As Jagger Loving read the online article, now trending on social media, his blood boiled.

He glared at the accompanying photo. How the hell had the paparazzi found him at that ungodly hour? He’d been in the nation’s capital for two damned days and he couldn’t even buy a man breakfast without someone plastering his business all over the Internet. When Jagger had lived at his Switzerland and Bora Bora properties, no one had tracked his every move. He wasn’t hounded at Loving Mexico, either, until the incident that made him front-page news.

Shifting on the stool, he surveyed the Georgetown coffee shop. Nobody paid him any attention. Nowadays, he liked flying well below the radar. More than the unwanted publicity, he detested when others referred to the homeless as bums. He’d been homeless and he was no bum.

His phone rang with the ringtone for his assistant, Robby Sutton. “Morning,” he answered.

“Jagger, I couldn’t get the photo retracted,” Robby blurted. “Upside is that you were doing something charitable. Where are you, by the way?”

“Across the street, blending in at the coffee shop.” Jagger glanced outside at the pedestrians scurrying by in heavy winter coats. “Are you in your suite?”

“Yes. The car service will be here in five. I’ll meet you outside the hotel. And everything is confirmed for your soiree tonight.”

During his assistant’s pregnant pause, Jagger shifted the phone to his other ear and waited. Robby’s silence was never a good sign.

“Have you heard from Erin?” Robby asked, his voice tight.

Of all his event directors, she’d been the least communicative. “No. Should I expect a call from her?”

“She hasn’t shown up for work in three days.”

Ah, hell. “Has anyone contacted her?” Jagger asked as an attractive woman slipped onto the stool beside him.

“I sent her a text and left her a message. Rumor amongst the staff is that she walked. We open in one week and she’s MIA.” The urgency in his assistant’s voice wasn’t helping.

Jagger lowered his voice. “I can’t leave until I cast my vote at the conference this afternoon. Fly back and find out what’s going on.”

“Got it.”

“Keep me posted.” Jagger ended the call. Last minute emergencies were to be expected, but he couldn’t afford a missing event director. So much hinged on the breadth of activities offered at a Loving Resort.

“Good morning.” The woman seated next to him shot him a cool smile. “Welcome back to America, Mr. Loving. I see you’re flying solo. Is everything business as usual now that things have quieted down?”

Jagger’s guts roiled, but he shot her a wink, slung his computer bag over his shoulder, and rolled out. He could not get a break from the damned media. An entire year had passed since the debacle. Why hadn’t the journalists moved on? Must be a slow day in DC politics.

After crossing the street and sliding into the waiting sedan, Jagger muttered hello.

“Same location as yesterday, sir?” asked the chauffeur.

“Yes.” As the car pulled away from the curb, Jagger’s phone rang again. “Good morning, Kate.”

A year ago, he’d hired Kate Faraday to help him manage through the incident at Loving Mexico. She had done a fantastic job, so he retained her services.

“I didn’t like the article.” He could hear the frustration in his publicist’s voice. “Did you know that photographer was there?”

It wasn’t even eight o’clock in the morning and he was already plum out of patience. “Kate, I bought a man breakfast. Period. When are you flying to Malibu?”

“Over the weekend,” she replied. “I’ve set up media day for Monday. Get a haircut or use gel. You look like a wild man.”

On a grunt, he said, “Does the world really care about my hair?”

“Image is everything, Jagger. The goatee and moustache add sophistication, so I’ll allow those. I’m touting you as the shiny, new Jagger Loving with the squeaky-clean reputation. What’s my motto?”

He hated that she treated him like an errant child and rolled his eyes. “Help me help you.”

The sedan pulled to the curb in front of an unremarkable Northwest DC office building that housed the American Hotel and Lodging Association. He ended the call, exited the vehicle, and walked inside.

If Jagger Loving had learned anything over the past year, it was not to screw his staff, his guests, or his clients. Something he used to do often and with vigor. The media might label him as God’s gift to the hospitality industry, but he was the biggest fucker in the business and had been damned good at it. His playboy reputation tanked when someone mewled a little too loudly.

On his thirty-third birthday, he’d woken up buck naked and sandwiched between two equally nude female guests. After showing them out and comping their stay, he hoped they’d forget all about the wild night. But they wanted millions to keep quiet. He refused. They went public and a media frenzy followed. Unbeknownst to him, one of the women was married and the husband threatened to bash his head in. When the women threatened to publish all the photos and videos, the real issue became apparent.

His attorney had advised him to pay to make them go away. So he did. That had been the last straw. No more partying. No more late-night sexcapades. No more early-morning romps, either. Bad boy Jagger Loving had stopped, cold turkey.

Frustration burned a trail to his groin.

The hospitality industry meant everything to him. He’d built an empire from the ground up, and the sobering experience showed him how close he could come to losing it all.

When the daylong conference ended, the driver dropped him at Sargent’s in Georgetown for dinner. The top Zagat-rated restaurant had a six-month wait list. Leave it to his best friend, Maverick Hott, to wrangle them a table at the last-minute.

Jagger had barely stepped onto the sidewalk when Maverick bear-hugged him. “Jagger, baby!” One glance and his expression grew somber. “Christ, you look like you need to get laid, my friend.”

Laughing, Jagger slapped his back. “You’re insane, you know that? Let’s go inside. My balls aren’t used to these freezing temps.”

His larger-than-life friend slung an arm over Jagger’s shoulder and ushered him into the upscale eatery. Despite the wait, the host whisked them to a private dining room reserved for Washington’s elite and friends of the owner.

Relaxing onto the cushioned chair, Jagger eyed the plush décor. “How’d you pull this off?”

