The Nannies Read Online Free PDF Page A

panicked. “Excuse me, young man, I think you’re going the wrong way!”
    “We’re taking a shortcut.” The driver flashed a movie star grin in the rearview mirror. Moments later, he pulled the limo alongside a helipad, where a six-seater chopper waited with its engines roaring.
    “We’re riding in
that
?” Kiley asked, incredulous.
    “You betcha.” He rolled down the window as two people from the show approached his door. Kiley recognized the young producer with the multiple piercings who’d interviewed her in Milwaukee. Except now her hair was black.
    “Hey, great, you’re here, let’s go, we’re late,” the producer bellowed over the chopper’s noise, then faced the driver. “Get their bags inside, dammit!”
    Kiley turned to her mom. “Are you okay with this?”
    Mrs. McCann’s hand fluttered to her chest.
    When the cameraman shoved his camera against the window of the sedan, Kiley took it as their cue to exit on the opposite side. The cameraman kept filming as they made their way into the chopper and strapped themselves into two empty seats.
    “You ladies ready?” the pilot asked as the producer climbed aboard. “Doors closed. We’re good to go.” The pilot flipped a few switches and handled the controls; instantly, the helicopter jerked straight up into the air. “We’ll be cruising at two thousand feet,” he told his passengers. “ETA at the Hotel Bel-Air in eight minutes. Service with a smile.”
    Moments later, the chopper was heading north, high above the 405 freeway; Kiley could see the traffic at a dead standstill in both directions. Mercifully, her mother had been scared silent.
    “Mrs. McCann?” the cameraman said. “You look a little green.”
    “Mom?”
    Her mother closed her eyes and started to hyperventilate, lips pressed in a thin line. This was not good. Kiley spotted an airsickness bag tucked behind the pilot’s seat. She grabbed it and placed it in her mother’s hands.
    “Breathe into that, Mom.” Her mother complied. The camera guy grinned and kept shooting, which pissed Kiley off. She splayed her hand over the lens, not about to let her mother be humiliated on national TV. “Stop. Now. I mean it.”
    The producer frowned. “Look, let’s get this straight,” she shouted over the noise of the helicopter. “You signed up for this gig. You don’t get to tell us what to film. Check the contract!”
    Jeanne McCann opened her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered to no one in particular, the paper bag in her lap. The camera guy produced a bottle of water and handed it to Mrs. McCann. She took a couple of careful sips.
    As they headed north, Kiley pressed her face against the helicopter’s curved window. The west side of Los Angeles sprawled beneath them—they were passing over UCLA. The view was jaw-droppingly beautiful, clear enough to see well out into the Pacific, where aqua water stretched to the horizon.
    The ocean.
Her
ocean.
    Think Scripps,
she reminded herself.
I am here for a reason. But
I don’t have to put up with these people being assholes to me or to my
mom.
    She turned to the producer. “Can I ask you something?” Kiley took her cocked eyebrow to mean yes. “In La Crosse— that’s in Wisconsin, by the way—we do this thing called introducing ourselves to each other. How it works is, one person says her name, and then waits for the other person to say hers. And then they shake hands. Hi, I’m Kiley McCann.” She stuck out her hand toward the producer. “You’re—?”
    The producer offered an eye-roll, then a limp hand. “Bronwyn Brown. Associate producer.”
    “Nice to meet you, Bronwyn. I think it’s time that I told you the real reason why I came here.”
    “What?”
    Kiley let a small smile curl over her lips. “I came to win.”

5
    “Ms. McCann, Mrs. McCann, welcome to the Hotel Bel-Air,” said the young man at the front desk. Tall and rangy, he had the chiseled good looks of a soap opera boy toy. Did they only let gorgeous