Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
About this Book
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Good Lies: A Wild Minds Novel
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright © 2017 by Charlotte West LLC
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-9987249-2-8
Editors: Taryn Lawson
Cover design: Okay Creations
Formatting: Champagne Formats
PR: Rockstar PR and Literary Agency
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Visit my website at www.charlottewestbooks.com
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
About this Book
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Good Lies: A Wild Minds Novel
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Down-on-her-luck teacher, Daisy Clemmens, is about to learn some hard lessons. (Not like that, you perv.)
Lesson One
No matter how broke you are, never agree to a job that includes a rabid eight-year-old, requires a tetanus shot, or where your boss is a sexy (and cranky) rock ‘n’ roll god.
Lesson Two
Do not, do not start to have tender, gooey feelings for the sexy commitment-phobe rock ‘n’ roll god. You’ll only get hurt.
Lesson Three
Okay so you’ve slept with the sexy rock ‘n’ roll god. But it’s not too late. Just whatever you do, don’t fall in love. Whoops. Too late.
Lesson Four
Never love someone, even if they are a sexy rock ‘n’ roll god, more than yourself.
“What experience do you have working with children?”
I blinked once then stared at the man across from me. A clock located just above his right shoulder showed me the interview had been running long, just over an hour and a half. My butt was starting to fall asleep. The clear modern chair I sat in was pretty to look at, not as pretty to sit in. I shifted, swallowed. “I have a bachelor’s in education and just completed my master’s in elementary education. Working with children has been a lifelong dream of mine. During my master’s program I student taught in a first-and second-grade classroom over the course of eight months.
The man made an unimpressed sound. He leaned back, tapped his pencil against a pad on which he’d been taking copious notes. “I’ll be honest Ms. Clemmens—”
“Daisy, please.” My hands tightened in my lap.
“Daisy,” he said with a smile. His two front teeth overlapped and were distinctly larger than the rest in his mouth. They reminded me of a mouse. Or a rat. “I’d like to be honest, you seem overqualified for this type of position. I’m wondering why you didn’t decide to find a teaching job.”
Definitely a rat. The implication was clear in his tone. Why haven’t you been able to secure a teaching job? What’s wrong with you? That’s what he was really asking. There was absolutely nothing wrong with me. I’d graduated with honors from my university. I had recommendations from two professors and three mentor teachers. I should’ve had my pick of schools. But then the economy tanked. Thank you, Mr. President. Teachers weren’t being hired. I’d deferred my student loan payment one too many times. Uncle Sam had come a-knocking. My options had dwindled to avenues outside the classroom. So I’d signed up with a nanny agency. This was my second interview of the day. The previous consisted of a husband with wandering hands and a wife so tightly wound, I thought her spine might crack. For sure, if I put a piece of coal up her ass, it’d turn into a diamond in no time. They had an adorable five-year-old little boy. But no way would I work under such hostile conditions.
Rat Face cleared his throat, awaiting my answer. I smiled, a bit too brittle, a bit too blinding. “Please rest assured I’m not interested in a teaching job at this time.” Lie. As soon as I had the opportunity, I would be out the door faster than a whore in church. Not that I had anything against prostitutes. I was very into female sexual empowerment. “I’m very keen to develop a one-on-one relationship with a child and watch them grow.” Bigger lie. I wanted my own classroom filled with bright-eyed little creatures. One would never be enough.
He gazed at my resume. “Well you do seem to be a good fit.”
I turned up my smile a notch. Did I look crazy? I felt crazy. No, not crazy. Desperate. The phone in my pocket had been buzzing with emails. No doubt, creditors come to collect. “I’m so glad to hear you say that. Would you mind telling me a little about your child?”
Rat Face wasn’t wearing a ring. I assumed we had a divorce situation on our hands. He probably wanted someone to help him on the weekends when he had his kid. Too bad, I wasn’t interested in part-time work. Sigh. I had high hopes for this one. The entire interview, Rat Face’s eyes hadn’t slipped down past my neck. A definite plus. His office was nice, really nice, located on the fortieth floor in a corner, with floor-to-ceiling windows, in some music entertainment company building. Rat Face leaned back in his leather chair. He smiled and I didn’t like the looks of it. “Oh, it’s not for me. It’s for my client. He’s in need of a nanny for his little girl.” He steepled his hands, the move reminiscent of a comic book villain. “Tell me Daisy, how do you feel about travel, unruly children and their ill-tempered fathers?”
The room on the other side of the door sounded like a child was being murdered inside. Scratch that. Not murdered. The torturous screams were based in laughter. Someone was tickling a child to death. I glanced down on the sl
ip of paper Rat Face had given me.
