Chapter 4

FOUR

NOLAN

M onday morning is harder than I expected it to be.

I wake up early, and while I make an attempt to fall back to sleep, I've been waking up at dawn for years—even without an alarm, it seems the routine is firmly established. I flop around for a bit, trying to find a comfortable position, but it doesn't happen.

Before I get too irritated, I pull myself up and climb out of bed.

Since I have nothing better to do, I get out my French press. I grind the expensive beans a parent gave me a couple weeks ago and use them to brew a cup of coffee. It's far superior to the single serve cups I've come to rely on. Maybe making fancy coffee can be my next endeavor. If I wear a sulky expression, I might be able to pull off brooding barista.

Actually, scratch that—I'm too old. And not nearly tormented enough.

I wonder if a coffee shop would be a safer place to meet women. With a wince, I realize it's too soon to joke about, even if it's only in my head.

Sadly, it isn't too soon to start looking for a new job. A year's severance is nice, but I was barely scraping by on my salary, and I've lost all the perks that came with my job.

No more free lunches. No more access to the sports complex's gym or pool. Plenty of student loans to pay off. House payments to make. Food to purchase.

I set my coffee down and fling myself onto my IKEA couch. I reassure myself that everything will be fine, but saying it over and over doesn't make it true.

I scrape my hand across my face and try to think happy thoughts. As expected, my mind leads me to replay my encounter with Amber Hope and her daughter.

Amber was obviously having a shit day, and I certainly felt bad about that, but seeing her disheveled and frustrated also called to every protective instinct I've ever possessed. I wanted to give her a hug and promise her everything was going to be okay.

I couldn't do that , so I did the next best thing—I gave her a helping hand.

When I first spotted her, I didn't even recognize her, but as I got closer, it was impossible not to realize who was kicking their bag and cackling.

I've always been a sucker for a damsel in distress. Not that Amber was truly in distress. Her heart-shaped face, wavy platinum hair, and propensity for sparkles might make her look like a fairy tale princess—but she's not . Everyone knows she's fierce and strong. She paved her own path with instinct, talent, and determination, and I have zero doubt she would have figured out a solution without my help.

It was a stroke of luck that Maddy was screaming her head off. At least for me.

Children are infinitely easier to figure out than adults, and I could tell what she needed even before Amber thrust her into my arms. Nothing could have restored my confidence in myself quicker than comforting a baby. It was nice to be needed for that brief moment in time.

Drinking my coffee and thinking about Amber doesn't suck, but eventually I get antsy, so after I finish my second cup, I lace up my sneakers and head outside to get some exercise.

A light breeze ruffles my hair as I lock my bright red door and jog down the steps. I just cut the grass yesterday, and power-washed the white picket fence a couple of weeks ago, so it looks quite tidy. It's a relatively small house—only two bedrooms, with a large kitchen and a deck in the backyard. Before I moved in, I had a couple of walls taken out, so the living space is open concept, and it feels bigger than it actually is.

I've always thought it suited me, but until Saturday, I worked a lot of hours, so I've never spent all my time in it. I'm not particularly looking forward to doing so now.

I jog for nearly an hour, attempting to exhaust myself as I zigzag through my neighborhood and nod at people who look like they're leaving for work. When I'm drenched in sweat and my legs are nearly shaking with fatigue, I head home, fill up a water bottle, and go directly to my back deck. I settle on a lounge chair out of the sun and guzzle the water.

The shade slowly recedes. It's hot as hell to sit directly under the California rays, but I can't convince myself to move. It isn't as if I have anything better to do. The light has just hit my elbows when the doorbell rings. I assume it's a package, so I don't bother getting up.

When it rings again a minute later, I pull myself off the chair and head into the house. I reluctantly walk to the door as the bell rings yet again.

Someone is impatient.

I hope it isn't my father. He's known for showing up unexpectedly, and I'm not ready to discuss losing my job with him. Not yet, anyway.

I slowly pull open the door to reveal Amber Hope's manager, Brian, and the short woman with bright blue pigtails, six earrings in her left ear, and sparkly silver fingernails who accompanied him to the pool parking lot.

The woman's dark eyes dart up and down my body, making me uncomfortably aware that I'm sweaty and only wearing a pair of gym shorts.

