by Verna Clay
The shoot had already begun when they slipped into the studio. Sissy motioned her to a spot near a side wall. Mims leaned against the wall, her eyes riveted on the models. Lights flashed and the photographer, a short skinny man with a balding pate, called instructions. "Move in, Sage. Yeah, give her that sexy, hot hot HOT look. Make her sizzle. Chastity, let him know who's in charge."
Sissy smothered a giggle and whispered, "Can you believe her name is Chastity?"
Mims bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud.
The photographer called another instruction. "Okay, models, let's try a kiss. The title of the book is Dream Kisses, so how about some dream kisses. Make my toes curl."
With a rather bored expression, the male model glanced in Mims direction. Her heart tripped when their eyes met, something that only happened to characters in her books.
Sissy whispered, "He's absolutely the most gorgeous man I've ever seen, and I've seen my share. If I were twenty years younger, I'd throw myself at him unabashedly." She sighed.
"Sissy, you're kidding, right? You're married," Mims shot back.
"I think I'm kidding; not really sure."
Mims shook her head and looked back at the models now sharing a passionate embrace and kiss. The female had hit the genetics jackpot: curvaceous body, flowing blonde hair, sexy sky blue eyes, and full pouty mouth. Of course, maybe it wasn't genetics; maybe it was implants, hair salon, contacts, and Botox. Whatever, she's still gorgeous.
A fan billowed the female's lavender silk drape gently around her luscious body and lifted her golden hair off her shoulders. The male model bent her slightly backwards, all evidence of his boredom gone when he laid a whopper on her. His hair, the color of rich mahogany laced with sunlight, also moved in the breeze of the fan. His linen shirt, falling off his shoulder and open to the waist, revealed tanned skin and washboard abs.
Sissy said, "My God, I think I can scrub clothes on his abs."
Mims choked and shook her head at Sissy's forthrightness.
For the next hour they watched the photographer command the models, and the models perform magic. The experience transported Mims into the pages of her book. It was as if the characters had found life—a special world of romance, adventure, and a happily ever after that she wanted to step into.
"Okay, boys and girls, I think we can call it a wrap," said the height-challenged photographer.
The male model stretched and the female model ran her hands through her hair. For obvious reasons, Mims had expected the models to gravitate toward each other, but with the shoot finished, they appeared oblivious to one another. Then, to Mims astonishment, the female rushed to the photographer and bent to kiss him on the lips. He responded and whispered in her ear. She blushed and giggled, pushing at his chest. "Hon, gotta run and pick up the kids. I'm making lasagna for dinner."
Mims mouth fell open. Sissy saw the look and chuckled. "Oh, yeah, you've never met Chastity and Chuckie Chambers. They're the best in their fields and been married since their teens. Got two kids, but always act like they're on their honeymoon. It's a shock when people find out they're married. We never give it a second thought around here 'cause we see them so much. Come on, I'll introduce you to everyone. Now, the male model, Sage Tanner, he's new, so I don't know much about him; only that he's in demand." Sissy elbowed Mims, "Wonder why?" She grabbed Mims' arm and pulled her forward.
"Hey Chastity and Chuckie, I'd like you to meet the author of the book for the cover you were just shooting." The Chambers greeted her with warm handshakes.
"OMG, I just love your books. When Chuckie told me I was going to be the model for your next one, I got so excited I couldn't stop talking about it. It's such a pleasure meeting you!"
"Chastity, I should be thanking you for creating such a beautiful cover," Mims said warmly.
Sissy turned to Sage who'd slipped off his linen shirt to reveal the body of a god. He reached for an old T-shirt and when his head popped through the neck, she said, "Sage, Imaginings is extremely pleased you're doing this book cover. When our artistic designer saw your portfolio, she refused to look further. The shoot was awesome."
"Thank you, ma'am," he politely replied with a slight drawl. He glanced toward Mims and her heart thumped again. You write about this stuff, girl, you don't live it.
Sissy introduced them. "Sage Tanner, I'd like you to meet Mims Murphy, our best selling author."
"I'm pleased to meet you, Ms. Murphy."
"Likewise, Mr. Tanner. But please, call me Mims."
"Okay, only if you call me Sage."
Mims felt utterly tongue-tied. A woman could drown in the man's Caribbean blue eyes and never want to be saved.
She found her voice. "Thank you for the lovely photo shoot. The cover of a book is so important." Lovely photo shoot? What a lame thing to say. How about unbelievably incredible, undeniably sensuous, mesmerizing, and sexy photo shoot?
"I'm glad you liked it."
For a second, there was an uncomfortable silence. Sissy said, "Why don't we all walk across the street for a java fix. I understand there's another shoot tomorrow for publicity photos that are going on our website. We can all throw out ideas."
Chuckie said, "I could use a break, sounds great, Sissy."
