Page 21 of Mr. Wrong (Hollywood Knights #1)

Twenty-One

Ellenore

After Killian finally talked me out of my cell phone ( It’s in your contract, Ms. Pierce .) he fingerprinted me and gave me a nine-digit access code.

Slipping my old phone into his briefcase, he powers on its clone.

Almost immediately, it’s starts buzzing and making noise as text after text roll in. Looking down at the screen, he frowns.

“Who’s Dani and… Derek?”

Shit.

“What?” Panicked, I reach out and snatch the phone out of his hand. “Who?”

Eight new messages.

Six of them are from Dani.

Dani: How was your

sleepover with Renaldo?

Dani: Quit being stingy, bitch.

I want details.

Dani: Hello? Are you alive?

Dani: If that asshole killed

you I’m telling Dateline

that you talked to your cat

like he was a real person.

Dani: Goddamnit, Elle

You’re starting to scare

me.

Dani: If I don’t hear

from you in the next

20 minutes I’m calling

the cops.

Two of them are from Derek.

Derek: I mean it, Elle

I really miss you.

Derek: Please say

something.

Ignoring the texts from Derek, I shoot a quick text to Dani.

Me: No one killed me.

I’m fine. Talk later.

When I look up from my phone, Killian is frowning at me like he’s waiting for me to answer his question.

“Dani is my best friend,” I tell him, slipping my phone into the front pocket of my sweater.

“I’ve been staying with her while Mr. Trask and I worked out the particulars of my working here—I told Mr. Trask all about her.

” Not entirely true. I told him that she was a friend from college—not that she simply went to college to please her father.

Not that she’d barely flipped the tassel on her graduation cap before she tossed her bachelor’s in computer science into the trunk of her car and made the trek to Los Angeles to pursue her dream of being an actress.

Certainly not that she’s actually making that dream a reality.

Instinct told me that having friends in the entertainment industry would’ve killed my chances of landing this job in a heartbeat.

Killian makes a neutral sound in the back of his throat. “And Derek?”

“I…” I shake my head and ignore my phone when it starts to buzz in my pocket. “He’s no one.”

This time the sound he makes is less than neutral. “Your code and prints are logged every time you use them and will only work from eight in the morning until nine at night,” he tells me, snapping his briefcase closed. It’s obvious he has more to say and that he’s struggling to keep it to himself.

I look up at him when he stands and instead of letting him go with a quiet thank you , I do the dumb thing and poke the guard dog with a big, fat stick. “So, I have a nine o’clock curfew?”

My question stalls his movements. “Would it be a problem for Derek if you did?”

My mouth falls open and I shift back in my seat like he just took a swing at me. “Not likely,” I finally manage, shaking my head. “Considering he’s my ex -boyfriend and happens to live three thousand miles away.”

He glares at me, the sound he makes this time resembling a downright snarl. “You failed to mention a boyfriend— ex or otherwise—during the interview process.

Because, like Dani’s career, I instinctively left Derek out on purpose, I lift my chin and level a narrowed-eyed glare in his direction. “And you’re failing to answer my question. Do I have a curfew?”

His jaw shifts and tightens, like he’s struggling to keep himself under control.

Strangely enough, even though I have no doubt that this man has done a lot of morally questionable things, I’m not worried that he would do any of those things to me.

Finally, he’s able to wrangle his facial expression into a mask of bland neutrality and clears his throat.

“No, but only Landon, Lex and I have unrestricted access to the house and grounds.” He sighs and drags his briefcase off the table to let it hang from his hand.

“I’ve taken the liberty of programming numbers into your phone—mine and Lex’s.

” He moves toward the door and opens it.

I can hear Lex and Cassie in the pool, shouting and splashing.

His low-toned voice. Her wild peals of laughter.

“If you find yourself outside the gate after nine, call one of us to let you in.”

“Cassie called you Uncle Killian.” I say it because I feel unwelcome here. Like an intruder and maybe if I know something about who these men are and how things really work around here, I’ll stop feeling that way. “Is that an honorary title?”

“It was nice to meet you, Ms. Pierce.” He gives me a tight-lipped smile. “If you need anything, let me know.”