“I made a call.” Maverick dragged out a chair and sank down. “Jesus, I can’t remember the last time I saw your ugly mug.”

The host handed them menus as their server entered.

Jagger scanned the small plates. “Escargot and beef tartare. Mav, you good with that?”

“I’ll eat whatever you order,” Maverick said, before addressing the waiter. “Your top-shelf whiskey, neat, and a bottle of your finest sparkling water.” With a tight smile, the attendant left.

“Hear about Colton’s engagement?” Maverick asked, settling into the chair.

“I was so damn shocked, I was speechless,” Jagger replied. “Brigit, right? Can she handle him?”

Crossing his legs, Maverick grinned. “He’s a pussy-whipped goner.” The two men laughed. “I have to admit, she’s good for him. He’s happy and that’s a first.”

“I’ll meet her tomorrow. I’m stopping at Colton’s on my way to the airport.”

“Crockett’s news is what threw me.”

“What about him?” Jagger asked, dropping the cloth napkin on his lap.

“He got engaged.”

Jagger laughed. “Sure he did. He’s as engaged as I am. No, he’s more like you, which means never.”

“I’m serious. Alexandra Mitus came back into town. Another happy idiot.”

“You aren’t messin’ with me?”

“No, brother, I swear.”

Talking with Maverick had always been easy. They’d met freshman year at Harvard and had been close friends ever since. The server returned with their drinks, recited the chef’s specials, and left.

“Welcome back, my friend.” Maverick toasted Jagger before tossing back a mouthful of whiskey. “How are you doing? Don’t bullshit me.”

“I’m good.” Jagger sipped his water. “Things have stabilized.”

“I’m glad to hear that. You got my keys?”

After pulling the ring from his pocket, Jagger set it on the table. “Your cabin was perfect. I owe you one.”

“Nah, it was the least I could do. You needed to get away.” Maverick stashed the keys in his coat. “I go there to clear my head. After the stress of a mission, I need silence.”

“Been in the Middle East lately?”

“Yeah, and I’m headed back there.”

“I know you can’t talk here. Be careful.”

“Thank you, bro. Always am.” Maverick tossed back another mouthful. “Looks like you’re out of the media hot seat.”

“For the most part. Now, I work all the time, especially before a hotel opens. You coming to visit?”

“Hell, yeah, but I can’t make it for your grand opening. In two weeks, right?”

“No, next week. Valentine’s Day.”

“Good luck. You’ll do great.”

When a different server delivered their appetizers, Maverick grinned. “Hello, beautiful. Pull up a chair and join us.”

A pinkish hue covered her cheeks. “Is there anything else you need, gentlemen?”

“Hell, yeah, how ‘bout a blow—”

“No,” Jagger interrupted. “Thank you.”

Her eyes never strayed from Maverick, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Yes, sir,” she replied, and left the room.

Jagger slid the raw meat dish closer. “You’re crazy, you know that, right?”

Another grin split Maverick’s face. “Certifiable, but I think she would have done it.”

Chuckling, Jagger sliced off a piece of tartare. “Doesn’t it get old?”

Holding the shell with the tongs, Maverick forked out an escargot and popped the delicacy into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed. “Yes and no. So many sexy chicks, but Colton and Crockett’s engagements got me thinking.” Maverick shrugged. “Then a cutie crosses my path and, well, I’ve gotta have her…”

The men laughed. “At least you’re getting some,” Jagger said.

“Hit a dry spell?”

“Like the goddamn Sahara.”

“If you’re not playing with the ladies, what are you doing?”

“Work, golf,” Jagger said. “I’m frustrated as hell.”

The pretty server returned with a finger’s worth of whiskey. “Compliments of the house.” She set the drink in front of Maverick and handed him a folded piece of paper. “Text me sometime.”

He slipped the note into his inside breast suit pocket. “I’m keeping this close to my heart, darlin’.”

After refilling Jagger’s sparkling water, she shot Maverick a flirty smile and exited.

“You aren’t going to call her,” Jagger said.

“Probably not.” After a pause, Maverick asked, “How long are you in DC?”

“Flying out late tomorrow.”

“Let’s see if we can do some damage between now and then.” Maverick raised his glass.

Jagger toasted his friend. “I’ll drink to that.”

Over an hour later, they left the restaurant.

“I’ve got my Porsche,” Maverick said, after handing the valet his ticket. “I’ll drop you at the hotel.”

“I’m hosting a party for VIP suppliers and clients in my suite,” Jagger said. “Why don’t you join me? I won’t be hooking up with any of the ladies, but I’m sure you’ll find someone warm to cozy up to for a few hours. Just do not screw her in my bed.”

“I’m in,” Maverick said.

Maverick pulled up in front of Hotel X and left the car with the valet. “What time does your party start?”

“Nine thirty,” Jagger replied, walking into the boutique property.

Maverick checked his watch. “We’ve got plenty of time.” He stopped at the concierge desk. “Hello, my good man. What’s the word?”

The thin man smiled warmly. “Sir?”

“What’s happening? You know, got any events worthy of a pop-in here in swanky-ville?”

“Ah, yes,” said the concierge. “We have a masquerade charity event in the main ballroom.”

“Are there women at this fundraiser?” Maverick asked.

Looking over his reading glasses, the hotel employee chuckled. “Yes, sir, I believe I saw several of them head in that direction. We’re expecting over two hundred.”

“What’s the charity?” Maverick asked.

“Walk a Mile in My Shoes,” said the employee. “It’s a —”

“I know that charity,” Jagger said. “They champion the homeless. Let’s go check it out.”