Bombshell (Hollywood A-List #1) Page 6

  “Yeah, she’s scared of paparazzi. I don’t want to freak her out.”

  “People want to see her,” Ken said, “She’s the most coveted shot in town right now.”

  “I don’t need the money.”

  What I needed was to get away from buzzkill conversations. Period. What I needed was to be Brad Sinclair.

  “The publicity is priceless.” Ken tilted his glass to me. “Look. I’m not trying to work in social situations, but this is a crossroads for your image. It’s a golden opportunity to move from young talent who stepped in shit to seasoned professional. Let’s find a way to make it work. Okay?”

  “Sure, sure.” I clinked glasses with him without connecting the dots between Nicole and my reputation as an actor. I had two girls waiting for me and if I recalled right, they could suck a golf ball through a garden hose.

  And that was what Brad Sinclair was about. I wanted to be me again.

  CHAPTER 14

  CARA

  The party was pretty standard. A team of horses and miniponies had been brought in for the kids. Nicole’s face lit up like the Vegas strip when she saw them. She was barely contained, and she spent the entire time thanking Blueberry each and every ride.

  Blueberry, who was made of sugar and spice and curly blonde locks, took to Nicole almost immediately. Everybody likes being thanked.

  The lowdown on birthday parties for girls named Blueberry is this.

  Yes, it’s a show of money, but everyone in this world has money. So from the outside, the staff, the organic gourmet food, the trucks of décor, and world-class performers all look like a pissing contest that’s about money.

  It’s not about money. It’s about showing the child how much they’re loved. Mommy’s shooting six days a week for twelve hours a day and Daddy’s on the phone during dinner, and these things needle Hollywood parents.

  So, once or twice a year they shower the children with exactly the things they like. Horses. Superheroes. Princesses. And of course, their friends. Anything goes because that one day is about the kid. Once I realized the intensity of the events was about love, I got a lot less uncomfortable.

  The kids, however, have parents and if they’re staying, they need to be entertained. Some parties are drop-offs. Bring us your child and we’ll show them a good time. We’ll pour them into your driver’s car sugar-sticky and wiped out. Some, like the Trudeau party, are sleepovers with a big grown-up component. Open bar. Separate buffet of complex adult dishes. Sea bass. Tri tip. Quinoa salad.

  Nannies and kids ate at a separate table. We whispered news in hushed voices and made sure the little ones on the other end of the table had what they needed. I kept a careful eye on Nicole. She was new, after all, and though little girls don’t get truly awful until fourth grade, she was sensitive. I’d advised Brad to be prepared for her to skip the sleepover part of the party. Actually, I’d advised Paula, who said she’d let Brad know. She seemed more interested in making sure his work wasn’t disrupted than anything.

  The gossip was good at the nanny table. A few divorces, which meant the need for help would be adjusted. A couple of pregnancies. Some rumors.

  “And then she . . . Grace . . . she catches him drinking from the baby’s bottle,” Brandy, a Cornell-educated nanny for the Greydons, said as she picked at a French fry. She was passing on a rumor about the famously dysfunctional Grace and Thomas Dresden. A.k.a. Gromas.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered. “Does he have a breast milk fetish?”

  She leaned all the way forward and the rest of us leaned in too.

  “No. He’s in outpatient rehab. Alcohol.”

  She paused for effect, making eye contact with each of us.

  “Mayra was spiking the night bottles with Baileys. When he found out he drained them.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “What did she do? Grace?”

  “Stopped breast-feeding. Obviously. And threw out the Baileys.”

  We all groaned. Heidi handed me my phone, where she’d navigated to the online Baby Naming Pool for Ken Braque’s kid.

  “That’s crazy,” I added. “That’s why no one decent will work there.”

  The name pool was about half full. On the y-axis were name types. Boy. Girl. Androgynous. We weren’t guessing the sex of the child, but the gender of the name, since a boy could easily have a girl-sounding name and vice versa. On the x-axis: Fruit. Occupations. Nature. Vintage. Pop Culture. Places.

