His Southern Sweetheart (3 page)

“No.” Stephen frowned, then shook his bald head back and forth. “I am talking about the future. Our future.”

Prior to Ken and Betty passing away, Nate had worked alongside his brothers in a lucrative real estate and contracting business based in California. They provided the perfect homes and locations for Hollywood directors to film movie scenes. When Ken met his wife and started their family, he moved to Betty's hometown in Southwood, Georgia. Nate and Stephen, wanting to be near their brother, then moved Reyes Realty and Contracting closer without actually being in Southwood. Atlanta, a rising home for television and film, was a perfect location. When Ken passed away, they realized that, in order to better care for their nieces, they had to commit to moving to Southwood.

“Whatever you're planning, stop.”

“Don't you want to be a part of the community?” asked Stephen.

“I am, more so than you.” Nate shuffled cards one good time, then stacked them in the center of the table. The back of the chair supported his weight when he leaned backward to reach in his pocket for his cell phone. Four missed texts in the last hour from three different women, one a bit antsier than the others. Brittany Foley, his after-school special. Nate grinned. The pre-K teacher had worked with Philly during the transition after Ken died. She also worked on Nate in a more intimate way. He scratched his chin and the hairs where the beard he hadn't bothered to shave away all week tickled his fingers.

Stephen sighed. “Hooking up with all the ladies in town is not considered being part of the community.”

“Whatever,” he mused. None of the women seemed to compare to Amelia. He dodged them at after-school pickup, went different directions down the aisle in the grocery store and hadn't paid attention to any of his text messages. Prior to Amelia, his messages never went unread. Now, eh. What was wrong with him?

“Speaking of your service...” Stephen cleared his throat before folding his arms across his chest. “You've been staying in all week. Something you need to tell me?”

“Like what?” Leave it to Stephen to pay attention to this part of his personal life. When they were kids, Nate had been the nosy one.

“Like something about the woman you distracted for Natalia.”

“Yeah, so much for the private conversation. You two were blasted all over the internet.” The corners of Nate's mouth turned upside down. The checkout lines were filled with photographs of Stephen and their childhood-friend-turned-reality-star. The guys knew Natalia way before she and her family became household names.

Stephen waved off the Nate's guilt. “Lexi's fine and we've never been better. I have you to thank. Natalia's looking to leave show business and we're in charge of finding a remote place for her.”

“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

G
randmamma 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.

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.