Bombshell (Hollywood A-List #1)(44)

Yet, in those seconds, with his eyes on me in the darkness, I tingled everywhere my skin was covered, as if his vision burned through my clothes.

“You have the monitor,” he said, fully stepping into the house. In the new silence, his voice resonated against the sound of the crickets and the pool filter.

He stood still, bare feet spread, arms crossed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not making this easy for you.”

“It’s not your job to make it easy for me.” I shifted the little speaker from one hand to the other nervously. It hissed and crackled when it moved. “You need to start looking for new staff.”

I held the monitor out. He put his hand over it, but didn’t take it.

“Stay. You should really stay.”

“I can’t—”

I was interrupted by an ear-splitting scream from the monitor.

Nicole.

Brad spun around and bolted. I was right behind him. Out the door, running faster than the motion sensors could react, he took two long steps and vaulted over the fence. I went through the gate and skidded on the wet tiles around the pool, while Brad kept his bare feet on the grass, running across the patio, through the kitchen, past tipped bottles and a bra and a sock from somewhere. He and I ran up the stairs, down the hall, and through the white door where— Nicole. Tears streaming, curled in a ball of pink ponies and white ruffles.

Brad scooped her up, and she screamed.

“Cara! Miss Cara!” She wiggled out of his arms, and he dropped her in mine. She wrapped her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck like a hungry boa.

She smelled of soap and powder, and she fit in my arms like an egg in a carton. There was something decidedly uncomfortable about the comfort, especially with her father standing there like a right fielder in a Little League game.

He gave half a nod and turned to exit the room. This was too easy. It was too easy for him to walk away; it was too easy for me to hold Nicole in my arms while she calmed down. It was all too facile, and it was the start of a downhill slope that led to him not being the parent he needed to be.

But that was none of my business, now was it?

Many people say that children are very intuitive. Another easy assumption is that they just know things that we don’t know, and they sense what they need without ever verbalizing it. It’s all too easy . . . but then something happens and all of the assumptions seem incontrovertible.

“Daddy,” she cried, lifting her head. “Stay here please.”

I could believe he wanted two things at once. He wanted to get out of that room and let me handle it, and he wanted to stay there just as much. The conflict wasn’t in his face, because I couldn’t see his expression, it was in the resigned slouch of his shoulders and the quickness with which he turned to walk back into the room.

He laid his hand on her back, and she returned her head to my shoulder.

She yawned and pointed to the bed. “It’s time to sleep now.”

Brad and I looked at each other in the dark room. Nicole just waited. And when we did not react quickly enough, she picked her head up and pointed to the bed again and said exactly nothing.

“Say good night to Daddy,” I whispered.

“No,” she demanded. “He needs to stay. You need to stay. I had a very scary dream. I am not joking.”

I held my mouth tight so that I didn’t laugh at her fear, but she spoke like a little adult and it was so damn cute.

“It’s a twin bed, sweetheart,” Brad said.

“We can fit,” Nicole insisted. “Miss Cara is skinny. I’m skinny. Daddy, you can take up more room.” She pointed to the bed. “Go go go, Miss Cara. Just go!”

I didn’t look at Brad. I didn’t even want to know what he was thinking. I just had a job to do.

I laid Nicole on the bed and tucked her under the covers. In my peripheral vision I could see Brad standing on the other side of the bed, hands in his pockets. Still couldn’t see his expression. I guess I was okay with that. I had every intention of wiggling out of this.

I laid next to Nicole right on top of the covers.

“See?” Brad said. “There’s no room for me.”

“Miss Cara has to get under the covers.” She said it as if the space between the sheets was actually some alternate dimension where I had a third of my actual mass. “We can be like a real family.”

I glanced up at Brad, with his arms folded and half a smirk on his face. The perspective from below made him seem taller, broader, more confident and cocky than ever. Maybe it was having a woman in a bed, any bed. Or seeing that I was about to obey a five-year-old when I’d been so eager to tell him what to do.

I got under the covers.

Nicole scooted over, tucked her hands under her cheek, and said, “See, there’s plenty of room.” Her face was so close to mine it looked as if she had one big brown eye with broomstick lashes.

“I don’t—”

My protest never landed. The sheets flew up as if a monsoon hit. The bed creaked and tilted to one side as Brad wiggled himself under the covers. I shifted. Nicole shifted. We fit like tablespoons nesting in the teaspoon slot. I put my arm around the girl because it had nowhere else to go. He had to do the same and I could feel the hairs on his arm so close to mine.

I picked up my head just enough to see over Nicole. He was smiling at me. When our eyes met, he winked. I put my head down. Smug little prick. Gorgeous, charming, surprisingly authentic yet unsurprisingly smug little prick.