A Baby For Her Bodyguard

1. Hailey

CHAPTER 1

HAILEY

“ H old it right there, missy.”

I froze on reflex, my face going hot. Caught. I was caught. Now there’d be hell to pay.

Then, I remembered I was a grown-ass woman, twenty-seven, not seventeen. And it wasn’t Mom chasing me. It was just Mina. Who, for all her bluster, was my employee .

I turned to face her. “What’s up?”

“Where were you going?” She peered over my shoulder, down the bleak hotel hall. One thing I’d noticed, living out of hotels: the rooms got fancier as your budget increased. But the halls stayed depressing, with nasty carpets.

“I’m getting a drink,” I said, with a nod to the pop machines.

“In your VMAs dress?”

“Yeah, Mina. That’s right. In my VMAs dress.” I could’ve kept on pretending, but what was the point? I hitched up my purse and carried on down the hall, past the machines and straight for the elevators. Mina scurried in front of me.

“No, hold on. Wait.” She held out her arms so I couldn’t get by, not without shoving her out of the way. “Seriously, talk to me. Where are you going?”

“Out dancing,” I said. “To celebrate. I can still do that, can’t I? Once in a while?”

“Not on your own, you can’t. What’s even the point? Who goes out clubbing all by themselves? Give me a minute and I’ll call up security, and Jen and Rashida and the rest of the girls.”

I wilted at the thought of a night on the town, trailing an entourage too dense to see through. Jen and the girls were okay, I guessed, but they were, like… work friends. This was my night off.

“Forget it,” I said, and turned back to my room. Mina trotted behind me, phone in hand.

“You understand why you can’t just go out on your own?”

I picked up my pace. Mina snatched at my arm.

“I need you to tell me you understand.”

I jerked my arm away. “You know what? I don’t. In Miami, okay, I get the need to be safe. I don’t know the town, and there’s Florida Man. But this is LA. This is my home . And everyone’s famous here. I’d barely stand out.”

Mina stared for a second, then she burst out laughing. She laughed so loud a man poked his head out his door, scowled down the hall at us, and dipped back inside.

“Shut up.”

She held herself, catching her breath. Then she laughed some more, and I smacked her arm.

“I said, shut up .”

“I’m sorry.” She dabbed at her eyes. “It’s just, I forgot how cut off you’ve been. How focused you were on recording your album. You’d barely stand out — you . Hailey Frye.” Fresh laughter burst out of her. I rolled my eyes.

“You think I’m so famous I can’t go outside? I can’t get one little drink without getting mobbed? I went out on my own when ‘Night Dancing’ went viral.”

“‘Night Dancing’?” She gaped at me. “You think that’s— oh, wow. Come and sit down.” Mina grabbed my arm and dragged me back to my suite, and half-tossed me onto the huge swoop-backed couch. She plopped down across from me and flung her arms wide. “Look around you. What do you see?”

I glowered around, but said nothing. Mina kicked at my foot.

“I’m serious. Tell me. What do you see?”

I surveyed the room, with its high, vaulted ceiling. Its wide picture windows looking out on the beach. The flowers in their vases were fragrant and real. A fruit basket sat on the big central table, more tropical fruit than I’d eat in a year. Past that, down the hall, I could see my bedroom, and light spilling out from the bathroom door.

“A pretty nice suite,” I said.

“Damn right, it’s nice. And where were you staying when ‘Night Dancing’ came out?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, fine, point taken.”

“That micro-sized studio with the janky hotplate. And the bathroom you shared with two other girls.”

That gave me a pang — two other girls . I’d shared that bathroom with my two best friends. At least, I’d thought they were, till I went viral. Pre-“Night Dancing” I was Instagram semi-famous. Post-“Night Dancing,” I was, like… famous-famous. I shot up every chart I’d heard of and some I hadn’t. Every late-night show wanted me on. They were Night Dancing in Tokyo, Night Dancing in France, Night Dancing in their socks and underpants.

I might’ve got caught up at first in the whirl, like for a week or two, that first crazy ride. But the second I found my feet, I wanted to share my good luck. And who did I call? Elle and Shanice. But they were already out, Instagramming their club night. When I texted to join them, they left me on read. Elle later sued me, or at least she tried to, claiming she’d written half of “Night Dancing.” Mina shut that down, but the betrayal still stung.

“I don’t think you get quite how famous you are.” Mina pulled her phone out and tapped on the screen. She held it out to me, and I saw my own face. I hardly knew it at first, made up as I was, two-inch fake lashes. Silk butterflies. Smears of pink glitter. Wet, pumped-up lips. “This is you in Times Square.” Mina swiped. “You in Shibuya, on that giant screen.” She swiped again and again, and my face flashed by. My gyrating body. My name in lights. “Beijing. Berlin. Vegas, baby. And here you are?—”

“Okay! I get it.”

“Do you, though?” Mina plucked at my dress. “All this comes at a price, and I don’t just mean money. Being famous’ll buy you some kinds of freedom: the freedom to stay at places like these. The freedom to travel. To buy pretty clothes. But the tradeoff’s your private life. You can’t just… go out. ” She said go out like my mom said pop star , like those were dirty words. Like I was dirty. I bristled, resentful.

