eBook
Available on Compatible NOOK devices, the free NOOK App and in My Digital Library.
Related collections and offers
Overview
After losing out on a plum assignment, a romance book conference is the last place journalist Sheridan Farlow wants to be. Love is a myth-like flattering changing room mirrors-and she has the past relationships to prove it. Her editor wants a story? Fine. She'll write an entire exposé...only it doesn't go quite according plan.
Bernard "Mac" Mackenzie is something of an anomaly in the romance-writing world-a man who writes romance and believes in it. And until he met Sheridan, Mac's never felt anything close to the love he writes about. He needs more of her. In his arms, and in his bed.
Their attraction is explosive; even as Sheridan's cynical side battles her growing feelings for Mac. But can she handle writing a biting exposé with an exposed heart on the line?
The complete 'What Happens in Vegas’ series (All standalones which can be read out of order)
Tempting Her Best Friend by Gina L. Maxwell
The Makeover Mistake by Kathy Lyons
A Change of Plans by Robyn Thomas
Masquerading with the CEO by Dawn Chartier
Just One Reason by Brooklyn Skye
Tamed by the Outlaw by Michelle Sharp
Tempted by Mr. Write by Sara Hantz
Gambling on the Bodyguard by Sarah Ballance
Seducing Seven by M.K. Meredith
Calling Her Bluff by Kaia Danielle
Her Secret Lover by Robin Covington
Betting on the Wrong Brother by Cathryn Fox
Accidentally in Love with the Biker by Teri Anne Stanley
Loving the Odds by Stefanie London
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781633754171 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Entangled Publishing, LLC |
| Publication date: | 09/28/2015 |
| Series: | What Happens in Vegas |
| Sold by: | Macmillan |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 91 |
| Sales rank: | 399,197 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Tempted by Mr. Write
A What Happens in Vegas Story
By Sara Hantz, Robin Haseltine
Entangled Publishing, LLC
Copyright © 2015 Sara HantzAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-63375-417-1
CHAPTER 1
"What the hell?"
Eyes bugged, Sheridan Farlow gripped her cell phone and stared at the email detailing the week's assignments. The job destined to elevate her career to the next level had been taken from her at the last minute and replaced with the worst gig on the planet.
She marched to her editor's office, gave a single knock on the glass window, and walked in without waiting for a response. The room was small and bare of anything personal, with a light wooden desk in the middle. On every wall were shelves heaving with files. Jane was sitting behind an open laptop, her head lowered and her metallic red glasses perched precariously on the end of her nose. She glanced up from under her dark bangs.
"Let me get this straight," Sheridan said, glaring at her editor. To hell with pleasantries. "You've decided you don't want me to cover the president's visit on Monday, and instead you're sending me to the" — she glanced at the email again — "The Romance Lovers Convention in Las Vegas. You've gotta be kidding me."
She drew in a long breath and released it slowly, which eased the tension in her muscles and injected an element of much needed control into her demeanor.
"Someone's got to do it, and that someone's you."
Sheridan's stomach plummeted to the floor. How could her editor sit there so complacent, as though this was no big deal?
"Who's got the president's visit?"
She'd thought all her birthdays had come at once when they asked her to cover the opening of the Minneapolis Summit by the president. She'd worked her butt off the last three years, even postponing her European travel plans, to follow in her brother's footsteps and finally impress her father. And it was just about to pay off. Until now.
"Peter."
Her stomach clenched. Peter had only been on staff for twelve months. Granted he'd been reporting in the UK before he joined The Chronicle, but surely that alone didn't make him a better choice.
"My father's not going to be happy about this." Sheridan hated pulling the father card. Most people she worked with weren't even aware they were related, since she used her mother's maiden name as her by-line. A wise move because she'd bet her last dollar that she'd lose much of her cred if her colleagues found out.
Some of those who knew the truth thought she was crazy to remain anonymous. Having a father who owned the media group that owned the newspaper seemed to them like a gift from heaven. But they didn't know her father.