"Umm…what can I do for you?"

"We'd like to come in," she says as she steps forward. Curiosity compels me to shuffle out of her way.

"Nice place." She doesn't look around when she says it, just keeps staring at me. "I'm Mina, Amber's assistant, and you already know Brian." She tips her head in the man's direction.

"We have some things we'd like to discuss with you," Brian says, and then his voice drops lower, "Confidential things."

"Okay." I draw the word out as I grab the damp shirt I peeled off after my run from the back of my sofa and shrug it on. It feels gross, but at least my chest is covered.

"You cannot repeat anything we say to you under any circumstances," Brian tells me.

I can't imagine what he could say that requires such intensity, but whatever it is, it's probably more interesting than getting a sunburn in my backyard. "Do you need me to sign another nondisclosure agreement?"

"That won't be necessary. The first document you signed was ironclad. I just wanted to be certain you remember. There will be dire consequences if you approach the media."

Is this guy kidding? I mime locking my lips and throwing away the key.

Mina's mouth twitches as Brian nods once and starts talking.

"You may or may not be aware that Amber's tour launches next month. She'll kick things off with two shows here in L.A., and then, a week later, she'll travel to San Francisco. The domestic leg of the tour is sixteen weeks. She'll play three to four shows a week. Then we'll be back here for a little over a month before embarking on the international circuit. That'll be more travel, obviously, but less shows. No more than two per week. This leg is a little shorter. Only ten weeks. From start to finish, the tour is a bit longer than thirty weeks. When it's over, we'll be back here. She'll take some time off and probably record her next album."

I wait, confused as to why he's explaining all of this to me. "That sounds…busy," I venture.

"It is," Mina responds. "But we've been doing this for years, so we've got the tour under control." She hesitates and tosses a look at Brian. He nods, and she continues, "The thing is—we're not used to traveling with a baby. Maddy is a bit of a wild card. We don't really know what she needs. Or how to anticipate what she'll need. It isn't like we weren't aware she'd get teeth, but no one told us?—"

Brian interrupts. "We can handle the basics. We've got wardrobe, food, car seats, and sleeping arrangements figured out. We're struggling with…uh… care ."

"Care?" I echo.

"We can't find the right person to take care of Maddy," Mina blurts. "We've worked with two well respected agencies, and everyone they send is either too obsessed with Amber to pay proper attention to Maddy, or Maddy hates them. Amber keeps sending them back, and since Maddy doesn't warm to strangers easily, we aren't sure what to do." She pauses to chew on her fingernail. "Amber can't perform at her best if she's worrying about her daughter. We need someone she trusts."

It isn't hard to connect the dots now. I'm both flattered and concerned that Amber believes I'm her best option. We've spent less than thirty minutes together—all in a parking lot.

"Me?" I ask.

"You," Brian confirms.

Mina jumps in. "Amber wanted to send you something as a thank you, so I did a little light internet stalking to see what a suitable gift might be, and instead of discovering whether you prefer red or white wine, I learned you're an early childhood professional. Brian did a little more digging and, well, it seemed like fate. You need a new job and you're a licensed childcare provider. Maddy needs a caretaker who Amber trusts. It's a win-win."

Brian starts talking as soon as she pauses, almost like they practiced their pitch. "We know about your situation at Little Acres Academy. We don't have a problem with the fact that you"—he looks down at his tablet—"fucked Stuart's wife."

I'm speechless. Light internet stalking? They don't care why I was fired?

"We don't even know Stuart," Mina interjects. "And you can sleep with whomever you want when you're off the clock."

"Except Amber," Brian adds calmly.

"Technically, he could sleep with Amber. It isn't as if it'd be forbidden." She smirks and waves her arm around—like the idea of me with Amber is preposterous. "But…we probably don't need to worry about that."

"Mina," Brian says sharply. "Too much."

She rolls her eyes. "It isn't like he won't know everything about Amber's private life if he takes this job. And you've made it clear that this room is a vault."

They're talking like I'm not even here, and it's making me feel strangely removed from the conversation, almost as if I'm watching a sitcom.

"Stop." I hold up my hand. "I'm not becoming Maddy's nanny."

"We prefer the term family assistant ," Brian tells me.

Mina blinks rapidly. "Why not?"

