Bombshell (Hollywood A-List #1)(33)

I couldn’t be angry. Not outwardly. I couldn’t blame her or demand more than she could give.

“When are you going to tell Paula?” I asked.

“When I’m sure. Who even knows what she’ll do.”

“I don’t trust her.”

“If she calls Nicole a bombshell one more time, I’m going to break her face.”

“Blakely, now . . .” I cautioned her but kind of agreed.

“In a nice way.”

“Miss Cara! Miss Blakely! Watch!”

Nicole was perched on the side of the pool. She bent her knees and dove in hands first. I clapped loudly for her.

That little girl made it all worthwhile. I didn’t know if I could leave her. Not if Blakely was going. And I didn’t know if I could stay.





CHAPTER 25


CARA


We pulled up Brad’s private street in the hills. The cars blocking the way irritated me more than they should have, and the music coming from the back may have seemed louder and more abrasive than it would have if Blakely hadn’t just told me she was leaving.

“Paula said party,” I said. “But this is nuts.”

“It’s nothing. Come on. You’ve seen this before.”

I had. A million times. What surprised me was my own disappointment. I’d thought, based on small gestures and efforts, that he was trying. Obviously, I was wrong.

A security guy approached my open window.

“Can I see your ID?” he asked. I was ready to be annoyed, and his demand just did it.

“How do you work for Brad Sinclair and not know who we are?”

Blakely leaned over me. “Ignore her. Here’s my license. And this is Nicole Sinclair in the back.” She turned to the backseat. “Say ‘hi,’ Nicole.”

Nicole held up Pony Pie and waved her. “Hi!”

A Maserati pulled up close behind me, but the guard wasn’t moving. He looked at Blakely’s license, then her. He flipped through his clipboard while she tried to hold back a smirk.

“Hang on.” He went to the booth.

“It’s the hair,” she said.

“Maybe you don’t need plastic surgery.”

“Or it’ll just make it so much easier.”

The security guard checked Nicole against a photo on a different clipboard, then me and Blakely before he let us in.

Deep breath.

I breathed deeply getting out of the car, getting my bag out, locking the door. It wasn’t helping. I didn’t know why I was so wound up.

“I’ll take Nicole in,” Blakely said, hoisting the girl’s swimming bag. “Then I have an audition. I’m staying out tonight.”

“All right. I’ll meet you.”

I went in the side entrance, all pretense of calm shattered completely by the sound of grunting behind the hedge separating the parking spaces from the service entrance.

“Bitch! Let go!”

I ran around the hedge.

Two people. One female in a silver matte skirt and burgundy hair. One male in skinny jeans and tight white T-shirt. Both involved in an epic battle to the death.

The woman, who I realized was a young girl as I ran down the service drive, had the guy’s hair in a death grip. She growled as if the only part of her brain that was functioning was way in the back of her head, where the lizards lived.

I got between them. She let go, but only after twisting her body around so hard he landed against the wall. He had four long scratches on his cheek.

“She’s f*cking crazy!” he shouted.

I turned to the girl.

“Willow?”

She was underage. I knew that for a fact. Not to mention out of breath. Red-faced. Lipstick-smeared.

“Miss Cara?”

“Button your shirt.”

I spun on the guy. He pulled a clump of bloody hair out of his scalp.

“There is no way you mistook this person for eighteen.”

“I mistook her for female. Fuck. Look what she did!”

I took out my phone. “You’re right. We’ll let the cops sort it out.”

He ran like his ass was on fire. When I turned back, Willow had buttoned her shirt. I took her chin in my hand.

“Look at me.” She did, and through tears I saw bowling-ball pupils. “What did you take?”

“Just a little ex?”

“The fact that you think you can tell the difference between a little and a lot speaks volumes.” I let her chin go.

“Don’t tell Daddy,” she sobbed.

“It’s five o’clock. Who’s supposed to be watching you?”

“I’m in middle school. I don’t need anyone watching me.”

I’d spent most of my career watching much smaller children, but I knew all about teen faux-logic.

“I can’t even begin to answer that. Come with me.”

“I don’t have to.”

She was making a last-ditch effort to maintain her autonomy and stay out of trouble. Fortunately for her I wasn’t impressed with how she handled either. I picked up the silver clutch that had fallen against the wall. Opened it. Checked for the phone and snapped it closed. No self-respecting LA teen was going anywhere without their phone.

“Willow,” I said. “You’re a smart and funny girl with a bright future. That guy needs to be in jail. He was in the wrong. But this is a grown-up party, and you don’t belong here.”