Bombshell (Hollywood A-List #1)(10)

“I don’t see why it matters what school I see. It’s your decision.”

“You consulting or not?”

I hadn’t considered seeing him after that meeting, but he had a point. A real consult on how to manage his daughter would take more than one meeting, and the pay was excellent. But I wasn’t here for me. I was here for Blakely.

I stood up. “You break.”

He handed me a cue. “Ladies first.”

I took it and placed the cue ball in the middle of the table, about six inches from the headrail and lined with the center diamond. I had a break method shown to me by a hustler I’d dated in Paris. I always sank something in nine-ball.

I placed the cue on the rail wood and slid it back and forth, bridging high with my left hand.

“What the hell is that?” he asked.

“It’s me breaking.” I stood straight, getting the power from my hips. “Laura says you won’t meet any other nannies.”

“I don’t want any other nannies.”

I broke. Clack tic tic tic pup pup pup . . . the three threatened the side but bounced on the cushions. Nothing went in. That was a first.

“What’s the problem with them?”

“Nicole doesn’t like them, or I don’t like them.” He set up a one-three and sank it.

“Too hippy-dippy?”

“I don’t like a woman who flirts on an interview to watch my kid.” One-seven. Sunk. He was just going to run the one ball all over the table.

“I think you’re seeing things.”

He must have been. We were professionals, every one of us. Laura was damned serious about this sort of thing.

“I know women.” One-five. Sunk. He was set up for the seven, and if he played it right, the nine would be next. I should have made a better break.

“I have someone,” I said. “A friend. She’s had some bad luck, but she’s got experience and she loves kids.”

“Really.” He looked up at me from setting up his shot. “Where’s she worked before?”

I didn’t pause. Pausing was death.

“The Trudeaus.”

He missed the seven. Stood.

“I’m not looking for that kind of help.”

“It’s not what you think.” I leaned down and set up the one-nine.

“It never is. Take your shot.”

“She’s really great.” I pocketed the nine. Game over. “So is Crossroads. I’ll set up the appointment. Please don’t use the phrase ‘hippy-dippy’ in the interview. The school doesn’t need your money or the trouble.”

“Good advice.” He leaned down and retrieved the rack.

“You really should take my advice on this and just about everything.”

I smiled at him and leaned on my cue.

He popped the balls back in the nine-ball diamond. “I don’t want Josh Trudeau’s nanny. Even without the extra services. I want you.”

This is the kind of thing a single girl wanted to hear from a beautiful man. I was there as a professional. Despite that, I went a little jelly. I tightened my mouth into a line I couldn’t let him see.

“So does Nicole,” he continued, popping the balls into the shape. “She asks about the lady in the bathroom all the time.”

“That’s very nice.”

“I’m not going to pretend I know what she’s going through. I don’t know too many five-year-olds in the first place. But you do know. Or you pretend well enough. Both your parents around?”

“They live in Fiji.”

“Where the hell is Fiji?”

“Far.”

“Do you visit?”

“No.” I dropped my voice an octave. I hadn’t spoken to my parents in years, and I wasn’t in the mood to describe the slow, tidal drift that separated us. “Knowing what’s going on with Nicole is a matter of human compassion, not pretending.”

“And your friend? That human compassion too? Why are you coming around trying to place her?”

I felt trapped. Dug in deeper than I should be. I didn’t know how it happened, but I never intended to tell him Blakely’s problems. Now I felt as if I had to, or lie. I didn’t want to lie.

“She’s great. And she’s not making the same mistakes again. She was devastated.”

He lifted the rack off the diamond-shaped configuration of balls.

“Good rack,” I said.

“You break. You sink the nine before my turn, I’ll hire the two of you. You miss, you come work with Nicole for a month.”

“Win-win for you.”

“That’s the only way I play.”

I set up my shot and broke.





CHAPTER 6


CARA


The night after I beat Brad at pool, I dreamed of nine-ball. I made the shot over and over and every time it happened the same. I sunk it off the break, which wasn’t what had happened the day before. The day before I sunk a ball on the break and the nine off the four.

In the real world it didn’t matter how I won, just that I won. My dream life was more efficient. Nine off the break, and I was naked, because clothes would have gotten in the way of Brad Sinclair’s dream body curved over mine as I leaned over the table.