Chastity declined, "Sorry, I've got to pick my kids up from school."
Sage agreed, "Sure, that sounds nice," but he didn't sound very enthused.
Sissy grabbed Mims arm. "I'll let the powers-that-be, namely, my husband, know where we're going. Mims and I will meet you in the lobby in five minutes. She pulled Mims from the room.
"Sissy, I really need to go."
"And do what? Hack away on your computer? Give it a break, girl. I just got the most gorgeous man on the planet to join us for coffee. If you say you're not interested, I'm calling the paramedics. Better yet, I'll call the white-coats to have you committed."
"Sissy, what are you talking about? I'm not even in that guy's league. Besides, I'm older than him."
"Not more than five or six years. Cougars are out there dating men decades—yes, that's plural—younger than themselves."
"Sissy, guys like that do not go for gals like me. It only happens in books."
"Mims, I saw the guy give you that look."
"No way, Sissy."
"If you try to get out of this coffee break, I'll…I'll…refuse to publish your next book."
Stranded in Oasis (excerpt)
Oasis Series
One: Reassignment
Veering off the U.S. 93 onto the off-ramp, Maximilian Rutherford III, ground his teeth and slammed his three quarters-of-a-million dollar RV to a halt at a stop sign with graffiti declaring, "hot as hell," and then turned onto a narrow, two lane road with dips that even an outrageously expensive RV couldn't disguise.
The next sign he passed said, "Oasis 12 miles." Staring at distant bluffs encasing flat desert of scrub brush, a scattering of mesquite and juniper trees, and plenty of cacti, he once again spewed a string of profanities at his grandfather.
Up until a week ago he'd considered his relationship with his paternal grandfather, Maximilian Rutherford I—someone he mostly saw only during management meetings because of their busy lifestyles—to be satisfactory.
He'd always called his grandfather by his shortened first name—Max. The old gentleman had never been "Grandpa" or "Gramps" to any of his grandchildren, but that was to be expected from one who ran the multi-faceted, multi-billion dollar Rutherford Acquisitions empire. There simply was no time for family get-togethers when you were globetrotting and looking for your next company to buy, overhaul, and sell to the highest bidder.
Max III, who was supposed to be a chip off the old "grandfather block," scanned the terrain before him. Being the second of June, the weather wasn't outrageously hot…yet. He hated hot weather. Grinding his jaw again, he replayed the unfortunate circumstances that had landed him in the pits of hell in the Arizona desert. Oasis, my ass.
Ten days ago he had been hap
pily—well, maybe not happily, but studiously—performing his job as the interim CEO of their latest acquisition, a company that developed and manufactured computer chips. His job duties with Rutherford Acquisitions involved taking charge and reorganizing the acquired company for the purpose of making it attractive to buyers. It usually took one to two years before the failing corporation made enough of a turnaround to sell for a profit, and that was one reason his grandfather's latest order was so confusing.
He slammed his hand on the steering wheel. Damn the old man! Max had flown all night from the West Coast to the East Coast and the headquarters of his grandfather's vast empire in Manhattan after he'd been summoned. His grandfather's call had come during the first meeting of a week of meetings that had been scheduled with IT moguls—men who were key to launching this latest acquisition back into the marketplace. It had taken Max weeks to set the meetings up and when he'd tried to explain that to his grandfather, the old man had just blown it off and insisted he reschedule because his presence was mandatory in New York.
The minute Max had entered the office of Maximilian Rutherford I, he'd known his grandfather was up to something. Respectfully, he'd greeted his elder, accepted a shot of bourbon, and declined a cigar. While the old guy puffed away and talked about his latest success in the stock market, Max waited to hear what his gut feeling told him he wasn't going to like.
He didn’t have to wait long.
Max, Sr. set his cigar in his crystal ashtray, sipped his bourbon, casually leaned backward, and said, "I'm reassigning you."
Frowning, Max had leaned forward. "But sir, I'm about to close a deal that will skyrocket the value of the company in California."
The old man made a dismissive motion with his hand. "Your stepbrother can handle it. I've already reassigned him to the project."
Max shot halfway out of his seat. "What! Without even consulting me!"
Unfazed by his grandson's shout, Max, Sr. said in his most commanding voice, "Sit down, Max."
Max could feel his blood pressure rising as he sat back in his chair.
Max, Sr. stood and walked to the bank of windows overlooking Manhattan sixty-three stories below. Without explanation, he said, "As tough and mean as I am, I'll not live forever. I've been reviewing my will with my attorney and before I make final decisions as to the disposition of my company and assets after my demise, I need to know the tenacity of my heirs."
Those words gave Max pause. Was the old man dying of some disease?
