I roll over in bed, glare at Krystal, and fling off my blankets. “I’m not going. I am not spending another day seeing the sights of the globe in a traveling freak show to please decrepit nanny from hell. Nope. Can’t. Won’t do it. I am not going today.”
My sister drops heavily down on the bed beside me. “Why do you have to be difficult about everything? It’s not like you have anything better to do.”
Well, that was way harsh.
“Where’s Alan?”
“Still sleeping, and he doesn’t want you bugging him. Dad has a concert tonight.”
I check my phone. “It’s 9:30. I’m allowed to bug after nine. And if he doesn’t like it maybe he should try getting back to the room earlier the night before.”
Krystal’s eyes widen, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
My cheeks heat.
Oh crap, I shouldn’t have said that, especially since I don’t really know anything, it’s just suspicions in my gut eating at me, and Krystal all-out idolizes Dad.
Nope, shouldn’t throw in her face before her Cheerios that I think Dad is screwing around on Mom with that hideous Jen. That would be just plain wrong.
A lump rises in my throat.
Why doesn’t Alan just call Mom? Fight it out. Yell it out. Or something. They haven’t talked since we left California and it’s driving me almost crazy since I don’t doubt Mom is a total mess. Damn it, Alan, swallow your freaking pride and call Chrissie already. I can tell he wants to—Jen is so not a solution to anything—and the waiting to know what’s going to happen with them is fifty percent of my unrelenting anxiety.
Fifty percent wondering if I’ve ruined my parents’ happiness forever. And fifty percent wondering why Bobby dumped me, if he’s seeing someone else, and if I can fix it.
Damn, now I’m hyperemotional again.
I let out a ragged breath, grab a sweatshirt from the floor, and pull it over my tank top. “Go back to Mrs. Barton and tell her I’m not going. Have fun without me.”
Krystal hurries out of the room and a few minutes later I hear the hotel suite door open and close. Good. Gone. I knew Mrs. Barton wouldn’t come in and try to argue toe-to-toe with me. She’s happier when I don’t join these fun educational outings she loves to plan for our benefit—not.
I can tell we’re just doing shit she wants to.
OK, how do I figure out a way to stay here?
I march down the hallway to my dad’s room, knock once loudly, and enter.
“I’m not going on another Bataan Death March all day with Mrs. Doubtfire.”
Alan jerks up from his pillow and checks the clock. He turns over in bed and uses his fingers to push the hair from his face. “Bataan Death March. Wrong country. That’s the Philippines. We’re in Australia. Melbourne is an interesting city. You are going today. You want to be a filmmaker—go learn something. I need quiet and sleep, so you get sightseeing today.”
I roll my eyes.
It’s so annoying when Alan takes my sarcastic comments, dissects them, thinks it’s funny to correct me and gets a subtle jab in himself.
Learn something.
Very funny.
We both know Mrs. Barton is full of crap and doesn’t know shit about anything. Who’d want to learn anything from her?
I cross the room and drop down heavily on the edge of his bed. “I’m too old for a nanny. You do realize that, don’t you? Or do you just get off embarrassing me?”
My dad sits up, reaches for his cigarettes, looks at me, grimaces and then tosses them back down on the night table.
“Mrs. Barton isn’t here for you, Kaley. The security detail is. It sucks being an Internet sensation, doesn’t it?”
“This is ridiculous. I don’t want to go with them. I don’t need security every time I leave the suite. Mom wouldn’t make me live this way. She’d know it was lame.”
His jaw clenches—wrong move mentioning Mom this early in the morning—and he climbs from bed.
“Maybe, but your mom isn’t here,” he counters in a clipped voice.
My stomach turns.
Why won’t they just start talking to each other?
I can’t take it anymore.
“And whose fault is that?” I exclaim, running from the room and slamming the door closed between us before he can aptly point out that it’s my fault.
I go into my room, dress for the pool, and shove my stuff into my tote. Not staying here. Not fighting with Alan again. I don’t need one more thing to feel badly about.
I brush the hair from my cheeks and realize I’m crying. Crap. It’s just all the uncertainty, but I can’t stand being girlie and weak.
Grabbing my sunglasses from the dresser, I hurry out of the suite. I’m immediately stopped in the hallway.
Graham Carson rises from the chair he sits in outside the door. “Going somewhere?”
I groan. “Don’t give me crap. Not today. I’m not in the mood for it.”
Graham does a fast once-over of me then frowns. “Are you OK?”
“I’m fine. I just want to get out of here. Can you take me to the pool?”
Graham nods. “Sure. Your wish is my command, Princess.” His eyes twinkle. “At least until they stop paying me.
He grins, full dimples, and winks—he’s so sweet—but it’s not helping. I still feel lousy.
I shove my glasses high on my nose instead of wearing them low, California-style, and march toward the elevator. I bounce against the wall as I wait for the doors to open.
There is an immediate stir when I step out onto the rooftop patio. I wish everyone would just leave me alone. I make my way around bodies, tables, loungers and the pool, trying to find someplace to settle not too out in the open.
From the corner of my eye, I see Linda Rowan sitting at a table with her trendy pack of gal pals from the tour, laughing and tossing down Bloody Marys, whooping it up even though it isn’t even noon yet.
Nope, not joining that party. Linda has been no help in fixing my dismal circumstance with Bobby. She won’t even give me the details on why he dumped me—I still don’t know, not really, since it wasn’t bullshit and he hasn’t answered a text or taken a call since I left California—and darn if Linda isn’t tight-lipped about everything for the first time ever.
We used to be close. I know he’s her son, and that first priority garbage is in play but, crap, she could toss me something without betraying Bobby to help me make sense of what happened.
I move quickly past her and decide on the two vacant loungers across the pool out of view from her. I plop down and start taking the junk from my bag as Graham stretches out on the chaise beside me.
“Have you had breakfast yet?” he asks. “Do you want me to order you something?”
I shake my head, not looking at him, and start clicking away on my laptop.
“You need to eat, Kaley,” he chides.
“What? Are you a nanny, too, these days? First bodyguard and therapist, now nanny. So versatile. You’ll be in high demand in no time.”
He grins. “I’m in high demand always, sweetheart.”
I pucker my lips to keep from smiling but, damn, my cheeks are a little warm. Flirty and sexy today. He’s in a good mood.
I’m not interested.
But I’m not blind.
And it is a prop to my wounded ego that this nice, very hot guy likes to verbally tease me.
It’s undeniable.
Graham is an all-out chick magnet and I’m starting to worry he’s more into me than he should be. In fairness, I do send him the wrong vibe sometimes, on purpose. It just feels good to have this great guy want me since my guy broke my heart.
Not that I’m over Bobby or want anyone else.
But there’s that static between Graham and me.
It feels good. Nothing makes me feel good these days. It’s not wrong since I am flying solo now and it’s not unfair unless I cross the line into something I know I don’t really want.
Ignoring the naughty comment, I continue to click away. “If you want breakfast just order it. And don’t try that lame ploy of getting what I like thinking I’ll pick at your plate. I’m not on some pathetic hunger strike to get my dad to bounce me from the tour and you don’t have to worry I’m going to waste away. I’m really not hungry today. Dillon must have been on duty last night because if you’d been in the chair outside my door you would know that I ordered room service last night at 4 a.m. and scarfed like a pig until morning.”