by Hoff, Stacy
Table of Contents
DESIRE IN THE EVERGLADES
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
DESIRE IN THE EVERGLADES
STACY HOFF
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
DESIRE IN THE EVERGLADES
Copyright©2014
STACY HOFF
Cover Design by Leah Suttle
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
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Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-61935-562-0
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
To my husband, Eyal,
for making me happy.
To my sons, Aaron and Ryan,
for making me proud.
To my folks, Marilyn and Michael,
for making me who I am.
You will always have my love.
Acknowledgements
Adequately thanking those who have helped me is harder than writing the book itself. For once, I am at a loss for words. But I have no doubt that without the guidance, effort, and enthusiasm of the following people, this book would have never made it into your hands.
Deborah Gilbert–Founder and Senior Editor of Soul Mate Publishing–for her willingness to gamble on me.
Dan Spiegel–my brother-in-law–for developing my author’s website with the same dedication he gives his actual paying clients.
Judy Roth–my personal line editor–for magically turning “gobbledygook” into “great.”
Amina Connelly–my very own cheerleader–for reading my rough drafts dozens of times. And not visibly cringing once.
CTRWA–the Connecticut Chapter of Romance Writers of America–for teaching me everything I wish I learned in college. A more professional, supportive organization could not possibly exist.
I am grateful.
Chapter 1
“Did I hear you right?” Stephanie Lang sputtered. “You’re saying our next reality TV series is about a modern day ‘Crocodile Dundee’ guy. Only sexier.” Could her job get any more insane? Thankfully, the big fancy desk the Teleworld Broadcasting Company bestowed concealed her shaky hands and white knuckles.
Her boss nodded with enthusiasm.
She cleared her throat, enlarging the gateway for her stuck, strangled words. “I’m having a hard time believing this, Mark. You want croc guy to tackle the Everglades. Alone. For twelve days. No camping or hunting equipment allowed and only a knife to protect himself. That’s what you’re seriously proposing?”
“That’s right. Though we’ll let him use more than a knife.” Mark stopped nodding and let loose a large grin. “He can always use his bare hands.”
Stephanie wanted to use her bare hands, too. Wrapping them tightly around Mark’s neck. Was this guy kidding, or what? Stifling a sigh, she garnered her patience and tried to look at the bright side. Mark was less stuffy than the other executives, which was good. Not afraid to crack a joke. Also good. Not concerned about anybody but himself. Bad. Very bad. And he steamrolled people to get his way. Much, much worse.
She hoped he didn’t steamroll her now, because this idea was plain old crazy. Seriously whack-a-doodle. “Is this show going to be safe to shoot?” she asked tenuously. If she showed too much emotion, she would join the thousands of New Yorkers standing on the unemployment line waving pink slips. Teleworld did not welcome emotional reactions to their business directives.
“Of course it’ll be safe to shoot,” he answered breezily. “We’re not even having our crew film it. Once they set up the cameras, we’re outta there. Of course, while they’re setting them up, there will be some risk. We’ll make sure they’re protected as best as can be reasonably expected.”
Cringing, she tried to ignore the word “reasonably.” Worst. Qualifier. Ever. Before this meeting was over, her whole body would be twitching. “I meant whether this was going to be safe for the guy we’re filming. He’ll be the one left out there, unprotected.”
“Dunno. Luckily, that’s not our problem. The guy’s willing to take the gamble, so I guess it’ll be safe enough. He’d know best how to calculate his player handicap.”
“This isn’t a round of leisurely golf. I don’t want this guy to wind up handicapped at all.” Yep. Barely eight o’clock in the morning and she was right on time for her daily dose of stomach acid. A Teleworld logo mug sat brim-full next to her Blackberry, iPhone, and Mac laptop. Simultaneously all the electronics activated, almost bouncing off her desk from their collective chorus of buzzes, flashed messages, and vibrations. Ignoring them, she grabbed her coconut-crème-flavored coffee with whip. The temperature of the porcelain mug let her know her caffeinated salvation had gone cold twenty minutes ago. Auburn tendrils, escapees of her chignon, were tugged back behind her ears with ferocity.
Mark looked at her, obviously amused. “No need to tear your hair out over this, Stephanie.”
She let the long curls fall back around her shoulders and gave him a tight smile.
“It’s going to be more like Crocodile Dundee meets Survivorman,” he explained.
“Survivorman? How so?”
