Page 3 of 7+Us Makes Nine

“Groom the other child.”

I just didn’t think they’d take me so seriously.

So, I stopped going home for the holidays. They never called, so cutting them off wasn’t really a hard thing to do. I didn’t lose anything in the process, either. Except for their bickering and crippling expectations. That was why I wouldn’t ask them for money. Not only would it open a door I was content on having closed, it would bring about requirements for my life that didn’t jive with how I’d carved it out.

I washed my hair, then ran conditioner through it. I always tore through conditioner faster than shampoo. I bought three bottles to its one whenever I went shopping. My thick head of wild curly hair came down past my shoulder blades and was a hell of a bitch to work with sometimes. I detangled my hair and cleared my mind, waiting for an idea to come to me.

Children.

Freedom.

Fluid schedules.

Mentorship.

What type of job in this community would offer me those things?

Then, it hit me. As I rinsed the conditioner out of my hair, it popped into my head.

A nanny.

Being a nanny to someone’s children would give me that.

I quickly washed myself down and turned off the shower. My neighbors to the left were still fighting, but luckily my kinky neighbors had shut the hell up. I wrapped a towel around me and ran for my laptop. I slipped along the kitchen floor and reached for my purse. I dug out my small laptop and sat at the table, waiting for it to start up.

I was the perfect candidate for being a nanny.

So that was where my focus would be.

Two

Jace

“Mr. Logan! Do you have any comments for us on Anya’s current condition?”

“Mr. Logan! Is it true that Anya’s slipped back into her old ways?”

“Mr. Logan, will you allow Anya to see her children now that she’s slipped from her sobriety?”

“Mr. Logan.”

“Mr. Logan!”

“Mr. Logan?”

I bit down onto the inside of my cheek and walked into the theater. The security guard at the door quickly closed it behind me, making sure no one followed me into my place of work. I’d purchased the most prominent theater in all of California a few years back when I made my transition from acting to producing and directing. It cost me almost ten million dollars but was easily netting me twice that every year. When I bought out the theater, it was originally tailoring itself to live performances. But I put a stop to that. The theater wasn’t just about live performances. It was about bringing people together in whatever way possible. Fireside Theater wasn’t just about rich people coming to see boring old performances of the same stuff over and over again any longer. It was a way to reach out into the younger generations and pull them into an atmosphere that might’ve otherwise left them behind.

“Mr. Logan?”

“I’m tired of hearing my name already and it’s only ten in the morning,” I said.

“I can’t imagine. I’m sorry. But the phone downstairs is ringing off the hook. Someone’s fishing for a comment about Anya.”

“Well, once I figure out what’s going on with my ex-wife, I’ll prepare a comment on behalf of myself and our children,” I said.

“You mean you don’t know?”

I panned my gaze up to my secretary. He was a small college kid who needed a part-time job and I had a great deal of work to keep him busy. He was a real asset, and I was going to miss him when he graduated next summer. He came into my office and turned on my television. My eyes panned over to the screen as I leaned back into my chair, and the headline clued me in to all of the reasons why the paparazzi ha

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