I can smell Chrissie’s scent on my clothes even after having only the briefest feel of her and my cock is rock hard—though there is nothing about the scene that went down at Chrissie’s that should give me an erection.

Amusing?

Definitely.

Pathetic?

No doubt.

But I can’t deny it.

The only thing I really want to do is to go home, lie down, jerk off thinking of her and then sleep. The last twenty-four hours have been one hell of a ride. I’m exhausted. Going to bed alone and emptying my cock sounds like a fine way to end the first round of being with Chrissie again.

Two days pass at a snail’s pace.

I sit on my back terrace, staring at the ocean, wide awake and restless at 11 a.m. after having spent days and nights mostly alone, only filling the vacant minutes by repeatedly checking my phone hoping to find a call from Chrissie.

I look at my cell again. Nothing. Then I tense. Oh fuck, somehow I left her house condemned to be the woman in this next phase of our life together.

Waiting.

Checking the phone.

Paralyzed into inaction.

Fuck.

I’m stalled. But then, I’m in uncharted territory. I’m out of my comfort zone. What the fuck am I supposed to do?

Usually Chrissie sets the ground rules, we fight, I say something inane, we fuck, and then we’re together again. This time she set the ground rules, introduced me to my daughter, we fought, we talked, and then she sent me away. I don’t know how to work with this.

I shake my head. There must be a way expeditiously to get out of my isolated purgatory. Maybe I’m just in this wretched place because Chrissie doesn’t want me at the house with the kids and she’s short on staff. It could mean nothing that she’s ignoring me.

The patio door opens and I glance over as Aarsi appears. She smiles and says nothing—her version of being invisible—and starts to collect my breakfast remains from the table beside me.

She’s wearing a tight, short violet sundress with a pleated hem that puffs with the gusts of wind. Nice touch. Clearly the girl didn’t listen when I said I wasn’t interested. Time to send her away. She’s becoming annoying in her obviousness.

I grab my coffee before she can take it and smile. Hmm? Maybe not get rid of her. Relocate her. Better. I definitely could use an ally in Chrissie’s house.

Since Aarsi works for me, she’s been thoroughly vetted, down to the point where even the most minute detail of her life rests in a file with the people who hire my staff. Brian Craig screens my employees better than the FBI. I couldn’t hire a better nanny for Chrissie if I tried.

No risk if she’ll do it. Would she do it?

“Do you like kids?” I ask abruptly.

Her eyes widen, surprised that I spoke to her. She blinks. “Yes. Why?”

“Do you have experience with them?”

She nods. “I have three younger siblings. And I did a lot of au pair work before I got the job here.”

Perfect. Interview done. Decision made.

“Go get me something to write with,” I order.

She runs into the house and returns. She hands me a pen and a notepad that looks like it’s from her school things.

“Here’s an address. Go there. I want you to work there as much as you are needed, whatever hours you agree upon with Mrs. Harris. Tell Mrs. Harris I sent you there as a nanny or a housekeeper or whatever she needs. Call me if there’s a problem.”

She stares at me like she wants to argue—or worse, ask questions—then she shrugs. “OK. When do you want me to go?”

“Now. Then text me with your schedule if she keeps you.”

I’m starting to feel more upbeat. A sense of doing something to move things in the direction I want them to go. A moronic optimism that I might get to fuck Chrissie again sometime soon if I get her a little help so she’ll maybe focus a little more on me.

Probably an asinine move.

I don’t care.

It’s worth a try.

I need to do something.

I’ve had enough of this.

My phone beeps two hours later. I read the text. Brilliant. Chrissie didn’t toss out the girl. There’s hope.

After a run on the beach, I shower, dress, and head out into the garage. I stare at the line of cars, pick one and climb in.

I jerk it into reverse—everything I want, always, and never anything that I need—and back into the driveway. I merge into traffic on Highway 1 and then cut onto the road to Hollywood.

I don’t have a plan. I’m not even working on a new release. I’ve been here three days, Chrissie and I are still on separate pages and I haven’t gotten anything going, but the Rainbow is always a good place to start. A rockers’ bar in Hollywood. Even though it’s afternoon, there will be someone, something going on there.

A good place to start if I want to get quickly plugged in to the goings-on in the LA scene.

Which I’m not sure that I do.

Fuck, I’m going there anyway.

I’m tired of being alone, waiting for Chrissie to call.

The minute I step through the door, I’m quickly swallowed up by people. Christ, I’m not in the mood for this bullshit. I smile. Make appropriate replies and scan the crowd, picking out the faces of a few here I actually like.

Ah, Ian Kennedy, music producer extraordinaire, out drinking at two in the afternoon.

Amusement and diversion.

Success.

I make my way toward him.

He takes me in a wraparound, one-arm, patting hug. “Hey brother, what the fuck are you doing in LA?”

We go to the back of bar, into the VIP private area. I sink on the couch and call out to the cocktail waitress to bring me a coffee. I ignore the amusement that sparks in Ian’s eyes. Fuck, get over it, Ian. I need to stay sharp with Chrissie. I need to cut down on the booze. I need to cut down on my hours in places like these.

“Got sick of east coast gray,” I say casually, “and the east coast got sick of me.”

He laughs. “Seriously, how long are you here for?”

“Three months. Just taking some downtime. Staying quietly out of the mix.”

His lips purse in an upside down sort of smile and he nods. “Well, you’ve been pretty fucking quiet. I didn’t even know you were here.”

He laughs.

Our conversation quickly evolves into the standard array of shit. Music. Concerts. The road. Women. Shop talk and industry gossip. The more we talk, the larger the circle around us gets, and I’m feeling impatient and bored.

I look at Ian. “Do you want to cut out? Have dinner somewhere?”

Ian gives me a strange look, shakes his head, finishes his drink, and then stands. “I’ve got to hit it. It’s getting late.”

Late? “It can’t be past five.”

He shrugs. “Taking off with you tonight would not be a good thing. There’s trouble at home. Better to go home early.”

My brows hitch up. “Ah, Yotti is still leading you on a chase, is she?”

I laugh.

He glares.

I like his wife.

I shouldn’t give him shit.

Ian juts his chin at me. “Fuck you. Besides, you don’t want me hanging around. Every guy’s wet dream just walked in and she’s got her eyes locked on you like a laser.”

I look over my shoulder. Jen, former centerfold model and current employee of the promotion company managing my tour. Beautiful. Built. Definitely sexually adventurous. My LA preference from my list of friends I sleep with when I’m here.

Ian tosses me an amused look. “Lucky bastard. She’s like a bloodhound when it comes to you. I didn’t even know you were in LA. How the fuck did she find you? Asshole.”

I manage a small laugh as he fades away and Jen closes in. She settles on the couch close to me. She is wearing Dolce & Gabbana. It carries a special tang on her. I’ve never liked the scent, it is usually too pungent, unless it’s on Jen.

Her eyes do a leisurely once-over of me. She smiles that I’m up for anything kind of smile. My cock twitches. Nothing more. A Pavlovian type of response. Not interested.