Bombshell (Hollywood A-List #1)(5)

“What if she is mine?”

“I light you a cigar and set you up with a staff. Because you’re not ditching her. It’s too late for that. You’re not ditching her, and you’re showing up in Thailand, on set for Bangkok Brotherhood like nothing happened.”

“How’s he gonna—”

Gene didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence before Ken interrupted.

“He has no choice. If he bails on that shoot, he’s never going to work again. And he has a kid to support now.” He turned back to me. “Private school’s no joke. You need the money. Staff up. You can’t miss a single rehearsal or you’ll be back in Arkansas. It doesn’t matter how famous you think you are. You can disappear. And if you’re not on set in Thailand on schedule, you will disappear . . . Poof.” He kissed the tips of his fingers and spread them out.

I didn’t want to disappear. Not back to Redfield. I’d worked too hard.

“I got this.”

Gene made a huffing noise that was long on disbelief and short on actual humor.

“What, *?” I asked him.

“You? Man. This is a f*cking disaster. What are you going to do with a kid? You’re not even wearing pants.”

“You,” I poked him in the chest, “need to have a little faith, my friend.”

I brushed past him to walk out, taking a swig from my beer bottle. It tasted like piss. I stepped on a pair of panties. I had no idea who they belonged to.

Shit. What the hell was I going to do? I traveled like Marco f*cking Polo and worked like a dog. I partied like it was my job because my job didn’t leave me too much time to party. And I was going to add a kid to the mix? What the f*ck was I going to do?

Gene didn’t need to have a little faith.

I did.

I was going to have to fake it until I made it. Act like I thought dads should act. Do all the things until they came naturally. I didn’t know what the things were, but it wasn’t like I was inventing anything, right?



The hot nanny in the bathroom had a gift, and I needed it.

Nicole had cried when she met my friend Mike’s kids. She cried in my mother’s lap. Sobbed when Mom bought her the sneakers with the toes that lit up whenever she walked, ran, stepped, or jumped. She even cried in her sleep.

I thought a little help was all I needed. Mike had given me the number at West Side Nannies. I held the card like a f*cking magic sword, but I left there no better off than I had arrived.

On the way out from the bathroom incident, an insane pack of paparazzi had found the back door where the limo was parked. And by insane, I mean they were more aggressive than I’d ever seen in my life. I swore their lives depended on getting a picture of Nicole. One of them held his camera in front of her and flashed it in her face. She cried. Of course she cried. I would have cried too. I grabbed for the camera and missed because my dad held me back. Good thing. I was just about ready to peel that guy’s skin off his skull.

In the back of the limo, Nicole wouldn’t look at me. Too busy crying.

The only time she’d stopped crying was for the hot nanny.

My mom sat across from Dad and me with Nicole on her lap.

“Hard to miss her with those shoes,” Dad grumbled.

“They’re fine,” I said.

“You tell her no, after what happened,” Mom huffed at Dad.

“What do they want?” Nicole asked.

“Just a picture,” Mom said, stroking her hair.

“They want a broken face,” I said.

“Hush!” Mom made her stern face.

“I’m scared,” Nicole sobbed.

I sat back in the seat and covered my face. I could smell the bathroom soap on my hands. Jesus Christ. Acting like I had this under control wasn’t working.

“We should be home.” Dad laid down the law, pointing at me with his three-fingered hand. “She needs family. Not staff.”

“We’ll do the interviews at the house from now on.” I moved my hands away. Nicole was looking at me as if trying to figure out who was in charge. Too bad I had no idea either. My act was falling apart from the inside out.

“A man needs to raise his own children,” Dad declared. “You Hollywood types delegate the important things and attend the nonsense personally. Well, it’s—”

“The circumstances, Milton.” The girl was limp in Mom’s arms, head on shoulder, watching Sunset Boulevard pass by. “They’re not normal.”

“The hell they’re not.”

“Don’t say a bad word,” Nicole said, tears slowing down to little sobs.

Dad huffed and crossed his arms.

“Is the lady coming home with us?” she asked, picking her head up as if her head was clear for the first time.

“Which lady, sweetheart?” Kid talk still felt weird in my mouth.

“The bathroom lady. With the black hair.”

What was I supposed to tell her? For the first time since she’d come home with me, she wasn’t crying. She looked hopeful, like clouds parted at the mention of the bathroom lady or something.

“Maybe.”

“Don’t say maybe. Say yes or no.”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes or no! Yes yes yes!” she shouted, and I could feel the tears coming.