Max, Sr. turned from the windows and answered his grandson's unspoken question. "No. I don't have any dreaded ailment as far as I know. But I do have a driving ambition to know what my heirs are made of. My only child, God rest his soul, wasn't cut from the same cloth as you or I. He was a tree hugger who would have driven this company into bankruptcy had he lived and inherited my estate. He wanted to support every whiney cause that crossed his desk."
Max, Sr. seemed lost in his memories and Max's wrath softened. The old man continued, "It was one of those causes that took his life. He drowned fording a river in the Amazon while heading up an expedition to save some rare bird." He shook his head.
Max had heard the story a million times, but he didn't interrupt his grandfather. As much as the old man bitched about his son's "do-gooder" ways, it was obvious he'd loved his boy. Max waited for his own fate to be revealed. He wasn't like his father. He was tough as nails, so the reason for being pulled from his latest assignment, when he was so close to success, irked and puzzled him.
Max, Sr. turned back to the bank of windows. After a moment of silence, he said, "Don't take your next assignment lightly. It will determine whether I hand the reins of my company over to you after I'm gone, or give it to your step-brother, Bertram."
At the mention of Bertram, Max's anger renewed itself. Two years older than Max, the man was an ass-and-a-half. Bertie could play the part of a loving grandson when in the presence of Max, Sr., but he was a thorn to Max. Max rued the day his mother had remarried to an oil magnate four years after Max II died. Bertie's father had later lost his wealth due to wrong decisions and died of a heart attack when Max was twenty.
Max, Sr. spoke again and his words sent an arrow of foreboding down Max's spine. "I'm sending you to Arizona for six months."
"What the hell is in Arizona?"
Max, Sr. turned from the window and studied his grandson. Quietly, he said, "The keys to your fate, boy."
Max squinted and waited. He supposed he could deal with six months in Phoenix. He wondered what acquisition his grandfather had purchased there.
His grandfather's next words shattered his vision of working from a high rise in the capital city.
Max, Sr. walked back to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a paper. He handed it across the desk and Max reached for it. His grandfather said, "This is where you'll be staying in the town of Oasis, about fifty miles northwest of Phoenix."
Max's frown increased as he accepted the page that had been printed off a website with the internet address of desertprincess.com. He furrowed his brow and read the page. Was this some kind of a joke? It was an advertisement for a trailer park.
Spend your winters at Desert Princess Trailer and RV Park in beautiful Oasis, Arizona.
Max lifted confused eyes to his grandfather's. "What are you telling me?" he asked.
"I'm telling you that you're going to manage that trailer park for six months and it will decide your future with my company."
Max, who oversaw billion dollar investments and hobnobbed with the most influential personalities in the world, couldn't wrap his mind around his grandfather's instructions. He simply looked from the printout with a picture of an assortment of trailers and RVs parked in rows amidst desert sand dotted with cacti, a few scraggly trees and scrub brush, back to his grandfather. The old man reached to push a button on his intercom. "Peggy, when's my next appointment and who is it with?"
Peggy, Max's secretary since the creation of man, who looked to be that old, said in her no-nonsense voice, "You have a three-thirty with the governor of South Carolina."
Max, Sr. stood. "Son, it's nice seeing you, but I've got some research to catch up on before meeting with the governor. He's looking for assistance with their transportation issues and I may have just the company to fit the bill."
Max, Jr. couldn't make his legs move. Softly, he said, "Sir, you're joking, right? You're not really sending me to oversee a trailer park?" He even managed a chuckle.
His grandfather, looking completely serious, replied, "What part of 'head off to Arizona' don't you understand?"
Novels and Novellas by Verna Clay
WESTERN ROMANCE
Contemporary
Romance on the Ranch Series
Dream Kisses
Honey Kisses
Baby Kisses
Candy Kisses
Christmas Kisses
Rock Star Kisses
Forever Kisses
Oasis Series
Stranded in Oasis
Branded in Oasis
Crashed in Oasis
Historic
Unconventional Series
*Abby: Mail Order Bride
Broken Angel
Ryder's Salvation
Joy's Return
*2014 Gold Medal Winner Readers' Favorite Int'l Book Contest/Historical Romance
Finding Home Series
Cry of the West: Hallie
Rescue on the Rio: Lilah
Missouri Challenge: Daisy
Red Rocks Trilogy: Past, Present, Future
Healing Woman of the Red Rocks (Past)
Song of the Red Rocks (Present) July 2015
Spirit Tree of the Red Rocks (Future) October 2015
FANTASY ROMANCE
Shapeling Trilogy
Roth: Book One: Protector
Fawn: Book Two: Master
Davide: Book Three: Prince
Jazmine
(Sweet Whimsical Romance)
YOUNG ADULT ROM
ANCE
(Verna Clay writing as Colleen Clay)
Fragile Hearts
AUDIO BOOKS
Abby: Mail Order Bride
Broken Angel
Cry of the West: Hallie
