Desert of Desire

A word about the author…

Wynter Daniels lives in Central Florida with her husband of more than twenty years and their two
college age
children. They are all the slaves of
a very demanding cat
.

After careers in marketing and the salon industry, Wynter’s wicked prose begged to be set free. She writes for several publishers including Carina Press, Ellora’s Cave, Loose Id and Red Sage. She loves to hear from readers, but only if it’s good;-)

Visit Wynter at her
website
,
blog,
Facebook
or
Twitter.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter
One

Eve Mason emerged from the subway station into the gray New York City daylight and
strode
the two blocks to the Seven Hundred Building. She took the elevator to
the fifth floor, exiting directly in front of the offices of Buzz Magazine.

“Let the stress begin.” She pulled open the glass door.

Lara
, the young receptionist reached over the front desk with several
small pink papers in her hand.
“Messages, Eve.” She pushed the papers into Eve’s hand. “And Jacoby wants to see you in his office ASAP.”

Jacoby never wanted to see her. He always seemed just as pleased as she for her to hide in her windowless cubicle all day, every day.

She
leaned into the reception desk and
gave
Lara
her sweetest smile. “I love your top
. Is that silk? Great color for you.”

Lara
popped a bubble with her gum and folded her arms across her chest. “What do you want?”

The sausage biscuit Eve had eaten on the way to the subway sat in her stomach like a five-ton weight. “Why does he want to see me? Am I in trouble? Did I spell someone’s name wrong in my column?” What had she screwed up now?

Lara
shrugged. “
He’s
pissed about something. Course, that’s his usual Monday morning mood. He knows you’re here. I buzzed him when I saw you get off the elevator.”

Eve’s smile faded.
Great.
“I’m going.” She started down the hall toward the double doors all the way at the end. They loomed ahead of her like the gates of Hell. First the rent increase notice slipped under her
apartment
door, now God knows what at the office. Blood pounded in her ears
.

Richard
Jacoby, Editor-In-Chief of the magazine, rarely demanded a face-to-face meeting with any of his staff writers. He usually sent blistering emails
or texts
to show his displeasure.

Why her? She was only the editorial assistant for the Around the Town column. Sucking in a deep breath, she knocked on his door.

“Enter,” he barked.

She fingered the gold doorknob, almost expecting it
to be hot. The door jerked open
and she stood face to barrel chest with the boss.

“What the hell took you so long? Come in, come in. Have a seat. Can I get you coffee or something?”

Can I get you something?

He’d never offered her so much as a smile. Something was definitely up. Was he planning to fire her?
Oh God. What the hell would she do without the job?

“No, th
ank you, sir.”
She sat in a plush leather chair opposite his desk.

He sank into his massive seat and
pinned her with his stare
, his bushy eyebrows slanting toward his nose.

She
cleared her throat, hoping he’d get to the point so she could
make her escape
.

He tossed a manila file folder across the desk. “
Beau
Calloway. Ever heard of him?”

Eve racked her brain. Could he be a movie star? A New York socialite? The name didn’t register. “Sorry.” She picked up the folder and opened it. A book cover lay on top. “Soul of the Garden,” read the title over a picture of lush greenery.

“Best-selling writer. Nothing I’d read, mind you. Something about making flowers grow anywhere or some crap like that.” He leaned back in his chair.

Eve moved the cover aside and scanned the bio. Author of three best-selling gardening books. She looked at Jacoby. “Is he coming to New York? You want me to cover him for the Around the Town column this month?”

He shook his head. “Normally, I’d give this assignment to Kim Baker. But as you know, she’s on maternity leave. You won’t go getting married and take off three months to spend time with a baby, will you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Fat chance.
”
The longest term relationship she’d ever had was with the spider plant her mom had given her when she’d moved into her own place
two years ago
.

“Glad to hear it.” He shifted in his seat. “This guy’s granted us an interview, which he doesn’t do often. Bit of a recluse. I want a feature story on him.”

She grima
ced. Just what she wanted to do—
write a story on some gardening guru. “So, when’s he coming to town?”

Jacoby sighed. “He’s not. Lives in Sedona, Arizona. Says he hates big cities.”

“A phone interview? How will we get photos?
Is he sending some?
”

He reached behind his desk and grabbed something from the credenza. “Here you go,” he said, setting a digital camera on the desk. “We’ll use some of the publicity shots his publisher
is sending
over and fill in with one or two of yours. It’s a beautiful place, you know. Ever been out west?”

“Only as far as Buffalo.” She swallowed hard. Was he trying to tell her she had to go to Arizona? No way. She did local stories only. “Wait a second.” She stood up, ready to tell him what for.

He held up a pudgy hand. “Siddown, Eve. I know, I know, you don’t fly. But I got nobody else. Go to your doctor and get some nice anti-anxiety pills and then put that cute behind on an airplane. It’s a great opportunity for a newbie like you. I’ll have that pimple-faced intern cover for you here.” He laced his fingers together on the desk. “Plane ticket’s in the folder. You leave Thursday morning.
Be at his house at four-thirty,
Arizona time. Take the rest of today off. Tomorrow you can start your research. Have a wonderful time. Stay the weekend.” He stared at her for a moment. “Airplanes are safer than cars, honey. Get over it.” With that, he swiveled his chair toward his computer
and started hitting keys
. “That’s all. Thank you.”

Eve grabbed the camera and left the room with the file folder clutched against her chest, her head in a daze. How could he do this to her? She ought to refuse.

Yeah, right, and lose
my job.

With a stack of credit card bills and college loans, she couldn’t afford a minute without a job. The last time she’d spent more than three hundred words on a subject was when she wrote for her college newspaper
four
years ago. And flying? After a horrendous flight five years earlier she’d promised God if he got her safely to the ground, she’d never set foot in another airplane as long as she lived. How could she break a promise to God?

* * * * *

Eve’s flight approached the runway three days later at Grand Canyon Flagstaff Airport. Her knuckles had turned white and she couldn’t feel her fingers anymore, not after clutching the armrest for three straight hours even though the
ride
had been smooth. The moment they touched down she let out the breath it felt as if she’d been holding the entire flight.