Page 32 of Single Mom's Bodyguards
“Baby, this is big. Likechange your tax bracketbig. Like real roles for the rest of your life big. It’s raw. It’s dark. But it’s prestigious as hell. And you? You canhandleraw.”
I close my eyes. I think of Eli’s blank stare. Of the envelope. Of the photos that could end it all before I ever get to start.
“Okay,” I whisper. “What do I do?”
“Nothing yet. We’re not shouting it from the rooftops. But you’ve got maybe a week to get your head right before the first callback comes through. If he wants to see you? It’ll be fast. You need to be ready.”
I nod, even though she can’t see it. “Okay.”
“Bailey?”
“Yeah?”
“You deserve this.”
That’s when I break. Just a little. Just enough to feel the knot in my throat. “Thanks, Mira.”
“Just doing my job.” She hangs up.
I sit there in the dark, phone clutched in my hands, trying to breathe around the thrill and the fear that are suddenly sharing the same room. Because I’m finally in the running for the role of my life. And all I can think about is how fast it could disappear.
I don’t go back to bed.
Instead, I wrap myself in a robe and walk barefoot through the house, down the hall and out to the balcony off the primary suite. The lights of Los Angeles glitter in the distance, low and golden and always watching. Even way up here, tucked in the hills behind my security gates and manicured hedges, the city feels like it’s breathing at my back.
Below me, the pool reflects the lights from the house in broken shards. Past the wall of bamboo, a few faint traffic sounds drift up the canyon—some kid’s bass rattling the pavement, a barking dog down the ridge, the low whine of tires on Mulholland.
I fold my arms tight around my waist. The robe’s silk, but I still feel cold.
Some part of me—some cracked, naive piece—thought I could start over out here. Build something clean. Quiet. Private. I picked this house for its views, its gates, its distance from everything I didn’t want to be anymore. Picked out all the details myself for the renovation to make it into my own. My safe space.
Someone aimed a lens through my windows and turned something intimate into somethingvulnerable.
And now I’m sitting here, alone on a balcony with a shot at the role of a lifetime and three men I can’t let touch me again—notwithout risking everything. Because if any of this gets out? It won’t just cost me a film.
It’ll cost mecredibility. Custody.Control.
I press my fingers to my lips, remembering the way Huck held me. The way Wesley made me laugh when I was unraveling. The way Sean looked at me like I was his mission.
And now I’m avoiding all three of them like their passion is a liability. Maybe it is. Maybe it always was.
The robe slips down one shoulder, but I don’t fix it. I just stare out at the city and try to imagine the version of myself who could have all of this andstillfeel safe.
She doesn’t exist. But God, I want her to.
10
SEAN
Eli’s been quiet.Normally, he’s thoughtful and a little wary. The kind of kid who watches a room before stepping into it. He lets Maeve be the star of the show, always with a sarcastic remark or a joke. He’s usually too busy with a book or his toys to bother.
But today, something’s different.
He doesn’t hum while he builds his Lego set. Doesn’t bounce when he runs down the hallway, choosing to walk instead. Doesn’t call anyone to come see what he made.
He just disappears into the library and closes the door.
Bailey notices too. She gives me a look from across the kitchen, the kind of look that asks a question without saying it out loud.