"He knows."
But didn't do anything about it. She wasn't surprised, though. He probably thought she wasn't up to it. He might have insisted that she joined The Chronicle, but he never missed an opportunity to compare her with Drake, her brother, a top political journalist who had died several years ago while reporting from a war zone in Africa.
"Since when do you consult him on the allocation of work?"
It didn't make sense. Her father wasn't involved in day-to-day operations. He often said when he appointed a new Managing Editor that they would stand or fall on their own merits. And they did. Not that it mattered. She certainly wasn't going to confront him about it and be subjected to his successful-journalists-don't-cherry-pick lecture.
"I don't. It came down the line that management didn't think you were ready to cover the president's visit. They want to feed it to the rest of the group, so they decided Peter would be a better person to do it. You have to take his assignment."
"And do I have any say in this?"
The thought of covering any convention hardly filled her with excitement, especially one that focused on romance. She was the least romantic person she knew and for good reason. It was a load of fantasy crap that bore no relation to real life. She knew from firsthand experience with men, and from witnessing her parents' chaotic marriage, that romance was a media and retail invention designed to make money. You only had to listen to the kerching in all the stores on Valentine's Day to work that one out.
"No. But think of the fun you'll have in Vegas. All expenses paid. Have you been before?"
A memory flashed in her mind of the surprise trip one of her exes had booked. She was all packed and ready to go, but a last-minute work emergency had come up, and she'd insisted that he go without her rather than lose all the money he'd spent on reservations. Big mistake. Because that was the last she saw of him. He was only there for a week, and by the time he returned, he had met someone else and married her in front of an Elvis impersonator.
"I haven't been to Vegas, and I don't want to go now."
"Sheridan," Jane said softly, clearly trying a different approach. "It's only for a few days. Surely you can suck it up and deal with it."
"Easy for you to say," Sheridan muttered.
"I do say. And remember to talk to the organizers. According to sales, they're good advertisers. We don't want to upset them."
Sheridan bit down on her bottom lip. "Since when do you care about advertisers? I thought you were all for editorial integrity."
At least that's what Jane had always said when she was just a reporter, like Sheridan. They'd worked well together then. Had a lot of laughs. Sheridan had looked up to the older reporter, learning a great deal from her. Since Jane had become editor, things had changed.
Jane went red. "I am. But we still have to remember it's advertising that enables us to put out the stories we want."
Sheridan knew that. How could she not, living with her father? But for Jane to be concerned about it could mean only one thing. The rumors were true. Jane was out for a promotion to Managing Editor.
"Whatever," she muttered.
Sheridan slipped her cell into her jacket pocket and then turned and headed out of the office, in shock that the day, which had started out so good, had turned into such a nightmare.
* * *
"Thanks, Caitlin, I owe you one," Sheridan said as she hurriedly threw her bag into the trunk and then hopped in beside her best friend, who'd offered to give her a ride to the airport and also to take care of Pickles, the obstinate cat.
"Anytime. You're so lucky. I could do with a few mindless days in Vegas." Caitlin let out a long sigh.
Sheridan envied Caitlin's laissez-faire attitude at times, and wished she could be more like her. But she couldn't; she wasn't made that way.
"Be my guest. Although I can assure you it will be far from mindless with what I have in mind." She laughed.
"Tell." Caitlin grinned as she turned the key in the ignition and pulled out. "And remember best friends don't count in the adage 'what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.'"
Sheridan winced. "Ouch. Using that cliché alone means you deserve to come with me. Unfortunately, I'll be working. I've been wondering how to slant my story. Whether to take a sympathetic look or to go to town and make it a real doozy. Whatever. My first job will be to check out the convention delegates. I mean, who are these romance lovers and what makes them want to attend a convention? It beats me."
"And did you tell your editor that romance isn't your thing?" Caitlin asked.
