His gaze zoomed in on his co-anchor. Amanda leaned against his Jeep, talking on the phone. Even in yesterday’s wrinkled clothes and tousled hair, she was absolutely stunning. He hoped she wasn’t working. She was always chasing a story.

If only she would reconsider his proposition. It was his chance to spend some time with her outside the station. He had shared his plan with Lacy, the only person besides his Aunt Bridgette who knew how he really felt about his co-anchor. Lacy thought it was a good one.

Maybe it was a bit farfetched to pose as her boyfriend for a whole weekend, but sometimes the zaniest ideas worked.

He also wanted to visit the area. Amanda didn’t know this, but he, too, had once lived in western New York, not far from her home town. It was one of two secrets he was ready to reveal to her.

It was also probably the easier of the two to confess. She didn’t realize that years ago on a snowy Christmas Eve they had met as kids—an encounter that had made quite an impact on him growing up. He wasn’t sure how to bring it up without coming out as a shady stalker.

There was also the little matter that she despised him. He didn’t know how to change that, but last night he’d had an idea. If he could convince her to take him home with her, it just might give him the opportunity to come clean—about everything. He could take her to the place they had met, and hopefully, jog her memory.

He reached the Jeep. Amanda appeared to be in an uncomfortable exchange with the person on the other end of the phone.

“Mom, I said I was sorry. No, I’m not on the road yet. That’s why I’m calling. I had a late night and a bit of a car issue this morning.”

Tate glanced over. Richie had both hands on Santa’s hips, trying to remove the statue carefully from the window. Bet he regretted not going with an inflatable one.

“I don’t think I’m going to make—Why are you screaming? Slow down. I can’t understand you. Quinn’s water broke last night, and you’re all at the hospital? Why didn’t you call me?”

He handed her a coffee cup. “Two creams and two sugars. Just like you like it.”

“Thanks,” Amanda mouthed. She opened the door and climbed in.

Tate raced over to the driver’s side. He didn’t want to miss a word of her conversation.

“Why would I be mad? Just tell me—WHAT! He’s staying with you? Is his fiancée there too? Yes, I know he’s engaged. Why are they staying with you? Seriously? That’s terrible. Well, I guess you didn’t have a choice.”

“No, I’m not upset.” She made a motion to throw her phone out the window.

Tate put his key in the ignition and played with the heat. Something was going down with her ex-boyfriend. He thought back to last night. On their ride to Lacy’s, she had cried the whole way. He had taken off his tie and wiped her tears. What creep dumps his girlfriend on Christmas Eve in front of her entire family? No wonder she was bitter. She had every right to be.

He continued to eavesdrop.

“When were you going to tell me, Mom—when I bumped into them on my way to the bathroom? Who is she, anyway?”

Oh, boy. He would need to prepare for a fresh batch of tears if she knew the fiancée.

“You know what? Don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter. What he did to me is water under the bridge. I’ve moved on.”

Tate felt her tug on his suit.

“It was going to be a surprise, but I’m bringing someone home.” She glanced over. “His name is Tate Ryan. He’s my boyfriend.”

Tate leaned back in his seat and cracked a smile. Was this really happening? The faux boyfriend train had just left the platform. Final destination, Amanda’s heart. But his first stop would be to kick Brad’s ass.

CHAPTER FOUR

Amanda drummed her fingers on her knee, waiting for Tate to return with more coffee. He had stopped for gas just over the Maryland border. They were making good time even after stopping at her condo so she could freshen up, change, and pack her bags.

She peered outside the window at the bare tree branches covered with snow. They were fortunate that the roads were clear.

What a crazy twenty-four hours. The news story she’d get over, but Brad getting married?

And now he and his fiancée were living with her parents. What the hell? According to her mother, their apartment building had caught on fire last weekend and they lost everything. Amanda knew that Quinn and Mark didn’t have the extra room in their one bedroom cottage behind her parents’ house. They were saving to build their own log cabin the spring.

She fiddled with his satellite radio, landing on a nineties station. Much better than the alternative rock music Tate had made her listen to for the last three hours. Maybe a little Britney, Christina, or the Spice Girls would cheer her up. It usually did.

