Spotlight (Famous Book 2), page 2
“Didn’t you and Harley write a lot of the songs?”
I lean back in my seat. “Not a fan, huh? Most people don’t know who writes what.”
“I, uh, well, I graduated from Montebello. Music studies. That’s how I knew you wrote the songs.”
“Ah. Well, even though we wrote those songs, we wrote what we were told to. Mindless shit is what the label wanted, so we gave it to them because we didn’t get much choice. You’ll learn that as soon as you’re signed with someone.”
“How do you know I’m trying to get signed?”
“You went to Almost Famous. That gives away a lot about you.”
Montebello is a private college that has one of the most competitive performing arts programs in the country. It’s nicknamed Almost Famous because getting in is almost a guarantee you’ll make it in LA. A lot of stars went there, and I could tell this guy was an artist just by looking at him. Makes total sense.
“How so?” he asks.
“Well, Lyric for one. Has to be a stage name.”
He grimaces. “Honest to God, it’s my birth name.”
“Really?”
“No shit. My brother is named Chord, and I have a sister called Melody.”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“Don’t hold back now. None of my childhood friends ever did. But, hey, it does work in my favor. It’s totally fit for a musician.”
“True. Very marketable. I’m guessing your whole family is musical, then?”
Lyric glances away. “Not so much. Mom hates it. Chord went into entertainment law, so similar vein but not performing.”
“How can your mom hate music? Is she a zombie? She’s a zombie, isn’t she?”
Lyric laughs. “Sometimes I wonder, but no. Mom wanted a more practical career path for me, which is why I did a double degree at Montebello. Music and early education. And that’s also how I ended up being my nephew’s nanny for no pay while I go to audition after audition and get turned down by, oh, everyone.”
“Ah. Hence the boy band hate. Because we had it so easy.”
“I never said that. I said—”
“It’s okay. Trust me, we’re all used to the hate by ‘real musicians.’”
“I didn’t mean that. It’s just disheartening being rejected so many times—”
“That’s the business.”
“I know. And you have to have thick skin, which I think I do. It’s not like I cry over bad auditions or anything, but my latest rejection was this morning, so I was cranky. While I still don’t think Eleven had super inventive and touching lyrics, that doesn’t give me the right to whine about it to my seven-year-old nephew, and I’m sorry for that.”
“Apology accepted.” I eye him as a look of relief crosses his features.
The waitress comes over with my coffee, and Lyric slides it over to me.
“Try not to throw this one.”
I huff a small laugh. “Okay, I’ll try.”
I take a sip, but it’s scalding hot, and I spray it all over the table. “Ouch,” I hiss. “Hot.”
Lyric laughs. “Not off to a good start.” He grabs a napkin from the dispenser on the table and wipes down his shirt.
“Sorry.”
“Does this make us even yet? I insult you, you throw coffee at my head and then spit on me.”
I can’t help laughing with him. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t expecting it to be that hot.”
“That’s what all the boys say about me.”
My laughter doesn’t die even though it probably should.
A comment like that would normally have me searching the room to make sure no one overheard. Whether it’s because we’re seated away from others or there’s something about the pretentious nice guy that calms me, I want to keep talking to him instead of doing what I should be doing which is going home.
The longer I’m here, the more chance of being spotted.
I glance up at the tunnels and remind myself that Kaylee doesn’t get to do this type of thing often. She should get to play for as long as she wants without her famous father ruining everything for her.
I turn back to Lyric. “So, you’re a nanny?”
One of Lyric’s eyebrows rises, and it amazes me how people can do that. Kaylee can do it too, but it’s like I have an invisible monobrow or something—like my eyebrows are attached to each other—because I can’t separate their movements.
“Umm, you don’t look like a typical nanny,” I say. “Kaylee used to have nannies when I was on tour.”
“I’m technically Chase’s nanny, but I’ve really gotta find a gig that’ll pay me. Though they do let me crash in their pool house for free.”
“Have you thought about teaching or something?”
Something like sadness fills Lyric’s eyes. “Teaching is a backup. Music is my first priority.”
Wariness replaces the warm, happy feeling I’d had while sitting here with Lyric. If this ends with him asking for help connecting with a label, I’m going to be disappointed.
It’s not every day I meet someone where the conversation flows and they make me laugh. Like honest to God laugh.
I direct the conversation away from music. “I’m sure you’d make a great teacher. Better than the one Kaylee has right now. Then again, a turtle would be better than the teacher she has now.”
“She’s having trouble at school? Already?”
“First year. She’s in pre-K, and it’s not going well. I’ve been getting back into working on music, and I need someone to look after her, but she’s coming home with bite marks and an attitude, and it’s supposed to be the best school in LA. What are the shitty ones like?” Why did all that just fall from my mouth? I don’t know this guy, and he could go and tell anyone.
“What school is it?”
I hesitate.
He holds up his hands like he’s a busted perp. “I won’t tell anyone where your kid goes if that’s what you’re worried about.”
It’s not, but I also don’t want to get into how paranoid I am. How paranoid I always am.
