From award-winning author and two-time GOLDEN HEART® finalist Amy Patrick comes a New Adult contemporary series about twenty-somethings entering the world of TV broadcasting, where what happens behind the scenes is the real news.22-year-old Heidi Haynes is almost one year into her “real life”. She has her first reporting job, her first apartment, and a comfortable relationship with her college sweetheart. But for some reason she’s not as eager to talk about walking down the aisle as he is.
Heidi secretly longs for big cities, big-market breaking news, and real independence from her way-too-close-by helicopter parents. Problem is, the last time she left the security of home for new places and new people, things didn’t go so well. Disastrously, in fact, and she came running back to a local college and a “safe” boyfriend.
Aric Serrano is definitely not safe.
He’s six-feet-four-inches of missing-Hemsworth-brother-hotness and plans to stay in small-market-Southern-Hell just long enough to grab a cup of coffee and put together a kick-ass “escape tape”. He’ll serve his one-year contract, then he’s taking off for a higher rung on the TV sports ladder—alone—the way he likes it. Then he meets his new co-anchor.
Heidi would be so much more comfortable if she could simply ignore Aric. He’s just her type—the type she’s so careful to avoid these days. But that becomes impossible when she’s forced to work closely with him on the weekend newscast. Now the attraction between them is growing even faster than the ratings, and what happens behind the scenes is the real news.
The baby reached out for the stick mic, grabbing a handful of the foam windscreen covering it. Her mom scolded her and tried to pry her tiny hand away. “No, no, Cassie.”
“It’s okay. She can’t hurt it,” Aric reassured. He cupped the baby’s downy head, his large hand covering the entire back of her skull. As he cooed in her face, the baby gazed at him as if he was all that existed in the world. “May I please have this back, Cassie? Can I? Are you going to let me have my microphone back?”
She released her grip and gave him a wide gummy grin dotted with two tiny front teeth.
“Oh, thank you.” Aric stroked her plump cheek.
Oh my God. I’m envious of a baby. I shook my head to clear it. I really needed to get a hold of myself. Especially now that I knew Aric was involved with someone long-distance and he believed I was in a committed relationship. I had to work on my just-friends attitude and banish the improper thoughts that insisted on popping up every few minutes when I was with him.
We finished the interview, Aric thanked the family, and then we talked to a few students on camera, getting some good usable sound bites and some that would never make air. One group of frat guys we met had clearly started the party early. They were loud and happy and flirted with me outrageously.
“You’re beautiful,” slurred a lanky guy with a mop of platinum hair and a maroon blazer. He looked like a freshman and teetered over me like a skinny tree that might go down with the next strong breeze.
“She is, isn’t she?” Aric said in a clipped, impatient way. “Okay guys, just a couple of questions—”
Another one of them, a stocky guy in a wrinkled button-down and crooked tie, ignored Aric completely and pushed things a step further. His whiskey-soaked breath surrounded me as he crowded my personal space. “You’re way cuter than you are on TV. They should make the news desk see-through. You have great legs.”
The guy lurched back from me as Aric stepped in and gave him the buddy-slap on the shoulder, employing more force than seemed necessary. “Okay, friend. Time to move along. This one’s spoken for.”
Aric’s voice sounded even deeper than usual. Though he’d obviously been referring to Hale, the protectiveness of his tone struck a shameful chord of pleasure in my midsection. I hadn’t actually been afraid—we were in a crowd of people in broad daylight—but there’s something almost magnetic about a guy whose instinct is to stand up for you.
In his state of drunken invincibility, the stocky kid bowed up, frowning in offense. Then he apparently realized how far up he had to crane his neck to see Aric’s intimidating expression. He shrank away and joined his friends stumbling into the stadium.
We picked up our gear and headed for the sidelines, flashing our media passes at the security guard on the way in.
“Thanks,” I said quietly.
Aric cut a glance in my direction and grinned. “Anytime. Reporter, photographer, bodyguard. Whatever you need.”
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