Then the most miraculous thing happened—she smiled a big, gummy smile and reached for him.
Flynn’s chest finally unclenched as he unbuckled her, lifted her out of the stroller, and pulled her close. “I’ll never let anything bad happen to you,” he promised her. “You’ll always be safe with me. Always.”
The moment they returned to Los Angeles, he began the adoption process, pulling every string possible to get the paperwork through in record time. Though he had never planned to have kids—his family life had been so horrible that he couldn’t imagine building a good, normal one himself—he already had to live with the guilt of knowing he hadn’t done enough for his sister.
Whatever he had to change in his life for Ruby, he’d change. From this moment forward, Ruby and her stuffed toys and desire to be held every second of the day were the center of Flynn’s world.
No more going out to splashy Hollywood parties to network with all the “right people.” No more model girlfriend, either.
Anja had made it abundantly clear from the start that she wasn’t the maternal type, which had been just fine with him back when he thought he’d never have children. When he’d told her Ruby was the daughter of a long-lost relative, Anja had been so uninterested in trying to make things work with him and a child that she hadn’t asked questions. She’d simply packed up the things she kept in his loft for overnights, then left. And the truth was that once she had gone, what he mostly felt was relief at being off the hook for the endless string of parties and premieres she’d loved to attend.
Flynn had never been comfortable in the limelight, not when it meant people might look too closely at him and his past. After he’d been nominated for—and won—the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay, however, he’d inevitably ended up in the media more and more.
He could easily withstand stepping back from the spotlight. But he hadn’t expected his writing mojo to up and leave too, as though he’d never been able to string together a coherent sentence before.
As he isolated himself with Ruby in those first weeks, the words drying up was far more brutal than losing his girlfriend or his social circle. All his adult life, he’d depended on making up stories to move him forward and keep him above water.
What would he do if that ability was gone forever?
Hoping the issue was simply that Ruby didn’t sleep or eat on any kind of predictable schedule, which meant he didn’t either, he hired a part-time nanny so that he would have a set time to write every day. The woman’s qualifications looked good on paper, and though Ruby wasn’t exactly a bundle of joy around her, at least if Flynn was within his niece’s sight while he hunkered down over his computer and stared at the blinking cursor, she would tolerate the nanny changing and feeding her.
Every Monday through Friday mornings for two weeks, while the nanny tried and failed to coax a smile out of Ruby for three hours, Flynn tried and failed to coax a good scene out of his brain.
The day Smith’s call came, Ruby had just gone down for a nap, and the nanny was sitting next to the crib reading something on her phone.
“How are you, Flynn?” Smith asked. “How’s Ruby?”
Apart from Flynn’s agent, his manager, and his ex, Smith Sullivan and his wife, Valentina, were the only other people Flynn had called after bringing Ruby home. Since Smith and Valentina were his bosses at present, waiting for him to send over his newest thriller script for their film and TV production company, he’d felt compelled to tell them at least the bare bones of the situation.
After giving them the same explanation he’d given Anja—that Ruby was the child of one of his long-lost relatives—he had insisted his changed family circumstances wouldn’t affect the due date for his screenplay. Smith and Valentina had not only said it wouldn’t be a problem if he needed a few additional weeks, they’d also been hugely helpful with getting Flynn set up with baby gear, sourced from Smith’s large family.
Flynn waited to reply to Smith’s question until he had moved into the back section of his house so that he wouldn’t wake Ruby. “Ruby’s good. And now that I’ve got a nanny to watch her for a few hours a day, I’m hoping to make some good progress on the screenplay.”
“I’m not worried about the screenplay.” But Smith did sound worried about something. “I’m calling because I just heard from a press contact that someone is trying to sell a story about you and Ruby to the media.”
Flynn’s heart stopped cold in his chest. He’d vowed to keep Ruby safe…and he was already screwing that up.
Could it be his sister’s friend? Could she have figured out who he was after he’d left? Had the five grand not been enough for her? Or, could it be Anja? Although that didn’t make much sense. She not only had plenty of money of her own, but she also wouldn’t want to alienate him and his industry contacts by turning on him this way.
Then again, odds were Smith already knew the answer. Few people were more connected in the industry. “Do you know who’s selling it?”
“It’s your nanny, Flynn.”
A split second later, he had dropped the phone and was running back to Ruby’s crib, where the baby was still sleeping peacefully, thank God.
“Get the hell out of my house.” He ground out the words to the nanny in a low voice, still intent on not waking Ruby, even though he was as furious as he’d ever been.
The woman’s eyes were big as she looked at him. “Mr. Stewart, I don’t know what you’re—”
“I said get the hell out.”
Ruby’s eyes opened then. All it took was one look at his face for her to start wailing. He picked her up, cradling her tightly against him.
“I won’t tell anyone anything,” the woman said in the short breaks between Ruby’s cries. “Not if you don’t want me to.”
Flynn had been an idiot not to see the dollar signs in her eyes. “How much do you want?”
Her smile came slow. Satisfied. “Twenty grand.”
Her satisfaction was short-lived, however. He picked up her bag, walked to the front door, and tossed it out on the street. He’d never had any intention of paying her a dime. He’d simply asked the question to confirm her mercenary intentions.
“You’re going to regret this,” she spat before slamming the door behind her, the harsh noise making Ruby cry even harder.
Flynn soothed her, rocking her, pressing kisses to her cheeks. Once she calmed down, he made her a bottle. She wasn’t hungry, but chewed on the nib until she fell asleep again. Which was when Flynn finally remembered he’d left Smith hanging on the phone.
After gently laying Ruby down in her crib and covering her with a pink blanket, Flynn picked his cell phone up from the floor and found a text message waiting from Smith: Don’t worry, I’ve killed the story with every potential media outlet. Your nanny won’t be able to sell it anywhere. Btw, my cousin has a cabin in the Maine woods. No one would bother you and Ruby there.
* * *
Present day…
With one last, longing look at the bed, Flynn carried Ruby out to the open-plan kitchen and living room. She had been fussy all day—not that he could blame her. Two four-hour flights, plus a long and winding drive through the Maine woods in a musty-smelling rental car, weren’t for the fainthearted. Add in a bunch of dirty diapers, bottles of formula that weren’t exactly the right temperature, and a damned useless uncle, and you were in for a bumpy trip.