Page 110 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

My manager’s text ringtone. Just what I didn’t want to deal with right now.

I fumbled for my cell and read the texts.

What is this “Unlove” song circulating with your name on it? With Angel Martin no less?

Rumors are all over saying she’s in the toilet and you’re giving her fucking gold quality breakup songs? And cutting out your management?

Get back at me. Today. Not kidding, Nash.

I reread the texts half a dozen times and still didn’t understand them. The hangover-worthy headache I still had didn’t help my comprehension.

But I recognized those words.

“Unlove” rung a bell. Part of the disjointed lyrics I’d written at Lo’s.

I couldn’t remember calls I’d placed last night, but snatches of lyrics from days ago, no problem.

Fuck me.

I texted my manager back and asked him what he was talking about. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

Nor did I want to read Lindsey’s latest text.

I’d forgotten to reply to her last night. Something I swiftly recalled as I took in her sexy as hell picture from the evening before—which I saved to my personal photos—then read her most recent message.

You’re a selfish prick, Alexander Nash.

Despite what she’d said, her text made me smile in the middle of chaos. I could imagine her gorgeous blue eyes firing with irritation as she typed it, her long fingers moving elegantly over the keypad.

I texted her back.

Undoubtedly. But you are absolutely lovely, Lindsey York.

Twenty-Three

I was probably going to kill him.

Lovely? I send him an intimate shot—there was definite cleavage, dammit—and that was what he sent back? And not until the next day no less?

Maybe he wasn’t alone. Maybe being with you whetted his appetite for more. Just not of you.

Ugh, I hated these kinds of thoughts. Normally, I had confidence. I had to. Selling my music was my job. But he made me feel off-balance and uncertain.

Maybe even on purpose, so I didn’t get too used to the idea of us being a thing. As if that could ever happen.

You know what’s lovely? That I ever fucked you.

I hurled my phone at the door just as Jamie opened it.

She leaned to the side and the stupid thing went sailing into the living room area of our suite. The crack of plastic hitting the marble floor probably meant I’d killed yet another crystal screen. There was a reason why I had two backups going most of the time.

She arched a brow at me and leaned against the doorjamb. “Problem?” Well used to my mini-tantrums, she waited me out.

Damn her.

I hated that mine never riled her up. However, Jamie mid-rant was a lightning strike zone. Everyone scattered and there was usually a fire of some sort. Definitely scorched earth.

“You’re not even ready. Who are you?”

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