But she didn’t. She got what I was saying.
In an oversize white polo and beige chinos, she was the least regal person I’d ever seen, and maybe I wasn’t much of a king in sandals and shorts, but we understood the kingdom and how fucked up it was.
I was glad I’d gotten her for a month, and I knew I was going to lean on her more than I should. And I was glad I’d gotten away from Jenn and Jennifer before I made an even bigger ass out of myself.
Nicole made me want to do better and Cara made me want to prove it.
“I’m going to the SAG thing tomorrow night. Nicole’s coming.”
Cara looked at me darkly. “Her bedtime’s eight.”
“Yeah. I know. But people want to see her, I have to go, and life goes on. I’m not like those people. I’m not my parents. I’m not those parents back there either. I’m me. This is the hand we’re dealt. We gotta play it.”
“I’ll go then. I have a dress.”
CHAPTER 16
CARA
When you see pictures of celebrities at events with their children, you can bet there’s a nanny for each kid hanging around the sidelines. We exist on the fringes, just outside the camera’s field. We wear simple black clothes, easy shoes, and a little makeup so we don’t stand out. We know where to take the kids when they act out and how to manage a room full of power hitters without being seen.
No one wanted to see us. We prove that Hollywood is full of people who aren’t magical or perfect, but human beings who need help juggling twelve-hour days and family responsibilities. I liked it on the fringes. I liked my anonymity.
Blakely didn’t have that luxury. She’d be seen and photographed. The entire episode with Josh Trudeau would be dredged up and she’d be unemployable all over again.
Blakely sprawled over my bed, swiping her iPad. I needed to tell her about the incident with Josh, but I was too nervous. I considered putting it in a note, an e-mail, anything but face-to-face.
“I’m not saying I mind getting the night off,” she said. “But this sucks.”
“Are you on Tinder again?”
“See this guy here?” She flipped the screen so I could see a guy holding his phone up to a mirror.
“I don’t understand the picture-in-the-bathroom-mirror thing. Don’t these people have friends?”
“Here’s what he wrote me. ‘Hey. You’re pretty hot. You look like that nanny that slept with Josh Trudeau. LOL.’”
“Swipe left on him. Or right. Whichever.” I pulled a simple black dress out of the closet and threw it on the bed.
“Why didn’t I know he was a player?”
“Because you didn’t know and you respected him enough to keep it a secret. So none of us warned you.”
“Wrong. Because my mother supported me by sleeping with married men so I have it in my head that it’s normal, which it’s not. Ever.” She knocked her head with her knuckle as if she could tap the right way of thinking into it.
I got my shoes out. Black. Low heel. Unobtrusive. Easy to run after a kid from the dressing rooms. It was the perfect moment to tell her, but I didn’t.
“Look.” She tapped on the screen and showed it to me again. I recognized her headshot but she looked off. “Higher cheekbones. A little pouf in the lips. Brown contacts.”
“What happened to the huge nose?”
“I found out that’s harder than making it smaller.”
I took a deep breath and spit it out.
“He made a play for me,” I said. “At the party yesterday. In the side drive. I’m sorry.”
She fell back on the mattress and covered her face with my pillow.
“I’m so ashamed.” Her voice was muffled.
“Don’t be. I get it. He’s not my thing—but I get it.”
She threw the pillow at me. I caught it.
“Stop saying that. If you forgive me, I have to forgive my mother, which I don’t.”
“Brad says Josh is hot for women who take care of kids.” I tossed the pillow on the bed. “He’s a dick. He should get that hard-on for his wife.”
Blakely shot up to a sitting position. “You told Brad?”
“He saw it.” I snapped the dress up. “Josh is an asshole. End of.”
“Wait. He didn’t fire you?”
“No. He got . . .” What was the word? It wasn’t simply angry. “. . . protective.”
I realized I was staring into the middle distance with the dress draped over my arm, remembering my boss with a fire in his eyes. Like he wanted to rip Josh Trudeau’s face off with his bare hands.
Over me.
Me.
I was important.
“And?” Blakely asked.
And I liked it. Which is wrong. Everything about how it felt is wrong.
“And what?”
“And are you all right?”
Blakely knew how wrong it was. She’d been dragged through the mud for months.
“I’m fine,” I said, looking at my watch. “If you could get Nicole ready, I think we’re leaving at seven.”
She bounced up.
“Yes. Okay. Man, I like our boss.”
She kissed me on the cheek and dashed to the front house to get Nicole ready.
I had to admit, I liked our boss too.
Shit.
I didn’t move for too long. I didn’t even know what I was staring at. The way he’d protected me, left those two girls behind, slung his daughter over his shoulder, and took charge? I could see him as something more. Something real and stable.
All of it sent warmth from my heart to the fold between my legs. The twisted logic of dreams had clicked together unrelated ideas. Sex. Brad Sinclair. Security. Stability.
In the real world, nothing said instability like Brad Sinclair. He and security didn’t occupy the same room comfortably. He was less stable than my parents. More likely to move. Less emotionally accessible. But in dreamland, when I was bent over the pool table working up to an orgasm so strong I woke up, all those puzzle pieces clicked together and made perfect sense.
In the real world, I could dismiss dream logic, until he nearly broke Josh Trudeau’s face. Then it came together. It became real, and it was more arousing than just about anything I’d ever felt.
You’ve lost your mind.
Truly, I had. I peeled off my jeans and shirt and headed for the shower, arguing that I needed one anyway, then arguing that I only had to soap up, rinse off, and get out fast, then that I wouldn’t be able to function with a constant throb between my legs, then that I should take the shower cold.
Nah. I put the temperature all the way up. I wanted to feel every drop. I got in and was engulfed in the water’s soothing heat.
I wanted a real home. A stable person to spend my life with, and they were in short supply. I hadn’t given up; I’d just stopped looking for a man.
In my fantasy he said—
Spread your legs, baby. I’m going to lick you.
Pretending he was someone completely different when he bent down and put his face between my legs. When I put my hands on my body, I felt his hands. When I touched my nipples, I did it the way I thought he’d do it. The way I wanted him to.