His daughter was cute as a button. Sure. She was also strong. She was in the process of withstanding something few children her age ever had to deal with, the loss of life as she knew it. She did it with good humor and curiosity. She was worthy of his pride, but she was still a kid.
She longed for stability. Adult guidance. She longed for completion and permanence. The reason she wanted us to be in her bed with her was because she wanted us together. And what we’d done by letting her see something was send the message that the stability she wanted had been achieved.
But it was more complicated than her young mind could grasp. And when the day came that Brad and I didn’t work out, or I was no longer her nanny, or I continued to be her nanny but not her father’s kiss-partner, what would happen?
I took the helicopter ride to Disneyland in silence. Nicole watched the land below in fascination and screamed when we dipped or swerved while her father laughed and held her tight. He snuck his fingertips to my arm when he could, but I was so deep in panic I couldn’t even look at him.
Willow had lashed out after I left. While I was there, she never got all made-up and showed up to a grown-up party with a man who had no business taking her out. Plenty of kids that age pulled stunts like that so frequently they stopped being stunts, but I knew her. I knew her friend’s caretakers. We talked. Willow was pretty well behaved, and it wasn’t until I got fired that she lashed out.
Now Nicole. How would she lash out? And when?
I felt like an agent of chaos instead of stability. I did more damage than good.
Everything felt upside down. I wasn’t even supposed to care this much.
We landed on the Disney helipad, which was shaped like the silhouette of a big, white mouse head. I was going to have to put a good face on this if I was going to function the rest of the day.
CHAPTER 42
BRAD
I should have invited Mom and Dad, but it happened so fast I didn’t even think of it. Fuck it. I’d bring Nicole around after Thailand. Maybe I’d fly my parents into Bangkok. Or not. Maybe I’d just give the fuck up because I couldn’t do a damn thing right.
“Cara,” I said as we walked off the helipad. I had Nicole wrapped around me. “You’re freaking me out.”
“Why?” She smiled. Fake as shit. But I couldn’t kiss the phony thing off her. And she needed to be kissed. By me. A lot.
“Because you’ve turned into an icicle.”
She smiled again, but there was something sad about it. At least it wasn’t fake.
“Let’s give her a nice day and we can talk later.”
“Good idea.”
Four people in dark blue suits got out of a red-and-white polka-dot golf cart and greeted us. Three men and one woman.
“Hi!” the middle-aged woman in a blue suit said through a toothy smile. “My name’s Erin. You must be Nicole!”
My daughter nodded and leaned into me.
Erin crouched to eye level. “I brought you something special.”
Nicole hugged my leg tight but looked at the woman deeply enough to give her the time of day. Erin pulled a little pink bag from her satchel and held it out. Nicole looked at me, then Cara, then Erin.
“Take it,” she said. “It’s a gift from us.”
Gingerly, Nicole took the bag and said, “Thank you.” She held the bag up to me. It had fluffed pink tissue paper coming from the opening. “Can I open it?”
“Sure.”
Erin helped her with the tissue paper, and Nicole pulled out a headband with two huge, pink-sequined mouse ears at the top. Eyes wide, smile the shape of half a peach pie, she hugged it to her chest, then handed it to Cara, patting her head and saying, “Can you put this on me?”
Cara did the honors while Erin held her hand out.
“Mr. Sinclair,” she said, shaking my hand. “This is Steve, John, Bob.” I shook hands all around. “We have everything set up for you. As we discussed, we can’t prevent you from being photographed since it’s a regular session today. We can keep other guests from getting too close to you or your daughter, and we are pleased to let you know you’ll have access to all our rides and attractions without any wait times, as long as you let one of us know where you’re headed next. This cart is at your disposal all day, and we’re happy to show you through our VIP areas to all attractions and events.”
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 fuck on.
I leaned closer.