“I worked at some of the best schools as a teacher’s aide during college. I’m wondering where she’s going.”
“It’s, uh, Vista Point.”
“Whoa, dude, no.” Lyric shakes his head. “Most expensive doesn’t mean best. I can give you some names of actual good schools.”
“Really?”
“Really. But hey, if you don’t want her in pre-K at all, I’m available.” Lyric’s so confident in his delivery, it makes it hard to shut down the idea immediately.
“That was really subtle.”
“Like a sledgehammer. I really need a paying job so I can stop mooching off my brother.”
It’s tempting, but again, I don’t even know this guy. “I was told she needs to socialize with other kids.”
“I practically act like a kid, does that count?”
I laugh. “I don’t think so.”
“In all seriousness, kids do need socialization, but there are playgroups and other ways to achieve that than sending them to a terrible school where they’re all brats.” He catches himself. “Not saying Kaylee’s a brat. She’s adorable, and, umm, oh God, forget I said anything. No way you’ll hire a guy who calls you lazy and cliché and then says your daughter is a brat. I’m on fire today.”
“You really are. Are you this disastrous during auditions? Because I’m starting to see where you may have a problem.”
Lyric leans back in his chair. “I don’t know. I sometimes think I’m overconfident. They tell you to go in there and own the auditions, but when I do that, I come across as—”
“A pretentious musician who thinks boy bands are lazy and cliché?”
He groans. “I thought we were even. You’re not playing fair.”
I pretend to think about it. I may not be playing fair, but it’s definitely fun playing with him. “I might drop it if you give me the names of those schools.”
“I can do one better. Give me your number and I can text them to you. Then you can call me if you have any questions.”
Ah. There it is.
The industry connection he’s after.
But even though he’s using me, one look at his breathtaking smile and I know I’m going to cave.
What can I say? I’m a sucker for a pretty man.
CHAPTER 2
LYRIC
Ryder Kennedy.
The cap he wears is old and ratty denim. His jaw is unshaven.
He’s not the stunning, put together man he is in the media. Although, he’s definitely, without a doubt, stunning. Just rougher around the edges than I’m expecting.
It’s weird. Sitting here with him. It’s like an out-of-body experience.
And did I really ask for his number?
What is wrong with me?
I’ve seen my fair share of celebrities. I live in LA. It’s impossible to live here and not run into someone famous occasionally. Having an entertainment lawyer for a brother makes it easier too. But I’ve never had a legit conversation with one.
Ryder Kennedy seems so … normal.
I take out my phone and hand it to him before I lose my nerve.
He eyes it.
“I’m not going to sell your phone number for money. I’m not that broke.” In all honesty, I am that broke, but I have a roof over my head and my brother feeds me. The little money I do earn from weekend gigs goes into buying equipment and shit.
Ryder still hesitates.
“Would an email address be better? Since you’re clearly worried about me calling you at three in the morning and breathing heavily to creep you out.” I’m only half-joking.
“Email addresses are easier to change than phone numbers.” Ryder types in the address and hands it back. “Sorry.”
“I get it. Guys like me only wish we could reach the level of fame where our privacy is under constant threat.”
“You say that like it’s a good thing.”
“No, I understand it’s a nightmare, but it’s also an indication of success. If that makes sense.”
He takes a sip of his now cooled coffee. “It does. Doesn’t make me feel any better about it, though.”
“I don’t suppose it would.” I type the school names into a new email, and I’m about to hit Send when I pause.
I glance up at Ryder, then back down at my phone, doing something either bold or stupid. Perhaps both. I punch in my phone number and hit Send before I can stop myself.
“I left you my number in case you change your mind about the nanny thing.”
“Right.” Ryder tries to cover a yawn. “Nanny thing.”
There’s something in his tone I can’t pinpoint. Disbelief, sarcasm, or maybe it’s just exhaustion.
“Not sleeping?” I ask.
“Not enough.” His bright blue eyes, the brightest blue I’ve ever seen, pierce through me all of a sudden. “Okay, Mr. Nanny. Here’s a question for you. Your kid is wetting the bed. Every. Night. You spend most of your time redoing their bedding, and neither of you are sleeping. What do you do?”
“Easy. You layer the bedding. Mattress protector, top sheet, mattress protector, top sheet. So when the accidents happen, you rip the top layer off and put her back into bed. She’ll grow out of it eventually.”
Ryder’s mouth drops open. I guess he wasn’t expecting me to have an actual answer. I don’t look like a typical nanny, and it’s not like this is my first choice in career, but I do know a few things.
I’m currently doing gigs on the weekends at different clubs, auditioning, and trying to get my name out there.
Either my degree from Montebello isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on or mine’s defective or something.
Then again, no piece of paper can count for auditioning well, and I suck at that. I get too in my head and come across as fake and arrogant. When I try to be humble, I sound like I’m not confident. I need to learn to sell myself as myself. Hold the side of douche.
“Layer the bedding,” Ryder mumbles. “It’s so simple and logical. Why didn’t I think of it?”
“Sleep deprivation is a real form of torture.”
