Lost With Me (Stark Trilogy 5)

I have no idea how I’m going to replace her, and I’ve been procrastinating in my search. Probably because I’m neck-deep into denial.

“So what exactly are you doing?” I ask, mostly to distract me from my thoughts.

She’d been adjusting a line of tape, and now her head snaps up. “I’m not—” She cuts herself off with a shake of her head. “Sorry. The floor. Right.”

I frown. Bree’s always at the top of her game, and yet today she seems off. I almost stay quiet—after all, everyone has bad days—but I hear myself saying, “Listen, are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Absolutely.” The words sound a little too perky. “I’m just frazzled.” Her eyes dart to Lara, and as I watch, Bree seems to forcibly gather herself. “Our leading lady is getting ready for her grand debut after dinner. Apparently, I’m the stage manager. And my boss is running me ragged,” she adds with a teasing smile

“Miss Bree!” Lara’s voice rises. “It’s a secret.”

“Oops. Sorry.” She blushes, and I frown. She’s been with us since before Anne was born, and in two years I’ve never once see her overstep the rules of any game she’s playing with the kids.

“Mama! Don’t listen.” Lara claps her hands over her ears.

“Listen to what? I didn’t hear anything.” I aim a huge smile at my little girl, but my thoughts are still on Bree. I tell myself it’s silly to worry. Of course she’s frazzled. I only have to find a replacement nanny; she has to uproot her entire life, move across country, and dive into the unfamiliar waters of academia. Who wouldn’t be a little off?

Certain I’ve found the explanation, I push my concern away and focus on Lara. “Don’t I get a clue about what you three are up to?”

Lara shakes her head regally, her chocolate-smeared lips pressed tight together as she clutches the rest of her cookie. Anne, on the other hand, claps and squeals, her blonde ringlets bouncing. “Dancing! We dancing!”

Lara rolls big brown eyes, her expression so exasperated that I have to keep my head down and my focus on my shoes to keep from laughing.

When I’m sure I can hold it together, I lift my head and smile at my oldest daughter. “I just came for hugs before I get back to work. Come give Mommy a kiss.” I kneel down, and they both scamper toward me. I gather them close and cover them with kisses and tickles until both my girls are squealing and giggling.

They’re so different in appearance and personality, with fair-haired, fair-skinned Anne tending toward quiet and calm, with only the occasional moment of toddler mania mixed in to keep us on our toes. I can imagine her all grown up, maybe running a laboratory and shouldering great responsibility while exercising both concentration and patience.

In contrast, Lara has the dark hair and yellow-brown skin that reflects her Chinese heritage. More outgoing than Anne, I imagine Lara will grow up to be an actress. Or a politician. Somebody who’s out there in front of the world, confident and strong, and completely comfortable with all that attention.

Right now, my girls get along great, presumably because they complement each other. And Damien and I are crossing our fingers that this congeniality never lets up.

I lean back so that I can look at both their sweet faces. “Okay, my princesses. Who’s going to be good for Miss Bree today?”

They both raise their hands, and I give them high-fives, then grin at Bree, who no longer looks rattled. “You need anything before I head out?”

“Nope. We’re doing great. Aren’t we girls?”

Lara nods, then throws her hands up and executes a wobbly pirouette. She stops, takes a bow, then grabs Anne’s hands and drags her to the play mat, where they fall into a wriggling, squirming, giggling heap.

Bree’s smiling eyes look into mine. “Wish me luck. The chocolate might have been a mistake.”

“Could be.” I can’t keep the laughter out of my voice. “And good luck with the insanity.” I sigh fondly at the sight of my kids. “I’d take over, but I’ve got that interview. Plus, I haven’t seen Jamie in ages, and she swears that she had to bribe someone to get a reservation at this new place in Santa Monica.”

“Are you going to Surf’s Up? It’s supposed to be amazing. I’m so jealous.”

“Are you?” My hopes for the lunch increase. Not that you can tell by the PB&J lunch, but Bree is both a foodie and a damn good cook. And if she says a restaurant is good, that means something. “In that case, I’ll bring you back a full report. And I’ll be home before Damien, I’m sure.”

“No problem. But are you guys staying in tonight? Because I was thinking I might, you know, go out to a club or something with a friend tonight.” A blush tints her cheeks.

I pause in the act of rummaging in my purse for my car keys. “For goodness sakes, are you really asking permission to go out after dinner on a Friday night. You know you’re free unless we’ve specifically wrangled you into babysitting.”

“I know. It’s just…” She trails off with a shrug. “I guess I’m feeling guilty. I mean, since I’m leaving so soon,” she adds hurriedly.

I shake my head firmly. “No guilt allowed for following your dream.” She’s been accepted into journalism school, and she’s hoping to start a career reviewing restaurants and covering all things food-related. “You know how proud Damien and I are of you.”

Her face tightens, and her shoulders rise and fall as she twists her hands together.

I frown, the hairs on the back of my neck starting to prickle with concern. “Bree?”

Her already huge eyes widen. “Sorry. It’s just that I’m going to miss you all so much.”

“Us, too,” I say honestly. “But New York is only a short flight away, and the good news is that you know someone who happens to own a plane.”

As I hoped, she smiles. “I may have to take someone up on that.”

I stand, and the girls scamper over to the toys as I cross to the stage that Bree’s marked out. “So about this friend? Do I get a hint?” I recall the way she’d blushed earlier. “It’s not Kari you’re going out with tonight, is it?”

“Not Kari,” she admits, referring to her best friend, one of the managers at Upper Crust, my favorite Malibu bakery, where I’m headed now for my interview. “But she introduced me to him,” she adds with a sideways grin. “Rory Claymore. Isn’t that the best name?”

“Sounds like something out of a Scottish romance novel.”

Her grin widens. “So far I’ll say that’s accurate.”

“Brianna Bernstein. I’m shocked.”

“No, you’re not,” she counters, and we both laugh as I pick up Anne—who’s come back to cling to the hem of my make-shift sarong. “How long have you two been going out?”

“Not long. This will only be our third date. But we’ve been texting. You know.”

I think about all of the delicious, naughty texts that Damien sends me and bite back a knowing smile. “How does Kari know him? What’s he do?” I force back a groan, realizing I’ve slid into full-on mommy mode.

“He’s an account manager for one of the financial companies downtown. I can’t remember which one. And he’s a regular. Been coming to Upper Crust for a while, and they got to chatting. You know how it is.”

“And so she fixed you up?”

“After he dropped a dozen or so hints. According to Kari, he had his eye on me for a while before he finally hit her up for an introduction.”

“Well, I couldn’t be happier for you.”

Her smile turns shy. “It’s still new between us. But I’m hoping.” A cloud crosses her face. “I’m not sure why, though. I’m about to move halfway across the country.”

“Bree—”

“I know,” she interrupts. “I’ll worry about that when we get to it. And right now,” she adds, scooping up Anne as she scurries by, “I know two little girls who have a show to rehearse. And you need to change and get to Upper Crust.”

I glance at the clock. “Yes, I do.” The interview is with a local reporter, Mary Lee,

whose editor called my office a few weeks ago. Apparently, she wants to interview me for a magazine about Southern California moms who are also business owners.

“Be good for Miss Bree.” I kneel and hold out my arms for Lara.