"No. It's not like it would've changed anything. I'd still have to go."
Caitlin laughed. "There's nothing wrong with a bit of escapism every once in a while. I enjoy reading a good romance. Or watching a chick flick, if I'm in the mood."
If Sheridan wasn't so pissed about it still, she'd have laughed with her.
"Well, I'm never in the mood," Sheridan replied adamantly, her jaw jutting out in defiance. "Anyway, I'll give you a rundown on everything when I return."
"I'll hold you to that," Caitlin said as she pulled onto the highway leading to the airport. "And remember, it might be work, but that doesn't mean you can't make time to fit in some fun."
CHAPTER 2Sheridan's jaw dropped as the cab pulled up outside the Masquerade Hotel and Casino. Her only perception of Las Vegas came from photographs and TV, but seeing the city in real life exceeded her expectations. The hotel's towering striped poles adorned with flags and the huge ornate fountain made her feel as if she'd been dropped into a Tim Burton movie, and she was only seconds away from trying to find Johnny Depp.
After registering, she took the elevator to the thirtieth floor and found her room. She breathed a sigh of relief once she saw a view of the mountains and not the Strip, because all those lights would have driven her bat-shit crazy. She had to hand it to the hotel, though. The Masquerade certainly knew how to look after their guests. Even though she was in a standard room, she still had floor to ceiling windows, a king-sized bed, a comfortable ottoman, easy chair, and a desk.
She hung her clothes in the vast closet and unpacked her laptop. She scrutinized the program for the day. Panels were on until four thirty, so she'd head to one of them. The lanyard she'd been given said "press" under her name, and she positioned it inside her jacket in such a way that it would be hard for people to read, since she wanted to check things out first and remain anonymous. Once people knew she was a journalist, they would either clam up or tell her their whole life story while smoothing down their hair for a photo. Unlike the president gig, she didn't have a photographer with her, meaning she was responsible for everything.
She took the elevator to the convention floor. Outside the first room she came to was a sign stating there was to be a Q and A with the author B.A. Mackenzie. She popped her head around the door and gave a double take. The room was so full that almost every chair was taken. The level of noise was practically at fever pitch as they all eagerly waited for it to start. Even though Sheridan hadn't heard of her, she guessed that B.A. Mackenzie must be a huge deal.
She noticed a table with drinks at the back of the room and decided to grab a coffee before joining them, that's if she could find somewhere to sit.
"Sorry," she said as she knocked the arm of a man who was reaching for a cup at the same time.
She glanced up, and her chest constricted as she looked into the most beautiful cerulean eyes she'd ever seen. She licked her dry lips.
"No problem," he said, smiling at her.
She scanned his face, mesmerized by his chiselled jaw and dark curly hair, which hung just below the collar. Illicit shivers coursed through her veins.
She shook her head, blaming the feelings on the ridiculous pseudo-romantic surroundings. She wouldn't put it past the hotel management to pump some sort of aphrodisiac through the air conditioning. She'd put it to the organizers when she interviewed them. It could make a good hook for her story.
She forced her mind back to the task in hand and poured some coffee into her cup. She then offered the jug to the guy who held out his cup for her to fill.
"Have you been to the convention before?" he asked.
She could detect a faint southern drawl in his warm, deep tones. Her pulse fluttered.
"No, this is my first time." Sheridan heaped a spoonful of sugar into her coffee and stirred, anxious to keep occupied and not show how his presence had affected her. "You?"
She couldn't imagine him being a romance reader, lover, or whatever the people who attended the convention were, and guessed he probably worked for the hotel. As an outsider, he'd make a good interviewee, and might even offer an interesting perspective on what went on there.
"I'm here most years," he replied.
"What the hell did you do in your past life to be punished that much?" She laughed and he smirked. A man who appreciated her sense of humor couldn't be all that bad.
"Mac." He held out a hand. A tanned and very masculine hand.
