author. But who knows. I guess now will be the time to test out the theory.” He shrugged, trying to make light of it.

  “Surely you have enough readers now for it not to matter.”

  “You could be right. It’s a risk, that’s all.”

  “I won’t do it.” She shook her head. “I’m not going to be responsible for ruining your career.” He stared at her, his respect growing by the second. He couldn’t even articulate what he was feeling at that precise moment.

  “I appreciate what you want to do, but let’s put it into perspective. It won’t ruin my career. It just won’t enhance it. I can live with that. What I can’t live with is damaging yours.”

  “And I don’t want to be responsible for your career not being enhanced.” She grinned. “It looks l
ike we’ve reached an impasse. Which is no good. I’m going to tell her no. They’ll still get their article. And I’ll even suck up to the organizers and not poke fun at the convention.”

  “Oh. You were going to do that, were you?”

  Sheridan flushed. “It crossed my mind as an option. Before I met you, Deirdre, and the others. Now I sort of get it.”

  Mac placed his hand onto her forehead. “I knew it. You’ve been struck down by the romance virus. There’s no hope now.”

  “It’s the hotel, isn’t it? They turn everyone into romance zombies.”

  She rested her hand on her chest and let out a low throaty laugh.

  He drank in the way her beautiful eyes sparkled, and her cheeks were slightly pink. He’d fallen hard and fast, and he couldn’t let her get away.

  Chapter Ten

  “What makes a successful convention?” Sheridan asked Gemma Rainbow, the convention’s PR person.

  They were sitting in a small office behind the hotel reception. Gemma could only give her ten minutes as she had a meeting to go to.

  “Where everyone is relaxed and having fun and there are no major hitches.”

  “And this year?”

  “If you don’t count the box of broken ceramic red hearts, which I’ve since replaced, then it’s all going well. Of course, the main event, the ball, usually throws up something. Let’s hope it’s not like last year.”

  “Last year?” Sheridan asked, scribbling furiously into her notebook.

  “I’d rather not say. No point dragging it up again.”

  Sheridan made a mental note to ask Mac.

  After a few more questions, Gemma ended their interview, not before making sure Sheridan had the names of all the sponsors.

  Sheridan decided she had enough to start writing and went back to her room. She closed the door behind her, and before heading to her laptop, went to her bedroom, where she opened her closet and stared at her new dress. Her nerve endings tingled as she closed her eyes and imagined Mac removing it later.

  She’d arranged to be at Mac’s room by four-thirty so they could go to the ball together. That gave her thirty minutes of writing time and then thirty minutes to get ready.

  She also intended to call Jane and let her know her decision, and the sooner, the better. As soon as she walked into her room, she threw her purse onto the table and sat on one of the easy chairs, pausing for a few seconds to admire the view. She pulled in a breath and pressed speed dial for Jane.

  “Sheridan. Got something good for me?”

  That depends on what you mean by good.

  “It will be with you soon. I’ve spoken to the organizers and got some good quotes from the delegates.”

  Jane was silent for a few seconds. “That’s not what I wanted. We agreed. The male author.”

  “You agreed. I didn’t,” Sheridan retorted.

  Again there was silence, only this time for longer. Sheridan didn’t say anything, just waited for the inevitable onslaught. Which she would have to deal with.

  “I’ve talked about it in the editorial meeting.” Jane enunciated every syllable. “And scheduled a good slot for it. It’s agreed.”

  Sheridan sighed. This was going to be harder than she’d imagined. Jane wouldn’t want to lose face with the rest of the editorial staff.

  “I’m not doing it.”

  “Why?” Jane demanded.

  “It’s old hat,” Sheridan replied, using the very words that Jane would throw out to other journalists when she didn’t like their suggestions. “Who cares about men writing romance and how they stack up against women?”

  She held her breath, hoping Jane would agree.

  “I don’t care. We’re running the article. And, for the record, I don’t agree about it not being interesting. I think it’s a great hook for the convention.”

  Sheridan clenched her fists. Why did everything have to be so difficult?

  “A better hook is how it makes normally sane women go insane,” she suggested.

  “That’s Vegas for you. And well documented.”

  “Not Vegas alone. It’s the convention combined with Vegas. That’s a much better hook. Surely you agree?”

  Sheridan sensed she was losing the argument. Once Jane dug her heels in, there was little point in continuing.

  “No. I don’t. We’re running with the story, as agreed.”

  “And if I refuse?” Scenarios flashed before her eyes about what might happen to her if she deliberately went against Jane.

  “You won’t.” Jane gave a hollow laugh.

