Page 21 of The Nanny and the Hothead
“Do you know what I hate, Mitch?” she said, removing a file from her bag.
He ran his hands through his cropped hair as the knots at the base of his neck tightened. “I assume you’re going to tell me.”
She schooled her features. “I hate when publishers hound me night and day.”
He glanced away. “Me too. That’s why I stopped responding to their emails and calls.”
Ines huffed an exaggerated breath.
Here’s the deal. He was under contract to put out another book. Thanks to his rigid discipline, knocking out a best seller used to come easy.
But not this time.
That safety net had slipped.
And he wasn’t just responsible for himself anymore.
The muscles in his stomach twisted. “Listen, Ines,” he began, but she cut him off.
“I need you to hear everything I’m about to say to you, Mitch.”
“I’m listening,” he answered, looking away and wishing like hell he could tune her out.
“Your career is in the damned toilet. And not even a nice toilet, like the kind at the Four Seasons. I’m talking about a port-a-potty toilet after a chili eating contest,” the woman finished, not mincing words as she painted one of the most disgusting metaphors he’d ever heard.
“Jesus, Ines!” he exclaimed, making a mental note never to put chili on the menu.
“I needed to put it into terms you’d understand, Mitch. I know that you’ve got a lot on your plate. But this book deal is your chance to reinvent yourself. And might I remind you of the hefty advance they forked your way,” the woman continued.
“I’ve got plenty of cash. If they want their money back, I can write a goddamned check now,” he mumbled.
She slid her phone from her bag and began hammering away on the keyboard.
“What are you doing?” he asked as his phone chimed an incoming text.
“Reminding you of the mess we’ve got to clean up,” she answered, stone-faced.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, opened the text, and tapped play on the video as his blood ran cold. He didn’t turn on the sound. He didn’t need to. He knew the sound of his roaring voice. He scowled at the madman on the screen, tearing apart the studio kitchen. He absorbed the rage written across his face. He flicked his gaze to Ines. “I’m familiar with this. Obviously!”
“We’re lucky that only a few people have seen this. Do you know how many favors I had to call in to keep this footage from being plastered across the internet?”
He didn’t answer. She knew that he was aware he’d pissed away a rock-solid career. A muscle ticked in his jaw as the vice clamped around his heart tightened. The blurred memories of the day when he’d exploded on set three years ago flashed through his mind. The moment he’d become untouchable—a loose cannon. The world hadn’t seen his breakdown. But those in the know, the ones who green light television shows and ad campaigns, they’d heard the whispers. What they hadn’t heard was the phone call he’d received minutes before that video was taken.
Ines picked up an old spatula on his desk. It was the one sentimental item he kept in his office. The only piece of his past that brought him any sense of comfort. The hint of a grin bloomed on her lips as she took in the scuffed piece of his former life. “The money isn’t what makes you happy, Mitch. The money comes second for you. It always has.”
“How do you know what makes me happy?” he asked as a heaviness set in.
Ines cocked an eyebrow. An eyebrow that saidI am no one to mess with. And she wasn’t. The truth is, she’d seen him at the top of his game. But it broke him to recall that time.
Except now—in mere hours, he’d be face-to-face with that reality.
“What do you suggest I do? How the hell do I meet the publisher’s deadline? They want the rough version in sixty days. I haven’t even decided on a concept yet,” he grumbled, leaning forward with his head in his hands.
“I’ve taken care of that,” Ines purred.
Mitch looked up as the woman stood, then waved for someone to enter the office.
And he could barely believe his eyes when two people he hadn’t seen in ages sauntered in.
