Chapter 4

Four

Sixteen months Ago—Bree (Las Vegas)

"This is exactly what I needed," I say, leaning back on the cushioned chaise. I'm snug as a bug in one of the roomy poolside cabanas on the VIP deck at the Stark Century Hotel & Casino in Vegas, surrounded by a flurry of beautiful people and even a few Hollywood A-listers. Best of all, my lifelong BFF came with me on this vacation, and she's snuggled in right along with me.

"I get it now," Aria says. "The allure of your job," she explains, when I roll on my side and shoot her a questioning glance. "It's the perks."

I prop myself up on my elbow—the better to swat her with one of the cushions—then flop back down. "Yup. This is what all nannies do during the day. Lounge about drinking fruity cocktails and gossiping. And when the kids get restless, I just order them a Manhattan from the live-in bartender."

"Seriously?" She sits up, the black tips of her spiky red hair standing out against the delicate white drapes that make up the sides of the cabana. "Why the hell am I working my ass off in New York?"

"You're not for much longer," I tell her. Not if I have any say in it. I've been trying for ages to convince her to move to LA with me. And since I'm about to buy a fixer-upper in Burbank, I think I've pretty much convinced her.

She flashes a wicked grin. "If that very superior ass is one of the perks, I'm moving tomorrow." She nods toward a cluster of loungers on the far side of the pool where Bryan Raine, a mega-star on the way to going super nova, is holding court.

"He's a total prick," I say, careful to keep my voice low. "But you're dead-on right about the nice ass."

Ari's eyes widen. "You've met him?"

"Once," I say, "and he was perfectly polite. Total smiling for the fans moment. But I've heard stories. Several stories." Technically, I've over heard stories, but I don't mention that. That's one of the perks—and dangers—of my job.

I've been working on and off as a nanny for Damien Stark's family for years, ever since their littlest girl was only one. She's going on eight now, and to say it's been a roller-coaster ride would be the understatement of the millennium. I love them, though. And not just the kids, but Nikki and Damien—and omg, how long did it take me to get comfortable using their first names?

It had been weird at first, working for the most well-known and respected billionaire in the universe. And scary, too. Especially since there'd been a time when I wasn't sure they liked or trusted me—a terrifying, painful time after the kidnapping that I make a point of not thinking of because— shit.

Not. Thinking. Of. That.

Bottom line, being in a household like that, you see and hear all sorts of things that could screw up a business deal, be sold to some horrible gossip rag, or get loose on social media and totally blow up. And, yeah, there'd been a rocky period when I was afraid they were looking at me like a time-bomb. But now I know with absolute certainty that they not only like me, they trust me.

Best of all, they truly think of me like family.

How do I know?

Partly, because they tell me. But also because they do sweet things like letting me pivot to part-time and live in their guest house so I can focus on writing my second book. And things like this—sending the kids to relatives so that I can have a relaxing long weekend in Vegas with my BFF at one of Damien's hotels while he and Nikki are off to Europe.

"Now I really want to meet him," Aria says, her eyes shooting once again toward Bryan Raine. "Asshole actor? Might be that's just his Hollywood persona. Get me close and I can check out his aura."

I force myself not to roll my eyes. There are times when Aria's a little too woo for my taste. But at the same time, her first impressions are usually right.

"There will be no aura-checking today," I tell her.

"Party pooper."

"That's me."

"Pretty please?" She makes prayer hands. "We'll just wander over to that side of the pool. I'll be your bestie."

"You already are."

"I could call ABC rules," Aria says, making me scowl. We established the ABC Club way back in second grade. A for her. B for me. C for chain . Because the rule chained us together as Best Friends for Life. No request too big. Always having each other's backs.

"Fine," I say. "But just remember, he's an asshole. And if I introduce myself, it will surely get back to the Starks, and I'm going to look like the jerk who used this lovely weekend they gave me to toss my friend in front of celebrities."

I cross my arms and stare her down. "But if that's what you want me to do…."

"Oh, hell yeah," Aria says. "I mean, I'm your bestie. Stark's just a paycheck."

I shake my head, roll my eyes, then settle back onto my chaise. "Bitch," I mutter, making her crack up. I reach for my Cosmo, only to find the glass empty. And though I could signal a waiter, I sit up, stretch, then stand, albeit a little unsteady after two—no, three—drinks. "I'm going to hit the ladies' and order another round. Same for you?"

I'm unsurprised when she eagerly agrees. After all, this trip is all about sluffing off, getting drunk, then crashing in our suite and spending the next two nights talking and trashing every bad movie we can find before she flies back to New York on Tuesday.

There's an entrance to the lounge off the pool, so it only takes a second to pop by the bar and put in the order. Then I shift course to the nearby ladies' room, which is about as elegant as Buckingham Palace. When I come out, the bartender signals to me, and I head his direction, curious as to what he might need.

"One of our guests offered to buy your current round of drinks. I told him they were already comped, but I thought I should let you know."

I stand up a little straighter. "Really? Well, that was nice of him. Can you point him out?"

"He's already left the lounge, but his name is Ashton Stone. I believe he's checking out tomorrow."

"Oh." A dangerous heat spreads through my body. "I, um… Thank you." My voice sounds thin, and my pulse has kicked up its tempo. I want to ask if he knows where Ash went. Did he exit to the outside? To the lobby? To the pool deck?

But I say nothing.

Instead, I force a thank you past my suddenly dry mouth, then hurry back to the safety of my bestie and our snug little cabana.

Except it's not safe.

As soon as I settle onto my chaise, I see him. Ashton Stone . A man who could be the role model for all those bad boy cliches. Tall. Dark. Definitely dangerous. I'd first met him at the Starks' Malibu home when he'd shown up out of the blue, cloaked in secrets and drama.

I'd seen the tension between him and Damien.

And, yeah, I'd felt a different kind of tension between him and me.

Worse, I'd liked it. Probably too much. The sensation of those eyes roaming over me like a caress. The nights imagining what those hands—so famous for working on sleek, fast cars—would feel like on my skin. He's a man who, like his father, walks through the world like a magnet drawing in power and control and passion, so that it all seems to swirl around him in a heady, intoxicating mix. But there is no way I can allow myself to get drunk on Ashton Stone.

I Won't.

I can't .

I just… can't.

Except there he is on the far side of the pool, and though I know I should look away, I don't. As if he's heard a siren's call, he turns his head, and his eyes lock on mine. He takes one step forward, then another until I almost believe he's going to walk across the water to my side. But then he stops at the edge, his eyes still on mine.

I try to look away, but don't. I can't seem to break the spell.

"Bree?"

Jarred back to reality, I turn to see Aria cocking her head toward the waiter who is holding out my drink. When I take it, Aria catches my eye, and I realize that she's noticed Ash, too. She raises a brow, but I just shake my head. One tiny fraction of an inch.

That's all I need to do, and in true BFF fashion, Aria slides off her chaise, goes to the front of the cabana, and closes the drapes to block our view of the pool.

And just like that, Ash is gone.

I tell myself that's the way I want it, but as I take my first sip of the Cosmo, I can't help but wish that it was Ash making my blood buzz, not vodka. But that's never going to happen.

No matter how much I might sometimes think I want it to.