Chapter 3 Flo
“This is my favourite show!” Leo exclaims as he stares up at the TV bolted onto the living room wall. His eyes bulge as he focuses on the array of cartoon animals driving neon-coloured race cars along a paint-covered dirt track on screen, setting up Donkey so he has a good view from the couch.
“This is your favourite show?” I question with a quirked brow, slightly terrified at what children find entertaining these days. A grating jingle plays from the speakers, and Leo claps along to the twinkly song, lips spread in a grin.
It makes me laugh. Kids are so easily amused.
“It’s Whisker Wheelers!” Leo sings along with the masked leopard on screen before the end credits roll down.
“Daddy says no TV after I’ve had dinner.
” He holds his fingers to his lips, shushing me as if Evan is spying on us.
But then it makes me wonder, does he have cameras in here?
Can he see me right now? I peer into the corners of the ceiling.
There doesn't appear to be any cameras. “Don’t tell him.”
“It’s our little secret, Leo.” I glance at my phone again—still no response from Alexander, and it’s been almost over an hour.
The clock ticks, and with every second, my fear that the sun will begin setting starts to creep in. It’s hours from doing so, but I can’t help but allow my panic to blossom.
Driving in the dark… we don’t mix. At all.
Memories of that night race through my mind. The dread. The fear. The sting of my salty tears as they rolled down my cheeks when my sister wasn’t answering my calls. My mom’s red face and her shaking hands as she blurted out the news.
I scrunch my eyes up for a second to bring myself back to reality. I’m not in a car. I’m on a couch. I’m safe.
“Leo, are you sure you don’t know your dad’s phone number?” I ask again, and he shakes his head, waving me to be quiet as if my presence is completely normal. He doesn’t know me, and yet, he sits here engaging with me as if I’m his designated nanny, like he’s known me for more than just an hour.
I’ve already raided all the cupboards and drawers, hoping to find Post-it notes of emergency contacts, but it seems Evan doesn’t have any.
Or if he does, he’s hidden them well. But I suppose he can’t have his and his family members’ numbers on full display in case anyone unwanted steps foot inside the house… so, basically, me.
“Wanna make brownies?”
My mouth opens, but no sound escapes, and I look down at Leo, whose fists are clenched with excitement as he waits for my response. How am I supposed to shut down a kid when he’s looking at me with eyes that could melt my soul?
My stomach growls right on cue. I guess I could have one. Judging by my looming headache, my blood sugar is a little low.
Standing up, I clap my hands together. “Fuck it. I’m hungry. Let’s do it.”
“Yeah, fuck it!” Leo copies, leaping up and pumping his fist through the air.
My eyes pop, lip wobbling with a mixture of humour and disapproval. “Um, how about we just forget that word, okay?” A smile threatens to creep up onto my face. I’ve been with this kid for an hour, and I’ve got him cursing.
Shit.
We enter the kitchen, and finding myself curious, I observe the house. Evan West is a top player for the Missarali Storks and undoubtedly makes a ton of money, but this house doesn’t reflect that, in a good way.
I guess I had a particular image in mind when thinking of a famous football player’s home—the kind that oozes wealth.
Floor-to-ceiling mirrors so they can stare at themselves from every angle, polished, heated flooring that’s so warm you’d never need to own a pair of slippers again, artwork hanging from the ceiling that costs more than my yearly salary, those kinds of things.
Instead, this house actually looks lived in.
The floor is made of aged wood, with chips and imperfections.
Family photos line the wall instead of million-dollar statement pieces, and I linger by them, studying the framed snapshots of Evan and Leo sitting on haybales, up trees and posing with a tall, dark-haired woman I don’t recognise.
Her sunglasses make it difficult to make out her face.
I haven’t seen her in the tabloids before, and it’s my job to keep up to date with the latest trends and gossip, even though I hate it. But I never forget a face.
Evan wouldn’t risk putting up photos of Leo’s mother or a secret girlfriend inside the house when he has nannies caring for his son, would he? He’s very private about Leo’s mother's identity, and the way he talks in interviews makes it clear she isn’t in their lives.
The usually grumpy-looking single dad appears happy, though, which is a stark difference from the face he wears when dealing with the press. But I can’t blame him. Those people are animals with no respect for privacy, and I honestly don’t know how he hasn’t broken one of their noses yet.
“Flo, help!”
I turn with a gasp. My spine goes rigid as I spot Leo sitting by the yellow wooden cupboards with an open bag of flour in front of him. The floor is coated in the stuff, and so is Leo. In fact, if I weren’t wearing my contact lenses right now, I’d probably mistake him for Olaf from Frozen.
