1
Bellamy Blake was going to die. Of course, this was inevitable, but of all the ways she’d thought she might cash in her chips, boredom had never topped the list.
And yet, here she was. Reading another contract, certain she’d expire any minute now.
Sighing, she scrolled through the pages absently, rolling her eyes at the legalese. Hell, it could be Portuguese as far as she was concerned. Being a real estate analyst for the second largest bank in Philadelphia had sounded so much better when she’d started, fresh out of graduate school. After three years, an endless supply of brain-numbing contracts, and a boss who made Attila the Hun look like a lap dog, the whole thing had lost most of its luster.
Bellamy sank back in her sleek leather desk chair and stared at her computer screen, trying to ignore the headache forming behind her eyes. Still, this contract wasn’t going to negotiate itself. It was time to buck up and take one for Team Paycheck, headache be damned.
Bellamy had no sooner waded to her knees in fine print when the phone on her desk rang. She was so grateful for the distraction that she didn’t even check the caller ID before she scooped the phone to her ear. Maybe it would be a cheesy office supply salesman with a well-rehearsed spiel on the virtues of buying toner cartridges in bulk. That would be good for at least twenty minutes of distraction.
This had to be an all-time low.
“Bellamy Blake,” she murmured, pushing her blond curls over her shoulder to tuck the phone to her ear.
“I cannot believe you didn’t tell us you’re moving to San Diego, you hideous bitch!”
Bellamy sat back, unfazed at her best friend Holly’s theatrics, and grinned. This was even better than the toner guy. “Slow down there, Encyclopedia Dramatica. What are you talking about?” she laughed. “And by the way, ‘hello’ is usually customary for the whole phone-greeting thing. Just so you know.”
“Screw hello! You’re moving? If you told Jenna and the two of you kept it from me because you knew I’d freak out, I’m murdering you both!” Holly wailed. Man, her flair for the old melodrama was a ten out of ten today.
“Are you out of your mind? I just re-upped the lease on my condo. Why would I…oh! Hold on, my cell phone is ringing.” Bellamy paused to dig through her purse. “You know how my boss is. If I let her go to voicemail even once, she’ll light that thing up like Times Square on New Year’s Eve until I answer.”
“Boss, schmoss. For once, the Wicked Witch can wait!”
The caller ID made Bellamy sag with relief. “Oh, it’s Jenna. Hang on.” She slid her cell phone under her other ear and tipped her head toward it.
“Hey, Jenna, let me call you back. I’ve got Holly on the other line, and she’s ranting about—”
“California? God, Bells. Did Derek propose or something to convince you to go? Why didn’t you say anything?”
Jeez. Did anyone stick with a good old fashioned “hello” anymore? And what was with the idea of her moving across the country?
“Okay, have you and Holly been drinking those five-dollar happy hour margaritas again? I’m not moving to California, and I’m definitely not getting married. What the hell is going on?” If her friends wanted to pull one over on her in the practical joke department, they needed to work on their skills.
“Wait, what? You’re getting married now, too?” Holly’s screech from the forgotten office phone at Bellamy’s shoulder rivaled that of a tornado warning going full bore.
She fumbled as she scooped the receiver back to her ear. “No! Jesus, Holly. I just said I’m not getting married!”
“I’m Jenna, not Holly,” her other best friend replied from the cell phone, and Bellamy released a heavy sigh.
“Holly’s on my office phone, and I’ve got one of you on each ear, even though you’re both insane. Look, if this is some kind of sick prank that you guys are planning to throw on YouTube to try and get a million views, so help me…”
“Bellamy, are you watching Derek’s newscast?”
Whoa. What was with Jenna’s talking-down-a-suicide-jumper voice? She only reserved that for Holly when she was going full-tilt, so something must really be up. Bellamy paused.
“Just because he’s my boyfriend doesn’t mean I watch all of his newscasts, Jenna. I’m at work, and my boss just dropped a contract the size of Rhode Island on my desk.” Bellamy’s stomach shifted uncomfortably. “Why?”
“Oh my freaking God. You don’t know,” Holly breathed.
Bellamy pressed her office phone to her ear, feeling like a human ping pong ball. “Don’t know what, Holly? Come on, you guys. Seriously. What’s going on?”
“Derek’s moving to San Diego,” they replied, in stereo.
A laugh barged past Bellamy’s lips. “I think he’d have told me if he was moving all the way across the country.”
Unease chased the words, hitting her with a twinge of doubt. Fine, things hadn’t exactly been great between her and Derek lately. They’d both been working a lot, and if she were being brutally honest, she couldn’t remember the last time they’d had sex, let alone good sex. But still. It wasn’t as if San Diego was a hop, skip, and jump from his upscale Philadelphia brownstone. For God’s sake, it was on another coast.
“Uh, sweetie, maybe you should call him,” Holly offered.
This time, Bellamy’s laugh came out more like a nervous croak. “First of all, that’s going to be kind of hard seeing as how both of my phones are tied up at the moment. Secondly, he’s clearly on the air right now, saying something that’s making the two of you lose your marbles.” Cradling the receiver to her ear with one shoulder, she ran a hand over the tightness suddenly growing there. Derek could be a little…well, self-absorbed, but even he would never move away without saying something to her.
“Google him, or grab the live stream from the station’s website or something,” Holly tried again. “Because I’m telling you, I’m not making this up.”
Bellamy’s heart skipped in her chest, and not in the good way. “You want me to Google my own boyfriend to prove that he’s not moving to California?”
“Yes,” Holly said at the same time Jenna yelled, “No! Bellamy, don’t—”
Too late.
Bellamy’s heart did the pitter-patter-holy-shit in her chest as her eyes focused on Channel Eight’s home page. The headline Anchorman Derek Patterson Bids Philadelphia A Fond Farewell was splashed over a handsome headshot that was all too familiar.
Her boyfriend was moving to California, and—while he’d managed to tell the entire metropolitan area—he hadn’t told her a damned thing.
There weren’t a whole lot of places Shane Griffin would rather be than up to his elbows in an engine block. He swiped a flannel-clad forearm past his eyes in an effort to relocate the swath of black hair that had fallen into them.
No luck. He needed a haircut like nobody’s business.
The side door to the garage swung open, bringing with it a nasty wind and a soft, steady footfall that Shane could recognize from a coma. He straightened up from the frame of the 1969 Mustang Mach 1 in front of him, wincing.