Runaway Girl (Runaway Rockstar Series Book 1)

by Anne Eliot

  I don’t answer that, because I’ve got no idea how anyone could like Royce Devlin let alone love him. “I only need a quick rundown on the baby’s status. Can you do that for me? I should have asked Royce.”

  “Status?” Adam tilts his head. “What does that mean? I don’t speak…nanny.”

  “When was her last feeding? Last changing? And what things do you want me to use for her. Like which diapers? Any changes of clothes you want? I need to know which formula you are using, too, and how to make more? Oh, and what should I call her?”

  Adam winces again at that last question. “Oh. Her name, uh…no.” He shakes his head. “Mrs. Felix and Gregory have vowed they’re going to meet with an attorney all afternoon, and they’re trying to locate her missing birth certificate, but if they can’t it means Royce will be getting blood tests and handing over DNA samples next, because he wants to prove parentage because that’s a big part of what he’s going to do—or not do…even though…”

  “Even though we all know he is the father?”

  Adam shrugs while I shake my head, angry all over again. “If Royce won’t claim her as his own, then she’s even sadder than an abandoned child, because she’s a fatherless and abandoned child. Poor little baby.”

  Adam sighs and his expression loses all of its earlier spark. “Damn. I wish this were not such a pile of messed-up crap. I wish we could tell you more, but I can’t. There’s going to be all this legal mess now. We have so many secrets, and promises between us guys, and none of us want this story to leak until Royce is truly ready to—”

  “Adam!”

  We both startle a second time as Royce’s pissed-off voice comes from the hallway.

  “He’s still out there? Eavesdropping this whole time?” I whisper, shocked.

  “Oh. He does that. A lot. To everyone. Get used to him lurking in hallways.” Adam grins. “It’s a good sign actually. He might not claim the baby as his yet, but if he’s out there worrying over every little thing, it’s kind of proof that he’s the ultimate helicopter parent already.”

  A fist or a bare foot slams into the wall in the hallway, then after a long second, Royce calls out, “Robin, the damn baby was fed about an hour ago. The sterilized bottles and the formula stuff can be found laid out on the counter in the kitchen. She’s still not on solid foods yet, but is tasting oatmeal and rice cereal, and she will be having more of that as soon as we can get her checked out by a pediatrician without also alerting the planet that we have a baby up here. We measured out the next few bottles so you can see how to do it and left them in the kitchen. Add the filtered and purified water that was left out as well. We’re currently doing six-ounces of formula per feeding. Use the fancy new bottle heater on the counter. When the light is green, the bottle is warm enough, but test it on your wrist to be sure.”

  Adam waggles his brows at me. “See? He’s doing okay for day two of being a dad.” He rolls his eyes toward the door, adding in a whisper, “If that’s enough info, I’ll go get that other baby out in the hallway down for his nap now.”

  “Sure, but, will you tell Royce I’m sorry about hitting him in the face yesterday?” I whisper, pointing at the unopened boxes and baby stuff all around the room. “Oh, and while she’s sleeping can I can spend my time setting up a temporary nursery in here? Like unpack that changing table?”

  “Sure. Yes. And thanks. And don’t worry, Royce heard you because he hears everything. He’s not mad about that face punch at all. The make-up artist, she’s pissed off at you, though. You should have seen the crazy we had to go through not to show his bruised-up face on the jumbo screens last night at the arena. Tonight, I fear it’s going to be even worse. Thing has gone all purples and blues. If the paparazzi catches wind of that, they’ll make up such huge stories about a bar-fight that never happened, or a motorcycle accident he’s had, even though Royce doesn’t own a motorcycle, or some such stupid rumor will surface,” Adam starts chuckling, as he walks out into the hallway.

  I hear unintelligible whispers, then some thumping against the wall again, as Adam says, “What? Ow. Dude. What! It is funny as hell, and you’re even funnier with that massive shiner! Stop. Dude.”

  I could swear they’re trading what sounds like actual punches as they walk away still whisper-fighting. I stay motionless in the room until the only sound I can hear is the baby’s gentle breathing.

