by Misti Murphy
We break through the wall of onlookers. They turn their attention on us, asking questions, trying to get me to stop and give them a sound bite, a look, anything they can use while Erin’s ex-lover or boyfriend or whatever he is fills their heads with his lies.
“No comment. No comment. No comment.” Callum’s words are like a mantra as he drags me along.
A car pulls around the corner of the clubhouse. Callum’s car, with his date behind the wheel. The group follows us.
“Did you know she was in a long-term relationship when you decided to seduce her, Mr. Frost?”
“How much did you offer her to sleep with you?”
“Do all your nannies get the same offer?”
How can they think that’s the real story behind what Erin and I have? For Christ’s sake, they’ve followed our entire relationship as it unfolded. They’ve been haranguing me for not admitting I have feelings for her, now this guy gets on a pedestal and they forget everything they’ve documented about Erin and me? All they have to do is flip through their own damn stories to see the truth of my relationship with Erin.
I turn to face them. But what if everything Peter is saying is right? What if I inadvertently stole another man’s girlfriend because I wanted her in my bed?
“Get in the car,” Callum orders, pushing me until I slide through the open back door. He jumps into the front and the car rolls forward, cruising slowly along the drive until we clear the crowd.
I sink into the supple leather as we leave the clubhouse behind us. Undoing my tie, I bunch it up in my fist.
“What a mess.” Callum shakes his head. “You should have told me about this guy. It would have been nice to be prepared. I could have spun this our way.” His phone is going mental. It hasn’t stopped ringing since we got in the car, or maybe I hadn’t heard it over the hubbub of the horde crowding us. He takes a moment to switch it off. “We could have limited the damage.”
“She never told me about him,” I say. Not unless I want to count her phone conversation that first day she showed up at my apartment where she mentioned her bad luck with sleeping with an unavailable baby daddy. Even supposing she wanted to keep her employment issues quiet, if we meant as much as I thought we did, surely she would have told me about him. I don’t know why she didn’t, and that bothers me more than I want to admit.
***
“Can you please quit moping? We need to work on saving your sponsorships or you’ll be putting yourself through the PGA tour next year.” Callum stands in my kitchen, sipping French roast from my favorite mug —the one Erin preferred before she disappeared from Abby’s and my life. “You lost Range Rover this morning.”
“I’m surprised it took them this long. Was over driving their SUV anyway.” It’s been eight days with no sign of Erin. None, nada, zilch. Not even a lousy card saying, Sorry, but I’m in love with my previous employer. Though she did send Danny to collect her things while I was out, so she’s probably staying with him. Only there’s no listing for him anywhere. It’s like the guy doesn’t exist, and Evie, who’s been a lifesaver in all this by dropping her waitressing gig to take over nannying, never actually went home with him, so she couldn’t tell me either. “Do you think she’s with him? Was he right about her? Or is she avoiding me because she’s worried about the media? Or because I didn’t tell her how I feel?”
Callum rolls his gaze to the ceiling then puts down his mug. “Have you listened to a word I said?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course.” I lean against the wall cupboards. I’m not sleeping well. There’s too much space in my bed. “My sponsors are rats abandoning ship. My career is in the toilet.”
“We need to make a decision about how you want to play this.” Callum exhales audibly, a tic jumping in his jaw. “I can possibly—probably—drum up new sponsors, but only if you come out and admit fault. They will want to see remorse and they will want to see change. And they need you to tell the world that your affair with the nanny is over. Of course you’re still going to take a hit. This season is over for you. Next season is going to be a struggle.”
“So do you think she wants to tell me what happened, but she’s too scared of the media?” I take my cap off and twist it between my hands. “Am I ever going to see her again?”
“There are other nannies out there, Garrett. Like the one in the other room, for instance. And, quite separately, more beautiful women who want to date a professional athlete. But right now, you need to focus on your career.”