  Pilot, Scout, Governor, Poppy, Pepper, Cayenne, Sequoia, Jupiter, Happy, Beautiful, and Vancouver had been hand-typed in. The payout on getting the name exactly right was enormous.

  The Heywoods’ new nanny sat downtable, since Jedi was in Blueberry’s class. Their nanny was stocky, with a silver bun and a gruff demeanor. She had a thick accent that could have been Hungarian.

  “Which box did you buy?” she asked. “I took Nature. Boy name.”

  “I can’t even think of any boy names after nature. Maple? Pine?”

  “These people will think of something.” She waved a meaty hand in the general direction of the adults.

  “I think Nature. Girl. That’s Bluegrass, Hibiscus, Flower . . .” I claimed my box and put the phone down. “Speaking of, how are Willow and Jedi?” I asked.

  “The boy is fine. Doesn’t notice anything.” She pushed away her French fries and chicken. “The girl. Always so crabby?”

  “No. She’s usually pretty upbeat.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe there’s a boyfriend.”

  Maybe. Willow had had fleeting crushes since she was five. At twelve, it was time for one to stick.

  “How is Brad Sinclair doing?” Petra asked. She was a young au pair from Madrid. “The golden boy? Has he adjusted?”

  “It’s only been a little more than a week,” I replied. “His parents just left. He likes Nicole, and I have to say, she’s a great kid. And he wants to do it right. But his schedule is set a year ahead. It’s not like he’s had time to make any changes. So we’re working on it.” I shrugged. I didn’t want to give anything away, but not saying anything at all about the biggest story in town would alienate me.

  “He’s so beautiful,” Petra whispered. “And single.”

  “Hush!” Helen said. “We are professionals here.”

  Petra and the other girls exchanged glances. I didn’t want to confirm or deny what I felt for Brad. My dreams around the pool table had gotten more vivid and arousing as the days had gone on. They were ridiculous, of course, and probably had more to do with the fact that I needed a boyfriend than anything.

  “I’m going to go check on Nicole,” I said, putting my cloth napkin on my plate. “Can I take anyone’s stuff to the kitchen?”

  I gathered some plates and silverware and went to the kitchen with them. Looked for Nicole at the dessert table. Not there. Went to the art table, the photo booth, the bounce house. I finally found her kneeling on the grass with Blueberry, playing with a stack of cards with illustrations of, shockingly, ponies.

  Brad was by the bar, holding one of the party’s signature drinks and talking to two girls. Women. Ladies. Whatever.

  I didn’t care.

  He was my boss, and I didn’t know the guy.

  Not really.

  One of the girls was tall and had her hair swept up in a loose bun. She was fit and tall. Looked like a runner, which reminded me that I hadn’t run in too long. The other was full-figured and had curly hair. They both had the most perfect skin I’d ever seen, and were hanging on his every word.

  Which was none of my business. He put his arms around them and whispered in the tall girl’s ear. She giggled and nodded, then he said something to the curly-haired one, who got mad and pushed her.

  “Miss Cara!”

  Nicole and Blueberry were at my feet. Nicole’s big brown eyes pleaded as she held up a pony card.

  “I left Pony Pie in the van and I want to show Blue.”

  I wanted to thank the little one profusely for giving me an
excuse to get away from whatever her father was doing.

  “You want me to go get it?”

  “Yes, please!”

  “Okay, you go play and I’ll check the van.” She and Blue ran back to their little grassy spot with the cards between them.

  I turned and found myself face-to-face with Josh Trudeau.

  He was an actor and a legit heartthrob. He never marketed himself as a good man. He always had a dark streak and the devil in his blue eyes. His mouth was made of sex. So when his affair with Blakely went public, no one was surprised, least of all his wife.

  “She said she wanted a magician,” he said with a touch of Australian accent. “And she’s sitting in the grass with the orphan girl instead of watching him.”

  “Her name is Nicole.”

  “She seems nice. Not much for magicians though.”

  “Do you want me to take them over to him? I can do it pretty easily, but I promised her I’d get her toy out of the van.”

