Page 12 of Nanny for the SEALs

“Calm down, sweetie,” Jonah said patronizingly. “There’s no need to get your panties in a wad.”

“You want some of this wrath too?” I said, whirling toward him. “Maurice here has sent headshots to everyone at The Weiman Agency. He’s gone down the list, agent by agent. And he’s never so much as gotten a rejection email.”

Jonah was surprised by my anger. “We don’t have time to respond to every single—”

“Do you know how much headshots cost?” I jabbed a finger into his chest, backing him up a step. “They’re not cheap. Especially not for an aspiring actor trying to get representation. It takesten secondsto send someone a rejection email. You’re too busy to do that? Then hire a goddamn intern.”

Jonah blinked at me, at a loss for words.

“Lady, don’t try to act like you’re the victim here,” said the guy with the Boston accent. He was still standing in front of the suite exit, smirking at the scene. “You broke into our suite and mooched a bunch of free booze. We ought to make you pay for that.”

I rounded on him. “Seriously? Which are you most worried about—the one-and-a-half beers I drank, or the six little cocktail sliders? There’s like seven people in here, and you have enough food and alcohol to feed an army. We barely made a dent. I guess your company must be really hurting if you’re pinching pennies like that.”

An idea came to me. It wouldn’t help matters much, but I was on a roll and I couldn’t stop myself.

“What kind of a security company are you, anyway?” I looked back at Rogan. “You do private security for athletes, but two randos can sneak their way into your suite? I’d be embarrassed if I were you.”

Rogan winced. That struck a nerve.

My blood was hot and my pulse thrummed in my ears. It felt good to let some anger out. I gazed around the room, looking for another target for my ire.

“Well?” I demanded. “Anyone else want to get some shots in? Kick the two actors while they’re down? Come on!”

But Maurice tugged on the sleeve of my dress. While I was yelling at the Boston guy, he’d backed away from the door. Our exit was open.

I hesitated, then grabbed the door handle and threw it open. The stunned people in the suite watched in silence as we fled from the room, and the arena.

5

Heather

My body woke itself up the next morning before my alarm. Sunlight streamed through the window above my bed. I stretched, rolled over, and saw Maurice in his bed on the opposite wall. He had thrown off his covers and was wheezing softly, head buried in his pillow.

I quietly got out of bed and went to the kitchen to make breakfast. Technically, the “kitchen” was the same as our bedroom. We shared a studio apartment. If I stretched out my arm, I could dump the scrambled eggs out of the frying pan and directly onto Maurice’s bed.

But it was cheap, and that was the magic word when you were an aspiring actor with little-to-no money.

When Maurice stirred, I announced, “Breakfast will be ready in two minutes.”

He twisted in bed until he could see me. One eye pried open, an island of white in a sea of black. “Why are you making breakfast?” he grumbled.

“Because I’m hungry.”

“No,” he said, sitting upright now. “I mean why are you makingmebreakfast?”

I slid the eggs onto a plate and turned toward him. “As an apology. For last night.”

“Oh, so shedoeshave shame.”

“Sometimes. And only in small amounts.”

I didn’t feel ashamed about what I’d done. All the people in that suite were rich. Jonah Weiman was worth tens of millions of dollars. Amirah Pratt was only twenty-two, but she was a millionaire several times over. I didn’t know what volleyball tits did for a living, but I hated her regardless of her net worth. And the security guys must have been wealthy if they could afford a suite at the Lakers game.

Los Angeles was a town of classes. There were those who hadmade it, and those who hadn’t. I didn’t like the way they had demeaned us last night. Especially volleyball tits. Split ends? My hair wasfabulous, even without a dedicated hair and makeup artist catering to my every need.

Meanwhile, Maurice and I were barely scraping by. Okay, we stole a few drinks and two plates of food. So what? It would have gone to waste if we weren’t there. As far as I was concerned, it was a victimless crime.

I didn’t feel shame about any of that. If anything, the whole experience had left me with a thrill of excitement. But Ididfeel bad about dragging Maurice into it. On the Metro ride home from the game, he didn’t say a single word to me. Which was rare for Maurice. He usually had alotto say, and he was going to say it whether you wanted to hear it or not.

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