  And that was enough to push Sheridan. Jane was being totally unreasonable.

  “Actually, I am. I’m not doing it.”

  “You can’t refuse. I’m your editor, and you do as I say. And I don’t care who your father is, in case you thought you’d mention him. You know he’ll agree with me. What I say goes, so deal with it.”

  And wasn’t that the truth. Sheridan knew, without question, her dad would take Jane’s side. So what the hell was she to do? One thing was for sure; she had to think very carefully about it because once the decision was made there was no turning back. She needed time to think and wasn’t going to be forced into saying something she might regret down the track.

  “I’ve got to go. I’ll call later to continue this discussion.”

  Sheridan ended the call and threw her phone onto the couch. Realistically, it looked like she had no choice. Not if she wanted to keep on working. And she’d worked too hard, for too long, to simply let her career fall by the wayside. But what would Mac think? She had to tell him. She couldn’t keep it to herself any longer.

  She picked up her purse and headed to the elevator. Her head was spinning. For the first time in her life she didn’t have a clear direction, and it was killing her. Before Mac, she wouldn’t have thought twice about running a story for its entertainment value. Now things were different.

  Mac’s suite was on the sixty-fifth floor. She rehearsed what she’d say to him all the way there. About how her career was in the balance, but she didn’t want to hurt him. In her head it all sounded pathetic and selfish.

  She considered just forgetting about Mac and getting on with her job. It wasn’t like they were committed to seeing each other after the convention. For all she knew, this was just a little fling on his part. So why the hell was she worrying? Because she cared about him. As weird and alien as that sounded to her, it was the truth.

  When she reached his room, she knocked on the door and waited. After a few seconds, he answered, a towel wrapped around his waist. She could hear the shower running in the background.

  “Hey.” He gave her a warm, welcoming smile. “Come in, I was just about to pop into the shower.”

  The tension left her body as she walked into his suite. Much bigger and more luxurious than hers. Hardly surprising.

  “We need to talk,” she said. “Have your shower first. I’ll wait.”

  He kissed her lightly on the lips, and butterflies whizzed around her stomach. If she needed a reason why she couldn’t forget about him, that was it.

  “Won’t be long,” he said. “Help yourself to a drink or something to eat.” He gestured to a bar area that looked well stocked with drinks, and a fridge stood next to it, which no doubt was full of food. She wondered if his stay was also all expenses paid.

  She walked over to the window and looked down at the Strip and the throngs of people, who looked more like ants, on it. She was too fidgety to stay there for long, so instead she headed over to the desk where his open laptop sat next to a notebook. Nosiness getting the better of her, she opened the notebook.

  The first page had a character description of a guy. General things relating to his height, weight, hair, and eye color. Mac had also noted his personality traits. She guessed this must be for his next book. She felt guilty for looking, but then the journalist in her took over and she continued reading.

  The story took place in a small town in the Midwest. The guy, Se
bastian, owned a restaurant that stood on a site destined to be redeveloped. He was fighting the developers. Interesting plot, so far. So where was the romance? She flicked over a few more pages of notes. Descriptions of the area and the restaurant. Then she came to the woman. Cassie. She scanned the page and tensed. She clutched the side of the desk.

  Journalist.

  Snarky.

  Cynical.

  Career woman.

  Unlovable.

  What the fuck?

  Cassie was her. She was Cassie. Even down to being sent to cover a story she didn’t want. Sheridan blinked furiously, wanting to rid the words that danced before her eyes. But nothing changed. Mac had played her. Used her solely as research for his book. And what hurt even more was she thought he’d seen beneath the hard cynical exterior she cultivated. Yes, she knew people thought her a snarky, cynical career woman. But there was more to her than that. And she’d showed it to Mac. Well, she thought she had. She’d let her guard down and let him in. For the first time since…forever. What an idiot she’d been. She bet he couldn’t believe his luck when she handed herself to him. He was able to do a real life character study. Save him the trouble of further research. How could she have misjudged someone so completely? He was no better than her ex. And, yet again, Vegas was at the center of the betrayal.

  Tears of frustration welled in her eyes, and she blinked them away. Anger had taken over the hurt, and all she wanted to do was go back to how she was before she’d even heard of the convention. She ripped a blank page out of the book and wrote a short message, which she left on the keyboard of his laptop. Just so he knew in no uncertain terms that she knew what he’d done.

  The shower was still running. She ran to the bedroom and stopped outside, wanting to charge into the bathroom and confront him. But common sense prevailed. What would be the point? She didn’t want to see him ever again. He could deny it or admit it. It didn’t matter because the truth was there, in black and white, for anyone to see.