  He looked at his drink pensively. “What’s your name again?”

  “Cara DuMont.”

  “Have we met?”

  “I used to work for the Heywoods.”

  “Ah. Let me guess.” He looked me up and down in my Mrs. Trudeau-approved chinos and polo. “Kendall found you threatening.”

  “I work for families. The whole family. If one person in the family thinks I’m not going to work out, then I move on.”

  He nodded as if truly and deeply understanding every nuance of my troubles. I knew why Blakely had gone down the dark path with this guy. His attention was spellbinding.

  “Of course,” he said, then motioned back through the kitchen. “The van. It’s in the alley. Let me take you.”

  As much as no married Hollywood daddy wanted to be seen alone with Blakely, I didn’t want to be seen alone with Josh Trudeau. I hadn’t seen Ray and Kendall, but Jedi was probably somewhere, and I didn’t want to prove Kendall right about my intentions.

  “I can figure it out,” I said.

  He held out his hand to me. “The gate has a code. Come on. I won’t bite.”

  It wasn’t biting I was concerned about, but I had to go with him or risk getting labeled as difficult. It was his party. His house. He didn’t want to be seen with me any more than I wanted to be seen with him.

  As if proving my point, he took me around back, away from the party.

  “Where are you from, Cara?” he asked. Small talk as we walked the length of the high wood fence.

  “Everywhere. I’m a military brat, but mostly French-speaking countries. My parents did some intelligence liaison work.”

  “Like spies?”

  “Not that glamorous.”

  “Parlez-vous français?”

  “Oui, je parle français. Le faites vous?”

  “You just heard the extent of it.”

  I laughed with him as he punched numbers into a keypad. The lock clicked and I opened the gate. The van was there, wide open with matte black flat-screen TVs covering the interior walls. I could see Nicole’s little pink pony on the seat. I grabbed it.

  When I turned, Josh was clicking the gate closed. I moved the stuffed toy from one hand to the other, then back again. A nervous gesture, because I was suddenly uneasy.

  “You’re really a beautiful girl.”

  “Thank you.”

  He stepped toward me, and I stepped away. My back hit the side of the van.

  “You have a real presence,” he said softly. “More than looks, presence is what’s important.”

  “Mr. Trudeau, I—”

  “I can make things happen for you. A girl like you . . .” Another step, and I could see where his lips were ever so slightly chapped. “. . . you have something.”

  “I don’t need anything.” I put my hands on his chest, pony between them. “I’m fine.”

  He opened his mouth to say something, but a titter of giggles and shushes came from the other side of the gate. Josh didn’t move. Jesus Christ, what did he think he was going to do? Force himself on me? I was perfectly willing to bite a chunk out of anything that got close enough to my mouth, I didn’t care how gorgeous it was. I looked right into his eyes, leveled my intention on him.

  “Back. Up.”

  He smirked.

  Behind him, the code beeped. The smirk faded, but he didn’t move until the gate scraped open with a cheer from a couple of female voices and a “hey-ho!” from a male voice I recognized, but couldn’t see because this asshole was in my way.

  I gave Josh another shove. He took a step back, and there was Brad, an arm around each girl he’d been with at the bar.

  “Uncle Josh?” said the one with the bun.

  “Jennifer,” Josh said, rubbing his lips as if I’d gotten my lip gloss on him. What an unbelievable fucker.

  “Dude,” Brad said, glancing to me. He was clear-eyed and sober. He pointed to Josh. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Hey, bro.” Josh flashed his most winning smile and held his hand out to Brad. “You know how it is.” He jerked his head to me. I could only stand with Nicole’s pony in my hand, mouth open in shock. He was accusing me of something I’d taken great pains to avoid. Motherfucker. And no way I’d be believed. Not with friendship and careers in the mix.

  It looked like Brad was going to shake his friend’s hand, and the asshole relaxed for a split second. Which is all it took for Brad to punch him in the mouth.

  The cracking sound was immediately followed by an oomph and a thup as Josh’s head hit the side of the van. Brad stood over him, getting his body between Josh and me.

