Cade observed the woman who’d run into him as she straightened out her pencil skirt and then placed her hands on her hips, indignant. He would admit his quip had been a tad bit rude, but so was not paying attention to where you were going until you collided with somebody. So he stood his ground and set a stoic expression on his face, even as his racing brain catalogued the woman’s features: the striking blue eyes, narrowed in irritation, the light brown hair with blond highlights, pulled up into a loose bun, the slightly smeared makeup, no doubt the result of sweat, the skewed pout on her pink lips that reminded him of another woman’s pout—

He shook himself out of his reverie—if he started thinking about Madison now, he’d be brooding about her all night—and finally replied to the woman’s question. “I meant, you should pay attention when you’re walking. It’s rude to expect other people to go out of their way to avoid you because you think your phone is more important than your surroundings.”

Her cheeks flushed. “It’s also rude to tell somebody to walk out into traffic over a minor accident. If you weren’t such an asshole, I’d have apologized. But screw that.” She brushed by him without another word and marched over to the room two doors down from his. She finagled the key into the lock with more than a little effort, then practically kicked the door open in a move that reminded Cade of a SWAT team entrance. Casting another glare his way, she flipped him off and disappeared into the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

Cade stood there for a minute, scratching at his stubble with the still-aching hand he’d punched a guy out with earlier. Clearly, that woman was having a bad day, what with the harried hairdo and the wrinkled suit and the running makeup. And since Cade wasn’t having the best day either, he figured their disastrous meeting could be chalked up to two people in poor moods. Everybody said the wrong shit when they were in a poor mood.

He briefly considered walking over to her door and knocking, muttering out an apology and wishing her a good afternoon, but he didn’t know how she’d respond. She might escalate further. And he didn’t want to partake in a screaming match with some woman he didn’t even know. Some young woman, he thought idly. She’s probably fresh out of college.

Of course, Cade was only a few years out of college himself, being twenty-four.

Heading downstairs to the parking lot, he imagined who the woman might be: a down-on-her-luck intern or an entry-level analyst at some big corporate HQ, a movie star’s personal assistant or some other overworked schmuck low on the movie production totem pole, a person on the run from something—she only carried a backpack, no suitcase—or a person running to something—maybe she’d recently arrived in town, like him.

Curious, he glanced around the parking lot in search of a car that might be hers, but didn’t find a vehicle he thought matched. So she’d probably been dropped off by a cab or a ride-sharing service. But she couldn’t get around that way all the time, right? Even if she’d flown in from another state, she should have had a rental to get herself from point A to point B.

Cade paused and threw another look up at the woman’s room. 206.

This wasn’t the best neighborhood in LA for a young woman on her own. What was she doing here, with no reliable transportation?

It doesn’t matter, said that bitter inner voice that always cropped up when Cade felt guilty or worried. She’s not your problem, or your responsibility. You probably won’t even see her again.

Cade stepped onto the sidewalk and sighed. The voice had a point. If he saw something bad happening to the woman, of course he’d help. But for now, she was just a random stranger dealing with her own life problems. Most likely, she’d get a handle on whatever her problems were, pack up her little pink backpack, and check out even before Cade did, returning to the high-powered business life she’d obviously been spun out of.

He turned right and ambled down the sidewalk in search of a bar he’d spotted on his way into the neighborhood. His memory recall was pretty good, and he found the bar three blocks away, one of those hole-in-the-wall establishments frequented almost exclusively by regulars. He waited at the corner for the crosswalk light to change, and then he jogged across the street, over to the front entrance, a tinted single door with an aged sign taped to it, listing all the hours of operation. Unsurprisingly, the bar was open until well past midnight every day of the week.

When he opened the door, a wave of cool, crisp air wafted out, and Cade basked in it as he slipped inside, the jingle of bells following in his wake. There was no one to seat him, of course, and a sign on the bar told him to order with the bartender. So he moseyed on up to a middle-aged woman wearing a nametag with “Holly” written across it in permanent marker. “Can I get a burger, fries, and whatever you have on tap?”

Holly kept wiping down the bar as she looked up. She stared at him owlishly at first, taking in his appearance—young, handsome, and not from around here—then cracked a smile. “Sure thing, sweetheart. I’ll have that out to you in a jiffy. Pick any seat you want.”

Only four options in the small bar were taken, so Cade maneuvered around the tightly packed tables and slid into a dimly lit booth against the back wall. With his leather jacket, he practically blended into the shadows, so none of the other patrons bothered giving him more than a cursory glance. Which was the way Cade preferred it. He didn’t like to make an impact on the places he visited. He liked to be a ghost. Nameless. Insubstantial. He didn’t want to be remembered.

He didn’t deserve to be remembered.

Cade leaned back against the flat, cracked cushion and stared at the fuzzy TV bolted to the ceiling above the bar. There was nothing on the screen that interested him, which was fine. He didn’t need to be entertained. He needed something to use as a distraction, to keep his mind off that little pout, that quirk of the lips that Maddie always used on him when she was upset, that telltale expression that always portended…

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

Now his dinner was going to be ruined, just like his nap.

All because of that businesswoman and her goddamn pout.