It's a valid question. As they succinctly reminded me, I don't have a job. And my bills won't pay themselves. I might have a cushion for now, but it won't last forever.

"Because I'm not interested."

Or maybe, to be more accurate, I don't want to be interested. I like taking care of children, and Maddy was adorable, but being offered a job as a nanny feels like a handout. It's also the kind of job my father would be able to secure for me in a flash.

"What could we do to pique your interest?" Brian asks. "More money?"

Before I can answer, Mina adds, "We've got a lot of flexibility. We can offer more money than you were making at that school. You need extra time off and a generous vacation package? We can figure that out. You require avocado toast for breakfast? I can have it delivered to your room no matter where we are. Whatever you need, I can provide it."

"Mina," Brian interrupts. "Perhaps, instead of offering avocado toast, we should let him tell us what we can do to change his mind."

"I can't go on tour for six months. I have a house and a…uh…life." I gesture at my living room and then point at my backyard, as if that's enough to establish that I'm a very busy man. Fortunately, they don't know I have nothing on my schedule other than sitting in the sun until I burn.

Mina raises one sculpted eyebrow—like she knows exactly what I'm thinking.

"I appreciate the offer. It was my pleasure to assist Ms. Hope on Saturday, but I can't become a nanny," I say firmly.

"Family assistant," Mina corrects.

She opens her mouth like she's going to say something else, but Brian beats her to it. "We'll send over a contract and give you a couple days to think about it. In the meantime, if there's anything we can do to convince you, please give me a call. You still have my number?"

I nod. I probably should have deleted the numbers Amber called, but I didn't even think about it.

"Excellent." Brian smiles. "Thank you for your time, and I hope to speak with you soon."

I shake his hand. Mina gives me another probing look and then follows Brian out. Feeling unsettled, I shut the door and stand there, staring at it. The fact that the next six months are completely free and that my routine and life are already in a major state of upheaval is irrelevant. I'm not taking a job offered out of pity.

Twenty minutes later, as I'm getting out of the shower, my phone rings. I ignore it while I dry off, but it rings again as I'm tugging on a shirt. This time, I pick it up, and wince when I see who's calling. My father. I don't want to answer, but avoidance doesn't work with him.

"Dad," I say with a sigh.

"Nolan Michael Byrne, why didn't you call me?" he shouts. He doesn't wait for my answer, just keeps talking like he didn't ask a question. I wish I could say this was unusual, but it isn't. "Those blowhards on the board would have crumbled like a graham cracker in the hand of a toddler if you'd let me talk to them."

Wow. That's oddly specific. "Who told you?"

"I just got off the phone with your mother."

"Just now? Or earlier today?" I need to be certain he didn't somehow send Brian and Mina to my doorstep. I'm not sure I'd survive the humiliation of him begging a favor of Amber Hope.

"We hung up thirty seconds ago," he practically shouts.

I sigh with relief as I sink onto the edge of my bed.

My mother had called me as I was climbing out of my car after getting back home from being fired and helping Amber. Like a dumbass, I answered. Before I knew it, the whole sordid tale had slipped out. She was properly indignant, and when I told her not to tell anyone, I should have known she'd call him anyway. The only real surprise is that she waited more than five minutes.

She might be happily married to another man, but she still adores my father, and, according to her, there isn't a problem he can't solve. She really leans into his fame—embracing the fact that being an award-winning action star makes him significantly more powerful than the average person.

"I had things under control." I'm thirty-one years old. I don't need my father fighting my battles.

"You got fired." He scoffs. "Fired, Nolan. Fired. "

It doesn't sting any less when he keeps repeating it. "I know."

"You didn't deserve to be fired. I could have helped you," he says, a little gentler than before.

"I didn't know it would come down to my job." Not entirely true. I'd hoped it wouldn't, but in retrospect, I should have known better.

"Yes, you did. You stomped on that bastard's ego. Of course, he was going to retaliate. I didn't raise you to be na?ve."

Technically speaking, he didn't raise me. My mother, my aunt, and, later, my stepfather had the dubious pleasure of guiding me into adulthood. Although, while my father wasn't always around, he's always been part of my life, and I've never doubted that he cares.

"I wasn't being na?ve."

He scoffs again. "You let them fire you."

"I couldn't keep working there. Not after everyone heard intimate details of my sex life."

