Hot on His Heels (What Happens in Vegas)

by Margo Bond Collins

  “Oh, you…you…” Sadie spluttered, unable to think of a derogatory-enough term. “You man,” she finally spit out. With a huff, she dropped her phone back into her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “You’re all useless.”

  A dark chuckle followed her down the hallway toward the elevators, and it stayed with her all the way to her room.

  “Okay,” she finally amended, when she was alone and could throw herself down on the bed to wallow in the humiliation of the day. “Mostly useless.”

  After all, Jake Blaine was pretty to look at. He had brushed her tear away. And he had almost kissed her in the elevator.

  Most of all, he didn’t ignore her.

  …

  From now on, Jake was going to avoid posting Jocelyn’s current whereabouts. Nope—only where she had been. Centering the phone’s lens on the current speaker, he snapped a picture to post after the session ended. He was afraid Sadie Quinn might be getting a little too close to the truth.

  That look she had given him the day before had left him tossing and turning all night. If he were honest with himself, he would have to admit that the initial attraction he had felt toward her was beginning to blossom into something else. Admiration, certainly. Her dogged determination to track down one incognito editor among a sea of romance-novel professionals was impressive.

  But there was something else, too. From her email messages, he had expected someone strong and assertive, a domineering woman used to getting her way. Someone larger, louder, bossier.

  Some of those elements were certainly there—but they were intermixed with other characteristics he hadn’t expected. She was shy, even anxious, prone to stammering when she was nervous and blurting out what he had realized were quotes from literary works—he had recognized the quote from an E. E. Cummings poem in the hallway.

  Her hands fluttered when she talked, like the wings of a bird trying to take flight—or maybe an angel confined to earth, all delicate bones and soft skin, and he found himself wanting to help set her free, even if he didn’t know exactly what freedom would look like to her.

  She should have the chance to soar.

  Good lord. He must be losing his mind. He liked working with words, liked finding an author who could come up with a good turn of phrase, loved helping those authors turn good sentences into strong ones. But he wasn’t prone to random bouts of poetics.

  He also wasn’t inclined to spacing out when a speaker he really wanted to hear was giving a presentation on editing for the current market.

  If Sadie Quinn inspired him to flights of fancy, he should probably run away as fast as possible.

  Which brought him back to his original point: No more posting Jocelyn’s whereabouts. He would wait until after this session to post a few key points from the speaker.

  If only he could concentrate long enough to figure out what the presenter was actually saying.

  …

  Sadie leaned against the wall across from the door to the room where the scheduled break-out session was about to end.

  If Jocelyn went to any of these professional sessions, surely it would be the ones on editing. Not that the romance editor had posted anything recently on Twitter.

  Her handle was as dead as Native American historicals.

  As the participants streamed out, Sadie scanned each name tag, and then each face for some sign, something to give away that this woman, or that one, or that one, was the most feminist romance editor in publishing.

  It seemed like there should be some sort of physical clue—even though Sadie knew that was ridiculous. Feminists came in all shapes and sizes.

  She did recognize one face, though. Jake Blaine strolled out of the room toward the back of the group, deep in conversation with Kamille Stone.

  He was a seriously dedicated personal assistant. At the thought, her eyes narrowed as she watched the two of them interact.

  Were they dating, maybe? Was he more than her assistant?

  Their body language didn’t suggest that kind of intimacy.

  There’s something there that is more than a working relationship, though…

  She felt like she almost had it figured out when Jake glanced up and made eye contact with her. The banked heat in that glance burned away every other thought in her mind and left her breathless. She felt pinned to the wall, utterly frozen and transparent, unable to move or even think. His own pause was almost imperceptible, but the way his lips curved up in a knowing smile made it clear that he was absolutely aware of the effect he had on her.

  He held her gaze for another half second. Then, as he leaned down to catch something Kamille was saying and moved past Sadie, he winked.

