"I need you to fly to Vegas this afternoon and catch the opening of Vincent Darque's new touring magic show. Then I'll need the final review from you no later than press time tomorrow."

Ellie Waterhouse looked up from her cluttered desk to meet the eyes of her editor-in-chief. She winced at the look of pure determination written across the older woman's features.

"Lindsey, why don't you send Jon? He's really into the whole magician ... thing. I bet he'd love to go."

"That's precisely why I'm not sending him. I've heard that this show of Darque's is going to be one of the best of its kind ever performed before an audience and I want to send my most down-to-earth, jaded and cynical--that would be you--reviewer out there to see it. I want our readers to know exactly whether or not this Vincent Darque is all he's cracked up to be. If he can convince you that his illusions are real, then you'll give him a fair review. Jon would just gush praise all over him and waste our readers' time."

"You sound like you already expect me to give Darque a bad review," she said, while quickly gathering her things. Ellie knew it was hopeless to try to talk her boss out of the trip, when the woman was so clearly bound and determined that she should go.

"I don't expect anything but that you write your review fairly and with your usual panache. Whether you like this show or hate it, it's one of the biggest events this year, and our readers will listen to you before they decide to part with their money to go and see this guy. You're all that stands between our readers and what could be a big waste of their time and money. Their fate is in your hands, my dear." Lindsey wiped away an imaginary tear.

Ellie laughed. "You always get delusions of grandeur when you drink too much coffee, Lindsey. Okay, I'll go. As if I have a choice. But could you please try to keep Jon out of my office while I'm away? The last time you sent me out he came in here looking for--well, he says he was looking for some paper clips--and he left my office in such a mess it took me the better part of a week to get it back to normal."

Lindsey looked around the room, at the paper-cluttered desk, the overflowing trash can and the various books and magazines that littered the area. "Yes. I can see how that type of thing could put you off your stride," she said, her voice laden with sarcasm.

"Don't be cute, Lindsey. This is my mess. Mine. In this delicately balanced ecosystem, I know where everything is and where everything goes. But when Jon or anyone else comes in and rearranges the ecosystem, it takes a lot of hard work to get it back this way."

"Oh, how my heart bleeds for you," Lindsey quipped cheerily. "Now, here are your tickets for the flight and for the show. Your flight leaves in an hour and forty-five minutes. You'll land in Vegas around eight o'clock. The show is supposed to start at nine, but I suggest you go straight from the airport to the hotel where the show is playing because there's bound to be a line a mile long. I've booked a red-eye flight for you out of Vegas at two in the morning, which, if you sleep on the plane, should afford you just enough rest to come in promptly at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. And don't forget--I want this review on my desk before the magazine goes to press tomorrow afternoon. Got it?"

"I got it, I got it. Sheesh, you'd think I'd know the procedure after working here for four years."

"Enjoy the show."

"Wow, thanks." Sarcasm fairly oozed from her, but she hurried out the door just the same. It was nearly rush hour, and in the middle of Atlanta, Georgia, that could be an adventure all its own.