(c) 2007 Stefanie Worth
Where Souls Collide - Excerpt
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Where Souls Collide
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From Chapter One
Monday, May 9, 2006
Detroit, Michigan

Navena forced open her Jeep's rusty door and slid out. Rocky pavement sucked in her heels and poked at
her soles as she strolled past a gathering of pigeons, pecking for-what?-among cracks in the bloated tar.
Most mornings even scavenging birds ignored this once historic neighborhood, now pocked by transient
hotels and homeless men pushing carts of stolen bricks.

Empathy for the area's degeneration tangoed with a deteriorating love life she was glad to leave locked in
the gated lot each morning. Her heart belonged to each day's deadlines waiting inside the Detroit Dispatch.

With a one-handed strum on her air guitar, she silenced the last strains of Lenny Kravitz rocking on her iPod.
The screaming electric guitar matched her kickbutt mood.

Inside the weathered architectural gem revolved a world in stark contrast to the street it called home. Fresh
paint heralded the arrival of a new executive editor. Her soon-to-be-boss had also prompted repairs to
broken windows and installation of a security keyboard for entry.

Just gotta show 'em what you've got, girlfriend. Stooping to peek in the rearview mirror, Navena adjusted the
chestnut-colored head wrap constraining her matching dreadlocks. They flopped in the breeze, bouncing
against her cheeks. Brushed with bronze powder, her face and lips glistened in the reflection. We will feel as
good as we look today.

Anger flashed at the thought of being passed over for the promotion. As managing editor and
second-in-command, she deserved that job. But Cullen-an old-fashioned publisher with a mentality to
match-hired from the outside.

"You're good at doing the work," he'd said. "But I need somebody else to do the thinking."

Navena input her private code and bolted up the lobby stairs to the building's second floor. The last to arrive
in the newsroom she found, once there, a makeshift birthday banner strung across her cubicle, roses on her
desk, and a man hunched over her computer.

Must be my new boss. Everybody else knows better than to use my desk for anything.

Now the mysterious editor would finally be revealed.

Navena dropped her bag and two years of frustration beside the desk, making enough noise to be noticed.

"Do I detect the birthday girl?" The trespasser's barritone deep voice boomed beyond the cubicle.

She gasped as the generic "And you must be ..." that left her lips tumbled silently into stunned surprise.

No way.

"Maxwell McKnight." He grinned like he'd caught her pulling up her panties. "Great to finally see you again,
Navena."

Navena grabbed hold of her composure and thrust forward a handshake to her former teacher and long-ago
lover.

Maxwell was even more handsome than the first day she'd seen him fourteen years before. Jeri Curls had
given way to a clean shave. He seemed even taller than the six-foot-seven demigod she remembered-folded
into her desk the way he was-but no less impressive in a Coogi sweater and khakis than he had been in
rolled shirtsleeves and crisply starched jeans.

That unforgettable smile brought flashback recognition and stirred memories and sentiments she swore
were long resolved. Feelings of coed adoration ambushed her career woman demeanor. Lingering
resentment over the staffing imposition helped her resist the impulse to hug him.

"And what brings you to the Dispatch?" she asked with feigned nonchalance. If he's really the-

"New executive editor. Not sure why they kept it quiet, but here I am."

"I thought you were a rebel-not a writer." There was no way she could report to this man although she could
not release his hand.

"Always told you I could change," Maxwell said.

"So, since you've overtaken my space, does this mean I get your office?" Blood raced through Navena's
palm. She slipped her hand hastily from his.

"After my job already?" Maxwell asked with a smug grin.

"Should have had it to begin with," she said, feeling emboldened by their previous relationship.

Despite the cocky reply, a rising current of unrest began to boil in her belly.

He laughed. "You may be older, but you're just the way I pictured you."

"Thank you," she replied. "It's been a long time since Hillstone College. You're looking ..." Her voice trailed.
She wanted to say something silly like absolutely scrumptious, but refused. "well, You're looking well these
days, Professor," Navena finessed.

Nervous perspiration trickled down her back. This was the man, after all, she once dubbed "my only vice."
She wanted to sit, assess this coolly as serendipity, but Maxwell hadn't budged.

"Maybe we can spend some time catching up over lunch," he offered.

The ends of a salt-and-pepper mustache stroked the corners of his full mouth, the barber-groomed facial
hair contrasting his now smooth scalp. She studied his baldness for a moment.

Maxwell ran a hand across his bare head, slowly from front to back as if seeking her unspoken approval.

"Wednesday, please, if I have a choice," Navena answered. "Not to rush you, but will you need my computer
much longer? I have work to do." She felt a sudden urgency to let Maxwell know she'd come a long way from
being his starry-eyed protégée. Mentor and all, he was on her territory now.

"Of course," he said. "My computer isn't quite set, so I grabbed yours to e-mail the team about a quick
editorial meeting. Hope you don't mind."

"I do if it's this morning. We meet on Wednesdays. Everybody's on deadline today." She folded her arms.

"Gonna make me pull rank? I will." Maxwell rose and turned away. "Nine-thirty. Conference room. See you
then."

Watching him walk away, Navena realized it took him all of ten minutes to make her angry.

Swallowing a roiling mix of kismet and resentment, Navena maintained her poise and walked the other
direction toward the cell-like company lunchroom. She navigated a square metal table and four mismatched
folding chairs to slam a handful of change into the vending machine. Two strawberry Pop-Tarts and a
twelve-ounce cola dutifully plopped from the dispenser. She popped the can and took a long mind-clearing
swig. Both the burning bubbles and the caffeine were welcome.

Remember, she thought, you know how to rattle his buttons same as he knows how to push yours.

With her confidence slowly being restored, Navena took another long drink, shook off the room's unusual
draftiness, and returned to her cubicle as the in-charge managing editor staff knew her as.

Forget Maxwell. She allowed her memory a flash of his body atop hers and smiled in spite of her annoyance.
My turn to be on top.