LITMIR.BIZ

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said.

      Johnny, as it turned out, was allergic to strawberries. His last name was Schofield—of the Mendocino Scho-fields. He traveled a lot, taking care of various “family interests.” He loved long walks on the beach and quiet nights at home and he was an accomplished horseman.

      He had moss-green eyes and dark gold hair that Zoe loved to run her fingers through. He was tender and loving, a good listener. He truly was the perfect man.

      Well, except for the fact that he didn’t exist.

      Wednesday afternoon, as they were going over Dax’s travel checklist for the last time, Zoe caught him yet again looking at her legs. She went right on with her rundown of his itinerary. There was no law that said he couldn’t look.

      She felt much more relaxed around him now. More confident in her ability to resist his considerable charm and powerful sex appeal. Johnny, as it turned out, had been just what she needed to help her keep her priorities in order.

      Her big fake engagement diamond glittered at her, reminding her that she knew what she wanted and she would not be distracted from what mattered in her life. She smiled a soft, contented smile. She was keeping this job and she was going to be the best editorial assistant there was. Eventually, she might move on to become an editor in her own right.

      Or, if Dax was willing to pay her enough to continue as his assistant, she would consider a new title of Executive Secretary to the Editor-in-Chief. And the fat paycheck that went with it.

      She was going to go far at Great Escapes. But all in good time.

      Thursday, with Dax on his way to Australia, she dug into the slush pile. She wanted to get caught up on the unagented submissions, get them logged and categorized by the time he returned.

      She liked reading slush. She found she could pick out the stories with potential. Those she flagged so Dax would be sure to give them a more careful look.

      Reading slush also helped her to get ideas of her own. It inspired her to think in terms of what kinds of stories and features she might contribute to Great Escapes. It never hurt to plan ahead, to start preparing for the day when coming up with a story might become part of her job.

      Sunday, the Fourth of July, she went out to the ranch again. She got there at eleven in the morning and stayed for the fireworks after dark. She had a great time, enjoyed the meal and the family conversation, and didn’t once want to burst into tears because of some thoughtless remark her dad had made.

      Monday at noon, she slipped off the fake diamond she’d put on that morning and met her sister Abilene for lunch at the Riverwalk. They split a turkey and mozzarella panini and Zoe talked about how much she loved her new job, while Abilene tried hard to stay upbeat.

      Back in January, Abilene had won an important fellowship to co-design a children’s center in collaboration with a certain world-famous architect. Now, months later, the project was on hold for some reason that was unclear to Abilene.

      At least she’d managed to get some temporary work, thanks to Javier Cabrera. Javier owned Cabrera Construction and had been kind enough to take Abilene under his wing, hiring her to do some drafting for him and also to help him out at the construction sites of a couple of houses he was building.

      Javier’s relationship to the Bravo family was complicated, to say the least. But Abilene didn’t seem to care about the family issues. She really liked Javier and appreciated that he’d put her on his payroll until the fellowship came through.

      “If it ever does,” Abilene said with a heavy sigh. “By now, I’m beginning to wonder. And I am beyond frustrated with the whole situation.”

      They agreed it was pretty ironic, actually. Always in the past, Abilene was the one who knew what she wanted from life and stayed happy and focused, working toward her goals. Now, Zoe was the one doing work that she loved. And Abilene was feeling powerless, trying to decide what she ought to do now: start looking for fulltime work. Or keep waiting in hopes that the fellowship would finally come through.

      Dax returned Thursday morning. He called Zoe in first thing and they had a two-hour huddle, catching up, organizing priorities for the next couple of days.

      When she stood to return to her desk, he said, “It’s good to be back, Zoe. I missed you. Lulu doesn’t read my mind anywhere near as well as you do.”

      It was a huge compliment. She clutched her laptop to her chest and tried not to look as dewy-eyed and thrilled as she felt. “Good. It was always my plan to become indispensable.”

      “And I’m beginning to believe your plan is working.” They shared a long look—too long. He blinked first. “So, how’s it going with Johnny?”

      She almost asked, Who? But by some minor miracle, she caught herself in time. “He’s … wonderful. In, uh, New York for a couple days. Left this morning, as a matter of fact. Some Wall Street deal, I think.”

      “Ah.”

      They looked at each other some more.

      Get a grip, Zoe. Get it firm and get it now. “Well, okay, then. I’ll just … go on back to my desk.”

      He nodded and reached for the phone. Twenty minutes later, he was on his way to a meeting. And another after that. The meetings went on until two.

      At two-thirty, he went to work finishing the Spotlight on the Australian trip, locking himself in his office, only accepting calls if something absolutely couldn’t wait. He stayed until after seven, and she stayed, too, just in case he might need anything while he pushed through to his deadline.

      When he left, he asked her to look over what he’d written, just for grammar and punctuation. She said she would be happy to and tried not to let him see how ridiculously pleased and honored she felt.

      She took the piece home with her and read it eagerly over take-out pot stickers and fried rice, red pencil within reach. It was really good. But then, his Spotlights always were. He had a master’s in Journalism from Yale. More than that, though, he was a fine writer. He wrote with authority, but in an easy conversational style. He made you feel like you were there, with him, no matter how distant or exotic the locale.

      In the morning, she emailed him back the manuscript. As she was leaving him after the usual huddle, she told him the Aussie holiday Spotlight was excellent.

      He arched a brow. “No changes?”

      She gave him a slow smile. They both knew the question was a test. He hadn’t asked her to do an edit. “Three or four typos. I corrected them.”

      “Good. Thank you.”

      “Anytime.”

      “Do you realize that it’s been over two weeks since you started and we’ve yet to get to that review?”

      She shrugged. “It’s been a busy time.”

      He agreed. “It’s always busy around here.”

      She suggested, “Maybe … next week?”

      “How about right now?”

      Her stomach lurched, which was absurd. He was happy with her work. He’d made that abundantly clear. She had nothing to worry about.

      “All right.” She settled back down into the club chair. Her palms were actually sweating. She had to resist the need to rub them on her skirt. What was her problem? They both knew he was going to offer her a permanent job.

      Didn’t they?

      He said, dark eyes knowing, “Zoe, are you nervous?”

      She considered lying. She’d made up a fiancé, for heaven’s sake. To lie about being anxious should be nothing next to that. But then, in the end, she told the truth. “Yeah.” She let out a careful breath. “Whew. It’s crazy, because I know I’m doing a terrific job for you. But I am nervous.”

      “Why?” He was looking at her so steadily.

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