  “Oh. My. God,” one of the girls said.

  “Do not try and bring that shit in my house,” Brad said, pointing at Josh as if he was ready to drive a hole into him.

  “Are you serious?” Josh seemed totally incredulous. “This is my house.”

  “Totally fucking serious. She takes care of my daughter. She is off fucking limits.”

  Josh got his feet under him. “You have no idea what being a father means, you twat. You’ve been at it a week.”

  Brad turned to me. “Come on.” He took my arm and led me through the gate. He smelled like expensive vodka, but he seemed as sober as I’d ever seen him.

  “You have to know I didn’t initiate that.”

  “We have to get Nicole together.” He didn’t even look at me, just talked through his teeth. “I don’t want you walking around here alone right now.”

  “I was just going to get her pony and he insisted on coming. I’m not trying to seduce Josh Trudeau.”

  “I’ll call for the car.”

  “Did you hear me? It’s important.”

  He stopped at the back door to the house, holding his hands up.

  “I heard you. I believe you. He’s known for this shit. Women who take care of kids turn him on. It’s his thing.”

  “And Blakely got all the blame.”

  “Well, knock me over with a tea bag.” He was dripping sarcasm and rage. I didn’t think it was even possible for this laid-back dude’s dude to get this intentional about anything.

  I took a deep breath.

  “Nicole was on the lawn last I saw.”

  “Let’s go.” He walked around the house, through the brick garden path so fast I had to quicken my steps to keep up. “I gotta get out of here before I hit him again.”

  “He didn’t actually touch me.”

  Brad didn’t answer, but stalked onto the grass where Nicole sat alone with cards splayed in front of her. The French braid was crooked, half out of the knot, creating a halo of loose hairs.

  “Thank you, but don’t ruin your friendship over me.” I was minimizing it, and of course I shouldn’t, but the stakes were pretty high for him. He had to keep company with these people. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

  He spun on me as if I’d said he was stupid and his mother wore army boots. I’d seen that face before, in movies. It was even more gorgeous when he was acting angry or pained. But
those were movies. This was real life. Yes, his face was still beautiful, but with the addition of something fearsome it became unearthly.

  He pressed his lips between his teeth, as if biting back his words I knew for sure I didn’t want to hear.

  CHAPTER 15

  BRAD

  You know. I’m not that guy. I’m not the guy who gets all weird and intense about anyone or anything. Maybe about work. I’m intense when I’m on set. But when it comes to people I’m not related to, easy come, easy go. Win some, lose some. All cool.

  I shouldn’t have hit Josh. Probably, that was the most intense response outside killing him, which occurred to me. Once I did it, I had to split. Get Cara and Nicole out of there, back home, away from that whole weird scene. But I just kept on burning. Like the coals deep in the campfire. The ones ten guys can piss on and they still stay hot.

  Too hot for words, until she made a little comment about what Josh didn’t do and how I didn’t have to be mad. Man, the white hot got turned up to white hotter, and I had words. Two words. I shouldn’t ever say these words and thank the good Lord above I bit them back.

  You’re mine.

  Now, like I said I’m not that guy. But when she said he didn’t touch her and I should let it go like some hippy-dippy-one-love-bullshit, I nearly lost it. I nearly went back, found Josh, and cracked his head against the corner of a cabinet for good measure.

  She was mine and Nicole was mine and he’d stepped on that. He’d stepped into my house and tried to take something that belonged to me.

  I was being unreasonable. Not only was she temporary help, she was the help. She had her own life and I was taking it too far. I was making it personal. It wasn’t personal.

  Right?

  “Hey, Brad!” a woman’s voice called from behind me. A young woman. I turned.

  Jenn and Jennifer, running across the lawn toward me. Jenn in front. Jennifer grabbed her shirt and yanked her backward. She fell.

  “Crap,” I said.

  “I’ll get Nicole,” Cara said as Jenn swung her arm out and tripped Jennifer, who took two giant steps and righted herself. Cara couldn’t leave me alone with these two. I didn’t know why, but I needed her.

  “Stay.”