  As soon as she was no longer held by his stare, she drooped, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. On wobbly knees, she fell in behind the last of the exiting conference attendees and moved toward a chair she had seen out in the hallway, where she collapsed.

  Great. Not only did the man turn me into a little puddle with one look, he also made me miss my chance to see the rest of the editors who were in there.

  Just then, her phone buzzed. Another tweet from Jocelyn: Amazing talk on editing in three passes by Angelina Austin! The attached picture showed the speaker in her usual flamboyant mode.

  Jocelyn Dellarivier really had been in that room, and Sadie had missed her.

  A wave of despair washed over Sadie. Amelia had been right. There was no way she was ever going to find one woman in this huge crowd—especially since that woman wanted to stay anonymous.

  This had been a stupid, quixotic quest, doomed to failure from the beginning.

  She would simply have to do the best she could with an analysis of Jocelyn’s work.

  It wasn’t like very many people read academic books, anyway. The press would get a few hundred orders from academic libraries, maybe a couple dozen more from professors and graduate students doing similar work who wanted their own copies.

  And the tenure committee.

  They would get copies of the book. And then they would pick it apart, criticizing every aspect of it.

  Already, some of her colleagues had turned their noses up at her claims that popular romance fiction was worthy of academic study—and at least one of those professors was on the tenure committee. He was convinced that unless a work of literature was by a dead, white male, it wasn’t worth studying.

  Without something to set her book apart, to make it stand out as a truly unique piece of scholarship, her chances at getting tenure were pretty low. Until now, Sadie hadn’t realized quite how much she had been counting on finding Jocelyn Dellarivier at this conference.

  Leaning one elbow on the arm of the chair she occupied, Sadie dropped her head down and rubbed her eyes.

  She couldn’t give up. That’s all there was to it. She had to keep trying to find Jocelyn, at least until the end of the conference.

  There was still that date with the cover model tonight. Everyone who worked for Intertwined seemed close. Maybe she would be able to get something out of him.

  I can do this. I will do this.

  She would spend the day going to every editorial panel offered and see which faces overlapped from panel to panel.

  She could even snap pictures of the women she recognized.

  And then tonight, she would quiz the model—Niall?—on them all. Even if he wouldn’t tell her which one was Jocelyn, maybe she could learn something from his reactions to the images.

  Having a plan in place made her feel much better. All was not lost.

  She just had to keep moving forward, not lose hope.

  Onward and upward. Or to the next panel, anyway.

  Her conference schedule was in her shoulder bag. All she had to do was shake off the remainder of this funk, and she would start again. Straightening her shoulders, she closed her eyes, shook out her hands in front of her, and took a deep breath, then misquoted Yeats in something resembling a prayer. “Old Romance being kind, let me prevail.”

  “You ok
ay?”

  At the sound of the masculine voice behind her, she jumped and squeaked. Again.

  Of course Jake Blaine would find her right now, right as she had decided on her tactics. The man had the most annoying ability to sneak up on her. “I’m fine.”

  “You looked like you could use this.” He held out a bottle of water.

  Sadie watched his face warily as she took it from him. “Thanks. I think.”

  He started to say something, stopped, then tried again. “Look, I’m sorry I can’t introduce you to Jocelyn. I know you were counting on it. When the conference is over, I’ll see if I can get her to do an email interview.”

  A month ago, Sadie would have been ecstatic at the prospect.

  Now, with her new strategy in place, it didn’t seem as enticing as it might have before.

  But it would make a good Plan B.

  And maybe I won’t need Jake Blaine’s help, after all.

  She refused to admit that sudden improvement in her mood had anything to do with knowing that he might help her—or with the fact that in order to help her, he would have to contact her again.

  Standing, she flashed a bright smile at him. “Thanks for the water, and the offer. I might take you up on it.” She tugged the schedule out of her bag and flipped it open to the panel list. With a wave, she headed toward the session room.

  Onward and upward.

  Sadie couldn’t resist one backward glance, though.