“Daddy?” Abby wanders into the kitchen. Under one arm she carries that long-legged goat Callum bought her, under the other she has one of Erin’s shirts we found in my room. She’s dragged it around with her since the day Erin didn’t come home, and no amount of cajoling by me or Evie can make her give it up. I scoop her up and squeeze her. “You’re missing the point, Callum. I just don’t care. Not when my family is broken. Without at least knowing why Erin hasn’t come back, I can’t concentrate on anything else.”
“You’re really not ready to make a statement that your relationship is over?” He studies me for a long moment. “I can’t talk you out of career suicide?”
“Nope.” I press a kiss to Abby’s head. “I’m not going to agree that what Erin and I had was wrong. At least not until I hear an explanation from her own lips. So unless you’re actually going to help me work out how to fix this mess”—I point at Abby and myself—“you may as well leave.”
“Christ,” he says, shaking his head then he pulls out a stool at the counter. “You two should go get cleaned up and send in that waitress, nanny, whatever.”
“Evie.”
“Send in Evie. I need an assistant. And if you have any dirt on Peter, now’s the time to spill it.”
“I don’t.” I wish I had. From our short interaction, I only know that she dated him when she was nannying for his family, but he seemed unstable at the golf course. The media doesn’t seem to care that he appears to be obsessed with her. They’ve been eating up his story. Who doesn’t like a tale where the bad boy actually turns out to be bad and the underdog gets the princess?
“It’s a shame we don’t have Fiona Davenport on our team. That woman could dig up the dirt on an angel.”
“Actually.” There’s a spark of hope. “Maybe we do. Call her and tell her I want to make a deal.”
By the time I clear the kitchen with Abby, Callum’s on the phone.
***
“I can’t believe my baby brother is getting married this evening.” I nudge Paynt in the ribs. Hard to believe we were standing in this very spot the first time he met his fiancée, then his neighbor. Although it wasn’t, was it? They’d met a night earlier when my crazy, but incredibly lucky, brother bought her a stripper.
“You find the right one, you marry her,” he says with a shrug. “Or at the very least you tell her how you feel about her.”
“You think I’m an idiot, don’t you?” I lean on the railing and watch Abby trot through the yard with Spot by her side. She still asks for Erin, though after these past two weeks, it’s about time we both faced the fact that she isn’t coming back. “Don’t answer that.” I have no idea if she saw the press conference or if it was too little too late. Does she even know that her stalker was found within forty-eight hours of the press conference and that his family had him committed to a facility in another state?
Fiona came through for us big time. It might have been purely because of Danny’s threats the night Erin left me, but she dug up every scrap of dirt on that whack job, right down to the brand of socks he wears. Then she made contact with the ex-wife.
It turns out Peter Wilkins was advised to seek professional help for his mental health issues. His family, the kids, even the ex-wife encouraged him to do so. The former Mrs. Wilkins told Fiona that Erin had worked for them for a while, how they’d been her first employers, and Peter had formed an attachment, an obsession really, to the poor naïve girl. Erin wasn’t entirely without blame in the matter; she had after all
admitted she believed they were in love after he flipped out over her decision to quit nannying for the family. But that had been the end of it.
Did Fiona think Erin was in actual danger now?
“We all fuck up,” Paynt says. “Can’t be helped.”
Just like Erin did, falling for that jackass. Just like I did when I let her get away without telling me what happened between them. Or finding out whether we could salvage our relationship.
“How’s Abby doing without her?” He arches his eyebrows.
“Better than me.” She’s so resilient. First her mother leaves and now Erin, and somehow her little heart keeps going when mine just wants to stop. “Her mother got in touch with my lawyer, actually. She wants to see Abby. On my terms, of course. Supervised visitation to start with.”
“How do you feel about that?” Paynt squeezes my shoulder.
“I feel like I wish Erin was around to tell me what to do.” Below us a man emerges from inside the white tent in the center of the yard. He swaggers toward Ronnie, giving her a smile that irritates the hell out of me. “Danny? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Yeah, that’s the kid Erin suggested Ronnie get to help.”
