Page 14 of Sweet Distraction

The way Alan was so secretive about all references to the paternity test.

It all clicks into place the second the front door opens, and I come face to face with Poppy’s father.

A name spoken aloud or read on a piece of paper is one thing. But when that door opens and Rocket Caldwell stands before me, shoulders filling the doorway, the enormity of what I’d agreed to and who I was now working for hits me.

“Is now the time to tell you who you’ll be working for?” Alan asks as I buckle Poppy into her booster seat.

“Gavin Caldwell. That’s the name that was on the NDA, was it not?” I ask, clearly missing something by the smirk on his face.

“That’s the name on his birth certificate, yes.”

I tap Poppy on the nose and make a sound. She smiles softly. It’s been a long few days spent inside the small world I created for us in a hotel room. One of snuggles and puppet shows with toilet paper rolls. Of forts made of sheets and reading books.

She didn’t take to me right away—I definitely had to work at it, and she still hasn’t spoken—but it’s my hand she clutches tightly to. It’s my eyes she veers to when asked a question so that I can speak for her. Her trust in me is growing. I hope that with time, I can begin to help her emotionally sort through whatever trauma she may have seen in that car.

I close the door on the back seat and climb in the front seat beside my cousin. His eyebrows are lifted, and the smirk still toys at the corner of his lips. “What am I missing?” I ask.

“You’re a music lover,” he states.

“What does that have to do with . . . wait. Who is Gavin Caldwell?” I ask, realizing not every celebrity or musician uses their real name.

“Ever heard of the band BENT?”

“Of course. Who hasn’t? They’re on my evergreen playlist—Rocket.” His name comes out in a shocked whisper as I recall from some article I read somewhere that Rocket’s last name is Caldwell.

“Bingo,” Alan says as he enters the freeway and heads toward the Brentwood area of Los Angeles. “Now do you see why I’ve had to keep this close to the vest?”

Jesus Christ.

Rocket Caldwell.

The same feeling remains as I come face to face with someone who’s come into my life on my social media and playlists for years. Who is part of the band that has sung anthems that I correlate with various parts of my adult life.

Thirty whole seconds.

On the drive over here, that’s the amount of time I decided that I’d give myself to stare and ogle and be starstruck by my new and most likely temporary employer.

What I didn’t expect was for that thirty seconds to start the second the front door to the massive house swings open. No lawyer opening it. No personal assistant holding court. No girlfriend clinging to his side. Just Rocket Caldwell, one of the biggest rock stars on the planet, standing before us. His hair is tousled. His tattoos climb up one of his arms like sin incarnate. And he leans against the frame in nothing but low-slung worn jeans, a dark V-neck shirt, and a look on his face of confused displeasure.

But he’s here, on his own, facing down the fact he has a toddler he never knew he had. That means he’s either the measure of a man or is hiding this new fact about his life from everyone in his.

The latter has me reserving judgment.

My thirty seconds are up.

Jesus. He packs a punch. A punch even I can feel from my position where I’m partially hidden behind Alan’s shoulder.

I ogle a second longer but then Poppy stirs in my arms, and the guilt crashes down upon me.

“Mr. Caldwell,” Alan says as he steps aside so that the two of us come into Rocket’s full view.

Rocket’s eyes—deep, reckless, familiar in an unexpected way that unsettles me—flicker down to the little girl snuggled in my arms. Poppy’s sound asleep, her cheek pressed to my collarbone, thick lashes resting on rosy, round cheeks, and curls tickling her shoulders.

“While I know you’re expecting us, I’m sure that this is all rather shocking to you,” Alan says gently. “But I’d like you to meet your daughter, Poppy. She’ll wake any second no doubt—”

“No. Leave her.” Panic laces his voice as he stares at Poppy like he’s trying to memorize something he didn’t know existed until recently.

Like she might disappear if he blinks, but he’s not sure if he actually wants her to.