Chateau Marmont
Penthouse A
10:30 a.m.
Rat Face had refused to give me the name of his client. After some strange questions regarding alcoholism in my family, my favorite bands, and my thoughts on corporal punishment, Rat Face had scribbled down the name of a hotel and a time. “He’s only in town for two nights before leaving on tour. If he likes you, you’ll be required to travel with him and nanny his daughter. She’s eight. Life on the road can be difficult. It’s a twenty-four-hour position. You sure you’re up for this? His last three nannies have checked into mental hospitals.”
I’d laughed at that. Rat Face hadn’t. He’d handed me the slip of paper and muttered a good luck that sounded more like a prayer.
Tentatively, I rapped once on the door. The room fell silent. A full minute ticked by. I raised my hand to knock again, the door swung open. A smiling little girl stood at the threshold; her front two teeth were missing. I barely kept my jaw from dropping. She was dressed in a sequin top, rainbow tutu, and torn fishnets. Where in the world had someone found fishnets for an eight-year-old girl? I swallowed, gathering my wits. “That’s a lovely outfit you have on.”
The little girl beamed. “I picked it out and put it on myself.” Oh, that’s probably why the shirt was on backwards. And inside out. “Billy says it’s fantastic and what the inside of my heart looks like.”
“Your heart must be a million different colors then,” I said. “Who’s Billy?”
“I’m Billy,” a man with a British accent spoke, stepping behind her. My gaze traveled the length of his body starting at his bare feet. Up my eyes roamed—frayed, well-worn, jeans, a thin T-shirt, muscled, thick-veined and tattooed arms, broad shoulders and finally, the face. All the breath left my body. My god. Green eyes. White-blond hair with dark roots that stood up on end. Chiseled cheekbones and jaw with just the right amount of scruff. And full lips that frowned down at me. The man was tall. Everest tall.
I felt a flush creep across my cheeks. A redhead with pale skin, I never could hide embarrassment, or in this case, desire. Billy put a hand to the little girl’s shoulder. He had strong, blunt fingers. What would they feel like on my skin? “And this is my little bird, Addy.” Billy smiled down at the girl like she was sunshine and unicorns and lollipops, the way I wished my father would look at me. I’d never failed to disappoint Colonel Clemmens.
I stuck out a hand. “I’m Daisy.”
Green eyes bore into mine. “Steven sent you?”
My hand dropped back down to my side, untouched. I chewed my lip. Steven? Oh, right. Steven was Rat Face’s real name. “Yes.”
Blond brows, a shade darker than his hair, darted in. “We’re going to need to sit down and have a formal interview.”
“Of course. I assure you my qualifications—”
“Little bird.” Billy crouched down next to his daughter, hands gripping her small shoulders. I noticed his nails were painted a bright fuchsia. Addy’s toenails, peeking through the ripped fishnets, were the same color. Had this man given his daughter a pedicure, then allowed her to paint his nails as well? “Go find Trent. Earlier I saw him stuffing his pockets full of candy. He’s going to play shy and tell you he doesn’t have any. Don’t let him get away with it. Use your teeth if you have to.”
Addy bared her teeth and shook her head, doing a very good impression of a rabid dog. She skirted past me and her tiny fists were banging on the next door. The door cracked opened and a very large, very bald man with two gold front teeth answered. “Why Addison Wanks! What are you doing beating down my door?” The man, Trent I assumed, had a similar accent to Billy’s, only his was rougher, less refined—more cockney than British aristocrat.
Addy growled and leapt onto Trent’s legs. “I’m a pirate! Give me all your candy or die.”
Trent dramatically clutched his chest, eyes widening. “Oh no, not the dreaded Pirate Wanks.” They fell into the room, Addy giggling and shrieking.
“Come on in, carrots.” Billy drew my attention. He stepped aside, motioning for me to enter the suite.
I chewed my lip, resisted the urge to study a lock of my hair. It wasn’t that orange, was it? “My name is Daisy.”
Billy’s lip turned up. “All right, flower.” Tattoos ringed his neck, black sparrows in flight.
Flower. I shouldn’t like the nickname, or the way he said it—with a sexy lilt—so much. I settled on a white sofa and shuffled through my bag, fishing out a resume. I held the paper out to him. “As you can see, I’ve just finished my master’s in education …” I mumbled off some more facts as Billy plucked the paper from me. He frowned down at it for a second, then let it drop to the floor. What a dick move. I’d spent twelve extra dollars on linen resume paper. Twelve dollars I didn’t have. All so I could impress fancy clients like him. Even though I had no clue who he was. Rat Face had assured me I’d recognize this guy, but my mind had drawn a total blank. Billy Wanks? The name meant nothing to me. Nada. Zip.
