His Southern Sweetheart

“You’re welcome, I guess.”

“Want to talk about the woman on your mind?”

“Hell no,” Nate snapped and pushed away from the table.

Stephen threw his hands in the air in surrender. “Sorry, don’t bite my head off.”

Nate waved his cell phone in the air and offered a cocky grin. “I am going to get back into the swing of things.”

“Attaboy.” Stephen began to give a slow clap. “I’m proud of you.”

Lexi bounced down the stairs. Her eyes looked between the two brothers. “Great. You agreed to do it.”

“Do what?” asked Nate. His eyes cut between his brother and Lexi.

Stephen pushed away from the wall and cleared his throat. “We hadn’t gotten around to that part yet.”

“What haven’t we gotten around to, big brother?” Nate leaned into the back of the chair, resting his long legs on the seat of the chair across from him.

Lexi stepped forward and flashed her tiara-winning smile. “We signed you up for the bachelor auction Saturday.”

Chapter 2 (#ulink_61372bb0-040b-56d9-a024-3a0a0992dcd9)

Grandmamma was ornery as ever, complaining every time the nurses brought a meal. The broken leg she’d sustained while trying to climb the stairs at her house did not improve her sour disposition. Either the food lacked seasoning or it had been cooked too long. After receiving the news of her grandmother’s fall down the steps, Amelia requested a few days off from work. Amelia had spent her first two days in Southwood at the Four Points General Hospital, listening to her complain about her leg not needing to be in traction and inquiring about the ages of the doctors coming into her hospital room. If she wasn’t at the hospital Amelia had been moving things around at Grandmamma’s home, where she’d stayed. She’d seen no need in looking up old friends: she had none. Her cousin Cay would be back from her family vacation this weekend and would be able to help with the house. Grandmamma needed to accept the fact that she was getting old and the steps were too much for her. As much as she’d dreaded being called in to the head office in Orlando, Florida, she’d almost welcomed the chance to get away from the hospital.

Seated on the black leather couch in front of the receptionist’s desk at MET Studios, Amelia crossed one leg over the other. The drive from Southwood to Orlando took four hours, but the day trip barely wrinkled her clothes. The black pencil skirt she wore today stretched against the back of her thighs as her foot began to twitch back and forth. She wore her brown hair in a French twist; she’d limited the amount of mascara she wore in case she cried today, and wore a light yellow, opal-colored blouse guaranteed to not allow her to sweat in this oppressive, never-ending, Southern summer heat. Thanks to a layer of anti-bite nail polish, she at least did not gnaw on her fingernails. Unlike the other sixteen floors below, which moved at the speed of light with reporters, producers, editing rooms, writers all trying to get their say and test kitchens, the top floor of Kelly Towers remained quiet. A light laughter filtered from the office next door to the boss. Amelia focused on the executive assistant, Rory Montgomery, who was seated at her desk and circling her index finger in the air to wind up her phone call with whomever was on the other line.

When she finished with her call, Rory opened the glass door to her own office and inclined her head for Amelia to enter.

“Jesus, Amelia, I’ve never seen you so nervous,” Rory commented.

In their ten years of knowing each other since freshman year at Florida A&M University, Rory might not have seen Amelia in too many nervous situations. As a budding young journalism major, Amelia had never found the time to think about her nerves. There’s always a first for everything. Amelia offered a half smile to the young receptionist at the desk as she passed by her circular desk and prayed her bundles of nerves weren’t so obvious.

Amelia had been on this floor when she came in for a job interview. After learning Amelia had earned her master’s in journalism from the University of Alabama, Rory had insisted on her friend applying for one of the producing jobs. Tired of being a glorified coffee girl for various production crews, Amelia took Rory up on the suggestion. Since being hired, Amelia had avoided the boss’s floor like a juvenile avoided the principal’s office. The friends never met in Rory’s office and now today they were going to have a casual meeting in here: Rory, Amelia and Christopher Kelly—the head man in charge.

“Relax.” Rory closed the door behind them and waved toward the two empty seats in front of her large black cherrywood desk. “You act like you’re about to walk the plank.”

The familiar diploma hung over the crimson wall above Rory’s computer. A black cherrywood bookshelf held several books, but Amelia mainly focused on the old photographs of Rory’s accolades from her time at MET. There was even a photograph of the two of them, arm in arm the first day of their freshman year, right next to one of the two of them at graduation. Looking at the pictures now, Amelia saw a resemblance between them. They had the same bobbed hairstyle popular at the time, and they both shared the same dark brown locks. Everyone always asked if they were related. Both women were athletically built, though neither of them played a sport, and had the same pecan skin color. Amelia liked to party, whereas Rory stayed in the dorm room to study.

