by Piper Rayne
Is my son spoiled? Yes.
Is it my fault? Probably.
I’m not proud of that fact.
“You can’t have the sword, it’s mine.” Payne’s mean voice echoes out of the tent and the father peeks his head in only to usher his child out.
“I’m sorry.” I stand to my feet. “Payne, honey, time to go.”
The man holds his—whoa—son’s hand. A son who is probably twice the size of Payne. My son knows no fear.
“It’s okay. We’ve been here for a while.” The father shoots me a crooked smile and his gaze falls down my body and then back up.
One. Two. Three.
He leans forward. “Are you Layla Andrews?” he whispers. At least he’s not one of those people who scream and pull their phone out for a picture.
“I am.” I soften my own tone with the hopes he doesn’t try to sell a story about Layla Andrew’s son accosting his child to the tabloids.
“I thought so.”
The boy wrangles out of his dad’s hold and flies back into the tent.
NOOOO.
“I’m Zeke Donner.” The man holds out his hand and I shake it absentmindedly, my mind too occupied with what Payne could be doing to his poor son inside that tent.
“Hello.”
“May I say, you’re so much prettier than the magazines make you look.” His green eyes sparkle and although I’m not looking for love, he seems like a decent guy.
A regular guy dressed in jeans and a t-shirt who actually takes care of his child. There’s something sexy about a man who takes charge of his responsibilities.
“Yeah, well, they seem to have a way of finding me on those mornings I’m just running out for coffee and donuts.” I laugh.
His eyes fixate on my mouth, but he doesn’t laugh with me.
“This probably seems crazy, but how about dinner?” He extends his arm so his long-sleeved t-shirt rises when he takes a glance at his watch. “I know my son is going to be throwing himself on the ground soon.” A deep chuckle leaves his throat and before I can politely decline, Payne and his boy run out of the tent.
Zeke’s son has the sword and a shield strapped to his chest. At least he has protection.
“Yeah. Let’s go to the King’s Quarters,” Payne says and I glance to the dad, whose eyes are filled with hope.
“The King’s Quarters?” The other boy’s shoulders fall. “I want to go to Playzone. The ball pit.” His green eyes that match his father’s stare up, as though he’s saying, Do not make me go to the King’s Quarters.
Zeke pats his son on the head. “We’ll go to Playzone tomorrow.”
The kid’s eyes dig giant craters into the side of Payne’s head. I cover it to protect Payne on the off chance he has powers.
Yeah, I’ve been in the movie business way too long.
“After you.” Zeke’s hand extends out in front of us.
Payne skips along the path and I slow my footsteps, waiting for Zeke to catch up to me. “I hate to decline, but I have a million things to do.”
He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Miles, catch up to Payne, okay?” He nudges his son forward and Miles runs after Payne. The two start playing a video game up ahead seconds later.
Keeping an eye on him, I continue on. “Maybe we could meet up—”
His hand lands on my arm and I freeze in place. The calloused palm of a man on my bare skin is a foreign feeling these days.
“Sorry.” He retracts his hand and I blow out a breath. It was a friendly, not a creepy gesture and I shouldn’t be making this man feel like a leper.
I’m a grown woman. I can date. Zeke seems nice, and why not dinner? The kids can play and I can have an adult conversation while I eat for once. Surely the script can wait until tomorrow.
“No, I’m sorry. Dinner sounds great.” I smile, toothier than usual, with the hope it counteracts the bitchy cold shoulder I just gave him.
“No need to apologize. I’m not sure what I did to change your mind, but I’m glad you did.” His footsteps pause by the kids.
“Come on, Payne,” I say. He glances back but continues to play the game.
“Miles, let’s go. Pizza.” Zeke’s voice is low but authoritative.
Miles places the remote on the game console and walks back to his dad.
“Payne,” I say sweetly and he glances back at me. I widen my eyes and then he does what Miles did seconds earlier. Always walking that line, this one.