  “One day, one moment at a time, right, little one.” I croon out, locking eyes with her and changing my voice to high so she smiles at me again. “And don’t you worry. I’m going to help your daddy see that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him so he can be the best thing that ever happened to you, just like my daddy.”

  Chapter 18

  Many hours later, I’ve successfully tiptoed in and out of the kitchen unnoticed to get what I need for the baby, and I’ve learned some of the layout. Everyone who was on the couch when I came in seems to have left or relocated. Someone turned off the blaring television, and I’ve still seen no sign of Mrs. Felix or Gregory. I’m getting used to the place, despite the part where I’m working in a penthouse ghost town manned by a security guard who seems happy staring at an iPad all day.

  It was easy to find the baby bottles because they were located exactly as described. Lined up like soldiers waiting to be filled with purified spring water right next to the sink, as promised. The fancy bottle warmer that was left on the counter was intimidating with its computerized front and fancy design, but it turned out to be easy to operate, too.

  After the second round of feeding and changing, the baby and I have settled in comfortably with each other, and my heart is even more gone on her sweetness. I set up one of those little baby-gym activity centers and let her play while I wrestled the changing table out of the huge box, found a spot for it next to the wall, and now I’m working to unpack some of the bags of baby stuff. I’ve hardly made a dent in that though, because lying next to the gurgling baby while she kicked her little legs and laughed at me is too awesome to ignore, so I’ve been pausing to play with her a ton.

  The artist part of me that is always obsessed about colors or textures has gone crazy on this baby. She’s so soft and beautiful, with her light red hair and pearly skin that I went crazy over staring at her. I’ve done a study of her translucent fingernails and I swear I’ve memorized each one of her miniature eyelashes. After that I’ve been craving to sketch her, because I’ve done some human model studies, but never drawn a baby before. Sadly, I don’t have any good paper or pencils, so I satisfied myself with analyzing her eye colors.

  After a full half hour of steady contemplation, I’ve decided hers aren’t exactly Royce’s eye color at all. The baby’s eyes are equally bright—and truly startling—which is where the similarity between father and daughter comes in to play. But, if I remember Royce’s eyes correctly, the baby’s eyes do not have any of her daddy’s molten silver shards streaking through them at all.

  Her blue color is passive and solid like a summer sky at noon. One that’s bright because there’s not one cloud to distract from it, the kind of bright blue sky that takes the sun for granted. Royce’s eyes were the opposite. His blue seemed lit from something more active. Like lightning, or a comet, or stars. Whatever it was, his eyes weren’t wide open space like this baby’s eyes, either. His were all light and bright, yes, but somehow also mixed with darkness. Only, I honestly can’t remember if that darkness had come from his bad attitude or from the eyes themselves.

  When the baby seemed tired, I dragged the bags and boxes off the new glider-rocker and unwrapped the cushions, using the rocker and the ever-important pacifier to rock her back to sleep. I also successfully transferred her into the crib without waking her. From working with other babies at the daycare center, I know this feat is not easy. Some babies do it; others startle at the drop of a pin and wake right back up ready to play.

  That’s a killer, because then they don’t sleep, you don’t get a break, and everyone winds up stressed and
over-tired. I’m rather proud of myself and would even go so far as to say I’m an amazing nanny, but considering how she slept through tornado levels of noise yesterday and smiled nonstop today, my successes with this baby are probably less about my skills and more about her gentle easy personality.

  I figure I’ve got about two hours or less before she wakes and needs me again, so I’ve taken the receiver portion of the baby monitor next to her crib and placed it on the countertop so I can clean up some of the mess I made in the kitchen earlier. I’m staring into this dishwasher that’s fancier than anything I’ve ever seen, and worrying that the high-tech thing is going to melt the little bottles into hockey pucks if I load them inside. Since I want them to be sterilized and the bottom of the bottles do say dishwasher safe, I decide to go for it.

