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Letting out a heavy sigh, he removed her shoes, rolled her on her side, and moved into her walk-in closet. Finding an empty tote bag and hastily packing the few items he kept there, he returned to the bed and covered her with a blanket.
“Sorry, Emma, you’re impossible,” he said softly, leaning over and moving the hair off her face. “I hope you find a man who can make you happy. It sure as hell isn’t me.”
He checked the living room and kitchen, making sure he hadn’t left anything behind, then headed out, choosing to trot down the stairwell rather than using the elevator. Hurrying through the lobby and jogging up to the waiting limo, he climbed into the back seat.
“Where to, sir?” the driver asked, staring at him in the rear view mirror.
“Home,” Angelo replied, feeling a wave of relief, “and please give me your card when we get there. I’ll ask for you next time I need a car.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Call me, Angelo. I’m just a regular joe who happens to be an actor lucky enough to be working.”
“One of the few?”
“Yep, one of the few, at least for the moment. Everything in this town is temporary.”
As the car wound its way through the dark, empty streets, Angelo gazed out the window wondering if he’d ever find Miss Right. Born and raised in Chicago, he was as Italian as his name suggested, and he found the women in Los Angeles ironic. On the one hand they were fiercely independent, and on the other, spoiled and demanding.
While the world saw him as a hot young actor with the world at his feet, in his heart he was a down-to-earth guy who enjoyed sitting in front of the television with a warm, loving female curled up next to him. His nature was to protect women, and like his father, he saw himself as the head-of-the-household. As the car approached his home he decided there were too many Emma’s in LA The only way he’d find the woman he wanted to spend his life with, would be to spend more time on the East Coast.
* * *
BACK IN HER CONDO,Emma was having a series of disjointed dreams. Angelo had just dumped her, and when she chased after him, he turned around and shook his finger at her but didn’t speak. A moment later Zach was on top of her, pinning her wrists on either side of her head, and staring down at her with a stern expression.
“You see what happens when you’re a difficult, demanding diva? You need your ass spanked, and I’m going to oblige. Getting drunk like that is inexcusable. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
As his face faded away, she slowly opened her eyes and stared around the room. The drapes were open, and the early morning light splashed through the window. Squinting, she sat up, but a crushing pain in her head sent her back down.
“Fuck, my poor head. Angelo? Where are you? What time is it?”
Slowly turning her eyes to the bedside table, her clock told her it 9:18 a.m. Struggling from her bed, she staggered into her bathroom, searched out the aspirin in her medicine chest, tossed some in her mouth, then swallowed several large gulps of water from the faucet. Stumbling back to her bed, she flopped on top of the disheveled blankets.
“I need to sleep some more,” she whimpered, then rolling on her side, she slid under the blankets and covered her face. “Where’s Angelo, and what was that dream? Zach—it was Zach—he was going to spank me. Fuck. It’s all too much.”
Closing her eyes, she tried to ignore the pounding in her temples, but the image of Zach’s face and his scolding promise refused to go away. Finally feeling herself drift away, she prayed she’d wake up without the jackhammer thumping through her brain. The last thing she wanted was to be plagued with a headache when she met with him that afternoon.