The four of us leave Toys ‘R’ Us without a toy by some miracle, but I should have known my luck would run out there.
By the time the sliding doors of the store open to the parking lot, two cameramen are outside and the flashes of their cameras blind me. I wince and pick up Payne. He knows the drill. Head in the crook of my neck and never look up unless absolutely necessary.
Zeke wraps his arm around my shoulders, guiding us to the parking lot. His gesture isn’t possessive. I take it more as him being decent and knowing how intrusive this all must feel—especially with my child present.
But it’s not going to appear as innocent as it is and this will all end in horrible headlines. Headlines that will make Carver flip.
“I think we’ll have to postpone that dinner,” I mumble, hoping the paparazzi are far enough away they can’t hear me.
“No. It’s fine.”
I finally look from the black pavement to see Miles in his arms, mimicking the same position as Payne, except his chin is propped up on his dad’s shoulder and he’s staring at the cameras.
“Sorry, Zeke. Thank you.” I unlock our car with my key fob, open the driver’s door and Payne knowingly crawls through the middle opening, strapping himself into his car seat.
We worked on that stunt for an hour, since it’s faster than me strapping him in and then rounding the car. It lessens the chance of embarrassing shots of my dress flying up, or my thong poking out of the top of my jeans, or me losing my temper on the paps when they have a camera shoved in my almost five-year-old’s face.
Zeke and Miles stand outside my car and the disappointment etched on both of their faces is a look I’m all too familiar with, but it’s better this way. I’m sure there’s a reason he’s a single dad. If he even is. God, I hope he’s not married. That’s all I need.
I shake my head. This is the best for everyone. Who was I to think I could meet a normal everyday guy? I press the button to start my SUV and wave before driving away.
Chapter 5
Layla
Three cups of coffee might be too much, but my eyes are permanent bloodshot slits. The all-nighter was worth it though. Vance Rose has skills and the fact that he’s willing to have me play the snarky lead, the girlfriend of a pathological liar who convinces her to travel across the United States stealing from people and businesses alike, brings a giddiness that I don’t usually have when I’m given a script.
I mean, my current role as the sweet best friend who’s always home when the lead actress returns from bedding the hero is my typecast role. Whether it’s five o’clock or ten o’clock, I’m there being the third wheel in a romantic comedy. Always sweet. Always innocent. Just like the roles I played my entire childhood.
Vance scribbled his number on the script before he left yesterday, but it’s only seven in the morning. Could he be the type who wakes up early to work out? I wouldn’t doubt it with the way his clothes hugged his body yesterday. Or maybe he stays out all night partying and sleeps half the day away. For some reason I find myself disappointed at that thought.
Flipping my phone over and over again, I chew on the inside of my cheek. I have to get rid of this ridiculous smile, but this could be the role that changes my pigeon-holed path in this industry. So long romantic comedies and hello dramas! My gaze lingers on the room around me. Payne’s toys piled in the corner. Via’s hair bow and sippy cup from yesterday lying on the table. My smile fades because I remember that I don’t have a nanny to watch Payne for the next three weeks—or this next film.
&nb
sp; Via can continue to go to daycare, but Payne was kicked out two months ago. I was going to take a break after this role and spend time with the kids before Payne starts kindergarten. I should delay this part in Vance’s film, pass on it, but God, it’s my breakthrough role, I’m positive. I can feel it. Doing this film will change my life for the better.
Without thinking of repercussions, I look into the family room to make sure Via is still playing there and then flip my phone around, thumb through my contacts and click the call button.
It rings. And rings.
My fingers caress the script. Such magnificent work.
“Hello?” Carver answers and bile rises in my throat like it does every time I hear my soon-to-be ex-husband’s voice.
“Carver.”
“Layla? Are Payne and Via okay?” His tone is more inquisitive than worried.
“Is this the part where you act like a caring father?”
Sue me, okay? He might pay his child support but he has pretty much zero presence in their day-to-day lives.
