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I don’t know if the way he fingered me in the car made it better or worse.

After cursing him in the foyer, I finally gave in, went upstairs, and made myself come twice, imagining his dirty mouth on me, his fingers inside me.

No matter what I felt while we were eating tacos and talking about his childhood antics, I’m not handing my heart to a man whose primary directive is to claim and conquer.

I grab a snack and return to the chaise as an email pops up. I read it twice.

Re: Next Weekend’s Show

We apologize for the delay in responding to your request. It is no longer in our mutual interest to retain you for the engagement. Of course, we don’t expect the deposit to be returned to us.

We look forward to collaborating in the future.

The club where I was booked to do my Zombeach just bailed on me.

This is not a small problem. It’s a huge one.

I check their feed, and they’ve already swapped out my name for someone else’s on the poster. Disbelief rises up. What the actual fuck?

I put all that effort into getting Victoria to this show, and I’ve been working on the set for two days straight.

I could curl up in a corner and squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the waves of emotion to rack me.

I could see Beck at the lot. He’d cheer me up, tell me not to sweat it.

Or I could call Annie in New York, who’d no doubt encourage me to make them see my side of things with some impassioned plea.

I don’t want either.

This is Harrison’s fault.

He insisted on giving me access to his calendar, which I haven’t enabled on my phone. Now, I click into my calendar on my phone and check the box that syncs Harrison’s calendar.

Events start to populate, dozens this week alone. There are meetings and calls and dinners and invitations at all hours of the day and night. Some of them even overlap.

I had no idea how busy running his empire really is. But it looks like he has a break in thirty minutes.

All I need is to see him. I want to chew him out. To say this is all his damn fault and my life was better before he entered it.

So, I drive to his penthouse, and the concierge lets me up.

“Harrison?” I call into the condo when I step inside.

There’s no answer, and I stalk toward the office. “I’m not here for sex,” I warn.

When I round the door, I pull up as I see two other men in suits inside, in addition to the man I’m here to see.

Three startled gazes fly to me, including one that’s amused as it is surprised.

Shit.

“I didn’t mean…” I hold up my phone. “I thought you had a break between meetings.”

“Raegan. Wait.” Harrison comes after me, catching up to me before I reach the elevator in the hall. “What’s wrong?”

His gray suit is perfectly pressed, his jaw freshly shaved. He’s as composed as I am wrecked, and the contrast has never felt so obvious as it does in this moment.

“The show I was supposed to play in Long Beach next weekend. They canceled it. Someone from Wild Fest was coming and…”