“Our guy will be all alone in the wilderness, just like Survivorman, only our guy has to last twelve days, not seven. And Survivorman is allowed to make do with a broken car or plane for shelter and materials. Our guy only gets a knife. The Survivorman guy set
s up the cameras himself, walking with them as he travels down his escape route. In our show, there’s no escape route. He’ll be staying in one designated spot, so we can set the cameras up for him.”
Mark’s words had a magical ability. They creased eyebrows into one big “V” shape. Hopefully his next act would be to make this topic disappear.
No such luck.
“The first way for our guy to get out,” Mark continued, “is to survive until the twelfth day, when we pick him up. The second way out is for him to shoot the flare gun we’re giving him. But if he fires it, he loses. No prize money. Nada.”
Stephanie gulped hard and squeaked out her next words, “And how is the show going to be like Crocodile Dundee?”
“Our guy will have to wrestle crocodiles, just like Dundee. But there will be quite a few differences from the eighties’ movie.” Mark made his voice low and dramatic, mimicking a television announcer. “The Everglades will be swampier and have deadly animals hiding in trees as well as on land. Will a hungry panther pounce on our hero?” He laughed, obviously appreciating his own drama.
“What a fantastic idea,” she deadpanned. “Barehanded beast battles. I hardly know what to say.” She picked up the cold coffee mug only to put it back down. The latte, like the job, had a chilling effect. “Assuming you want to go forward baking your crazy cake, I hope we have good health insurance coverage for this guy. And life insurance for his next of kin.”
Mark batted his hand in the air, physically waving away her words. “Sure, sure, insurance coverage for him if he gets eaten or something, plus a special policy for Teleworld in case his heirs sue us. Most importantly, liability waivers the guy will have to sign to prevent lawsuits from happening at all.” Mark shook his head in disgust. “Damned lawyers. They’re all shitheads.”
The moment Mark got out of her office would be a good one. She’d rummage around in her purse for Extra-Strength Excedrin. With any luck, she’d have at least one pill left. In the interim, all she could do was relax as best she could. Making a concerted effort, she forced her shoulders down from ear height.
“A million dollars if he makes it the full twelve days,” Mark added helpfully, an impish grin stretching out his tanned wrinkles. “You’re on board with this, right?”
“Well, I don’t know, Mark. Wild beasts, for God’s sakes?”
“You worry too much. Besides, we’ve already got a candidate. This guy’s real skilled at survival.”
“Not a teenaged Eagle Scout, I hope.”
“Very funny. Casting found a guy who can do it all. Military background. He was in the Marines. Special Operations, in fact. Black Belt in Karate. Even has experience with big game. His name is Colin Brandt.”
“He’s going to karate chop a panther?”
“Hopefully, he’ll avoid the panthers. Well, hopefully for him. We’re actually going to root for a panther attack. Now that’s television.” Mark sighed with satisfaction. “Like I said, don’t worry. This Colin guy can fight off a panther or two.”
“Are there really panthers in the Everglades?” she asked, voice two octaves too high.
“Yup. Not too many nowadays, but they’re there. Big, beige, bad-ass kitties.”
“I really don’t know about all this, Mark.”
“You’d better know. The board of directors already gave it the green light. In fact, one of them even named the show. They’re calling it The Evergladiator. Isn’t that great?”
Despite the tension she was under, she burst out laughing. The amount of pride Mark had for this ridiculous show was, well, ridiculous. A newborn’s father could not have Mark’s pride.
“I don’t know what’s so funny,” he said. “The Board of Directors wants this, and that’s no laughing matter. They certainly don’t take ‘no’ lightly, so I’m sure you’ll give them the ‘yes’ they want to hear.” Mark relaxed comfortably, shifting deeper into the maroon leather guest chair.
Stephanie’s hands dampened. Her rising anxiety was in stark contrast to Mark’s cool confidence. He donned the look of a boss who knew he won. But his smile had faded, replaced by a tight, flat, line.
“Listen, Stephanie, don’t take my lighthearted approach in dealing with you as some kind of weakness on my part. I enjoy working with you. But at the end of the day, we’ve both got a job to do. I’ve been ordered to get this show done. So I’m going to get it done. Along with anything else they want me to do.” Mark flexed his fingers and resumed a more pleasant countenance. “Trust me, I’m not letting my Park Avenue apartment go into foreclosure. I trust you like living with a roof over your head, too?”
She passed on verbally answering the rhetorical question, though didn’t ignore the serious implication. Note to self, pissing off my superiors is not going to help me pay rent.
