If it all comes back clear, I’ll have no reason not to hire him. He needs the job, and I need a nanny.
I can put my attraction to Lyric aside for Kaylee. I’ve practically been a monk for years. Minus that one slip with Cash.
Easy.
Totally easy.
Chapter Four
Lyric
Little secret about those so-called talent shows: majority of people who get through the large cattle-call casting audition are handpicked and selected after private auditions first.
Which is how I’ve ended up here. At yet another audition where I’m failing miserably.
Rumor has it, Denver from Eleven is one of the judges on this new show. It’s supposed to reinvent all the Idol, The Voice, and X Factor shows there have been throughout the years.
I was hoping Denver would be here so I could break the ice with, “Hey, I met Ryder the other day,” but no, I’m standing across from two producers who are wearing passive expressions after I finish my rendition of “It’s Time” by Imagine Dragons.
I blink at them.
They blink back.
I know how this ends. “Thank you for your time.”
Crouching down, I start putting my guitar away when they whisper to each other. I can’t hear the words, but I don’t need to.
I’m already running the audition over in my head and trying to pinpoint where I went wrong. My pitch was great, my guitar-playing flawless. The only thing I can think of is that they don’t see that thing inside me. The spark. The it factor.
Story of my life.
“Mr. Jones, can you hold a second?”
Hope blooms in my gut, but I don’t have faith it’ll last. I’m waiting for the inevitable “Thanks but no thanks” speech.
That’s not what they give me.
“You have an identity problem.” This coming from a guy with a bland face, even blander suit, and the personality of a walnut, but sure, I have the identity problem.
“How so? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“You dress like you want to be a rock star and sing like Kurt Cobain, but your face screams pop. We’re willing to give you the on-air audition if you dress trendier and sing a Harley Valentine song.”
Oh dear God. I’ve died and gone to hell, haven’t I?
“Like I said earlier, thank you for your time.”
I turn to leave, catching their stunned expressions as I do. They’re probably not used to being turned down, but my dad spent his entire life changing his image because of advice “the professionals” gave him. He sold his soul to become famous. I want fame but not at the cost of being myself. If the public doesn’t want me as me, then I’m happy to teach kids to become better humans than those who judge us solely on our looks or what we’re into.
Maybe Ryder was right when he said that’s naïve of me, but I won’t give up my life the way my father did.
Regret might haunt me for the ride home, and I might scold myself for being stupidly stubborn, but by the time I pull into Chase’s school to pick him up, I’m over it.
I’m going to stand my ground. And hey, if this industry kills me before I’m famous, at least I can say I went down with dignity.
While waiting for Chase in the long-ass pickup line at school, my phone starts vibrating, and I hate that I hope it’s the producers from the show saying I can audition as myself.
It’s a blocked number.
It could be them.
I hold my breath and barely get out a “Lyric Jones” as I answer.
“Hey, uh, Lyric.” The warm voice sends a jolt of want to my dick. It’s definitely not the producers. “It’s, umm, Ryder. Uh, Kennedy.”
Holy shit.
Holy fucking shit.
“Hello, Ryder, uh, Kennedy.”
“This is awkward.” He lets out a chuckle. “So, I’ve been thinking.”
“Is it always awkward when you think?”
“Yeah.” Ryder’s voice is quiet. “Pretty much.”
“You calling to set up a playdate for the kids?”
“Actually, no. Well, yes. I mean, if you’re going to be Kaylee’s nanny, I assume Kaylee and Chase will be spending a lot of time together.”
I pause, not entirely sure I heard him correctly. “Nanny … You want me … to nanny.”
I have to contain the urge to fist-bump the roof of my sister-in-law’s car.
“I took Kaylee out of that school, and as much as I trust your judgment on the others, I’m thinking maybe she’s not ready. We can try again next year somewhere better.”
“Hmm. I don’t know how I feel about this. I mean, working for my best friend might be crossing lines.”
“Ha, ha. Still going with best friends, are we?”
“No one can dispute our best-friend meet-cute. What are we talking in terms of the job? Full-time for at least six months?” That would be perfect for what I need. Money and temporary.
“If she likes you and the arrangement works, yes.”
“I’m in. Do you need to see my credentials or run a background check? I can get all the info—”
“Already done. I have connections.”
“Impressive. And a little creepy.”
“Oh, I know things about you that you probably don’t even know.”
I have to be reading into his flirty tone. Have to be. “Like what?”
“Stuff …”
“What kind of connections do you have? If I say I need two producers whacked, can you do that?”
Ryder’s laugh is warm. “Scarily, I think I could. Not that I would. Another bad audition?”
“Yup. You’ll get a kick out of this. They wanted me to sing a Harley Valentine song.”
Instead of laughing his head off like I thought he would, Ryder makes a noise like he’s about to say something but cuts himself off.
I can practically imagine his mouth opening and closing.
“Are you sure you want to use me for a nanny job instead of a meeting with a label head?” he eventually asks.
My stubbornness rears its ugly head again. “I’m sure. When do you need me?”
“When can you start?”
“I have a free day tomorrow.”
“Then tomorrow. I’ll email you the details and a standard contract I used to have with the nannies on tour.”
“I’m not being cocky when I say you won’t regret this. I’ll be the best nanny your kid has ever had.”
“Hmm, we’ll see. I expect you to do all those things you said you would. Like taking her to playgroups and having her interact with other children.”
“Whatever you want, boss.”
I’m met with silence again.
“Umm, hello?”
“Call me Ryder. Not boss.” His friendly tone holds something I can’t decipher, but I shrug it off.
“See you tomorrow. Ryder.”
His name feels weird rolling off my tongue without including his last name.
I’m gonna have to get used to that real fast.
Ryder’s house is off Mulholland Highway in Calabasas, hidden behind a large gate.
Brenna, my sister-in-law, reaches out the driver’s window and hits the buzzer.