Billy shimmied a phone from his jeans. He pressed a button and spoke into the receiver. “Jett?” Pause. “Yeah, the new nanny just arrived.” Another pause, Billy perused me from my toes to my head. “We’re going to need the full treatment.” The call disconnected and Billy shoved the phone into his back pocket.
“Mr. Wanks, I’m happy to answer any questions you might have.” I smoothed my hands over my knee-length skirt. I’d opted for a comfortable yet professional look that morning—a grey wool skirt, white collared shirt and grey cardigan.
“Hold onto your knickers, flower. The others should be here soon.”
“Others?”
“My band mates. If you’re going to be touring with us, we all gotta agree. Drink?” His hand swept over a glass cart stuffed full with expensive bottles of liquor and crystal glassware.
“No, thank you. I don’t drink.” Also, it was ten-thirty in the morning.
Billy nodded. “That’s good. I’m sober as well.” Then he proceeded to pour himself two fingers of whiskey and down it in one swallow. Veins in his neck stood out, and the muscles in his back clenched as he gulped. I crossed my legs, clenching my thighs together. Is it wrong to find morning drinking sexy?
“I thought you said you were sober.” My voice sounded dry, husky.
Billy gave me an incredulous look. “I am. I haven’t touched clear liquors or white drugs in years. I’m a parent now, I got responsibilities.”
The door to the suite opened and in filed three equally disheveled looking men. The first had a mane of wild curly hair, tied up in some type of messy man bun. The second had dark tan skin, and light green eyes. And the third, well I couldn’t tell what the third looked like; a red hat rode low on his brow, and a beard as massive as Gandalf the Great’s, but reddish-blondish rather than gray, covered his face and part of his chest. “Flower, this is the band, Jett, Chord and Turner.” He ticked off their names in the order they entered.
Curly hair, Jett, sunk into a chair and tilted his head, eyeing me curiously.
Chord, green eyes, sat in a chair opposite Jett, crossed his arms and promptly began to doze. And Turner joined Billy at the bar cart, pouring himself a glass filled to the rim with vodka. A healthy drink.
“She looks like a nanny,” Jett said, his accent the same as Billy’s.
Turner eyed me, under the shadow of his hat. “Yeah, but so did the others. We’ve been fooled before.” He had the same lilt to his words. So I was dealing with a group of Brits.
“My father did say never to trust a redhead,” Billy remarked.
I gritted my teeth. I may have needed the job, but not at the expense of my self-respect. I’d suffered one too many redhead remarks in my lifetime. “Why? Because we’re slutty and steal your money?”
Billy scoffed. “No, because you’re far too intelligent.”
Well, that took the wind out of my angry sails.
Chord popped one eye opened and smiled groggily. “I like her.”
/> I wish I could say the same for these guys. Who the hell were they? “Rat, I mean Steven said you guys were going on tour soon. I take it you four are in a band of some sort?”
Jett’s bark of laughter startled me. “Holy shit. She’s got no idea who we are.”
“Should I?” I asked.
Billy glared, seemingly mortally offended. “We’re Wanks and Janks, flower.”
“Oh,” I said, then when that didn’t seem to appease Billy, “Congratulations?”
“I like her even more now,” said Chord, eyes shut again.
Billy’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve never heard of us?”
“Um.” I chewed my lip, shrugged helplessly. “I grew up on classical music.” The Colonel didn’t believe in anything else. My childhood was the movie Footloose come to life. Except instead of a preacher father, I had a military dad. Oh, and we lived in Tampa, Florida, a slightly bigger city. Also, I didn’t lose my virginity to a Kevin Bacon lookalike who could dance. I lost it to a Navy SEAL I’d picked up at a bar using a fake I.D. Ah, memories.
Billy’s glare turned up a notch. I sucked in a breath, quick to cover my faux pas, I said, “I’m sure your music is very good.” A snort from Turner. “But whether I know you or not has no bearing on whether I’m qualified to nanny. Plus you won’t have to worry about me going all fan girl and collapsing in tears of adoration and praise.”
Billy sighed, long and overdrawn. “I happen to like tears of adoration and praise.”
“Tell me, Flower is it?” Jett leaned forward.
“Daisy. My name is Daisy.”
Jett flicked his hand. I guess the distinction didn’t matter. “Flower, how are you with houseplants?”
My brows inched up. “Houseplants?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t really have much of a green thumb.”
“Well, that settles it then,” said Billy with obvious disapproval. “No way she can be little bird’s nanny.” He addressed me. “How do you expect to keep my daughter alive if you can’t even keep a houseplant alive?”
Hard Lessons: (A Wild Minds Prequel Novel) Page 1