I didn’t think he’d do it. I didn’t expect him to show up after everything. I bound down the stairs and strike out in his direction. A spark of hope blooms in my chest.
“How about we get a drink after we finish here? All this wedding prep is thirst-building business. I know this great sports bar,” Danny is saying to Ronnie. My sister is leaning over, tying a giant ribbon to the back of a white garden chair, and Erin’s ridiculous friend has his gaze glued on her ass.
I clip him across the back of his head. “Don’t look at my sister like that.”
“Ouch.” He cringes and rubs at the back of his head. “You’re still as pleasant as ever.”
“More so. Where is she? Where’s Erin?”
“Like I’d tell you.” He rolls his gaze. “You didn’t appreciate what you had.”
“Don’t you think I need to tell her that face to face?” I implore him. “At least give me the chance to let her know she doesn’t have to hide from me. I know all about Peter Wilkins.”
He crosses his arms and lifts his shoulders. “I saw your press conference. I suppose I gotta say thanks for getting that asshole off her back.”
“So tell me where she is,” I snap.
“No, G-man. I’m not going to do that.” He grins at my sister, following her across the lawn with his gaze. “Your sister is hot.”
“Are you going to try to steal her like you did my tux?”
“Maybe.” He winks. “Probably more like the condoms. Although I sure as hell don’t plan on letting you see me in her.”
“Fuck. That’s disgusting.” I almost gag.
“What are you two talking about?” Ronnie joins us.
“I was just telling Garrett that I’m enjoying letting you boss me around.” Danny smirks. “Nothing better than being ordered around by a sexy older woman.”
“Oh.” Ronnie glances at me for confirmation that she did hear him correctly.
“You’re in for it now,” I tell him.
“Oh sweetie, you have no idea what to do with a woman like me. This smile of yours, it probably does most of the work for you when it comes to women your own age, doesn’t it?” She smiles at him, moving closer so she can pat his cheek. “I don’t think you have the stamina or the drive that I need in a boy toy. You should probably stick to twenty-year-olds.” She gives him a pitying look. “Women with low expectations, yeah?”
“God, Ronnie.” I still need Danny to tell me where Erin is, and my sister flirting with him is something that should never, ever happen.
“Wow.” Danny rubs at the spot on his face where Ronnie’s hand was as she walks away. “Your sister—”
“Don’t say it,” I warn him. “Just. Don’t. Tell me where Erin is.”
“Why? So you can not tell her how you feel about her? So she can make you look good in front of the cameras? Or so you can keep paying her to look after your kid while she’s sleeping in your bed?”
“Fuck no.” I growl at him. “First thing I’m going to do is fire her.”
Chapter Seventeen
ERIN
I hate this house Danny shares with I don’t even know how many other guys. Seems like there’s a new face every other day. The bathroom is disgusting no matter how many times I clean it. Why can’t guys hit the toilet? It’s a plenty big enough target, for God’s sake. And there’s nothing but beer, condiments, and leftover pizza in the fridge. I don’t understand how people live like this, and Danny’s been doing it since he graduated from college.
I have to get out of here, but first, I need a job. Not a nanny gig, either. I’m through with that scene. Through with the heartache. And I’m not even talking about Garrett. Losing Abby is as much of a slice to my heart as losing him. Might even be worse, since she’s an innocent victim in all of this. Garrett, he had a choice.
I’ve avoided social media while I’ve been hiding out here. I’ve only left for necessities—food, toilet paper, fresh air. Okay, so I’ve left a lot, but I avoid anyplace I once went with Garrett and I wear a hat or scarf over my hair most of the time. I’m like a movie star trying to go incognito, except it’s easy because no one really cares who I am.
Danny’s tried to talk me into reaching out to Garrett, and I’ve refused. I’m too raw, my head is too full of what ifs. I’m afraid if I do go see him, I’ll beg him to let me stay, and that’s just pitiful and sad.
