Summer Beach - Jan Moran Page 0,1

adding, “This isn’t a gossip show, Babe, and I don’t think our viewers are interested in who Grady Ashworth is dating.”

“You’re missing the point,” Babe said coolly. “Lulu Godiva is a gorgeous, successful star. Lucky Grady, right?”

Frantically, Marina tried to blink away the hot, angry tears welling in her eyes. She waved the camera away, though the operator kept rolling, seemingly oblivious to her distress. Her skin felt hot and prickly, and her face was probably turning bright red. She swiveled her chair back with force to finish the news, trying to conceal a quick brush of tears, but somehow her heel snagged on a cord and jerked her from her chair. A cry escaped her lips.

“Back to you, Marina, for the rest of the morning’s news,” Babe said. “Marina?”

While Marina was gripping the desk to haul herself up, the floor director was barking orders and insults through her earpiece.

By then, Babe was smoothly taking over. “While Marina is out of commission, let’s go on to other entertainment news.”

When they cut to commercial, their boss burst out. “What just happened?” Hal demanded. “Moore, you—of all people—know better than to fall apart on the air.”

“Babe set me up,” Marina said, though she knew that was a thin excuse. “She could have come to me any time before the show with that information to prepare me.”

“You’re a pro, Moore,” Hal shot back. “Or you were. The fact is, ratings are down, and it’s time we had a fresh face.”

Marina gaped at him, slowly comprehending what he was saying. “It won’t happen again,” she said, reining in her anger. She’d always had the support of her old boss, but when the station was acquired three years ago, Hal Reilly, son of the billionaire media conglomerate owner, was brought in.

Hal was in his late twenties and dangerously hip. His father had charged him with changing the format from news to anything that drove ratings. That meant more controversy and charged opinions on the air.

Marina wasn’t comfortable with this approach—or with Hal. She’d managed to ignore his disgusting double entendre remarks and dodge his wandering hands, but she wasn’t so sure about Babe.

A knowing look passed between Hal and Babe.

With an exasperated huff, Hal slid a hand over his shaved head and removed his designer glasses. “Look, Moore, I hate to do this to you, but—”

Marina knew Hal was relishing this. She quickly cut in. “I’m giving my official notice.” Marina wasn’t going to plead for her job in front of Babe and the entire crew. “I’ll gather my belongings and leave.”

And bang, just like that, at forty-five she’d lost her job and fiancé in less than five minutes. Probably some sort of record, she thought ruefully. She’d call her agent tomorrow, but for now, all she wanted to do was sleep and forget today had ever happened.

As for Grady, maybe he’d done her a favor. She’d waited years to date until her children were older, although the first time she’d dipped her toe into that choppy sea of dating, a shark had bitten. She didn’t need a man who would choose a twenty-something pop star over her. Still, she was hurt and humiliated. Not to mention unemployed.

If only she hadn’t let Hal and Babe get to her.

Marina blew wisps of hair from her face. At least she felt a measure of relief here at the beach. Away from that hectic world. Here, she could hide out and recuperate. But only for a short while, because her children’s college tuition wasn’t cheap. Heather and Ethan were in their first year of college on the east coast. This past year, Marina had gone from having boisterous twins underfoot to sudden silence. And Grady had seized on her loneliness.

No answer. Marina turned the doorknob of her grandmother’s beach cottage. Locked.

Car lights flashed on the street. Could that be her grandmother? Or a neighbor who lived on this stretch of sand?

The car passed the cottage and turned.

Marina paced the front porch before flopping onto the swing. Despair crashed over her like a furious high tide. If Ginger were here, she’d crush her in a hug and tell her how Grady wasn’t good enough. Marina knew that now, but it didn’t lessen her pain.

Blinking back useless tears of self-pity, Marina sprang from the swing, eager to get inside. Perhaps Ginger had left a window open.

As Marina circled the house, trying every door and window, she considered her options. Brooke lived an hour south of San Diego, near the Mexican