Bombshell (Hollywood A-List #1)(22)

You zip it, lock it, put it in your pocket.

“You know what’s funny?” I said before I thought about it, “I have a staff and a house as big as a palace, but I never felt like the king of my castle. Not even with Nicole there.”

I felt like an * before I even finished the sentence. That was too much information. She was an employee. She wasn’t even supposed to be in the back of the limo with me. But I wanted her there. I wanted her to stroke Nicole’s hair when my daughter was mad at me, and I wanted to talk to her about . . .

What?

Nothing.

“You never had a proper coronation,” she said before I could finish the thought, snapping the rubber band off Nicole’s braid. “Most men get time to prepare mentally. Pregnancy or the adoption process. You were kind of thrust onto the throne.” She unraveled the braid. “And the little princess too.”

She surprised me. I thought she was going to tell me I wasn’t the king of anything. I had no business using old-fashioned terms. I was backward. Stupid. A caveman.

But she didn’t. She got what I was saying.

In an oversize white polo and beige chinos, she was the least regal person I’d ever seen, and maybe I wasn’t much of a king in sandals and shorts, but we understood the kingdom and how f*cked up it was.

I was glad I’d gotten her for a month, and I knew I was going to lean on her more than I should. And I was glad I’d gotten away from Jenn and Jennifer before I made an even bigger ass out of myself.

Nicole made me want to do better and Cara made me want to prove it.

“I’m going to the SAG thing tomorrow night. Nicole’s coming.”

Cara looked at me darkly. “Her bedtime’s eight.”

“Yeah. I know. But people want to see her, I have to go, and life goes on. I’m not like those people. I’m not my parents. I’m not those parents back there either. I’m me. This is the hand we’re dealt. We gotta play it.”

“I’ll go then. I have a dress.”





CHAPTER 16


CARA


When you see pictures of celebrities at events with their children, you can bet there’s a nanny for each kid hanging around the sidelines. We exist on the fringes, just outside the camera’s field. We wear simple black clothes, easy shoes, and a little makeup so we don’t stand out. We know where to take the kids when they act out and how to manage a room full of power hitters without being seen.

No one wanted to see us. We prove that Hollywood is full of people who aren’t magical or perfect, but human beings who need help juggling twelve-hour days and family responsibilities. I liked it on the fringes. I liked my anonymity.

Blakely didn’t have that luxury. She’d be seen and photographed. The entire episode with Josh Trudeau would be dredged up and she’d be unemployable all over again.

Blakely sprawled over my bed, swiping her iPad. I needed to tell her about the incident with Josh, but I was too nervous. I considered putting it in a note, an e-mail, anything but face-to-face.

“I’m not saying I mind getting the night off,” she said. “But this sucks.”

“Are you on Tinder again?”

“See this guy here?” She flipped the screen so I could see a guy holding his phone up to a mirror.

“I don’t understand the picture-in-the-bathroom-mirror thing. Don’t these people have friends?”

“Here’s what he wrote me. ‘Hey. You’re pretty hot. You look like that nanny that slept with Josh Trudeau. LOL.’”

“Swipe left on him. Or right. Whichever.” I pulled a simple black dress out of the closet and threw it on the bed.

“Why didn’t I know he was a player?”

“Because you didn’t know and you respected him enough to keep it a secret. So none of us warned you.”

“Wrong. Because my mother supported me by sleeping with married men so I have it in my head that it’s normal, which it’s not. Ever.” She knocked her head with her knuckle as if she could tap the right way of thinking into it.

I got my shoes out. Black. Low heel. Unobtrusive. Easy to run after a kid from the dressing rooms. It was the perfect moment to tell her, but I didn’t.

“Look.” She tapped on the screen and showed it to me again. I recognized her headshot but she looked off. “Higher cheekbones. A little pouf in the lips. Brown contacts.”

“What happened to the huge nose?”

“I found out that’s harder than making it smaller.”

I took a deep breath and spit it out.

“He made a play for me,” I said. “At the party yesterday. In the side drive. I’m sorry.”

She fell back on the mattress and covered her face with my pillow.

“I’m so ashamed.” Her voice was muffled.

“Don’t be. I get it. He’s not my thing—but I get it.”

She threw the pillow at me. I caught it.

“Stop saying that. If you forgive me, I have to forgive my mother, which I don’t.”

“Brad says Josh is hot for women who take care of kids.” I tossed the pillow on the bed. “He’s a dick. He should get that hard-on for his wife.”

Blakely shot up to a sitting position. “You told Brad?”