“So, this is how the conversation is going to go?” I hear the flick of his lighter.
“Still smoking?”
The sound of him exhaling sounds through the receiver and I realize I don’t really need an answer.
“Why are you calling?” he snaps.
An empty and hollow laugh leaves my mouth. “Funny thing. I decided it’s time you actually care about and for your kids.”
He sighs. “Layla, I gotta get back on set. What’s going on?”
“I have a part that I need you to come home for. I’m tapping out and you need to tap in.”
“Why are we talking boxing lingo?” Another inhale.
“Carver, you need to come back. When is your movie done filming?”
He sighs again. “I’m done here next week, but I got another offer for an upcoming film another actor dropped out of because he had to go to rehab. I’ll be in Florida for eight weeks.”
My hand slams down on the table. “Carver, I need your help here.”
“Get a nanny.”
My teeth grind together and I ball my hands into fists. “Do you think I haven’t tried that? He’s gone through six.”
“Well, surely there are more than six nannies in all of LA. I mean, no one really watches their kids themselves in that city.”
“Six this week. He went through two in one day.” I hear the creak of the hardwood floors behind me and my shoulders fall.
I turn to see Payne standing there in his ninja pajamas, wearing a Hulk mask. Although I can’t see his eyes, he’s not his usual energetic self this morning. I hold my arm out for him to come to me.
“Do you want to talk to Payne? He just woke up.”
I hear the director in the background, but Carver’s the lead, surely he can ask them to hold on a second.
“I’ll call tonight, I gotta go.”
The phone clicks in my ear and he’s already gone.
Payne crawls into my lap and lays his head on my shoulder.
“Was that Daddy?” he asks, way too used to the drill.
“Yeah, he’s going to call us back tonight,” I say with false brightness.
His silence is evidence that we both know he won’t.
“I’m sorry, Mommy,” he whispers.
I hold him closer. I knew he heard me.
“I know, sweetie. Do you think you could try to be better for the nannies from now on? If I can find one?”
He draws back from me, his soft brown eyes still sleepy.
“Yeah.”
I inhale a deep breath. This is why he is the way he is. I can hardly discipline him when his father is a constant disappointment.
“Okay. How about some pancakes?” I pat his butt to get him to slide off me so I can make some breakfast and try to get Carver out of my head.
He walks to the family room, picking up the ball Via dropped and handing it over to her.
Fifteen minutes later, the smoke from the pancakes fills our entire downstairs. I spin the dial to off and push the skillet off the burner.
So much for getting Carver out of my head. He occupied it so much, I burned our entire breakfast.
“Mommy?” Payne comes in, his eyebrows raised.
“Want to go out to breakfast?”
He smiles and nods, runs off, screaming, “I’ll go get dressed!”
Grabbing my phone, I text-message Vance. I need to secure our future because Lord knows I’m the only parent who’s going to. A leading role will surely produce more offers and then maybe I can hire a full-time live-in nanny. It’ll be hard in the moment, but best for the three of us in the future.
Me: Hi. This is Layla Andrews. I finished the script last night. I’d love to meet to talk it over. I’m heading out to breakfast with my kids. Call me whenever you wake up.
My thumb hovers over the send button.
Why am I nervous?
I click send before second-guessing myself any further.
Three dots appear below my message immediately.
Vance: Kids? As in plural?
Me: Yes, I have Payne and Via, an eighteen-month-old. Is that a problem?
Vance: If I say yes, I’d be sued.
Well, his response doesn’t exactly scream ‘your kids are welcome on set with you,’ now does it?
Vance: BTW, I’ve been up since six. Where are you going for breakfast?
A smile plays on my lips and I bite the inside of my cheek again.
Me: We’re going to Pancake Express. You must work out or something if you’re up that early.
Vance: Are you imagining me working out? And you haven’t even seen my abs yet. Kinky. I like it.