  Once they’re loaded and I put in one of the deluxe, gel-pack soap things I find under the sink and I start it. Quickly, I lean on the counter to pull out my phone to text Angel. All good up here in rockstar land. How’s your day? Sorry to bother, but can you give me an update on Sage? Have you heard anything from your mom?

  After a long minute, he texts back: Gave mom a quick call. Mamma adores him, the girls couldn’t be happier, and he’s helping out a lot. They’re currently picking baby zucchini in the garden, and loving it.”

  His text allows me to breathe in a full breath that’s half relief and all happiness that my brother is safe and okay. The kid loves to have his hands in dirt. I answer: Thank you. For everything, for this perfect text. For making me able to work here.

  He replies: If you need me to come up there and kick some rock star ass, I’m there. Are they treating you nice?

  I respond: Yes. It’s strange, but all good.

  He adds: As long as you’re okay.

  His texts have me wondering again at the conversation I’d had with Mrs. Hildebrandt about Angel’s past. I keep trying to reconcile this kind, protective guy against what I’d heard, wishing I could ask him about it now, but because questions like I want to ask, should be done in person,

  I text only: Thx. Great. See you later.

  A barstool on the other side of the granite countertop scrapes against the floor startling me and I almost drop my phone into the sink. “Robin, did you cast some sort of sleeping spell on us?” a bright, feminine voice asks.

  Feeling guilty for texting at work with the phone they gave me, even though they did give me permission, I shove the phone into my shorts pocket and realize I’ve been greeted by the self-assured girl who was in the limo yesterday.

  Vere, I think. This has to be her.

  Thankfully she doesn’t look anything but happy to see me.

  She’s hopped up into a barstool and is on her knees stretching to reach a box of Frosted Mini-Wheats that had been left out. She takes out a few of the frosted cereal rectangles and lines them up on a napkin. “Everyone else is still dead to the world. She points at the running dishwasher. “Were you doing dishes? You shouldn’t, you know? We have a maid and a chef with his own team that comes up every day.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind.” I smile tentatively, noticing she’s wearing her hair how she had it yesterday, in a messy bun. I also think she’s still in her pajamas, because her pants are purple flannel with gray and white elephants on them. She’s matched them with an oversized gray cotton hoodie. Eyeing her cereal, I point at the glass door cupboards that hold the dishes. “Can I get you a bowl and some milk?”

  “Oh no. I’m a dipper. I like to soak them in milk while holding them, but before I do that I just have to line them up them in the order of which one has the most frosting first.” She pushes the napkin toward me. “See? Most frosted ones to the left, least frosted to the right.”

  I smile because she’s nodding proudly like she’s taught me some necessary life-long skill that was missing in my life, while she wiggles her brows up and down to add, “I can only eat a few though, this is an appetizer to the brunch-lunch I’m about to eat with you.” Lining up two more cereal squares, she adds, “Royce texted me that he was having food sent up. Yay! Lunch. Don’t you love it?” She claps her hands. “I love lunch.”

  I jump back when she hops up to make her way to the massive stainless steel fridge on my side of the counter, pulls out a gallon of milk, and fills a glass, sloshing some to the floor when she pauses to place one hand on her head. “Oh shoot. I just did that all backwards, didn’t I? We’ve talked about you so much, Robin, that I felt like I already knew you. I’m Vere Roth. We kind of met yesterday. Remember? Hi, and nice to meet you.” Her cheeks color a little.

  “I’m Robin. Robin Love,” I answer working hard not to be nervous about saying my whole name to complete strangers after guarding it so carefully while we were on the run. It nearly killed me to write it on the paperwork for Mrs. Hildebrandt this morning, but I need to use that name in order to get paid, and to file for custody of my brother. The Perino’s also know it now, so for better or for worse, I can’t keep it hidden anymore, but that doesn’t mean I can’t keep hoping my own name won’t somehow get me in trouble.

  “Holy cow. Your last name is Love? That’s gorgeous.” She grins, contemplating her cereal. “And cool.” Her large almond shaped brown eyes meet mine, then go really wide. “And prophetic, and you’re so lucky to have such a name.” She hugs herself. “Love is all powerful.”

