Page 5 of No More Heartbreakers

Getting to my feet, I watched as the car sped away without a care.What a jerk.Who did something like that?

Did it not bother him at all that he’d nearly ended my life at four-thirty on a Friday afternoon?

I didn’t get a close look at the driver, just the back of a blond head and a license plate—a Minnesota one, of all things. Didn’t see many of those around here.

It was one of those personalized vanity plates. It read, “SPORTZ GUY.”

An athlete. Figured. Probably a former player for the University of Georgia’s football or baseball team—many of them had gone pro and could no doubt afford a flashy car like that.

Jackass.

I had half a mind to call one of my contacts in the local police department and find out who he was, report him for attempted murder—or atleastnegligent homicide of a ninety-dollar dress.

Instead, I loaded up my gear and drove back to the station. I had a deadline, and come hell, high water, or obnoxious assholery, I was going to meet it.

THREE

Perfect Candidate

Kenley jumped up from her desk when I dragged into the newsroom juggling the camera, tripod, my overstuffed purse, and my notebook and makeup bag.

She caught the bag, saving me from spilling it all over the floor.

“Bless your heart. Don’t you look a mess.” She was a city girl from Atlanta, but Kenley’s drawl rivaled that of any rural Georgian I knew.

I blew out a long breath and set down the rest of my load. “Thanks for the helpandthe lovely compliment.”

She flipped her hand, grinning. “Oh, you know what I mean. What happened to you?”

“Some jerk in a Lamborghini nearly ran me down on Cavanaugh Street. I had to jump out of the way and landed in the wet grass.Of coursehe then drove directly through a huge puddle and splashed me. Completely ruined my dress. I’d love to send him the cleaning bill, but I have no idea who he is. He didn’t even stop to see if I was okay.”

“Loser. Probably texting.” She shook her head at the sad state of my clothing. “I have an extra outfit if you want to borrow it.”

“Thanks. I don’t have time to change before the six though. I’m barely going to make my deadline as-is.”

“How’d your story go?” she asked. “Get anything reel-worthy?”

“Well, if those big market news directors are looking for an aggravated, frizzy-haired reporter dipped in all-day sweat, I’m pretty sure I nailed it.”

“Gotta love a hundred percent humidity, huh?” Kenley pulled at her curling blonde hair. “I straightened this two hours ago.”

“Oh—that reminds me—I got a weather shot for Brian. Would you pop into his office and tell him I’ll be uploading it in about five minutes? It’ll be in the system under the file name ‘Kids Swinging.’ I’ve gotta get jamming if I’m going to make air with my package. I mightjustmake it if I start editing right this second.”

“Sure. Hey, you want to hit the Rock Bottom with Mara and me later? I have somenews.” The sentence was delivered in a teasing singsong. “I’ve already told Mara, but you were out all day.”

I froze. “Oh my God—did you and Mark—”

Kenley’s squee interrupted me. “You don’t have time right now, remember? I’ll tell you later—edit fast!”

She practically skipped off toward the weather office.

I made my deadline with five minutes to spare. I was packing up my stuff to leave when Mara came by my desk and hooked an arm through mine, tugging me toward the news director’s office.

She was short like me—with our petite frames and similarly dark hair, people called us the Wonder Twins—but she was the stronger one for sure.

“Um, what are we doing?” I stumbled along with her, trying to find my footing.

“Janet’s looking at sports reels in there. We’re going to get a peek at the candidates for Mara’s New Boy Toy.”

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