After he leaves, I sit at the table, unsure of what to do.

After a while I get up and collect the stack of catalogs that Cassie scattered around the room.

Digging a small notebook and pen from my bag, I carry them back to the table and start to make a list. Peeling syrup sticky pages apart, I make two lists, noting everything that Cassie earmarked.

Things like an alphabet area rug and a set of beanbag chairs that look like bullfrogs.

I add books and shelves to the list. Construction paper and paints.

A sand and water table for tactile play.

Things that will help develop both her fine and gross motor skills.

It’s entirely too much. There are things on this list we’ll probably never have the chance to use, but Landon Trask handed me a stack of supply catalogs and gave me a blank check to build my dream classroom.

I’m not saying no to that. Besides, Cassie will still be here after I leave. She and Lex can make good use of it.

I’m so engrossed in what I’m doing that I don’t hear them come in until they’re already halfway across the kitchen and Lex is herding Cassie up the stairs. Looking at the clock I’m surprised that it’s almost two o’clock in the afternoon.

When Lex comes back downstairs about a half hour later, he’s alone and changed back into his jeans and the T-shirt I wore to bed last night.

“Hungry?” He says, heading for the fridge. Opening it, he starts pulling out stuff to make sandwiches.

No.

I want to say it but I can’t because the gurgling beast in my stomach is threatening me with violence if I don’t feed it. “Sure.”

“Are you a vegetarian?” he says, head stuck in the fridge.

“No.” I shift uncomfortably in my seat, unsure of how I’m supposed to behave.

What I’m supposed to say. He’s made it perfectly clear he doesn’t want me here and that he’s going to try to get me fired but he keeps feeding me.

Being thoughtful. He’s very considerate when he isn’t snapping my head off. It’s confusing and unnerving.

I watch him for a few minutes while he assembles what looks like roast beef hoagies. “Where’s Cassie?”

“Zonked out on her bed.” He shrugs. “She needs a nap every day around this time or she’s a basket case for the rest of the day.

” He layers, lettuce and tomato on top of cheese and meat, cleaning up after himself as he goes.

“But no longer than an hour and a half or she’s up all night driving Greta crazy.

” He plates the sandwiches and carries them to the table.

“She didn’t eat lunch?” As soon as I say it, I regret it because I know how it’ll sound to him. Judgmental. Disapproving.

His shoulders stiffen as he sets my plate in front of me. “I usually make her lunch at my place. She likes to eat by the pool.”

“I wasn’t imply—”

“I was a Sophomore at USC when I got the call about the accident—that Rachel was dead, and Cassie was born. I was on a plane less than an hour later and I never went back. I’ve been taking care of her since Landon brought her home from the hospital,” he says, setting his own plate on the table before sliding into the chair across from me.

He picks up his sandwich only to drop it back on his plate.

“I was a twenty-year-old kid who didn’t know dick about changing diapers or how to mix formula or what to do when she had a fever but I figured it out, so I’m pretty sure I can make a fucking peanut butter and jelly sandwich and feed it to her without a set of ovaries or a doctorate in child psychology or whatever the fuck kind of degree you’ve got. ”

“I have a bachelor’s in child development and a master’s in early childhood education, although I’m not sure what my ovaries have to do with anything.” I say it because when I don’t know what to say, my stupid brain goes numb and my mouth takes over.

“Congratu- fucking -lations.” He picks up his hoagie again and nearly bites it in half, glaring at me while he chews.

“And your lady parts have everything to do with why you’re here.

” Shoving away from the table, he stands, glaring down at me, jaw pulsing and working around words he’s fighting to keep silent.

“I’ll call Greta and ask her to come early so I can take you to your friend’s place to pick up your stuff.

” Pushing in his chair, he heads for the back door.

“You don’t have to do that,” I tell him, even though I have no idea how I’ll get my stuff if he doesn’t.

“Yeah, I do.” He digs his phone out of his back pocket and wags it at me. “Boss’s orders.” He jams his phone back into his pocket and yanks the door open. “I’ll be in the pool house. Come get me when she gets here,” he barks at me, right before he slams the door.