Danny, on the other hand, had no qualms about going to Paynter and Chloe’s wedding today. “She’s paying me more than I’ve made in any one month since I graduated,” he said as he adjusted his tie and headed out the door. “You sure you don’t want to go with me?”
“Positive.” The duck punctuated my response with a quack.
Yes, the duck. To be honest, I didn’t even realize I had the thing in my arms until we were seated on the L, heading to Danny’s place, the night my world came crashing down around me. I tried to return it the next day, but the thing just followed me home again. I’ve had to buy a larger purse so it can sit inside when I go to the grocery store, because it quite literally refuses to be away from me. The one time I tried to lock it up, one of the guys Danny shares the house with let it out because it was making such a ruckus. The damn thing came flapping and waddling down the street after me and nearly got hit by a car.
So now I have an obsessed duck, no job, and I’ve vowed to never fall in love again. Wow, how the mighty have fallen. Not that I was particularly mighty in the first place, but there had been a point when I felt pretty damn good about my life. The only thing missing was Garrett’s declaration of … something. Anything to give me hope that what we had was special, and that it wouldn’t all unravel the moment a difficulty—a.k.a. Peter Wilkins—showed up.
My phone vibrates and I glance down to read the screen.
HELP!
That’s all the text from Danny says. I wait for him to elaborate.
I forgot my wallet. Stupid bartender won’t let me have a drink without my ID.
I type: Aren’t you working anyway?
Only until the wedding starts, then I’m done. And holy shit, Garrett’s sister is smokin’. I’m sticking around, but I need my wallet!
I pause with my fingers over the screen. I have literally nothing else going on at the moment, so dropping off his wallet would be no big deal. Except he’s at Paynter and Chloe’s wedding, and so is Garrett, I’m sure. And Abby. And that’s too close for comfort.
I’ll grab one of your roomies, ask him to take it to you.
His response is immediate: Are you fucking kidding me? Any one of them will steal the last $5 to my name and take my license and Social Security card, too.
I consider pointing out that he shouldn’t carry his Soc around in his wallet, but then again, where else is someone like Danny supposed to keep such a valuable bit of iden
tification?
Come on, his next text cajoles. I’ll meet you at the end of the street. You don’t have to actually come to the house.
I stare at the words on the screen. I suppose that’s fair enough. And I need to go out for toilet paper, anyway. Again. No idea how a houseful of guys goes through TP so damn fast. Or what the hell they did when I wasn’t living here, because no one else seems inclined to ensure the place is stocked up.
Fine. Give me ten and I’m on my way.
His response is a bunch of kissy face emojis, so I guess he’s pleased. With a groan that’s mostly annoyance at my general lot in life, I climb off the couch, grab my bag and head to the bathroom, the duck waddling along behind me. I don’t do much to my appearance since I don’t plan to actually see anyone, but I do change out of my pajama pants and throw on a pair of jeans and a bra.
Thirty minutes later, with the duck perched in the passenger seat, I turn my vehicle down Paynter’s street, driving painfully slow as I search for Danny and try to avoid sideswiping the plethora of cars parked pretty much everywhere. There’s only a narrow passage, enough for one car at a time, and lights flash ahead of me, indicating someone is waiting for me to move so they can leave. Paynter’s house looms to my left, and I actually hunch my shoulders and stare straight ahead as I guide my vehicle off to the side so the other driver can get through the crush of parked cars.
Lifting my phone off the console, I start to send Danny a text when there’s a tap on the window. I let out a little shriek that’s accompanied by a quack, and when I look up, I see a young guy in a valet uniform. Rolling down the window, I give him an apologetic smile.
“Sorry. You startled me.”
“Is that a duck?” he asks, nodding at my passenger.
“Um … yep.”
He shrugs. “Goats, ducks, these rich people sure are strange.” And then he grabs the door handle and pulls it open. “Come on, I’ll park it properly for you. Wow, you took the casual aspect of this wedding for real, huh?”
