Bombshell (Hollywood A-List #1)(18)

“And then she . . . Grace . . . she catches him drinking from the baby’s bottle,” Brandy, a Cornell-educated nanny for the Greydons, said as she picked at a French fry. She was passing on a rumor about the famously dysfunctional Grace and Thomas Dresden. A.k.a. Gromas.

“Oh my God,” I whispered. “Does he have a breast milk fetish?”

She leaned all the way forward and the rest of us leaned in too.

“No. He’s in outpatient rehab. Alcohol.”

She paused for effect, making eye contact with each of us.

“Mayra was spiking the night bottles with Baileys. When he found out he drained them.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“What did she do? Grace?”

“Stopped breast-feeding. Obviously. And threw out the Baileys.”

We all groaned. Heidi handed me my phone, where she’d navigated to the online Baby Naming Pool for Ken Braque’s kid.

“That’s crazy,” I added. “That’s why no one decent will work there.”

The name pool was about half full. On the y-axis were name types. Boy. Girl. Androgynous. We weren’t guessing the sex of the child, but the gender of the name, since a boy could easily have a girl-sounding name and vice versa. On the x-axis: Fruit. Occupations. Nature. Vintage. Pop Culture. Places.

Pilot, Scout, Governor, Poppy, Pepper, Cayenne, Sequoia, Jupiter, Happy, Beautiful, and Vancouver had been hand-typed in. The payout on getting the name exactly right was enormous.

The Heywoods’ new nanny sat downtable, since Jedi was in Blueberry’s class. Their nanny was stocky, with a silver bun and a gruff demeanor. She had a thick accent that could have been Hungarian.

“Which box did you buy?” she asked. “I took Nature. Boy name.”

“I can’t even think of any boy names after nature. Maple? Pine?”

“These people will think of something.” She waved a meaty hand in the general direction of the adults.

“I think Nature. Girl. That’s Bluegrass, Hibiscus, Flower . . .” I claimed my box and put the phone down. “Speaking of, how are Willow and Jedi?” I asked.

“The boy is fine. Doesn’t notice anything.” She pushed away her French fries and chicken. “The girl. Always so crabby?”

“No. She’s usually pretty upbeat.”

She shrugged. “Maybe there’s a boyfriend.”

Maybe. Willow had had fleeting crushes since she was five. At twelve, it was time for one to stick.

“How is Brad Sinclair doing?” Petra asked. She was a young au pair from Madrid. “The golden boy? Has he adjusted?”

“It’s only been a little more than a week,” I replied. “His parents just left. He likes Nicole, and I have to say, she’s a great kid. And he wants to do it right. But his schedule is set a year ahead. It’s not like he’s had time to make any changes. So we’re working on it.” I shrugged. I didn’t want to give anything away, but not saying anything at all about the biggest story in town would alienate me.

“He’s so beautiful,” Petra whispered. “And single.”

“Hush!” Helen said. “We are professionals here.”

Petra and the other girls exchanged glances. I didn’t want to confirm or deny what I felt for Brad. My dreams around the pool table had gotten more vivid and arousing as the days had gone on. They were ridiculous, of course, and probably had more to do with the fact that I needed a boyfriend than anything.

“I’m going to go check on Nicole,” I said, putting my cloth napkin on my plate. “Can I take anyone’s stuff to the kitchen?”

I gathered some plates and silverware and went to the kitchen with them. Looked for Nicole at the dessert table. Not there. Went to the art table, the photo booth, the bounce house. I finally found her kneeling on the grass with Blueberry, playing with a stack of cards with illustrations of, shockingly, ponies.

Brad was by the bar, holding one of the party’s signature drinks and talking to two girls. Women. Ladies. Whatever.

I didn’t care.

He was my boss, and I didn’t know the guy.

Not really.

One of the girls was tall and had her hair swept up in a loose bun. She was fit and tall. Looked like a runner, which reminded me that I hadn’t run in too long. The other was full-figured and had curly hair. They both had the most perfect skin I’d ever seen, and were hanging on his every word.

Which was none of my business. He put his arms around them and whispered in the tall girl’s ear. She giggled and nodded, then he said something to the curly-haired one, who got mad and pushed her.

“Miss Cara!”

Nicole and Blueberry were at my feet. Nicole’s big brown eyes pleaded as she held up a pony card.

“I left Pony Pie in the van and I want to show Blue.”

I wanted to thank the little one profusely for giving me an excuse to get away from whatever her father was doing.

“You want me to go get it?”

“Yes, please!”

“Okay, you go play and I’ll check the van.” She and Blue ran back to their little grassy spot with the cards between them.

I turned and found myself face-to-face with Josh Trudeau.

He was an actor and a legit heartthrob. He never marketed himself as a good man. He always had a dark streak and the devil in his blue eyes. His mouth was made of sex. So when his affair with Blakely went public, no one was surprised, least of all his wife.