“I’m not?” Amelia shook her head.

“You’re my girl.” Rory winked. “I’m not going to let you get thrown under the bus.” Because of her genuineness, professionalism and commonsensical approach to work, Rory enjoyed her—technically, their—boss’s trust and wielded a certain influence over him.

“William’s already called?” Amelia asked. Of course the mobile showrunner ratted her out in order to kiss up to MET execs.

“He called the minute he left your hotel room.” Rory rolled her eyes with disdain for William. “I warned Christopher about leaving his phone on at night.”

“Oh?” Amelia’s brows rose and a side grin began to form. “William didn’t interrupt anything between you two, did he?”

“Don’t start.” Rory laughed. “We are strictly platonic.”

As a person who observed people for a living, Amelia had picked up on some of the kind things Christopher Kelly did for Rory, but she decided to keep her thoughts to herself. She’d never heard of many bosses who randomly surprised their assistants with their favorite flowers or took them to family retreats. Of the few boyfriends Amelia had had in life, she’d only met the parents of one of them once and that wasn’t by choice—they’d lived across the street from her family for a while.

“Okay.” Amelia decided to drop it. Thinking of Rory’s perfect life only shined a light on Amelia’s glaringly imperfect one.

“Care to tell me who the guy was?” Rory asked.

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”

Rory peered around Amelia’s frame. “I don’t see one, so dish.”

“His name is Nate.” Amelia relaxed in her seat, spreading her fingers around the cushion of the blush chair.

“Okay,” Rory said slowly. “Nate what? And what does he do?”

“Reyes.” Amelia rolled her R the way he did.

A squeal escaped Rory’s mouth. “You naughty girl!”

“Whatever. I was due a night.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more.” Rory nodded. “He must have been something special, huh?”

For some reason Amelia didn’t want to reveal too much, not even to her margarita gal pal. “I don’t know, and I’m not even sure if I am going to ever see him again. I got the call about my grandmamma and pretty much hightailed it out of the room.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie.”

Amelia shrugged her shoulders. “It is what it is, and I am not cut out for relationships.”

“Because you love your job so much?”

A coy smile spread across Amelia’s face; she resisted emitting a maniacal laugh accompanied with a sinister rubbing of hands together. “I was going to say because I get to manipulate people’s lives, but let’s go with your answer.”

A cool breeze touched the back of Amelia’s neck and the sound of the phones ringing amplified behind her. The door opened and before she had the chance to turn around, Christopher Kelly stood beside her, hand stretched out. Amelia rose, not sure if she needed to curtsy or bow. The Kelly family was famous around the state. Cal Kelly, Christopher’s father, was an unchallenged state senator. His brother Mason was climbing the political ladder; another brother, Drew, was a doctor in the military and a hero for saving lives, and then there was Jared, the playboy war vet who worked for the DEA. Christopher’s mother, Maggie Kelly, was the only daughter of a pioneering movie producer who’d made the multicultural films Hollywood wouldn’t. Amelia had always admired Maggie Kelly for taking over her father’s business and building it into a multimillion-dollar corporation. To say Amelia was starstruck was an understatement.

“Mr. Kelly,” Amelia said as she decided to stand, misjudged his tall height and ended up hitting him in the lower abdomen with the top of her head as she stood up. “I’m so sorry,” she squealed with a flinch. Tears of embarrassment threatened to test her waterproof mascara.

“Amelia.” Rory sighed. “Relax. Chris, you remember meeting Amelia Marlow. Amelia, this is obviously Christopher Kelly.”

“Yes, I recall our interview,” Christopher said with a charming smile. He kept one hand in the left pocket of his light gray slacks while he shook her hand with the right. A crisp white Oxford was unbuttoned at this throat. “You’re one of our promising producers.”

“Thank you for noticing. And I’ve admired all of your work, too.”

“Well, let’s save some of that admiration until after this meeting.”

* * *

After her visit with her boss, Amelia went back to her studio apartment to pack a few things. Who ever heard of mandatory sick leave? Instead of being suspended, the boss strongly insisted Amelia take the time off to care for her grandmother in Southwood, away from Orlando and the studio. In a way, she should have been relieved for not having a suspension on her spotless work record.