Bombshell (Hollywood A-List #1)(59)

Her excitement was palpable.

“Erin,” I said. “You forgot to introduce yourself to Cara.”

I stepped to the side.

“Of course,” Erin practically exclaimed with delight. Fake. What was with the fake today? “I’m Erin.”

Cara shook her hand, and we all got into the golf cart. Nicole was as excited as a puppy on a new hambone. Hopping on my lap, then Cara’s, then insisting on sitting between us, then at the edge where she could see.

Cara wasn’t looking at me. She was sweet as sugar to my daughter, which is what mattered . . . but to me? Snow queen.

“Did I do something wrong?” I asked Cara.

“You don’t introduce the nanny.”

“Before that.”

“Hey Nicole!” she said, “Do you see the castle? It’s that way!”

Nicole squealed and climbed over me to get to the side of the cart where the white castle poked over the tree line.

“Careful,” Steve or John or whatever said.

I held her in the seat and leaned in to Cara so only she could hear.

“The next time I ask you something and you use my daughter to change the subject, I’m going to kiss you, and I don’t care who sees it.”

Her head snapped around. Eyes sharp. Mouth tight. She was mad. I liked it, in a way. Fire was better than ice by a lot.

“You better not let your daughter see again.”

“Why’s that?”

“What happens when I’m gone?”

“When you’re what?”

“I mean it.”

Gone?

Did she mean dead?

You’re thick as grits that set too long, Bradley Sinclair.

Gone meant gone. Out of our lives personally and professionally. I’d always figured she’d find a reason to stick around. I thought the whole “I don’t like working for celebrity families” thing was a front. But no.

She wasn’t lying. She meant it, and she was getting real about it.

I was going to get real about it too. I was going to admit to myself what I always knew.

She wasn’t going anywhere. Personally or professionally.

One adjustment. It wasn’t going to be easy. She wasn’t going to stay just because I was doing whatever I did. I was going to have to work for it.

“I mean it,” she repeated, then whispered, “keep your lips to yourself.”

That made me want to kiss her more. Not because she was telling me not to, but because she was so whipped up. I could have stood on my head and spit nickels, and she wouldn’t have budged.

No. She would have budged if I kissed her hard enough and long enough. Those tight little lips would have softened right up. No nickel-spitting required.

And working for it turned me right the f*ck on.

I leaned closer.

“Don’t you worry. There’s not going to be any kissing today. Even if you beg me.”

Nicole squealed and the cart came to an abrupt halt right in front of the pristine white castle. The cart wasn’t the only thing that came to an abrupt halt. A family of four with a stroller and a little boy in a yellow T-shirt stopped dead when they saw me. I smiled at them. I expected a little holdup, but the security guards got in front of me.

Cara picked up Nicole and started for the castle. She knew where the VIP entrance was, because that sweet bottom knew exactly how to cut the line with the row of security guys behind.

She looked back at me, half a smile. A four-ton bag of shit and nerves lifted off me.

Just that. A smile to let me know she wasn’t so mad anymore. She was trouble. Bad trouble. And somewhere in my guts I’d decided that she wasn’t leaving when she said she was. She was leaving when I said she was.

I was going to have an easier time standing on my head and spitting nickels than letting her go.





CHAPTER 43


CARA


I’d spent a few weeks with Kevan Delight’s kids, including a VIP, drive-the-cart-around trip to Disney. I had no idea how it was done any other way. I’d gone to Euro Disney once with my third-grade class, but barely remembered anything besides the lines and a really good hot dog.

Nicole was beside herself. She wanted to do everything at once. Haunted Mountain, the baby roller coaster, the games, the candy apples, the go-karts. And Brad was game. He went on every ride with her. Whatever junk she ate, he ate and they discussed the relative merits of kettlecorn to its buttered cousin with utter seriousness.

Security kept a nice zone around them. Brad ignored them and focused on his daughter. This was going to become her normal. A buffer zone from the public and a free pass from inconvenience.

I tried to keep a step or two away. It wasn’t my day. I was just there to help, but Nicole kept pulling me close and checking to make sure I was within arm’s reach.

I always thought of her first, but her father made it hard to keep a professional distance. If he wasn’t talking to me, asking a question, or inviting me to join the Great Popcorn Flavor Debate, he was eating me alive with his eyes. He was totally inappropriate. He was exactly the dad all the nannies talked about over coffee. The one you had to watch, because given the right moment he’d pounce.

But he wasn’t that dad. Not wholly and not indiscriminately. Blakely hadn’t been on the receiving end of the inappropriate-daddy vibe. It was just me. I hoped none of the people photographing us with their camera phones or shouting his name for the gift of a wave or a smile saw the way he looked at me.