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Chapter 2
Brady
VVVVRRRRRRRRR…VVVVVVRRRRRR...VVVVRRRRRRRR!
I crack my eyes to the sunlight streaming in through the wall of windows in my penthouse apartment.
“Fuck, that’s bright,” I groan, bringing my hand up to shield my vision and rub my face. I blink my eyes and try to remember what woke me up. Then I hear it again.
VVVRRRRRR…VVVVRRRRR…
My phone. My phone.Where the fuck is my phone?
I find it under a pile of hastily discarded clothes. It just stopped vibrating.
It’s a little after ten in the morning, and my missed call log is up to thirty. I flip through and see they’re almost all from my agent.
The phone starts buzzing again,AGENTflashing across the screen. I slide my feet to the floor and sit up on the side of my bed, stretching, my muscles bunching and flexing beneath my skin.
I look down and notice a few scratches on my chest and a bite mark on my bicep. What—or should I say,who—did I do last night? The phone stops buzzing and then immediately starts again.
Oh, well. No sense putting it off.
I huff a sigh and swipe my finger across the screen. “Yeah?”
“Open your goddamn door!”
“Well, good morning to you, too, Rudy. Have a nice night?”
“Brady,” he bites out. I can practically see him clenching his jaw. “Open your motherfucking door!”
“All right, all right, man. Calm your tits,” I say, but he’s already hung up.
I get up and reach into the pile of discarded clothes, tossing away panties and bras, looking for my boxer briefs. I snag them and grab some sweat pants and a discarded t-shirt from a chair.
On my way out of my room, I almost trip over a blonde and a redhead sleeping curled up together under a blanket on the floor.
Ah.Sothat’swhatI did.
Some people might think I’m a dick for making them sleep on the floor when I have a California king-sized bed.
And they’d be right. I am. But those are my rules:
I’ll fuck a girl any way she wants, all night long. But I sleep by myself.
I make my way out of the bedroom and into the giant living room with its panoramic view of New York City.
God, I love this place. Life here is on an entirely different level. It’s non-stop, perpetual motion—like me.
It can fuck you up, but it can fuck you right, too. There is no place else I’d want to be.
My peaceful moment of reflection is interrupted by a pounding knock on my door.
Through the solid wood comes a muffled shriek. “Open the fuck up, Brady!”
I don’t even use the peephole. I know exactly who it is.
I open the fucking door.
