“Chlo!” The voice that shouted my name was small and excited. The same voice had greeted me every morning for the last eighteen months. Everything was exactly the same as it always was, right down to the paper on the kitchen table.
The only thing different was the fact that it was my face that graced the front page of today’s newspaper.
Frowning, I ignored the small hands that tugged on my shirt as I pulled it closer to study it. Yep. It was me. There was no doubt about it.
Dammit.
I screwed my hands up into fists. Fighting back the urge to scream, I counted to ten and let out a slow breath. I had to get a grip on myself. If I lost it now, then little George would notice and his parents would ask questions.
“What’s wrong, Chlo?”
Flicking my eyes from the newspaper to the cherub-like face, I smiled. Reaching over, I ruffled his blond hair.
“Nothing major, little man.” Breathing was good. It eased my heartbeat from a gallop to a steady trot. I had to calm down. So what if my picture was in the paper? It wasn’t the best picture. I knew it was me because I had been there, but that didn’t mean anyone else would recognise me.
At least that’s what I told myself, and maybe if I kept telling myself that, I would start believing it. Maybe I could manifest it into truth.
This was so bad.
“Right, let’s get you some breakfast.” Pushing the newspaper away, I turned to the first of the day’s chores. Being a nanny to George was the best job I had ever had, and I had once been the nanny for the kid of a rockstar. Well, until…
I frowned again. Until someone had broken into her house in the middle of the night. Everyone had assumed that it had been some crazy stalker fan, but I hadn’t been convinced.
Odds were they had been looking for me. Or at least looking for proof of me. And now my face was plastered on the front page of a national newspaper. What other proof did they need?
And all because I had helped someone. It didn’t seem fair that my karma was this messed up. I tried to be a good person. I was a good person.
God, he was going to be so mad at me, and I was going to lose my place here.
Sadly, I looked around at the bright and airy kitchen. I might just be their nanny, but they treated me like one of their family. This was my home, and I didn’t want to leave it.
I would have to though, because if he was right, then just being here would put George and his parents in danger, and that was the last thing I wanted to do after everything they had done for me.
“How’s our little hero today?” George’s father, Keith, slipped into one of the seats around the kitchen table, a wide smile onhis face. “Why didn’t you say anything when you came back yesterday?” he queried, his brow wrinkling with concern.
At first I didn’t answer him, I just went about my normal morning routine. Tipping cereal and milk into a bowl for George to eat at the table and popping on the coffee machine. It was only when the delicious smell started to hit my nostrils that I turned to face the question my employer had just asked.
“It was nothing really.” I shrugged.
“It doesn’t look like nothing. That biker could have died if you hadn’t helped him.”
“I was just in the right place at the right time. I didn’t do anything really, just called for an ambulance.” Taking a couple of mugs from the cupboard, I poured two coffees and placed them on the table before slipping into one of the empty chairs. I let my eyes wander around. I tried to take it all in. This kitchen, nothing particularly special, bright and airy, cluttered, just part of a normal family home. My fingers tightened around my mug. I’d never had a normal family, so I would be sad to say goodbye to this one.
“He was a Savage Son, right?”
I jumped, and coffee sloshed over my fingers. “A what?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
“The Savage Sons. The biker gang. You’ve never heard of them?”
I shook my head. “No, never,” I lied. Of course I had heard of them. I had been told almost all of my life to stay away from them. “So, um, was the man I saved some kind of…” I swallowed hard, struggling to keep my voice even. “You think he is a criminal?”
I knew the truth about that as well, but I had to keep up the pretence.
“So the papers say. I’m surprised there aren’t reporters camped out at the gate wanting to know all about you.”
I paled, and the surrounding room spun. That was the last thing I needed. I was meant to stay quiet and away from the limelight, and more than anything, I was meant to stay away from the Savage Sons.
Somehow, I had managed to break all the rules just by saving some guy’s life.
