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Laz lifted his shoulders. “Marked off in inches. Or feet.” He grinned. “My friends are sick, I know. Change your mind about that date?”

She needed money, but more than that, she needed to see Jay. “I’d consider doing the tattoo for the right price.”

“Maylynn.” Nathan’s warning tone.

“No shit? You do tattoos?” He pushed his hands through his hair and the spikes bounced back. “Five grand.”

AHell Yestried to jump out of her gaping mouth. She caught it with a snap of her jaw. Think first. Then leap.

He misread her expression. “Fine. Ten grand. I’d pay that just to stare at you for an hour with my cock in your hand.” He flashed a spread of white teeth. “I’ll double it to twenty grand if you’ll do it with your shirt off.”

Nathan put his mouth next to her ear. “I don’t like this. They’re fucking media darlings.”

“Twenty grand. Shirt on. In a private, secure area. No media.”

He threw his fist up. “Done. How do I reach you?”

She waved over a hovering waitress and borrowed a pen and a napkin. “Here’s my address.” Nathan’s office address.

He stuffed it in his jean pocket and blew her a kiss as he walked backward toward the doors to the dining room.

She snapped herself out of the surrealism of meeting Laz Bromwell and realized she’d never hear from him again. He didn’t have to pay for a tattoo. He’d have busty artists lining up to do it for free. And stroke him off while they did it. “Laz?”

He put his hand on the door and raised his brows. “A parting kiss?”

Since she hadn’t been able to find on photo of Jay without his shirt, she had to ask. “What did Jay end up doing with his tattoo? The one on his back?”

A strange expression fell over his face, and he stared at her as if he were staring through her.

Nathan blew out a loud exhale. “Fuck.”

Fists banged on one of the doors behind them. A clamor of voices shouted on the other side.

Nathan jerked his head toward Laz, his face red. “Paparazzi?”

Laz lifted a shoulder. “Probably.”

Shit. If their only way out was through a barrage of snapping pictures, Roy’s facial recognition software would find her.

A kitchen rag landed on her chest, and she caught it. Nathan grabbed another one and pushed her toward the banging door. “Keep your face covered with that. Head down and away from the cameras.”

She unfolded it and draped it over her nose and mouth as they swerved around a steel counter.

“Wait.” Laz’s voice chased them. “Maylynn, is it? That’s your name?”

“Keep going.” Nathan shifted them around a tiered rack of pastries.

The back of her shirt caught and pulled taut, halting her forward motion. She looked over her shoulder, around the edge of the towel, and met Laz’s green-eyed glare.

“There’s only one person who knows about that tattoo besides Jay and myself, and her name was Charlee. Her eyes were so blue, you’d never forget them. I know this because we have three hit songs written about those damned eyes.”

Hers widened.

“So tell me,Maylynn, what the fuck is your real name?” His jaw was set, his tone more forceful than she thought him capable.

Nathan grabbed his wrist and squeezed. The fingers in her shirt flexed, released.

“His tattoo artist must have talked.” Her voice was thready, dammit.