“I didn’t mean to.” His tone is worrisome. “It all fell out.”
“Okay, it’s okay.” Taking his hand, I stand him up, leading him away from the pile of flour, trying my best to dust it off his face. However, I can’t stop the escaping laugh. “You look like a powdered doughnut.”
Leo suddenly cups my cheeks, smearing the flour over my own face. He squeals with laughter. “Now you do, too!”
We giggle in unison. “Okay, how about we get you—”
The sound of a door opening cuts me off, and a deep voice calls Leo’s name, heavy footsteps sounding from behind us. My jaw works as my eyes dart between the mountain of flour on the floor and Leo, whose lips part in an excitable gasp as he stares over my shoulder.
“Daddy!”
Oh no.
With pursed lips, I straighten myself into a standing position, watching as Evan West appears in the kitchen doorway, his dark hair tousled on top of his head, wet from what I assume would have been a locker room shower after practice.
I’ve seen him from a distance, in photos and in interviews before, but fuck, he’s even better looking in person.
He’s taller than I expected him to be, his head nearly touching the top of the doorway.
His icy grey eyes—the intensity of his gaze.
I should feel uncomfortable, but I’m not easily intimidated by celebrities.
His shoulders are broad—thick, corded muscles covered in a plain blue Lycra workout top that leaves little to the imagination—and he has a narrow waist that I’m pretty sure is protected by rock-hard abs.
Evan’s gaze shifts from me to his flour-covered son, to me again in a matter of seconds, and it’s clear he’s not pleased.
“Who are you?”
“Flo McKenna,” I state matter-of-factly.
“Sorry, Daddy,” Leo apologises as he wraps his arms around his father’s legs.
Evan ruffles up his son’s dark hair as a greeting, but he’s still looking at me, jaw popping, arm protectively snaked around his son. “Is my sister here?”
“No.”
He clearly doesn’t like that answer, eyes popping and body tensing. “Where’s Ava? What are you doing here?” He ushers Leo closer to his side, away from me.
God, he probably thinks I’m some obsessive fan who’s stormed my way into his house.
“She left,” is all I say as I compose myself, noticing Evan’s eyes hone in on the flour coating my cheeks, and I wipe at them with the back of my arm, awkward laughter bubbling inside my chest.
“She… left? What do you mean she left?” There’s clear panic in his voice.
“She said something about your sister. Alexander sent me from Starbound, and she mistook me for her. I didn’t have a chance to explain myself before she practically ran out screaming.
” I cock a brow, a small smile of disbelief tainting my lips.
This situation is something out of a comedy sketch.
“I wouldn’t hire her again if I were you. ”
Evan’s eyebrows collapse in on one another.
“This situation isn’t funny, so I don’t know why you’re laughing.
Judging by what I’ve just walked into, you’re no more trustworthy than she was.
” He lifts Leo into his arms and nods down at the flour.
“What have you been doing in here? And why would Alexander send you to my house?” His scowl is accusatory, and I narrow my eyes while he studies me. Judges me.
I get it. He’s shocked and worried, but Evan’s acting as if this is my fault. I could have left Leo by himself, but I didn’t. He’s the one who hired an incompetent nanny who left the second she got the chance.
“I was dropping off a toy left at Starbound, which Alexander wanted to throw in the trash, by the way. And as for this”—I gesture to the floor—“accidents happen. It can be cleaned.”
“Flo brought Donkey back,” Leo buts in, his child brain oblivious to the tension lingering in the air. It’s so thick that we should all be choking, but like the ray of sunshine Leo clearly is, he’s breathing just fine.
“God, and you didn’t try to contact me? Why not? How long has Ava been gone?”
Alexander warned us Evan could be standoffish, but his gruff demeanour is worse than I thought it would be. How has he raised such a smiley and giddy child when he walks around like he has a giant rod up his ass?
“Well, I apologise for not being able to find a famous football player’s personal phone number. I tried to contact my boss, but he didn’t reply. Ava left about an hour ago, and I stayed with Leo so he wasn't alone. You’re welcome.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Where’s your dustpan and broom?”
Evan’s eyes widen. “For what?”
“For the flour?”
“I can do it myself.”
I sigh. “Right, of course you can.” Brushing my flour-covered hands on my jeans, I move towards the doorway, tapping my foot impatiently. Evan stares down at me, scratching at the slight facial hair smattered across his chin and jaw.