It didn’t surprise her that her parents would extend the offer to stay with them to Brad. She suspected that they had long forgiven him for what he did to her. He was Quinn’s brother-in-law, after all.

Who was he marrying? Her mom had been about to tell her when she had cut her off by blurting out that she was bringing a boyfriend home.

She couldn’t believe she had done that. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but what did she really know about Tate? Could he play the part of the doting boyfriend?

It was only this past January, not even a full year ago, that he was hired to co-anchor with her. She leaned her head on the passenger side window and pressed her cheek to the cool glass, remembering the first time she met him. That bus ride seemed so long ago . . .

* * *

“I really . . . hate . . . the . . . bus . . .” Amanda mumbled and took a seat. Her Nissan’s dead battery that morning forced her to take public transportation. “I’ll never get there.” She tapped her foot impatiently, watching fellow passengers slowly board. She should e-mail her new assistant, Lacy, and let her know she would be a few minutes late for the fourth of a series of unimpressive interviews for her new co-anchor. A stranger sat down in the empty seat next to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the man buttoning up his shirt.

“Morning,” he chirped.

“Morning,” she mumbled back, looking out the window to avoid his gaze. He couldn’t seriously be getting dressed. She tapped on her phone, texting Lacy. “OMG . . . You will never believe what the man sitting next to me is doing.”

“Let me guess,” the man said. “You’re probably typing ‘WTF’ to a friend right now.”

“Assistant,” she corrected him, without looking up from her phone.

“Sir, your tie is on the floor.” An older woman sitting behind them tapped the man’s shoulder and pointed toward the ground.

“Oh, geez. Thank you, ma’am.” He picked it up and draped it around his neck. “I had to run to make the bus.” He studied Amanda. “Hey, do I know you from somewhere? You look really familiar.”

She watched him put on his tie. It matched her royal blue suit perfectly. He was attractive with short black hair, blue eyes, and wire rimmed glasses. She also had to admit the suit he was piecing together made him even cuter. “No. I don’t think so.” She added, “Well, you may recognize me from television. I anchor the local NBC news. That is, if I ever get there.” She sighed impatiently.

“Sure! That’s it. Say, you’re quite good. That piece you did earlier this week on the mayor’s inauguration was really something.”

“Thank you,” she replied. She was currently working on another story on that elected official which was far less flattering. She began scrolling through her messages in hopes of avoiding any more chitchat.

Five minutes later, the bus turned the corner onto her station’s street. “Well, this is my stop. Excuse me.” She jumped up. The stranger quickly stood and stepped backwards, allowing her to slide out. Her bag accidentally hit him. “Sorry. Nice to meet you . . . um . . .”

“Tate.”

“Tate,” she repeated. Where had she heard that name before? She didn’t know anyone with that name. “Well, have a good day.”

“Thanks. I intend to. Hey, I’ll see you on the news,” he called out as she walked down the aisle.

* * *

Amanda laughed sarcastically. That had been the morning of Tate’s interview. He had known who she was all along on that bus ride and had been playing her. Typical.

Since he’d become her co-anchor, they’d had a tolerate/hate relationship. Mostly he got on her nerves. Where she was genuinely passionate about the work she did and logged long hours, he seemed to breeze in every day—often just before they went on air—without much ambition.

Despite this, their ratings skyrocketed shortly after he started. Viewers really liked and trusted him. She tried to not let his pompous indifference get to her, but yesterday’s humiliation set her back.

The driver-side door swung open. Tate slid in. “Let’s sail, Vicki Vale.”

A blast of cold air followed him, smacking Amanda straight in the face.

She rolled her eyes at the latest of a long line of reporter nicknames he called her. She reached for the cup of coffee. “Thanks.”

“Hey, you looked deep in thought. What are you thinking?”

“I was just thinking about . . .” She glanced away. “Never mind.”

“C’mon. You can tell your boyfriend.”

“Well, if you must know, I was thinking about the first time we met.”

“First time we met?”

“You know. On the bus. Don’t you remember?”

“Oh, right. The bus.”

She studied Tate’s face. How odd. He almost looked relieved. “You were going to your interview and sat next to me and pretended you didn’t recognize me.”