“But, this is LA.”

“So?”

“So, what does, like, J-Lo do when she wants to go out? No security, no entourage, just… a normal night out?”

“She buys out a club for her and her friends. But you’re at that awkward stage where you’re too famous to roam, but you’re not rich enough to buy privacy.” Mina half stood, then she sat down again. She leaned across and patted my arm. “ After your tour, maybe, and your next album. Maybe a Grammy under your belt. That’ll buy breathing space, but not now. Not yet.”

The second she said breathing space , my chest went tight. My throat closed, my skin crawled. Sweat prickled my neck. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t what I’d worked for. What I’d worked so hard to leave in the past…

“Hey.” Mina leaned in. “You can still have a life. Once you make a few famous friends, there’ll be places. Exclusive house parties. Private clubs. Yachts. You’re just in that in-between phase?—”

I shook her off. Gulped a deep breath. I had to make famous friends to have a real life? This was like Mom, with the details swapped out: You need to make nice friends. Friends with nice parents. None of these fast girls with their lipsticks and heels.

“I can’t do this,” I croaked.

“You can. You are.” Mina gripped my arm again, squeezing too hard. “You’re doing great. A platinum album. Don’t you know how hard that is, straight out the gate? A hit single’s one thing, but a platinum album? Girl, you’re doing it. You are a star. ”

“That’s not…” I trailed off, suddenly tired. She’d known me all my life, but she didn’t know . She didn’t get how it was, how I grew up. I could try to explain to her, but it was one of those things: you had to have been there, or it wouldn’t make sense. And Mina hadn’t been, because my folks wouldn’t let her. Our friendship had been limited to band camp and school, and those odd nights I could slip out unseen.

“It’ll get better after your tour. We can go back to Florida, record your next album. I’ll get Jerrick to introduce you around.”

I almost laughed. “Jerrick? The producer?”

“Yeah, he knows everyone. He’ll get you some invites. You’ll have some fun out there, and make some new friends.”

I tried to picture Jerrick, old, bald, and thin — bespectacled Jerrick, at some celeb bash. To my surprise, I kind of could. He was easy to work with, easy to like. And I guessed he’d know everyone, given his job. But it was still giving preschool vibes, Mom dropping me off. There’s Katie and Stef! They’re nice, so go play!

“All right,” I said. “I’ll stay in for tonight.”

“Thank you,” said Mina. “I hope I wasn’t a bitch. It’s just, it’s not safe for you out there alone.” She held out her arms and I gave her a hug. When I let go of her, she took my purse. She tossed it on the table and pointed down the hall. “You should get some sleep. Early rehearsal.”

Mina left, and I waited till I heard her door slam. Then I started for my bedroom… and stopped halfway. What the hell was she talking about, not safe to go out? Celebrities did go out, even the huge ones. They went shopping, to restaurants, out with their dogs. Of course they did, because, like… sightings? You couldn’t go on socials without stumbling across them, that one guy from Breaking Bad eating a burger. Country stars at the rodeo, cheering the riders. An actor getting pantsed by his five-year-old son. Of course I could go out, if I kept it low-key. What’s the worst that could happen, a frumpy snapshot?

I wriggled out of my sparkly VMA dress and dug through my suitcase for something more normal. Something not a ballgown or a dance leotard. I came up with a dress I’d picked up pre-“Night Dancing,” a store-brand black sheath from some discount chain. I paired it with chunky clogs and John Lennon glasses, the kind big enough to hide half your face. My reflection mooned bug-eyed from the full-length wall mirror. I posed and grinned back at it, and tried to decide — would anyone know me? Would I know myself? I pooched up my lips. Blew a kiss at the mirror.

“Bisou-bisou?”

I laughed and decided I looked kind of French. I didn’t look at all like my face in Times Square, or in Shibuya, or in Berlin. My red hair, maybe, might give me away, but lots of people had red hair. More since I blew up. My curls went viral along with my voice.

I snatched up my purse from where Mina had left it and let myself out into the hall. It was deserted and almost too quiet, and I held my breath as I eased the door shut. The click, in the silence, felt like a gunshot, but Mina’s door didn’t open. No one came out.

I tiptoed to the elevators, then on to the stairs, not wanting to risk the ding on our floor.

Like high school, I thought. Sneaking out to meet Mina. Flattening against the wall when Dad’s light went on. Not daring to breathe till it blinked out again.

I raced down two flights, then took the elevator to the lobby, calling a car to meet me out front.

“Or, actually, sorry. Could you meet me out back?”

“By the pool entrance, or you mean by the kitchen?”

I wasn’t sure where I meant. “Uh, by the pool?”

Five minutes later, I found the pool, and the dark hall behind it, and the red EXIT sign. I pushed it open and smelled car exhaust. Garbage. The smell of the city, and the outside. A dark thrill ran through me, a thrill I knew well — the thrill of doing something I knew was off-limits. Then the door slammed behind me, making me jump.

Was there a chance, any chance, Mina was right?

I laughed as I spotted my car pulling up. This was LA. This was home. I’d be fine. Mina would hate it, but what the hell, right?

I deserved one night out before my big tour.