Chapter One

Joni James stared at her boss, her perfectly plucked eyebrows drawn together in a sharp V. “Excuse me? What?”

Mr. Turnbull sat down and gave a fake smile. “What part didn’t you understand?”

“Well, I actually stopped listening when I heard ‘wilderness.’”

“It’s an assignment, Joni. Like many before.” He pointed at her and waved his hand in a circle. “What? I don’t understand this look you have on your face.”

She stood up quickly, pacing. A retreat? In the woods? For a freakin’ month? Was he out of his mind?

“Look, not to be disrespectful, but…no. Absolutely not going. As you know, I was born and raised in Manhattan. I don’t do woods. I certainly don’t do wilderness. I prefer concrete under my feet.” She pointed to herself. “I know I’m gay, but I’m not that kind of gay. I wear suits, I wear makeup. I wear lipstick.” She smiled and shook her head. “I don’t do the woods,” she said again louder than before. “I’m sure you can find someone who loves the outdoors who would jump at this assignment.”

“Of course I could. It’s because you hate the woods that I want you to do it. You’re perfect for this.”

She looked past him to the view of downtown Denver. She brought her eyes higher, seeing the mountains in the distance. Mountains she had never ventured into. Mountains she had no desire to venture into. Why had she ever left Manhattan? Why had she moved out here?

Don’t you remember? Her name was Elana, and you thought you were in love. Why in the hell hadn’t she moved back east already?

She blew out her breath, then sat down again. “Okay. Explain it once more.”

“It’s a retreat for women. It’s in Tin Cup, which is south in the Gunnison National Forest.”

Forest. For god’s sake, a fucking forest. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead but said nothing.

“I would like you to write an in-depth article on the place.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why me?”

“Because you’ll hate it. And because my wife went there in September and came back a completely different person. I don’t even know her anymore.”

“Charlotte? The woman who does champagne brunch every single day went to the woods?” The woman was dripping in diamonds and furs. Why in the world would she go to a place like that?

“Yes. She used to do champagne brunch every day. She no longer drinks alcohol. She’s cut her hair short and has taken up yoga. She’s eating tofu now, if you can believe that.”

She frowned, then her eyes widened as she had a brilliant idea. “But that’s great! There you go! You already have your insight. You don’t need me. You can write the article yourself based on your wife’s experience,” she said enthusiastically.

He stared at her for a long, quiet moment before he spoke. “She’s filed for divorce.”

“What? Charlotte?” She finally understood. “Oh my god. You want me to do a hit piece. And because I don’t like the woods…”

“You’re perfect for it. Yes, a hit piece. I want to ruin this place.”

“Why do you think this place—”

“The Lyon’s Den.” He smirked. “What a silly name.”

“Right. Why do you think this place—Lyon’s Den—is the reason she wants a divorce?”

“Because it’s a man-bashing place, I’m sure. Charlotte is like a stranger now.” His eyes narrowed. “She lost nearly twenty pounds while she was there. She changed the way she dresses, the way she eats. She’s got these new friends that she met there. She donated money to the Colorado Wilderness Conservancy of all places. And she’s joined a hiking club! But she, like you, hates the woods! Or she used to. She’s been brainwashed, I’m certain of it.”

She was at a loss for words. Surely he didn’t seriously expect her to spend a month out there just to write a hit piece. She could do that from her desk in her comfortable office chair.

“You’re booked for the month of July. You might want to research it before you go. I’ll email you all the correspondence I have from them.” He tapped some papers on his desk. “I’ll forward the info they sent me, but there’s a waiver for you to sign. And from what I’ve learned, the owner doesn’t give interviews. They know you’re a journalist and know who you work for, but I don’t think they’re interested in publicity, so I don’t know how much cooperation you’ll get.”

She again rubbed her forehead. She wondered how long it would take to find a new job if she simply quit and walked out. Or she could simply refuse the assignment. Would he fire her? If so, it could be her excuse to move back east. She sighed. I wonder how much wine I have at home.