Bombshell (Hollywood A-List #1)

“No one told me there was a war,” I said.

“There is.” She dropped the tweezers in the sink and took off the goggles, plucking a little spray bottle out of the kit. “There’s a war for Nicole. And you win. No matter what. You can and should do whatever you need to. It’s my job to make sure she doesn’t die on my shift.”

She sprayed my foot and I jumped. She held the ankle steady while she burned the fucking skin off. All I could say was ah ah ah.

“But I’m sorry I came at you like that. You could fire me for much less. Probably should.”

“I guess we’re even then, from the shower.”

She stared at my foot, but not really at it. More through it.

“That night, you came home from the SAG event late.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember anything? How you got in the bed?”

Oh, shit. My mouth, my throat, my guts went dry.

“My pants were on.” My only defense.

“You’re welcome.”

“What happened?”

Her eyes darkened and I panicked. I’d wanted her, but had I taken something I shouldn’t have?

“Nothing. You talked a lot of nonsense. I got your shoes and shirt off and put you to bed.”

“Thank you.”

She squirted the open wounds again and I shouted.

“Daddy?” Nicole’s voice came from the other side of the door. “Are you okay? Really?”

“He’s fine!”

“She’s killing me!”

Cara cracked a smile. It was a gorgeous sight.

“Hey! Don’t kill Daddy!”

Nicole wasn’t kidding. Her voice was soaked in terror. We looked at each other. Right. Death should be off the table.

I leaned for the door and swung it open. Nicole trotted in with a little drawing pad in one hand and a pencil in the other. She nearly impaled me with it as she hopped onto my lap and turned to face Cara. From my vantage point I could see her point the pencil at her nanny. I had to imagine her tough little face.

“Don’t. Kill. Daddy.”

“I won’t.” She split the paper off the back of a Band-Aid and stuck it on me. “But if he keeps it up, I might have to hurt him just a little.”

“Okay,” Nicole agreed.

“Okay?” I objected. My dad had always complained there was a female conspiracy in the house, and I started to think he might be right.

As if she wanted to confirm the conspiracy, Nicole turned to face me, practically kneeing me in the groin. Even though she was on my lap she waved her fingers at me to get me closer. She whispered in my ear.

“I like Miss Cara.”

“Okay.”

She put her finger to her lips.

“Shush.” She ran her fingers over my lips.

“Zip it. Lock it.” She opened my chest pocket and dropped the little pad into it. “Put it in your pocket.”

“I’m zipped.” I looked past her and saw Cara smiling. Nicole fished her little pad back out and sat frontward. I took her hair in my hands, separating strands.

“You always make these pretty braids,” I said, crossing one strand over the other. Then another. It made a mess. “You need to teach me.”

“It’s easy,” Nicole said, as if she’d ever done it.

“What are you working on?” Cara pointed to the little pad before she got another Band-Aid from the box. I settled into the painless part of the process.

Nicole flipped through the little spiral notebook until she found her page.

“It’s a unicorn.” She showed me with her pencil as a pointer. “And that’s her brother. He’s a Pegasus.”

“Wow,” I said. “It’s kind of really good.” I held it up for Cara. “Is this normal?”

“She’s ahead in fine motor and verbal skills, if that’s what you mean.”

“And she can read.” I kissed her nose. “You’re amazing.”

She waved her hand in front of her nose. “Daddy, you smell bad.”

My phone beeped and buzzed. I got it out. Arnie.

—Dude—

Right. I had a life I was living. The music seemed louder once the spell of these two was broken. I had friends downstairs and things I was doing. I had a movie to make and a staycation to take. I’d gotten distracted from my distractions by my favorite distraction.

He sent me another text right after.

—Are you fucking the nanny?—

Fuck. What a douchebag.

—NO!—

I put the phone away and slid Nicole off my lap.

“I have to go.”

I had to prove immediately that I wasn’t fucking the nanny. And not because I cared what anyone thought about me. Shit, I’d just pulled my ass out in front of twenty people with camera phones and DMZ’s e-mail. But because it wasn’t good for anyone to think Cara was doin’ the daddy.

Nicole flipped a page and held it up.

“This is my pony.”

“Nice.” I looked to Cara. “You’re on tonight?”

“Yes,” she said with a hint of suspicion.

“You need to buy me this pony,” Nicole said with flat seriousness.

“Okay.” I patted her head. Literally. I patted her head and promised her a pony. That was how much I wanted to get downstairs in less time than it would take me to hop out of the nanny’s bed and get dressed. “It might get loud tonight, so bring her to the pool house if you need to.”

Her reaction was swift and angry, and she held it back. I saw it. One nanosecond she gritted her teeth and the next she smiled like a game show host.

“Sure.”

I left, gimping on the sliced foot, smoothing my hair down so it didn’t suggest a just-fucked-her look. I was halfway down the stairs before I thought about that.

Why did it matter what people thought? Why was I protecting her? She was a big girl. She was doing her job, and I was keeping my hands off her. Done and done.





CHAPTER 29


CARA


—Cara. It’s Ray—

As if Ray Heywood wasn’t in my contacts. As if I wouldn’t know his number straight off or I’d wiped him from my phone. Nicole’s room was getting dark, and the freshly bathed little girl had gotten to sleep while I reclined next to her.

—Willow says she saw you? Can you call me?—

If I called him, he’d hear the music and the party downstairs. I didn’t want him to. And I didn’t want to wake up Nicole, who was sleeping on my shoulder. And I didn’t want to navigate the minefield of Willow’s word against mine in real time. I had no doubt she lied. She was a good girl, but there wasn’t a sane eighth-grader in Hollywood. Puberty was a gateway drug to adolescence, and everyone overdosed.

—Can’t talk now. Sorry—

—She’s still pretty shaken up—

I had no idea what she’d told her father. I was sure it was all my fault. Maybe it was. Maybe I’d been too much of an employee and not enough of a leader. I looped one arm over Nicole, and I held up the phone with the other hand so I could type.

—I don’t work for you anymore. So I’m just going to come out and say what I think.—

Was I going to do this? I hit Send but still . . . I could backtrack. Soften it. Right?