Tempted by Mr. Write (What Happens in Vegas) (7 page)

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Authors: Sara Hantz

BOOK: Tempted by Mr. Write (What Happens in Vegas)

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Chapter Twelve

Sheridan grabbed her jeans from the closet and threw them onto the bed. Next she took her tank. She kept on going until the only thing left hanging was the emerald green dress. She glared at it.

“I’m not taking you. The maid can have it.” She sniffed and reached over to the bedside table for a tissue. “I hate green anyway,” she muttered.

Except that was a lie. She loved the color. And she loved everything about the dress. The little green gems on the spaghetti straps. The way the skirt hugged her hips and fell to the floor. The way it brought out the slight auburn sheen in her dark hair. She’d felt so special wearing it. And the promise of Mac removing it from her body had sent tendrils of desire threading through her every time the thought had entered her head.

Had.

She hitched in a breath. She still couldn’t come to terms with the fact that he’d absolutely duped her. She’d always been such a good judge of character in the past. But Mac. How the hell did he manage to get one over on her like that? Well, he might have used her for his own ends, but she was determined not to lose it and break down. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She would not. Anger was the best way to deal with him. That and actually writing the article Jane wanted. And boy would she make it a good one. Worthy of the Pulitzer, if one was awarded for popular journalism. Which would be ironic, seeing as she’d always dreamed of receiving one for political journalism. Her brother had been awarded two in his lifetime, as her father constantly reminded her.

She shook her head to rid herself of the thoughts rattling around in there. It was bad enough having Mac inside her head without giving room to her dad and brother. Talk about a living nightmare. Where were the rainbows and unicorns when you needed them?

At the bottom of a bottle of good whiskey.

No. She wasn’t going to resort to liquor to ease the pain. That would be the easy way out. Something she wasn’t known for taking. She was a survivor. She would get over this. She would. She really would.

She lifted her suitcase onto the bed and started to pack, with little care as to how screwed up everything was. Thanks to a cancellation, she’d managed to secure a flight home, leaving in three hours. After she’d checked out of the hotel and taken a cab to the airport, she wouldn’t have to wait too long. She could use the time to write her copy.

By the time she reached the elevator, there was a crowd of people waiting, all dressed for the ball. They got out at the second floor, where the ball was being held. Sheridan joined them, deciding to take a few photos of the attendees before leaving. She stood by the entrance of the conference room and watched. The room was already full. Everyone wearing a mask. She took out her phone and snapped away, making sure to get plenty of shots of the most outlandishly dressed.

“Sheridan.”

She turned at the sound of her name and saw Deidre heading in her direction, waving furiously with one hand and holding her mask in the other.

“Hi,” Sheridan said once Deirdre reached her.

She was wearing a bright pink dress gathered in at the waist with a net layer over the skirt. Although a little out-there, Sheridan had to admit, it wasn’t noticeably bad when compared with some of the other dresses she’d seen.

“Aren’t you coming to the ball?” Deidre frowned as she looked Sheridan up and down.

“No. I’ve got a flight to catch.”

Keeping up the
normal
facade in front of Deidre wasn’t going to be easy.

“Have you seen Mac?”

“No,” Sheridan snapped, instantly regretting sounding so mean.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”

Sheridan knew how pathetic that sounded, especially coming from a journalist, but Deidre didn’t seem to register.

“Yes, these conventions do take it out of you. But it’s such fun. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Case in point, look over there at the old woman copping a feel.” Deidre pointed about ten yards to the left of them.

“Worthy of a snap, I think,” Sheridan said, holding her phone out and taking a photo.

“Definitely. And what’s with all the fur? It beats me.” Deidre laughed.

“To each their own,” Sheridan replied.

“Do you think you’ll be here next year?” Deidre asked.

“I doubt it.” She shook her head.

“Shame. It’s been great meeting you.” Deidre touched her gently on the arm, and Sheridan suddenly had the overwhelming urge to confide in her everything that had happened with Mac. But, of course, she wouldn’t.

“You, too,” Sheridan replied. “Selfie?” she asked Deidre, as she held out her arm.