"Sheridan." She took his hand and jolted as electric tingles shot up and down her arm. "Static," she added, giving her hand a shake and forcing a laugh. Except it didn't feel like the static shocks she'd had in the past. This was way different.
"Sorry," Mac said, a grin hovering around his mouth. "I don't usually shock people. I hope it wasn't too painful."
Not in the way you're thinking.
"I'm fine." Sheridan waved dismissively. "I'm going to try and find a seat. Good to meet you, Mac."
As she turned to walk away, his hand rested on her arm.
"Wait," he said. "Would you like to go for coffee after the Q and A?"
Butterflies whizzed around her stomach. "Yeah, sure." She shrugged in an attempt to disguise the turmoil going on inside her. It was like she'd turned into a love struck teenager.
"Cool. Let's meet back here in an hour." He glanced in the direction of the podium and then checked his watch. "Crap. I'll be in trouble if I don't get on stage right away."
He hurried off, leaving Sheridan staring at him, uncertain what she'd just experienced. She headed toward the back row and sat on the end. By this time, Mac had reached the stage and was taking the steps two at a time.
What was a guy like him doing here anyway?
"Hello, everyone," a woman's voice echoed through the PA. "Welcome to our Q and A with best-selling romance author B.A. Mackenzie."
Sheridan frowned. She thought the woman at the front was the author. Heat flooded through her. If she was introducing the author, and there were only two people on stage, that meant ... holy crap. That meant Mac — who she'd just arranged to meet for coffee — was only ... a romance writer.
CHAPTER 3Mac scanned the room, as Jenny, the MC for his session, thanked him for taking part in the Q and A.
Where is she?
Whenever he'd thought about the convention, meeting a woman like Sheridan definitely hadn't been part of it. His gaze finally rested on her at the back of the room. He was transfixed by her irresistible slender, jean-clad legs, which seemed to go on forever. And as for those large, dark chocolate brown eyes, he could drown in them. She certainly stood out as different from the usual convention attendee, and he ached to get to know her better.
His attention wandered back to Jenny. It seemed like she was listing his entire backlist of published books. He didn't mind. Fan events and special appearances generated more sales, for which he was extremely grateful. Because it meant he could work full-time at what he loved — being an author. Not to mention it helped pay his crippling mortgage, which had almost doubled since he bought out his ex. He'd put so much time and effort into remodeling his house that when they'd split, he was determined not to let it go. Even if he had to hold down three jobs and forego all sleep. Fortunately, it hadn't come to that, thanks to how well his romance books were selling.
The sound of applause cut across his thoughts, and he quickly plastered on a smile and thanked everyone once again, while at the same time keeping an eye on Sheridan. His eyes widened as she stood and walked toward the door instead of to the back of the room where they'd arranged to meet.
Crap.
He hastily picked up his bag and descended the podium steps. He hurried toward the exit, keeping Sheridan in his sight. He was within a few yards of her when someone took hold of his arm, bringing him to an abrupt halt.
"I loved hearing you talk. I missed the book signing earlier. Please, would you autograph your latest for me?"
Disappointment flooded him. How the hell would he reach Sheridan before she disappeared? He had to stop and talk. He was there to work, to make sure the money he so desperately needed kept coming. And more importantly, people had paid to see him, so he couldn't let them down. "Of course." He smiled at the middle-aged woman looking up at him with a coy expression on her flushed cheeks, and quickly signed the book.
But before he could move away, a line had formed. And fifteen minutes later, he was still signing.
"Who shall I sign it for?" he said as another of his books was thrust under his nose. He forced his voice to sound friendly, though he didn't bother to look up. Surely he'd get to the end of the line soon.
"Sheridan."
His gaze shot up, and his breath hitched in his throat as he locked eyes with her.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Tempted by Mr. Write by Sara Hantz, Robin Haseltine. Copyright © 2015 Sara Hantz. Excerpted by permission of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
