Catch My Breath. Lynn Montagano
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Catch My Breath
Lynn Montagano
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
Contents
I’m a former TV news writer who took the plunge and finally wrote a novel. I know, right? Insanity. Prior to jumping into novel writing, I spent the majority of my career working in radio and television as a promotions director, writer and associate producer. I love any job that is challenging and creative.
I grew up in a small town in Rhode Island before spreading my wings to discover this great, big world. Traveling, like writing, has become a necessary part of my life. My favorite place is and always will be London. It’s my home away from home.
For now, I’m a displaced New Englander hanging my hat in Northern California. If you can see me through the fog, wave hello.
To my family and friends, for always being my biggest supporters and loudest cheerleaders.
And to my passport (yes, my passport), for opening up the world and introducing me to my favorite place on Earth.
“Amelia Grace Meyers. Naptime is over. Let’s go. We’re getting picked up at seven for the benefit. I don’t want to be late.”
The blankets were unceremoniously ripped from my body, destroying the warm cocoon I’d wrapped around myself. I sat up with a start, blinded by the bright light spilling from the bedside lamp. Grabbing the blankets, I flopped back onto the mattress.
“You’re mean,” I whined into the pillow, trying to figure out what the hell my best friend was talking about. And more importantly, where I was. I opened a sleepy eye and saw Stephanie Tempe, all perfumed and primped, standing at the foot of the bed. Oh right. Scotland.
“What time is it?” I yawned.
“Quarter past six. Get up.”
I crawled out of bed, shooting a half-hearted glare in her direction. Why I agreed to go to this event with her tonight was beyond me. I stumbled toward the bathroom, deftly avoiding the suitcases that were scattered in a schizophrenic maze on the floor. I’d been in Glasgow for twelve hours and still hadn’t technically seen the outside of this room. Who knew jet lag could be so vicious?
Twenty minutes - and a furious effort on my part to look presentable - later, our heels clicked in unison on the marble floor in the hotel lobby.
“You totally set a new record for getting ready,” Stephanie remarked as we waited for our ride. I nodded, yawning. When the black Land Rover arrived, I curled up on the seat, watching the streets of Glasgow streak by in a blob of color.
My brain finally sprang to life as I stepped onto the sidewalk, marveling at the hectic, excited energy surrounding me. I didn’t get dazzled easily, but this was shaping up to be a fun night. The stunning Victorian building glowed under the bright lights as scores of men and women dressed in their finest suits and gowns chatted amongst themselves. I stood in place, smitten with the old world charm of the city.
I knew I was smiling a bit too much, giving away my status as a tourist, but I couldn’t help it. The way the old buildings mingled with eye-popping steel and glass structures reminded me of New York. Only this version had a Scottish accent.
Taking a few steps to my right, I nearly stumbled off the curb. I steadied myself on the backend of a gray Mercedes SUV. Wake. Up. I tried