“You bet.” Deidre moved closer to her.

“Room for one more?”

Sheridan’s heart flipped at the sound of Mac’s voice.

“Of course,” Deidre said, holding out her hand and pulling Mac in beside her.

Sheridan struggled to keep her arm steady to take the photo, but she managed. The driving force being she wasn’t going to let Mac see how much he affected her.

“I’ve got to go now,” she said once it had been taken. She turned away from them both and began to head off.

“Wait.” Mac grabbed hold of her arm.

She glared at him. “What?” she muttered.

“We have to talk.”

He seemed so convincing, but she knew it was all a lie. He was probably worried she’d write a bad article about him, and was trying to rescue the situation.

“Why?”

“Please. Let me explain,” he implored.

“There’s no need for an explanation.” She waved her hand and refused to make eye contact.

“There is. Please. Just give me five minutes,” he said, his jaw rigid with stress while his blue eyes were clouded with worry. Something in her softened, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Deidre mouthing, “Go on.” She supposed five minutes wouldn’t hurt.

“Okay. But only five. And not here. Somewhere quieter.” She started to leave and then remembered Deirdre. She walked up to her and held out her hand. “Bye.”

“Bye, love.” Deidre ignored the outstretched hand and gave Sheridan a hug.

Sheridan left, assuming Mac was following. Once she was outside the conference room, she headed toward the corner where she could see there were two empty chairs.

Chapter Thirteen

The moment Mac had seen Sheridan with Deidre, he knew he had to do whatever it took to win her back. Yes, she’d invaded his privacy, but if he’d been in the same position, wouldn’t he have been tempted to sneak a peek? Of course, he would.

As she’d strode out of the conference room, through the throngs of people, he’d walked fast to keep her in sight. Now she was sitting with her arms folded tightly across her chest, glaring at him. Except her face seemed softer than a few moments ago. Hope flared in his chest.

“Hey,” he said as he sat down opposite her, a small round table separating them.

She nodded and glanced at her phone. “Your five minutes starts now.”

Mac leaned forward in his chair. “What you read in my room. It isn’t what you think.”

Sheridan narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “Really? Now you’re into mindreading. So, what did I think exactly?”

She wasn’t making this easy for him, and he didn’t blame her. Because on the surface, it appeared like he’d totally screwed her over.

“Cassie in my new book. She isn’t based on you.”

“Yeah? She just happens to be a…let me see… How did it go…? Oh yes. A cynical, snarky, unlovable journalist. Of course that’s not based on me. How could I even think that? I wouldn’t know how to be snarky or cynical if my life depended on it. And as for being unlovable, well, I can’t comment on that. But clearly you can.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she swiped them away.

Mac swallowed hard as he realized just how deeply he had hurt her, and even though it was unintentional, it didn’t make him feel any better. It just made him more determined to fix it. He leaned even closer and took hold of Sheridan’s hands. She tried to pull them away, but he wouldn’t release them.

“Stop,” he said gently. “I promise those notes had been written long before I’d met you. Yes, you’re a journalist, too. But that’s a coincidence. Yes, you can be cynical and snarky. But that’s a coincidence, too. As for being unlovable. No. You’re not. You’re the total opposite.”

She stared at him open-mouthed. “What do you mean?”

What do I mean?

He knew what he meant. He just had to take the plunge and say it.

“That you’re the most lovable person I’ve met. I couldn’t bear for you to think otherwise. I want a future for us. Together.”

His chest tightened. She had to believe him. He couldn’t imagine not being with her. Not seeing again the way she chewed on her lip when she thought no one was looking. Not seeing that compassionate side of her, like how kind she was with Deidre and the others, despite what she thought of romance.

“But we’ve only just met.”

He nodded. “I know. It’s crazy. But it’s happened. Love at first sight.” He cringed. The whole love at first sight thing seemed so clichéd.

“And you believe in that?” She arched an eyebrow.

“Don’t you?” he asked, throwing it right back at her, mainly because he didn’t have an answer. Yes, he wrote about it all the time. And he did believe in true love, even though until now he hadn’t found it for himself. But he’d never really considered it could happen almost immediately after meeting someone.

