Spoiler Alert (Spoiler Alert #1)(112)

Sharp features, including a beaky, crooked nose. Bright eyes. Very round body with comparatively skinny limbs. Short as hell.

His newfound nanny looked like a bird.

A silent one, though. Not a chirp to be heard despite the advent of dawn.

As soon as Ron got word of the events that had transpired overnight, he’d demanded a meeting first thing in the morning. Even though Alex had left the Gates set near midnight and departed the local jail’s holding cell maybe an hour ago. He’d barely had time to take a shower and grab an apple by the hotel’s front desk before returning to work.

The three of them could have met in a private trailer, but the showrunner preferred public humiliation. So they’d gathered outdoors, near a ragged stockade, where hundreds of Alex’s coworkers could conceivably overhear his disgrace, and so could she.

This pale-cheeked stranger. Whoever she was. Whatever she was.

His eyes were bloodshot, his right eyelid swollen, his vision blurry. If he squinted in the early-morning fog, that lank, ash-brown hair ruffling around the woman’s soft jaw might as well be feathers.

Yes, definitely a bird. But what kind, what kind . . .

She was white, so maybe an albatross? It certainly worked on a metaphorical level.

No, albatrosses were too long and narrow for the likes of her.

Once Ron had begun his lecture, she’d perched on a makeshift bench several feet away from both men. Quiet and still, she sat silhouetted before the chaos of their faux-battlefield set as it sprawled along the Spanish shore. Yet somehow, even amid the large-scale staged destruction and ceaseless bustle of extras and crew members, she stood out in sharp relief. Incongruously small in stature, if not circumference. Calm. Avian.

The ocean breeze flipped up the hem of Alex’s linen tunic, and he absently batted it back down, wishing he’d brought his woolen cloak to set. A bird-watching guide, too, to help him pinpoint the exact species she resembled.

Also noise-canceling headphones, because Ron was still railing at him—something about contractual obligations and my cousin Lauren and unacceptable conduct for an actor on my show and bond company will pull our insurance, blah blah blah—and, sure, Alex was furious at the reprimand and his allotted punishment and the way no one had asked him what actually happened in that bar, not a single soul, but—

His paid minder, evidently some unfortunate relative of Ron’s, looked like a fucking bird.

This whole discussion wasn’t merely enraging. It was—

“Ridiculous.” Alex snorted, sweeping his arm to indicate the woman on the bench. “This bird-woman barely comes up to my chest. How is she supposed to stop me from doing whatever I damn well please? Do you intend for her to cling to my ankle like an oversized bracelet?”

He considered the matter. It would make his workouts challenging, but not impossible.

Ron smirked briefly. “She may be ridiculous, but she’s in charge.” After casting a sidelong look at his cousin, he turned his attention back to Alex. “You’ll do what Lauren says until the series finale airs. Until then, she’ll accompany you wherever you—”

Wait. Alex hadn’t meant to call her ridiculous. More the idea she could effectively keep him out of trouble for months on end.

But Ron was talking, talking, talking, and Alex didn’t bother to clarify the matter.

That could wait until later, since he and Lauren would apparently be spending endless, torturous months together starting right . . . now.