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Now he just had to dig deep and find a way to embrace this monumental responsibility, so he didn’t break that promise.
CHAPTER SEVEN
FROM THE OUTSIDE, Mickie’s home was lovely. Nothing like what Hannah would have expected from a mega-millionaire actress whose over-the-top LA mansion had been splashed across dozens of style magazines. She’d owned a house with massive square footage, a minimalistic contemporary style, and zero warmth. Hannah recalled wondering where the star sat when she wanted to curl up with a fuzzy blanket and spend an evening bingeing her favorite TV shows. All her furniture had been stiff, tiny, and white.
This Vermont house was large, but not by Hollywood standards. Vibrant flowerbeds adorned the front yard, along with a sprawling lawn of lush green grass. The wraparound porch had a swing with plush cushions and a wooly throw.
Mickie kept the exterior perfectly maintained. Everything from the landscaping to the siding gave off an expensive impression, but not in a showy way. It was clear to Hannah that Mickie was a woman who enjoyed luxury but in an understated, comfortable manner. This home fit with the woman she’d met at the diner, whereas the Hollywood mansion seemed to be part of a persona Mickie had played to maintain her celebrity image.
“Miss, I’ll take a few boxes of the Thin Mints,” a deep voice spoke from the porch.
Hannah jumped. Heat rushed to her face. What a creeper she must look like loitering around, gawking at the place. “What?” Holy crap, the guy was gorgeous. She recognized Keith from JP’s social media, but the photos hadn’t done the man justice. Sex oozed from that half smile and those tattooed muscles peeking out beneath the sleeves of his shirt. He had a dark, closely cropped beard and the hair to match.
“Nothing. Just being an ass.” He waved her over. “You must be Hannah. Come on in. The girls, sorry, ladies—they both give me dirty looks when I call them girls—they’re inside having a drink.”
“Thanks.” She climbed the few steps up to the porch. “And yes, I’m Hannah.”
He held out a large, callused hand. “Keith. Mickie’s worse half.”
Chuckling, Hannah shook his hand. The man could probably crush every bone in her hand with one squeeze if he wanted, yet he gripped with a gentle hold. “Nice to meet you.”
“Follow me. I’ll show you where the troublemakers have congregated. Can I get you a glass of wine? I think Ronnie is drinking a Sauvignon Blanc or some shit. Mickie is just having soda if you prefer something non-alcoholic.”
For sure, she needed a little liquid courage to ease her nerves. Not enough to cloud her judgment or make working a challenge, but something to calm the jitters. A large part of her wanted to skip all these pleasantries, and demand Keith inform her where JP and her niece were. Being so close to Kayla and not seeing her could be considered torture. But she was there to play nice, make friends, and then get the details on Kayla. “I’d love a glass of wine, thank you so much.” Never in a million years would she tell him she didn’t even know if the kind he’d mentioned—she’d never been much of a drinker and had already forgotten the name—was red or white.
“Hey, Hannah! You made it. Come sit.” Mickie smiled from her spot on a beautiful cream-colored sofa. The wide cushions looked soft and inviting. Another change from how the public viewed this woman. Like the outside, her interior décor was beautiful, cozy, and expensive.
“Hey, guys,” Hannah said as she walked into the large living area. She glanced down at her feet then back at the door. Should she have taken her shoes off? The light area rug looked like it cost more than her rent.
“Make yourself at home,” Keith said with a wink. “We’re not formal, promise. Be right back with your drink.”
As he turned and made his way into a stunning kitchen, Hannah risked it and joined Mickie and Ronnie, still wearing her shoes. They had binders, two laptops, and an iPad spread out on a coffee table in front of them, along with various pens, highlighters, and colorful labels.
“Hi, Hannah,” Ronnie said. Like Mickie, she wore jean shorts and a T-shirt, but hers had a band logo, whereas Mickie’s was a simple pale blue. She’d gathered her long hair up a high ponytail. As earlier, Mickie’s short bob didn’t have a strand out of place, her makeup was flawless yet understated, and everything about her screamed money. But in a surprisingly approachable way.
Chic was the perfect word to describe the woman.
“Hope you don’t mind if we dive right in. We wanted to get as much done as we could before dinner. Two more of my brothers will be joining us, and once JP gets here with my adorable niece, it’ll be hard to focus on work.”
