Spotlight by Eden Finley Page 0,8
We can take you. It’s the least I can do to thank you for helping back there.”
“It’s not out of the way?”
“Don’t worry about it. I insist. Drive to your place, and then I’ll take Kaylee home.”
“Thank you.”
We fall back into silence.
The easy conversation we had back at the play center is gone.
“Does that happen a lot?” I ask stupidly. Of course it happens a lot. “I thought it was illegal for them to take photos of Kaylee? Didn’t Reese Witherspoon’s diva fit make new laws?”
“The law actually states they can’t harass the children of celebrities. They’re free to post any photos they get.”
“And that back there isn’t considered harassment?”
“The law is vague. I can bring charges against them and try to sue them in a civil suit, but the one time I inquired how to do that, the lawyer advised me it would be more detrimental to Kaylee’s mental health having to go through something like that—talking to psychologists and giving testimony that she felt threatened and harmed—than if I just let it be.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Uncle Lyric, don’t say stupid. It’s mean.”
“Not if something really is stupid,” I mumble under my breath.
Ryder’s easy smile is back. “Don’t say bad words, Uncle Lyric.”
Damn, why do I like his teasing voice so much?
“But, Daddy, you said shit!”
I bite my lip to stop from laughing at Ryder’s defeated slump.
“I’m not going to hear the end of that,” Ryder says.
“Kids swearing is so adorable.”
“Adorable is one word for it.”
I almost hate that there’s little traffic for once and we make it home in relatively good time. Good time for LA, anyway.
Ryder Kennedy is nothing like I expected him to be. Not that I’d thought much about him at all before this.
In the media, he’s portrayed as the humble one everyone wants to be friends with. I can totally see it.
When we inevitably pull into the circular driveway of my brother’s ranch-style home that screams old Hollywood, I reluctantly turn off the car.
“What does your brother do again?” Ryder asks, dipping his head to stare up at the house through the windshield.
“Entertainment lawyer. He has some pretty big names on his client list.”
“Ah. That explains some more things. I’m learning a lot today.”
“What things?”
He side-eyes me. “This isn’t me being conceited or anything, but you don’t treat me like I’m a celebrity.”
“Sorry, should I be kissing your a—”—I glance at the back seat where the kids are listening intently—“feet?”
“Not at all. And after overhearing what you really think of me, I’d be disappointed if you suddenly did. But, I don’t know … most people—even the ones who hate Eleven’s music—gush and fawn over us. It’s unnerving.”
“I’m fanboying on the inside.”
Ryder laughs. “Good to know.”
“The way I see it, the difference between a celebrity and a struggling artist is a record deal.”
“That’s so true it’s scary.”
“Thanks for dropping us off. Saved us a long bus ride.”
“Thanks for your help with the paparazzi.”
“No problem. I have Chase Thursday and Friday afternoons after school and alternating Saturdays if you want to set up a playdate with the kids.”
“Yeah!” little Kaylee says behind us. “I want a playdate!”
Ryder nods. “I’ll contact you.”
“And don’t forget, the nanny offer is always open.”
“Do you ever give up?”
“Never. Don’t know the meaning of the word.” Apparently, I’m as stubborn as my father. But unlike him, I won’t let the industry suck me in and then spit me out.
We get out of the car and meet around the front while Chase runs inside the house.
“So, I’ll, uh … call you, then.” Ryder looks down at his feet.
I like his awkwardness. It’s cute. “Hey, who says you can’t make friends like kids do? Insulting one minute, fighting the next, now look at us.”
“I believe that was you.”
“Oh. Right. Well, yeah, I think we, like, totally just became best friends.”
Ryder shakes his head with a smile. “If you say so.”
I watch as he climbs back in the car and pulls out of my brother’s driveway.
I hope he uses the number I gave him, but I doubt he will.
Especially not for what I want him to use it for.
Chapter Three
Ryder
The deep rasp of Cash Kingsley’s voice fills my home studio. As front man of the latest rock sensation, Cash Me Outside, he’s got an amazing range and soulful tone that I’m a little jealous of.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t wishing I was inside the booth instead of in front of a soundboard, but I’m just thankful to be doing