I know it sounds ridiculous, but it's absolutely true. Unfortunately, I'm aware he doesn't feel the same way. "You can't let that sort of thing bother you."

He's completely serious. There are three—that I know of—sex tapes of him out in the world. We've never discussed them, because I have zero interest in talking to my father about his sex life, but more than a few of my friends and acquaintances have mentioned that they've seen more of him than they ought to have. He doesn't flaunt the videos, but he's made no effort to get them taken down, so I have to assume he doesn't mind that they exist.

It's just one of the many ways in which my father and I differ. I try to be discreet, and I value my privacy.

He lives his life in the open, has no problem with full-frontal nudity, and doesn't care if strangers see his ass.

"I can let it bother me," I tell him.

He sighs, and I imagine him running his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "I know, but I wish you wouldn't. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

"I'm not ashamed." But I'm not proud, either.

"Nolan." He sighs again. "How are you really doing?"

"I'm fine."

" Ha. Liar. I can just picture you standing in front of the board—acting all cool and collected while secretly dying inside," he says.

I hate that he knows me so well.

"I was sitting." It's the most absurd comment I've ever made.

He huffs out a laugh. "Not the point. You can't blame yourself. You did nothing wrong."

"She's married."

"But you aren't," he counters.

I know he's correct. It doesn't change the fact that I feel dirty. And used.

"There's nothing wrong with consensual sex between two willing people. Especially when both are pretending they're single." His voice gets louder and more impassioned, like he's monologuing on-screen. "However, there is something wrong when one of those people lies and then gets the other person fired. We should sue this woman and her husband."

"We can't sue anyone. I took the settlement and signed the paperwork already."

"You what ?" He shouts into the phone so loudly that I almost drop it. "Have I taught you nothing? If you didn't want my help, you could have called one of your brothers, or your sister."

My father has eighteen children. Thirteen boys and five girls. I'm closest to Nicky—who's six months younger than me, and my cousin on top of being my half-brother.

It's less messed up than it sounds. My mother introduced my father to her sister after she found out she was pregnant with me and after they'd agreed they were better off as friends. Her sister—my aunt—went out with him a couple of times and conceived Nicholas. My mother and aunt then moved in together and raised us as brothers.

Actually…never mind. It sounds even more messed up after I explain it.

"I didn't want help," I insist.

He grumbles something indistinct before saying, "You loved that job."

I'm not sure that's true. I can admit I was thrilled when I got the promotion and was proud to have earned it on my own merits. Plus, I adored the idea of being in charge and shaping policy from the inside. Unfortunately, I'd been more of a figurehead than an arbitrator of change. And I'd missed being amongst children all day. "I'll find another job."

"You've only worked at one place. How are you going to explain being fired from your only job? Or do you intend to pretend you've been unemployed for the last seven years?"

"I can't disclose the reason I left, so I'll simply tell them that I'm ready for a new challenge. I wouldn't mind going back into the classroom." The slog of looking for another job while not mentioning the last one is not appealing.

"You shouldn't let other people dictate the trajectory of your life," he responds. "I wish you'd let me help." He wishes he got to dictate the trajectory of my life.

"You've always been too stubborn for your own good," he adds.

"And you've always been too pushy for your own good."

"I have fewer complaints than you seem to think." He chuckles. "Most people accept my assistance without argument."

That is all too true. The rest of my family take advantage of being related to Russell Gage as often as possible. Even Nicky was willing to use our father's connections to score a coveted job in the New York fashion scene.

"I'm okay. I don't need help. I promise I'll figure things out."

"Do you need money? I can?—"

"No," I say sharply.

He lets out another long-suffering sigh. "I just want my children to be happy. Is that too much to ask?"

"Of course not." But I will not feel guilty for refusing to live off my father. "I am happy."

And now that I've been fired, I have the chance to discover something new.

Something better.

My stupid brain flashes to Amber Hope and the nanny job. It's hard to understand why she'd offer a stranger a job as her daughter's nanny, but now that I know my father isn't pulling any strings, I'm slightly intrigued.

Going from headmaster to nanny would be a step backward professionally. I have a master's degree, and I had a prestigious job. I had a plan for my life. But that plan is shot to hell now. Maybe it's time to consider a new path.