  Jake was staring after her, a slightly bemused look on his face.

  Chapter Seven

  “Absolutely not.” Jake glared at Kamille, who gazed back at him with a placid smile on her face.

  “You promised to come to the conference and do whatever I needed you to do.” She raised one eyebrow, a trick Jake had never mastered, and one that always left him gritting his teeth.

  He crossed his arms. “Anything that didn’t give away my real connection to Intertwined.”

  “Taking over the date for Niall doesn’t let anyone know that you’re really Jocelyn Dellarivier.”

  “Keep your voice down, would you?” He half stood from his place on the sofa.

  Kamille glanced around her otherwise empty suite and motioned Jake back down. “We’re all alone here. No one is going to hear us. I need a cover model, and you used to be one. With Niall upstairs puking his guts out after some buffet sushi, you’re my only hope.”

  “No one is supposed to know I used to be a cover model for the books, either.” Jake nodded emphatically, certain this would clinch his argument.

  “We don’t have to tell anyone. All we have to say is that Niall is ill and none of the other models are available.” She held up one hand, forestalling his next argument. “And we’ll follow the same rules we did back then. No pictures of your face. Dalton’s doing the photographs, so she already knows the rules.”

  Kamille had picked the one woman at the conference who wasn’t likely to complain about a lack of photographs. On that, he was sure he and Sadie would agree.

  Dalton Saunders had always been his favorite photographer, Jake had to admit. He’d been glad to see her when he arrived a few days ago.

  Still, he wasn’t quite ready to give in. “People will see us. They’ll figure it out.”

  Kamille shook her head. “It’s a publicity stunt, Jake. Everyone knows that. And I guarantee, all these women will be so focused on the date-with-a-model aspect that they’ll hardly pay any attention to who the model actually is.”

  “And if they do? I’ve already had a few people ask if I’m Ian.”

  Well, okay. Just one. The one he was now scheduled to go out on a date with.

  The one who was determined to meet his secret identity.

  She shrugged. “Then you’re a former cover model. How much damage could it really do to Ian’s campaign?”

  I don’t know. Maybe none?

  Jake shoved the errant thought away. “I promised him I wouldn’t let my work interfere with his career.”

  His boss’s mouth twisted. “Interesting how it’s always Ian’s ‘career’ but only your ‘work.’”

  With a wave, Jake dismissed the comment. “I won’t let him down. My family will never have to make up for my mistakes again.”

  One eyebrow went up again. “You think coming to work for Intertwined was a mistake?”

  “Dammit, Kamille. Don’t twist my words. You know what I mean. I won’t put my family in the position of having to scramble to help salvage Ian’s career like they did during his first campaign.” He paused, ignoring Kamille’s exasperated sigh. “I cannot spend any more time with this woman. She’s already starting to notice that I show up every time Jocelyn tweets something, I’m sure of it.”

  “Okay.” Kamille nodded thoughtfully, drawing the word out and worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth. Jake recognized her thinking mode. “This could work to your benefit. If she thinks you have one secret—say, that you’re a former cover model for Intertwined—it might throw her off the trail, keep her from realizing that you’re also Jocelyn.”

  “But I don’t want her to know either of those things.” The next thought almost knocked the breath out of him. “Did you plan this? Is this from some misguided belief that almost kissing her in the elevator actually meant something?”

  She didn’t answer the question. “Which one would be more damaging, really? That you’re currently ‘the most feminist romance novel editor in the business,’ or that you put yourself through grad school modeling for romance-novel covers a million years ago?”

  “It wasn’t that long ago,” Jake muttered.

  With a laugh, Kamille stood and smoothed down the front of her skirt. “Come on. We’re supposed to meet Dalton to discuss your wardrobe.”

  Jake made a show of heaving a sigh, but truth be told, his heart had leapt in his chest when he learned that Kamille needed him to step in.

  The idea of an entire evening with Sadie Quinn appealed to him more than he was willing to admit.

