“It’s DOA.” I rake a hand through my hair, more than ready to put this week to rest. “I got the call first thing this morning. Kane is no more.”
Nick mutters something that sounds like “Fucking Hollywood showmance” and shoves a piece of chicken in his mouth.
“It’s fine,” I say, unsure which of us I’m trying to convince. We’ve faced larger hurdles over the years. So we lost an endorsement deal. There’ll be another. Maybe the agency can find us an athlete. Or a musician. Someone who’s always on the go, needs money at their fingertips, and who’s active on social apps. Preferably a solo act. “I’ll figure out something.”
Nick and Beck exchange a look.
One that suggests they have concerns.
Assholes.
That’s the downside of working with family. They know every sordid detail of your life. Including the time you set off a volcanic explosion in your foster mom’s kitchen and stained all the cabinets red.
“Relax.” An idea begins to take shape in my mind, and for the first time all week, I have a reason to smile. “I’ve got everything under control.”
Chapter Three
Lucy
“Vintage, my ass.” I plant my feet on the cracked linoleum floor of the Airstream and push on the cabinet door with all my weight, willing it to snap closed. “No manches! Vales pinche verga! No me—”
“Need a hand?” A self-assured voice cuts through my tirade, and I freeze.
No. Freaking. Way.
Miles absolutely cannot be here right now. I’m hallucinating. The heat can do that, right?
I turn slowly, abandoning the cabinet. The door pops open, and a frying pan falls to the floor, clanging against the puke-green stove on its way down.
Miles leans against the Airstream’s open door, looking like the poster boy for tiny living, with tousled hair, low-slung jeans, and a crisp white T-shirt.
So, not a hallucination, then.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, swiping the back of my hand across my forehead. It’s four thousand degrees inside the travel trailer, and I’m in no mood for a pop-in.
“I wanted to talk to you.” The right side of his mouth hitches up in a playful smile, but I’m not falling for it.
Not this time.
“Well, I no longer live to fulfill your wants.” I stride forward, forcing him to back out of the Airstream. Out of my home. Out of my life. I hop down, squinting against the bright afternoon sun as I join him in the driveway. “And as you can see, I’m busy.”
Turns out, selling all your shit and hitting the road isn’t as simple as it sounds.
Miles opens his mouth to respond, but I cut him off before he can start throwing charm around like confetti. “How did you find me?”
“I got your forwarding address from human resources.”
He says it like it’s no big deal. Like his very presence here isn’t an invasion of privacy.
“That’s an abuse of power,” I say, planting my hands on my hips.
“Hardly. I’m in charge of HR.” He shoots me a pointed look, brows pulled low. “And if you’d answered my calls, I wouldn’t have had to resort to such desperate measures.”
Not my circus, not my monkeys.
Not anymore.
I shrug. “I’m under no obligation to take calls from myformeremployer.”