“You know my views on love and romance.” She shrugged.

“I was hoping that might have changed,” he said in a soft voice as he studied her face, desperately hoping the mask she liked to wear would evaporate.

“I thought it had,” Sheridan admitted, her face flushing.

“And now?” he asked, his voice guarded.

His heartbeat raced as he waited for her reply. Silence hung in the air. It seemed like ages before she spoke.

“I don’t know. I was convinced you’d used me as research fodder. You say you didn’t but…”

“But nothing. I promise. I swear on everyone’s life who I hold dear that Cassie is not based on you.” He locked eyes with her, hoping the flicker of uncertainty in her face meant she was questioning her belief.

“And why should I believe you?”

“Because I saw the real you. Saw how you can be all those things and so much more. And that’s what I love about you.”

“Oh.” Sheridan sounded surprised.

“
Oh
. I was kind of hoping you’d say you felt the same way about me.”

“I admit I had jumped to conclusions. But anyone would have.”

His heart sank. She was avoiding his question. He guessed that meant she didn’t love him.

“I know,” he agreed. He let out a long despondent sigh.

“And because I thought we had something good together, it made it hurt even more.”

She did? That meant he still had a chance.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“I just thought you were like my father. Finding fault with who I am. Comparing me with my brother and finding me coming up wanting.”

“Crazy talk.” He lifted her hands up to his lips and kissed her fingers. “Your dad doesn’t know you very well, that’s all I can say.”

She paused for a moment, as if to consider the possibility, and a tiny smile hovered around her mouth. “Maybe not.”

“You still haven’t told me how you feel. Is there any chance for us?”

Her eyes twinkled. “Yes,” she said softly. “I’d like that.”

Mac leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. “Come on. Let’s get out of here and celebrate.”

…

Sheridan sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard with Mac next to her. He ran his fingers lightly along her thigh, and she covered his hand with hers and pushed him away. “Stop it,” she admonished while giggling, as she realized her call had been answered. “Jane. It’s me.”

“You’ve come to your senses and are sending me the copy I asked for,” Jane replied.

“Not exactly.” Sheridan locked eyes with Mac and mouthed, “Here we go.”

“Meaning?” Jane’s icy tone sent a shiver down Sheridan’s spine.

She sucked in a long breath, the tension leaving her body.

“Meaning,” she replied slowly. “Meaning. I can send you some good copy about the convention, but it won’t be about Mac. I mean B.A. Mackenzie. And how he stacks up against women writers.”

There was a long, almost painful, silence. Sheridan was determined not to speak first.

“Mac?” Jane finally said. “Am I to understand there is something between the two of you, and that’s why you’re disobeying my instructions?”

“Do you want my copy or not?”

“Do you not get it? If you don’t give me the article I want, then you don’t have a job on the paper.”

“That’s okay. I resign.” It felt so good being able to say that.

“You can’t.” The hesitation in Jane’s voice amused Sheridan.

“I just have.”

“What will your father say?”

The father card. Except now it didn’t work.

“I don’t care. I’m taking a sabbatical, starting from today.”

“Where will you go? What will you do?”

What she’d always wanted to do. Travel. She’d only given up her plans because her father had insisted she work for him on
The Chronicle
. She’d convinced herself that she wanted it, too. But she knew better than that now.

“I’m going to travel around Europe. After that I’ll decide. I’ve got to go. I’ll email my copy, and you can decide whether or not you wish to use it.”

Sheridan ended the call and placed the phone onto the bedside table. She turned to Mac.

“I’ve done it.”

“Yep. Now it’s my turn. I’ll email my editor and explain that the next book will be my last romance.”

“I can’t wait to read it.” Sheridan smirked as Mac tousled her hair. He didn’t think she meant it. But she did. She’d turned into a romantic. Who knew?

“And I’ll tell him we’re going on a research trip to Russia for my novel.”

She snuggled into him, breathing in his scent. “I love you.” It was the first time she’d said it. And it felt so right.

The End