but that doesn’t mean you can’t make time to fit in some fun.”
Chapter Two
Sheridan’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
Chapter Two
Sheridan’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
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