I'm so glad you enjoyed Sully & Helen's story enough to want more!
I happen to be a big fan of Sully myself, ever since he showed up in my head as one of the five Carolina Classics best friends. He was pretty quiet in the prequel novella, I'll Stand By You (which is free in ebook so if you haven't read it, I highly recommend grabbing it now), but as soon as he got his own book he quickly became my new favorite guy.
Helen's a bit pricklier, of course, but I hope you fell hard for her too, because I kinda think there's a lot of me in her! I also hope you enjoyed the peek behind the scenes in the TV and Film industry in both this book and You Get What You Give. If you do, you have my husband to thank, because he puts up with my random texts asking for words boom operators use (while he's at work trying to actually record sound on a show) or talking busy UPMs he's worked with into asking my annoying questions about their jobs, like, "Back in the late 90's, did you still fax documents?"
The scene below is short and sweet, and one that probably did happen; it just didn't fit into the book neatly. And don't worry, Helen and Sully will be back, along with the rest of the gang, in the as-yet-unnamed Carolina Classics Book #3!
Sullivan Calloway is sharper than you’d think. Probably smarter than he thinks from what I can gather. He claims he’s not booksmart, but he remembers every damn thing I say.
Which definitely could come back to bite me.
He somehow managed to get all the boxes unpacked and all the paperwork filed in just two days. That alone had me assuring him he was hired. The only thing driving me crazy, despite the fact that no matter how many times I tell myself that he needs to be off limits, I can’t seem to get the message to the parts that operate on instinct—the baser instincts, that is—is how he drives.
Which is slower than molasses, as they say here in the south.
It’s the last day of pre-production, we’re on the way to the stage for the table read, and I swear I'll get there faster if I get out and walk.
After he brings the golf cart to a complete stop and actually looks both ways before crawling through the excuse for an intersection we’ve got here on the lot, I can't take it anymore. “Maybe I should drive.”
He glances over at me, reducing our speed even further. “I thought you wanted to try and make calls or lists or whatever on the way over,”
“Seriously,” I sputter. “Could you drive any slower?”
With a butter-couldn’t-melt expression on his face, he actually does.
“I was being sarcastic, Calloway.”
He stops the cart and turns to face me. “I’d rather not have another accident, thank you.”
“This is not—”
Narrowed eyes stop my mouth. I guess I can’t blame him for being cautious. “Fine. But I’d like to get there today.”
“Don’t worry, O’Neill. “I’ll get you there.” After thoroughly checking our surroundings, he presses the gas pedal.
When we arrive on set right on time, I’m not sure which I’d like to do more: smack him, or kiss him.