Tempted by Mr. Write (What Happens in Vegas) (6 page)

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, Sebastian, 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.

Well, screw Mac, screw the convention, and screw Vegas. She wasn’t staying there for a moment longer. She’d pack her bag and be on the first plane out of there.

Chapter Eleven

Humming tunelessly, Mac rubbed his hair with a towel and hurriedly ran a comb through it. He pulled on a pair of boxers, deciding to finish getting dressed for the ball once he’d seen Sheridan, since she’d need time to get ready herself. The thought of her in the dress they’d chosen set his nerve endings tingling. The thought of slowly sliding that dress down Sheridan’s gorgeous body set more than his nerve endings tingling. Hopefully, they wouldn’t have to stay too long at the ball. As long as he was seen attending. That’s what his contract demanded. Not that he wanted to upset the attendees. He wouldn’t do that to them. They paid a lot to attend each year, and he knew that part of their fun was having access to romance writers.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed a convention so much, and it was totally down to meeting Sheridan. He planned to suggest that they see each other again after the convention was over. He lived in San Francisco, which was only a three hour flight to Minneapolis where she lived and worked. It was doable. If she agreed. He couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing her again.

He’d never had feelings like that for his ex-wife. They’d just sort of fallen into the marriage without thinking it through. It hadn’t mattered, at first, because they’d got on well. But as the years progressed, their marriage had become more and more turbulent. He never knew what mood she would be in. He could never trust that she would be there for him. When she asked for a divorce, he was relieved—apart from having to raise the money to buy her out of the house. But at least now he could live his life like he wanted. With Sheridan by his side. Sheridan who was so refreshingly different. Who was so forthright that she just blurted out exactly what was on her mind.

He wondered what was so important that Sheridan couldn’t wait until later to talk to him about it. When they had more time. He pushed open his bedroom door and stepped into the living area. He scanned the room, expecting to see her sitting there.

“Sheridan,” he called out, puzzled by her apparent absence.

Where the hell is she?

He ran to the main door, opened it, and stuck his head out, thinking that if she’d only just left and gone to the elevator to head back to her room, he would see her. But the corridor was empty.

He took another look around his suite to see if anything was out of place. His eyes fixed on his desk. The laptop was in a slightly different position, and his notebook was open beside it. That definitely wasn’t how he’d left it. Sheridan must have been looking at something over there.

He rushed over and saw a page from his notebook resting on his keyboard.

How could you? Did you think I was dumb enough not to realize that you’d used me as research?

He picked up his notebook. His stomach rolled when he saw the page on display. He backed up and dropped onto the couch, then leaned forward and rested his head in his hands. He let out a long groan. He couldn’t believe it. Sheridan had read his notes on Cassie. She’d thought he was writing about her. Not such a huge leap on the face of it, but surely she couldn’t think he meant that about her. Not after everything they’d shared.

Sheridan had no way of knowing the notes were written way before they had even met. It was pure coincidence that Cassie was a journalist. He glanced at his words again, fixating on “unlovable.” How could Sheridan believe that’s what he thought of her? Hadn’t their time together meant anything?

He realized his whole representation of Cassie, the career woman, was steeped in stereotypes. Because in his ideal world, he didn’t want a woman who was wrapped up in her career. But it wasn’t having a career or not having career that made a person right for another. It wasn’t being cynical and snarky that defined someone.

He could kick himself for leaving everything on the desk. Then again, he didn’t think Sheridan would read it. And the more he thought about it, the more he felt she was wrong to read his work. It was private and she was snooping, in true journalistic form. It was an invasion of his privacy. But he didn’t care. What mattered was their relationship.

He reached for his phone and called her.

Pick up. Pick up. Please.

Finally, it went to voicemail.

“I can’t take your call, please leave a message.”

“It’s me. Mac. Please call. It’s not what you think. I have to see you.”

He threw his phone onto the couch beside him and sat there clenching and unclenching his fists. How could this be happening to him? For the first time in his life, he’d found someone special, and now he might have lost her. Why hadn’t he told her about his new book? About Cassie? He had to find her and explain. Nothing else mattered. He ran into the bedroom, pulled on his pants and a shirt, slipped on his shoes, and hightailed it out of there.

He just hoped he wasn’t too late.