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glance to the man, who’d stood and was actually making his way from the restaurant. “He’s leaving, anyway. See?”
              Simone watched him walk away, all tall, and Holy God was he tall, sleekly muscled, dark maleness. She was aware of the eyes, both male and female, that followed him as he walked, of the supreme confidence he emitted. She watched him approach the man holding the door, and easily slip a bill into his jacket pocket. The doorman nodded and said something, and then the gorgeous man—Mr. Aeron—disappeared.
              When she returned her attention to her friend, it was to find Janet staring at her in disappointment. She didn’t have to say anything. Simone felt the same.

Chapter Two
     
    “What are you doing?”
              Simone started, clutching one hand to her chest to make sure her heart was still there, and the other to the pencil holder she’d almost knocked to the ground.  Spinning her swivel chair, she glared at Jackson Bard, her co-worker and one of her few friends at the Traveler. He was staring at her computer screen curiously. Although obviously Caucasian, with his shocking head of platinum colored hair and baby blues, Jack was one of the few minorities employed by the Traveler. He had a pair of heels taller than hers and Simone knew he could work them better than she ever could. She’d seen Jack in action on a catwalk, and had hooted and hollered along with Janet, and all the other patrons of The Whiplash.
              “Why are you researching the Monster’s Ball?” Jack asked lazily, reaching into the cubicle beside hers and pulling the chair out. It was unoccupied due to recent layoffs. He was holding a bag in his hand, which he opened and pulled out two subs. He handed her one, and Simone knew it was a chicken breast sub on wheat bread with a touch of special sauce from the deli next door. She didn’t care what the hell went into the special sauce because it was just amazing. Jack plopped into the chair and continued, “It’s not like the Traveler, or any other magazine for that matter, is ever going to get an invite. That place has got more security than Fort Knox and the White House combined. Plus, I’ve heard some horror stories about journalists and reporters going missing after they tried to sneak into that place. What? What’d I say?”
              Journalists going missing? Simone blanched. She hadn’t heard anything about that. “You’re joking right?”
              Jack reached into the bag and removed his own sub, peeling back the wrapper and taking a large, messy bite.
              “What does it matter if I’m joking or not?” he asked, chewing and lifting a brow at her. “It’s not like any of us are ever going to see one inch—wait, what’s with the look, girly? Did you get an invitation or som—?” He broke off immediately, and chewed faster, eyes widening until his lids all but disappeared, and fanning his throat as if pushing the food into his esophagus. His voice was definitely octaves higher, hitting soprano, when he screeched, “You got an invitation to the Monster’s Ball in Virginia? Like the real one? Not the fake ones in Hollywood and New York, right? Seriously?”
          That was all it took. Within seconds, her cubicle was flooded with journalists curious to know if she had or hadn’t been invited and when she finally gave her response, the noise became unbearable. So unbearable that Mr. Johnson, Editor-in-Chief and all around dick, came to see if his staff had all lost their damn senses, and when he found out, he seemed to lose his mind as well. He even asked her to call him “Egan.” So that was what the “E” stood for. And that was just the beginning. The Traveler was going to sponsor the entire thing, her plane ticket, her hotel stay, her clothing, anything that she needed for the Ball. All she had to do was get a few pictures, some recordings, write