“My child has tortured me for over four years. She’s sadistic.”
I can’t help laughing.
His head swivels fast, looking around the space. “I didn’t mean that.”
“I know.” I have the urge to reach for his hand to comfort him. Which is crazy.
People don’t meet like this. This isn’t how you make friends in this day and age. But it’s easy with Ryder.
In the short time we’ve been sitting here, it already doesn’t feel like I’m talking to the Ryder Kennedy from Eleven.
I’m sitting with an exhausted parent.
He still looks guilty over what he said.
“You’ve gotta cut yourself some slack. Parenting is hard. I’m only Chase’s uncle and it’s hard some days I have him.”
He relents. “You’re right.”
“For future reference, I’m always right. So, I get the job, then?”
Ryder scoffs. “There is no job, but if there was, you’d be the first one I call.”
“That doesn’t really help me out with my current situation.”
Ryder flattens his lips and looks confused. “If you want a connection at a label, you can just ask for it. You don’t need to pretend to be interested in being my kid’s nanny.”
Wow. Okay. Guess this isn’t going the way I thought it was. “You think this is a ruse to get industry connections?” I can’t say I blame him, but it kinda hurts. Though it’s not like he knows me. Clearly.
“It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried to strike up a conversation only to show their true colors.” Ryder shrugs. “I’m trying to cut out the middle part and get to the point.”
I’ve never tasted fame. Have never been anywhere near close to it. But the dejection in Ryder’s eyes is utterly heartbreaking.
What would it be like to live like that? Not knowing who’s in your life for you and who’s in it because they want something.
“You can keep your connections. I want to make it in this business on my own. I want my music career to be earned on merit, not who I know.”
“That’s admirable—really, it is—but it’s also a little naïve. The industry doesn’t work like that.”
“If I keep pushing and pay my dues, I’ll make it one day.”
I can tell Ryder wants to say more, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he glances out to the maze of tunnels and slides this place has. “Do you think they’re okay up there?”
He says his daughter drives him nuts, but it doesn’t take long for those fatherly instincts to kick in.
“Chase is a good kid. He’ll look out for her. Besides, I think Kaylee has proven she’ll scream if something’s wrong.”
Ryder smiles proudly. “Yeah, she will.”
Movement outside on the street catches my eye, and fuck …
“It wasn’t me. You’ve been with me the whole time, and the only time I touched my phone was to email you.”
Poor guy thinks I’m using him for a label contact, and now paparazzi are outside waiting for him.
Ryder looks confused until he turns. His skin turns ashen when he sees the cameras and two nosey paparazzi trying to see in here.
“One of the staff or someone else must’ve recognized you and tweeted about it or something.”
I feel guilty even though I didn’t do this. I did promise him no one else would find out, though. Not that I can control other people.
He’s out of his seat immediately. “Where’s Kaylee?”
“Let’s go find her.”
We both rush toward the steps to go back up into the tunnels when a loud laugh I know to be Chase’s comes from the slides. He pops out at the bottom, landing in a giant ball pit, and then a few seconds later, Kaylee shoots out the bottom of the second one.
“Over here,” I tell Ryder.
“Kaylee, sweetie, we have to go.” Ryder tries to hide his panicked tone but doesn’t completely pull it off.
I’ve craved fame ever since I could sing. I would kill to have those cameras out there looking for me. Maybe it’s because I have no plans to have kids of my own, but I’ve never thought about having to deal with paparazzi while trying to protect a child.
“I’m having fun!” she yells.
“I know, bub, but there are cameras here.”
She huffs. “Again?” She sounds exasperated and beyond her age. “Tell them to go away.”
“You know that’s not how it works.”
Uh-oh. I know that face. Her bottom lip droops, and water fills her eyes. I don’t know if Kaylee’s the type to throw tantrums or just have a cry, but if the paparazzi get that on camera, TMZ will report on Ryder’s parenting skills within the hour.
She’s still in the ball pit, so I go to the edge and kneel down to her level. “Kaylee, you and your daddy have to go, but I gave him my phone number, and if you ever want to play with Chase again, get your daddy to call me, okay?”
“Can I play with Chase?” she asks Ryder.
Ryder stares down at me with a frown marring his breathtakingly beautiful face. His lips look like they’ve had fillers, and his jawline is a work of art. All the Eleven guys are hot—there’s no doubt about that—but there’s something about Ryder that’s alluring.
He’s probably thinking I’m trying to use him again, but I’m trying to help him here.
“We can set up a playdate for another day,” Ryder says warily. “Right now, we need to go before any more cameras turn up.”
“Okaaaay.” The poor little thing sounds so dejected.
Ryder helps her get out of the ball pit. “Now, how to get out of here without them getting a usable picture.” He lifts her into his arms.
“Well, it’s you they want, so leave Kaylee with me while you bring your car around.”
There he goes, staring at me with mistrust again.
Although, I get it. Leaving your daughter with someone you don’t know is stupid even for a few minutes.
“Or if you don’t trust me with Kaylee, then Chase and I can go get your car for you. Risk a stolen car instead of a child.”
