Page 20 of The Nanny

“Except cartoons,” Isla points out.

Joy can’t possibly know my actual reason for calling, but she still handles it like a pro. “Which cartoon is your favorite?” she asks. “And you have the most adorable accent, by the way. I’m sure you hear that all the time.”

“Do I?” Isla looks up at me. “Do I really have an accent?”

“Most people around here would say Joy and I are the ones with the accent,” I answer as diplomatically as possible.

“That’s true,” Joy agrees. “We have different accents in America, too, but they’re pretty boring when you hear them all the time. Yours sounds sophisticated.”

I’m not sure Isla actually knows whatsophisticatedmeans, but she seems to take it in stride. It only takes a few more seconds of back-and-forth chatter before they’re both talking about their favorite cartoons again like there isn’t more than a decade of difference between their ages.

I don’t care what they talk about, as long as Joy keeps her distracted for as long as possible. And honestly? Just watching two of my favorite people in the world interact with each other is unexpectedly fulfilling and distracting for me, too.

This is the first time all morning that I don’t feel overwhelmed and stressed out by the Kinsley situation. I’m smiling and laughing right along with Joy and Isla, and… it’s nice.

Really nice.

It’s also a good reminder that I need to call my sister more often. I could use a little more Joy in my life.

CHAPTERNINE

KEIRAN

I find myself staring out the big, floor-to-ceiling windows of my office more and more lately. I used to look out there because I enjoyed the view—a view that most people don’t get to enjoy.

Now I hardly notice the view at all.

Instead, I look out these same windows and wonder where I went wrong. I have every comfort, every luxury and material thing a person could possibly want, but I’m not happy. The people around me aren’t happy. And while there’s plenty of blame to go around, at some point I have to wonder if I might actually be the cause of all that unhappiness.

Of course it doesn’t help that every time my life seems to be moving in the right direction, the universe comes along and smacks me down.

Taking a trip to Rome? Watch your back, because your assistant will try to kill you.

Prevent that sex tape from going public? Turns out there’s someone else behind the whole thing.

Try to protect your daughter from her deadbeat mother? Surprise, the deadbeat is back in town to drag everyone through the mud again.

And on and on and on it goes. When do I get to catch a fucking break?

The phone on my desk starts ringing, pulling me from my thoughts. I know it isn’t productive to dwell on my problems—everyone has their own shit to go through, right? My problems could certainly be worse. I don’t have to worry about being homeless or hungry or how I’m going to provide for my daughter.

But the problems I have don’t seem like they’re any easier to fix. They’re just… different.

It takes me a second to realize my phone is still ringing. Jesus, I really need to get my shit together.

I answer the phone and immediately hear Deacon Masters’ unmistakable voice booming on the other end of the line. “I’m on the phone, dammit. Tell them I’ll be down there for the damned photo shoot in five minutes.” There’s a pause, then, “Keir? You there, man?”

“I’m here,” I snort, trying not to laugh in spite of my shitty mood. “Sounds like I’m not the only one having a rough day.”

If I had to guess, I’d say Deacon is still over in America, still producing movies and raising hell.

“Oh, this? This is just the usual. Everyone wants a piece of me, you know? Gotta keep them on their toes.”

Even though I haven’t talked to him in way too long, I can tell that Deacon hasn’t changed a bit. He was my best friend in college and the best man at my wedding—always able to make me laugh out loud no matter how much stress I’m going through. He made final exams bearable. He got me through the weeks leading up to my wedding ceremony with Kinsley. And while I doubt he has anything up his sleeve to help with the current assortment of crises I’m facing, it’s still good to hear his voice.

“I’ve missed you, man,” I say as that flood of old memories hits me. “Where are you hiding out these days, anyway?”

“Still in sunny Los Angeles. Palm trees, beautiful women, fucking amazing food—the better question is why aren’t you here?”

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