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They’re not an email or a goddamned letter.

But when I text Raegan the next day at noon to say, “I trust you slept well…”

There’s no answer.

I wanted her to come back after her set last night. We would’ve made it two steps in the door before I pressed her up against the wall and her hands were under my shirt. We would have fucked in the living room—again—before she crashed.

But I got out of bed alone this morning, except for memories that made my cock twitch against my leg. I headed for the shower, jerked off for momentary relief.

I’m not finished with her, not by a long shot.

I’ve never wanted a woman who challenged me on every level. Normally I date beautiful women interested in enjoying life and being enjoyed. Raegan’s anything but that.

In the kitchen, I take a moment to miss my housekeeper’s cooking before reaching for the fridge door handle. Since I arrived, I haven’t opened it once. The hotel chef brings my food himself, and I eat most of it around work—in my office here or at the warehouse with Leni.

Now, I scan the fully stocked shelves.

Juice. Milk. Fresh vegetables, precut. Even chicken.

The pantry contains everything from nut butter to protein powder.

Who knew?

I settle on coffee with the French press I had delivered since I was last here.

If only my problems could vanish as easily as the woman whose scent still lingers in my condo.

The new club, for one.

Leni and the team are full-on into a major renovation, and I need to get the zoning approval so we can open on schedule. The more research I do, the more convinced I am that this is the right time for this operation. It could add significantly to Echo Entertainment’s bottom line and its reputation.

I take my coffee and phone out to the wraparound patio overlooking LA and the ocean beyond, hitting voicemail.

“Boss, it’s Leni. I’ve managed to broker deals for most of the materials we need on short order. But some of the sound equipment is backordered and might push the club opening. Unless we can figure out another solution?—”

I hit End, cursing.

And this isn’t the only venue in my empire.

I’ve heard almost nothing from Mischa since he invaded Debajo and I slammed a fist into his face. With anyone else, that would be comforting. With him, it’s concerning because it means he’s working under the radar.

I have to win La Mer, and the stakes have never been higher. If I don’t succeed, I will have disappointed my parents, failed before the man responsible for their downfall.

Which is why I take the offensive position when I dial a contact.

“Christian.”

“Good morning, Harrison. I understand you’ve left us.”

“For America, not for the dead,” I say dryly. The old man does like his drama. “Acquiring La Mer is still my number one priority. To that end, I’ve committed to a robust investigation to alleviate any concerns about the legitimacy of my parents’ activities.”

“You’re in Los Angeles. It doesn’t seem like a priority.”

“On the contrary. I’m sparing no expense.” I shift, scanning the horizon. I haven’t heard anything conclusive from my investigator yet, but he emailed me a status update with some of the areas he’s chasing down. “What I don’t know is why it’s so important to you.”

Christian sighs. “There was a deal that went wrong. A property I was going into along with Mischa Ivanov’s company—only your father pulled out. The reason was obvious—it would’ve interfered with the drug trade. But it lost me millions, cost me an entire month with my family. I missed my eldest daughter’s graduation picking up the pieces, and that left a bad taste in my mouth. I need to know who made the call, your father or Mischa’s.”

“And you think learning whether my father was aware of the drug activity will give you that answer.”