  I have to roll my eyes but put a laugh on the end of it. “The name always sets off a reaction, but yours has got the be the best one I’ve ever heard.”

  “I’ve been known to go crazy over small things, but this is no small thing. It’s Love.” Her grin is so cute and funny it’s contagious. “So is it okay that we have lunch together, Robin Love?” Suddenly I don’t feel uncomfortable around this girl at all, I can tell she’s not the type to wear a mask. This silliness is just her, being her. “Nice to meet you, and, hmm.” She blinks tapping her chin with one finger. “That should catch me up on polite conversations that I may have missed when I walked in here, as well as cover everything we’ve already spoken about, right?” She nods as if satisfied about something. “I’m sorry. I have zero social skills. Can you tell? Is that a deal breaker for our friendship? Tell me now. I’ve scared a lot of people, but I’m hoping I haven’t already freaked you out.”

  “I don’t mind.” I laugh, finally because she’s funny as heck. “And nice to meet you, too.” I bite my lip and turn back to the sink because I’m afraid I’m going to crack up again and that might hurt her feelings, so I grab the fancy sponge, and wipe the drops of water I’d left all around the granite. Then I quickly duck down to wipe up her spilled milk off the floor.

  “So you do remember me?” she asks. “And lunch. You didn’t answer. Eating lunch with me, is that going to be okay?”

  “I remember you,” I say, turning back to her. “It’s possible I won’t forget anything from yesterday. I’ve never had a job interview quite like it. I also have zero social skills, and yes, eating lunch is okay, as long as the baby is still asleep. Thanks for thinking of me.”

  “The lunch was all Royce’s idea. And we’ve been thinking and talking about you non-stop since last night, because yes. It was so unforgettable, huh?” She cracks up, returning to her stool with her glass, then pauses to dip one of her frosted cereal rectangles into the milk. “Oh my God. You’ve captured all of our imaginations. Do you know Mrs. Felix pretty much hates everyone who’s outside the family circle and she and Gregory just adore you. And wait until they find out your last name. It’s so cool and perfect. Robin. Love. Love it!”

  “What? Oh. No. I mean, thanks, but…no, I’m not at all cool, nor is my name. How about we keep it between us? It’s awkward for people to know it. I used to be brutalized for that last name in school.”

  “Try having the name Gwenivere. That’s what Vere is short for. Everyone else with my name has the cute nick name, Gwen. My dad, settled on Vere. Ugh.” She rolls her eyes. “Why?”

  I shake my head, amazed that this girl is talking to me like th
is is a normal conversation inside of a normal kitchen. I have this sensation that I should point out to her that we’re in a penthouse and that she’s a really famous girl who has just asked to have lunch with the hired nanny, but I don’t, because I’m the one who thinks she’s really cool, and because I want to talk to her more before she leaps up and skips away once she realizes what she’s done.

  She’s paused and is momentarily rubbing her eyes before yawning loudly again and saying, “You have no idea what the addition of a baby in the mix has done to our minds, our schedules. This entire hotel suite has been in a forty-eight-hour freak-out, but your arrival seems to have calmed it all down. I peeked in on both Gregory and Mrs. Felix. Those two are only now beginning to stir in their suites. Hunter and Adam are still locked in a morning nap. Royce is the only one who hasn’t seemed to have slept much. Even with you here, he can’t relax. Guy is one delirious worry-ball mess.”

  I can’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice as I reply, “I suppose that’s fair, since he is the father he should worry the most.”

  “Right?” She spins her stool around halfway, then back to face me as her phone dings in her pocket. She grabs it out and glances down at her messages. “It’s Royce again. Instead of being calm, because I did swear to him I was coming to find you and feed you, he’s now flipping out because I haven’t texted him back yet, and he doesn’t believe I’ve kept my promise.” She rolls her eyes at the phone as it dings some more. “He now thinks you might not be okay, or that the baby is not okay, or that you’re feeling uncomfortable and upset about how he acted earlier, which he told me, was epic and horrible? Was he? Horrible?”