His Southern Sweetheart

“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 mot

her, 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.

Mr. Kelly chalked up the missed opportunity for this golden moment of reality TV due to her being overworked. He told her to take this opportunity to spend quality time with her grandmother and not concern herself with work—at least not for a few weeks or until she got her grandmother situated. He meant well, but work was her life. To top things off, the landlord caught her coming down the steps and stopped her to let her know about the impending increase in rent. So in four months she needed to decide if she wanted to renew her soon-to-be expensive apartment, where she rarely spent more than four days in a row, or take part of her time off to try and find a new place to move. Right now, she had enough to do.

Apparently, her starlet, Natalia, had refused to come out of the bathroom to be filmed. This latest incident in Azúcar only validated Amelia’s standing in the company. The commercial shoot for their number one show was on hold without Amelia being there to lay down the law. Natalia had refused to be filmed and spent her days in the bathroom, where the cameramen would not follow. They’d originally come to Atlanta to shoot a commercial, and the management team for the ad agency hired to create the latest business adventure, Azúcar Perfume, was gravely behind schedule. Amelia had granted one last favor to MET by making the trip back to Atlanta to explain to her star why she wouldn’t be able to work with her for a while.

“You’re so sweet for coming to see me face-to-face.” Natalia unclipped her thumbtack-sized microphone off the collar of her yellow blouse.

Amelia’s eyes glanced toward the mini-microphone and cringed. Her life’s work had been catching every moment for reality TV. How in the hell was she going to last in Southwood for the duration of her grandmother’s rehabilitation? “Of course I came to see you face-to-face. We’re friends and I firmly believe an explanation is best that way.”

“Well, I for one I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am,” Natalia wailed as she fell against the oversize makeup chair in her Atlanta hotel suite. The stylist applying the black eyeliner messed up and left a streak of makeup along Natalia’s temple. According to William’s snide remarks, today was the first day Natalia had decided to put on makeup, thanks to the heads-up of Amelia’s arrival. Since Natalia had gone on her impromptu strike, there had been no grand openings or appearances to promote Azúcar Perfume, the latest business project for the Ruiz family, so filming was at a standstill.

Even with no formal announcement, Amelia still knew the show was about to go on. Most people, like Amelia, dressed down in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, but not Natalia. Amelia had learned early on of Natalia’s addiction to makeup and heels. She never went anywhere without having her faux lashes attached or stilettos on her stems, and she never allowed the film crew to catch her bare-faced. Natalia getting her makeup done was a good start.

“I’m sorry!” the young artist cried.

Natalia reached for a napkin from the makeup-covered vanity in front of her and shooed her away before turning her attention back to Amelia. “Don’t worry,” she said, smiling sweetly. “How about you go take a break while I talk to my friend here? You can let the cameramen know I’m almost ready.”

Amelia leaned forward, her mouth gaping in disbelief. Natalia Ruiz lived up to every stereotype of being a diva. Amelia didn’t take her crap, which probably made them such close friends, but others quaked when Natalia was upset. “What happened at your dinner to bring out this softer side in you?”

“Whatever.” Natalia rolled her eyes and waited until the doors closed, leaving them alone. “All right fine. Is your mic on?”

“No,” Amelia said with a sigh. “Have you forgotten? I’m suspended.”

“Suspended?”

“A strongly suggested vacation to take care of my grandmother, same thing.” Amelia shrugged her shoulders.

“Wait.” Natalia’s eyes widened. “For how long?”

“A month.”

Natalia’s mouth gaped open. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Amelia waved off the apology and forced a toothy smile across her face. “I get to spend some time with my grandmother.”

“When I couldn’t find you Friday morning to explain—” Natalia patted Amelia’s shoulder “—you were still upset about getting the call about your grandmother. It’s horrible. How is she now?”

With a sigh, Amelia updated Natalia with what had gone wrong. Grandmamma had fallen down the stairs of her two-story farmhouse down in Southwood. She lived so far out in the country it was a miracle someone had found her. She’d lain on the floor with a broken leg until Pastor Rivers had stopped by randomly—thank God—to check on her on Thursday evening. Amelia couldn’t imagine how painful it must’ve been for her elderly grandmother to come tumbling down the stairs. As a child, she herself had found the stairs too steep for her little legs and had loved sliding down the banister as a shortcut.