  He was looking forward to this a little too much.

  Really, what could possibly go wrong?

  Nothing, other than my entire life.

  …

  “I don’t think I really need a makeover.” Sadie stared at the two women who had showed up to help her prepare for her date with a model. One of them, a tall, thin brunette in jeans and a T-shirt, carried what looked like an oversize toolbox. The other, a busty blonde wearing a skin-tight, bright-blue minidress and three-inch heels, held several dress bags over her arm.

  “Oh, honey,” the brunette said with a Tennessee twang. “Everybody can use a makeover. Especially when you’re going out on a date with a hot cover model.” She pushed past Sadie into the room, glancing around at the room. “I’ll just set up in the bathroom here.”

  The blonde followed her. “I’m Emerald. That’s Ruby.”

  Does everyone in Vegas have a stripper name? Sadie pushed the thought aside as uncharitable. Not to mention un-feminist.

  Emerald tossed the dresses onto Sadie’s bed. She narrowed her eyes and leaned her torso back to assess Sadie. “Kamille said you were a little thing. She wasn’t kidding.”

  Sadie tossed a frantic look at Amelia, but her friend, who had retreated to the armchair in the far corner, shrugged helplessly.

  “Okay,” Ruby said, coming out of the bathroom. “Everything’s plugged in. Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”

  Emerald nodded and unceremoniously pulled the sweater off of Sadie’s shoulders, while Ruby began unbuttoning the blouse beneath it. Sadie’s hands flew up to clutch the collar to her neck. “Wait,” she said, shying away from the two women.

  “Aw, sweetie, you’re not shy, are you?” asked Emerald.

  “Trust me, baby girl,” said Ruby. “You ain’t got nothing we ain’t seen before.” With that, they continued removing her clothing until they had stripped her down to her panties and bra.

  The two women nodded at each other over her head, and Sadie gave up, res
igning herself to spending the next few hours in their care.

  Keep your eyes on the prize, Sadie: an evening with an Intertwined employee. Someone who might even know Jocelyn Dellarivier.

  She could endure being measured, poked, plucked, and painted by Emerald and Ruby, as long as it might lead to the information she needed.

  Honestly, their attention was almost clinical, no worse than seeing a doctor.

  Except, of course, that instead of evaluating her health, Emerald and Ruby were evaluating her appearance, the one thing she had always believed didn’t really matter. She was intelligent, articulate, witty.

  How I look isn’t important.

  Moreover, she didn’t have time for this kind of daily ritual. Certainly not if it was going to take hours every time.

  Besides, she didn’t have these women’s expertise—and they weren’t letting her watch what they were doing. The one time Sadie had tried to check the mirror, Ruby had spun her back around. “Not until you can see the final product,” she chided.

  Amelia wasn’t giving anything away, either, keeping her responses limited to the occasional “hmm.”

  The only two things Sadie knew for sure were that she had never been so made up in her life—she could feel the weight of the makeup on her skin and eyes—and that her dress was red. She didn’t know anything else about the dress, though. Emerald had tucked and pinned various parts of it, then whipped it back off of Sadie and retreated to a corner with some kind of sewing kit. When she finished, she reached into one of her bags and pulled out two tiny wisps of lace. “Here, sweetie. Go put these on.”

  A bra and panties, tags still attached.

  Sadie dangled them from her thumb and forefinger. “These will never fit.”

  “Sure they will. Go ahead. We won’t look.” Emerald turned around.

  “I’ll just go into the bathroom.” Sadie sounded more tentative than she intended.

  “Oh, no, honey.” Ruby stepped up to block the door. “No mirrors for you until we’re all done.”

  With a sigh, Sadie gave in and reached back to unhook her own, perfectly serviceable bra.

  She’d been right—the lace scraps barely covered anything. Crossing her arms over her breasts, she said, “Okay. Can I put the dress on now?” She was glad to see Amelia staring intently at her computer. At least her friend wouldn’t ridicule her.