Mark looked quite calm, his voice clear and even-toned as he continued, “The Board thinks this show will be a money maker, and frankly, so do I. Even the ancient Romans loved a good ‘man vs. beast’ battle. That’s how the Coliseum stayed in business. That’s how Teleworld will stay in business. That’s how you are going to stay in business.”
“I understand they want this show, and that you want me to work on it. But I still don’t understand, why me?” Throwing up her hands, she gave up trying to control the volume of her voice. “My programs showcase love, not survival skills!” Great. Shout at the boss. At this rate, the next TV show I’ll produce will be Unemployed Girls Gone Wild.
“You have experience with reality shows,” Mark said, apparently unaffected by her outburst. “The only other reality producer we have right now is Ted. Everybody else is already working on pet projects the Board wants to launch.”
She closed her eyes, imagining what those other programs could be. Maybe a documentary—Playing With Sharks While In A Small, Shallow Pool. Or maybe a character-driven drama series. Perhaps one loosely based on life at Teleworld—Management Madness. A truthful and catchy title, at least.
“Can you ask Ted to work on The Evergladiator instead? He’s not only produced several reality shows, he also worked on a survival show a few years back. I think he worked for Global Vision Network at the time.”
“You’re right, he did. But asking him won’t help. He gave his notice last Wednesday,” Mark said matter-of-factly, brushing a stray piece of lint off of his finely tailored Brooks Brothers suit.
Mark’s bony body stood merely five-foot six-inches tall. The suit’s austere, dark gray coloring helped create an imposing appearance. Given his height, he looked even more intimidating when sitting down, as he was now. Even if he stood up, however, she had the sinking feeling she wasn’t going to get far. “Oh, he quit. What a shame,” she answered with a frown. Then a thought distracted her. “Wait. Is he finally going back to London to marry Erica?”
“Yep.”
“That’s wonderful,” she gushed, her annoyance immediately dissipated by the happy news. “Erica is lovely. She’ll be perfect for him. I hope I’m invited to the wedding!”
Mark laughed. “That’s some enthusiasm there. I didn’t know you were such a fan of weddings.”
She paused a moment. Weddings were great, as long as they were someone else’s. Not so great, however, when her own. Her almost wedding. Before she got jilted. But she wasn’t going to talk about that with Mark. In fact, she tried hard everyday not to even think about what happened. Luckily, Mark didn’t seem to pick up on her silence and undoubtedly dark expression.
“Ted says he won’t miss New York, but I bet he will,” he opined, making a wide sweeping gesture at the window of their Rockefeller Center tower office, proving his point as to what Ted would be giving up. “That leaves you.” He grinned broadly.
“Forget it. Hire someone.” Her clipped tone was back, and in full force.
“I’m already working on the hiring process, Ms. De
mand-ee-Pants. But these things take time, and the execs want to get started. Now. Funny you brought up Global, because I’ve heard gossip they’ve already started work on something similar. I’m serious, Stephanie, those bastards at Global better not beat us. Or it will be both our hides. We snooze, we lose. And I never, ever, want to lose.”
“I don’t like losing, either. But the only reality program I ever did was Romance Chance.”
“I know your résumé. Look, the execs want this, and I know you can do it. Besides, I’m not getting through to you. So again, let me make myself clear. You don’t have a choice.”
Gulping, she squeaked out an “Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Excellent. We’re going to know after he meets everyone today whether we definitely want him. But all signs are looking good.”
A vision of a Magic 8 Ball toy popped into her head. Were all signs looking good, like Mark claimed? Mentally, she shook the billiard-looking black orb until she could clearly read the message displayed in the “magical” window. My reply is no. Hmmm. She conjured up another question, “Is my boss a nut job?” and gave the orb another mental shake. Without a doubt.
“I need you to persuade him to sign on,” Mark continued, smiling broadly at her. “Then you’re going to make this show a success. Do us proud.”
“Sure,” she muttered half-heartedly.
He gave her an appraising look and stern words. “Confidence is critical,” he warned. “You’ve got to really believe in the success of this project. If you don’t, the show will suck. And then we’ll all lose our jobs. I’ve looked at the advertising budget for this, and we’re going to be spending a shitload on promotion alone. With this kind of money on the line, the show can’t fail. No pressure.” He grinned, a rival to Alice’s Cheshire cat. “So do whatever it is women do to relax, will you?”
