If I didn’t have to be at the studio every day this week, I would have hopped in the damn car and driven to Nevada myself, just to get an in-person glimpse of Luca. The thought of her being so close to me had me distracted all day. But when my phone rang at 6:00 a.m., I had no idea just how close she really was.
“What?” I hadn’t even looked at the caller ID when I answered. Whoever was on the other end of the line better have a damn good reason for calling. I’d been in the studio until after two in the morning last night, or rather today.
“Wakey, wakey, Mr. Rock Star. I have some very interesting news.”
Hearing Julian’s voice, I sat up in bed. “What happened?”
“Your little chickadee has arrived at her next destination.”
“Where is she now? Mexico?”
“Close. A little farther north. You’ll never guess.”
“I’m paying you by the hour, so how about we save the guessing games and you just cut to the chase.”
“She’s in Palos Verdes Estates.”
What? She’s here? In my little town? That couldn’t be a damn coincidence. What the fuck?
I hopped out of bed, grabbed a pair of sweatpants, and started to pull them on. “Where is she?”
“Via Cerritos, my friend. She’s parked that heap of metal about half a block down from your house and turned off the lights. Hasn’t come out yet.”
My heart started to race out of control, and my mind reeled even faster. A million questions hit me all at once.
What the hell is she doing here?
She knows who I am?
How long has she known?
What the fuck?
WHAT THE FUCK!
“You still there?” Julian asked. I’d forgotten he was on the phone, even though I still had it held up to my ear.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“What do you want me to do?”
I raked my hand through my hair. “I don’t know. Stay on her. I need a few minutes to think. Call me if she gets out of the RV.”
“You got it, boss.”
I hung up and stared at my phone for a solid five minutes. I seriously couldn’t believe what was happening. Luca was here . . . after eighteen years, the girl who I’d never met yet knew me better than anyone without knowing my real name . . . and she was right outside my house.
What the hell was her plan? Was she going to knock on my door?
How did she think she’d get past the guard at my gate?
How the hell did she find me?
Better yet, what was I going to do now that she had?
I was pissed off, but did I really have any right to be pissed if she’d hired someone to find me? After all, I’d done the same damn thing. Of course, I hadn’t hopped into an RV and driven across the country to knock on her door.
Which brought up another series of questions—why the fuck hadn’t I?
I have no balls.
No goddamn balls.
Luca has bigger balls than I do.
Shit. Balls. FUUUUCK.
I needed some coffee if there was any shot in hell that I’d make sense of things. So I headed to the kitchen to make a pot. While it was brewing, I looked out the windows. The tall hedges that bordered my property line blocked the view of the street, so I couldn’t see down the block. That had been one of the things that first attracted me to the house—privacy.
When my coffee was done, I dialed Julian for an update. He answered on the first ring. “All quiet on the crazy bus still.”
That shit might’ve been funny if I wasn’t so anxious. “So they’re just parked there. What are they going to do, camp out on my block?”
“No idea. But the way the police patrol this ritzy neighborhood, I’m sure they’ll be escorted off the block pretty quickly. Sun isn’t even awake yet. Cops are getting their doughnuts and coffee, so they’ll be around soon.”
He was joking, but he also wasn’t wrong. My area had its share of celebrities. The police really did enforce the no loitering rules around town. Which meant, whatever she was doing here—she might not be doing it for long.
“Let me know if anything changes in the meantime. But I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
“You’re coming out? Want me to handle this for you?”
“I don’t think so. This is something I need to handle on my own.”
“Alright. I’m here if you need me. I’ll keep an eye from where I’m parked down the block.”
“Thanks, Julian.”
I hung up, tossed my phone on the table, and drained the rest of the coffee from my mug. When I opened the front door, the chilly morning air hit me. I only had on a pair of sweats, so I grabbed a bathrobe hanging on a hook and slid on some slippers. I looked like James Gandolfini from The Sopranos about to go grab the morning paper and wave to the FBI. I really hoped that a car full of teenyboppers didn’t pass by as I headed down the block.