I smile to myself. This man is such a flirt. I’m sure he means nothing by it, he’s this way with everyone, yet I can’t help the way my breathing gets shallow when he does.
Vance: Pancake Express tastes like cardboard. Meet me at Yolk Me.
A third text comes through with the address of Yolk Me and my stomach flips a few times at the thought of seeing him again.
I pick up Via and walk upstairs to my bedroom and end up getting a little too done up for breakfast, telling myself it’s because I want the part and not the man.
After dropping Via off at daycare, because there’s no way I’ll be able to have a conversation with Vance while my eighteen-month-old is grabbing at every single item on the table, Payne and I enter Yolk Me. It has a hipster vibe with different seating arrangements for every table and is a far cry from Pancake Express, where your legs stick to the vinyl booths. But Pancake Express is simple. Twenty different kinds of pancakes. If you want eggs, you go somewhere else. I secretly hope Yolk Me isn’t some organic vegan restaurant with tofu and sprouts because I’ll have a screaming kid on my hands.
Waiting by the hostess stand, I’m surprised on how empty the restaurant is, especially with it being nine in the morning. Yeah, it’s middle of the week, but this is LA, not some small town in the middle of the Nebraska cornfields.
“Did you get a table yet?” Vance approaches from behind and shivers run up my spine at the sound of his deep voice.
Does this guy have some love potion splashed all over him that intoxicates me every time he’s near? I practically turn into an emoji with two hearts for eyes.
“Not yet. I guess there’s too many customers, the hostess can’t keep up.”
One side of his mouth tips up in the most mouth-watering smirk until he focuses on Payne at my side, who surprisingly seems as mesmerized by this man as me.
“Hey, Payne. Good morning.” He holds his hand up for a high-five, and Payne smacks it. “Come on, you can do better than that.”
Payne’s lips curl at the corners and he’s wearing the same expression he gives the nannies when they first walk through the door, as if he’s sussing them out. He pulls his arm back like he’s about to throw a ball and then smacks his hand as hard as he can against Vance’s.
The slap echoes in the restaurant, and surprise, surp
rise, it garners the attention of the hostess and she finally shows up.
“Sorry,” I mumble as Vance shakes his hand from the force of a four-year-old.
“You know, I’d never want to run into you in a dark alley.” He shakes his head at Payne.
“Payne’s working on his communication skills.” I smile and Vance’s head falls back into laughter.
“Good luck with that.” Then his eyes set on the hostess. “Three or four?” He turns to me. “Where’s your son, daughter?”
“Daughter. Via is at daycare.”
Small wrinkles appear on his forehead but he holds three fingers up for the hostess without comment.
“Mommy, Mommy, Mommy.” Payne tugs on my sleeve. “They have some games. Can I play? Please, please, please.”
“His communication skills seem fine to me,” Vance says and slides into the booth.
I dig into my purse, but Vance hands him a five-dollar bill. “Go have fun.”
Payne doesn’t even wait before he scurries toward the line of games, or the money suckers, as I like to think of them. He’ll be back in five minutes and all of Vance’s money will be gone, mark my words.
As though Vance can hear my unspoken thoughts, he says, “The games are set up so that kids win no matter what. I picked this place because they have great food, but they’re kid-friendly.” He lifts the coffee the hostess poured to his lips.
“How did you know Payne would be with me?” I grab two Stevias and pour them into my coffee.
“Well, I witnessed the nanny running away yesterday.” He raises his eyebrows and the brown depths of his eyes remind me of melted chocolate. And who doesn’t like chocolate?
“Not exactly the best first impression.” Embarrassment colors my face and the skin on my cheeks heats, feeling almost as if I’m lying out sunbathing on a hot summer day.
His hands wrap around his mug and he glances over to Payne, who is making the claw fall into the bin of stuffies over and over again. I know my child—he won’t relent until he gets whatever he has his eye on. “I’ve never been a believer in that phrase about not making a bad first impression.”