Bombshell (Hollywood A-List #1)(96)

“Hello?” I said. “Ray? It’s Cara.”

“Funny you should call,” he said. “Something just came across my desk.”

“I heard. I was wondering if we could work out a trade.” I was about to overstep by a mile, but the tabloids would cross-check with the county and get those documents out in under an hour.

“I’m listening.”

“Access.” God, I was in such trouble when Ken found out. “Exclusive access to the new Brad Sinclair.”



Nicole was not good at surprises. She wanted to know what they were before they happened. So we didn’t tell her we’d planned anything for the one-year anniversary of her arrival on Brad’s doorstep. We distracted her with a playdate with Blue and Bonnie, and planned a pony behind her back.

Her grandfather carved Nicole’s new pony’s nameplate from the lumberyard in a few hours, sanded it, and got a coat of shellac on it. She was a calm roan mare. After a bottle of wine and a long conversation about our lives and where we wanted them to go, Brad and I had named the horse California Pie.

Brad brandished his father’s work. “Gorgeous,” he said.

“She’s going to love it,” I squealed, taking the plate from him. It was still sticky and it needed another coat of lacquer, but I wanted it on the stable when we gave Nicole the pony.

We had a pre-interview with David from DMZ about Brad’s upcoming animation voice-over and his newly-packed-but-not-too-bad acting schedule, then David got in his car to meet us at the stables and we blindfolded Nicole for her surprise.

“Why are we going the wrong way?” Nicole asked from the backseat. She’d tipped up the bottom of her blindfold so she could see.

“Put that down, young lady,” Brad said, looking at her in the mirror.

“Okay, but where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise!” Brad and I said at the same time.

When we got close I crawled into the backseat and covered her eyes with my hand. Unfortunately, I didn’t think to cover her nose.

“I smell horse poop!”

Brad shot a look back as we went past the gate. Behind the beautifully kept clubhouse and manicured lawns sat a functioning stable grounds for training horses and riders.

“Where are the horses?” she cried.

“Keep the blindfold on,” I said when Brad pulled up to the front and handed the valet the keys. He sped around the front and opened the door while I leaned back and unbuckled Nicole’s safety belt. Dave was there with his assistant, camera rolling. Ten months into their year of exclusivity, they’d used the time wisely, telling the story of the Sinclair family’s fall into anonymity and the rise to normalcy. The public had been hungry to hear something positive.

“You got this?” Brad asked Dave.

“Got it.”

“Is that David?” Nicole asked. “Hi, David!” She waved at where she thought he was.

“Hi, Nicole. You excited?”

“Yes. How’s Buster?”

Buster was Dave’s bulldog.

“He’s good. You should come visit again.”

We led her off the paved road to the dirt road of the stables. The horseshit smell got stronger.

“Do you like surprises?” he asked.

“I like ones where I know what it is.”

Even with Brad’s career “over” we figured Nicole was going to have to get used to people taking pictures of her. Turned out that if she got comfortable with the person behind the camera, she was comfortable with the camera.

We went into the stables. That was when I sensed something wasn’t going to go as planned. I didn’t know what about the room seemed different. The same horses were there. The same smell. The same white paint on the stalls and the same wooden nameplates by each one.

Then Nicole giggled and Dave said, “Shh.”

And a chuckle from behind a wall.

Why did I smell a little sugar behind the horseshit?

“Brad?”

He flashed a devil of a smile, and I knew something about this picture was as wrong as wrong could be.

“Happy anniversary, teacup.”

“What? I—”

“SURPRISE!”

I jumped, oh, ten feet in the air as dozens of people poured into the stables.

“Wait! What?”

Nicole was jumping up and down, clapping, blindfold long gone. Brad picked her up as Blakely hugged me.

“Congratulations,” she said in a pink satin dress and heels.

“For what? I—”

Brad’s parents hugged and congratulated me too. And Susan and her kids. Buddy. Willow Heywood. Ray and Kendall.

“Brad? What the h—”

“Don’t say a bad word!” Nicole shouted.

“It’s your wedding,” he said.

He pulled me out, and the crowd followed, laughing and talking, until we got to the clubhouse. I dropped his hand when I saw an easel with a flourished sign.

“The Wedding of Cara DuMont and Brad Sinclair.”

“A surprise wedding?” I exclaimed, looking for my soon-to-be and not finding him. “There’s no such thing as a surprise wedding!”

“Yes there is!” Blakely said. “We got a dress. That makes it real.”