Ozzy

I HOLD THE key up to my front door, but voices inside warn me it’s unlocked. Crap. Running my hand across my forehead, my after-sex buzz with Jenna seeps out of my pores even while remembering her shouts as she came. Hell, everyone in the Jade probably heard her. But now I just want some peace and quiet.

Opening the door, I whistle for Bans. She comes scampering over, tail wagging. I bend down to accept her kisses, which erase those from Jenna. I’m fine with that.

I extend my hand. “How’re you doing, girl?”

The golden retriever puts her paw in my calloused palm, barking her hello. At least one living soul in this house is genuinely happy to see me.

“Ozzy. There you are.” My rep from Platinum Records walks into my foyer, all legs and hair and makeup. Her skirt lands above her knee by maybe an inch. Respectable yet somehow not.

My eyebrow raises as I stand. “Ginger. Baby. How’s tricks?” I extend my tongue and wiggle it. Gotta keep her off-guard. Especially since I know exactly why she’s here.

“You,” she half-laughs, half-scolds. “I caught most of your show last night.”

My eyes slant to the other person in the house, my PA, Aiden. Why didn’t he tell me Platinum was at the show? Averting his gaze, Aiden snaps his fingers. Bans walks to him and rolls on her back. Traitor. As he rubs her stomach, I reply, “It was a good night.”

Ginger approaches me. “You had the audience eating out of your hand.” Smiling, she hits my pecs.

I grunt as if her puny tap hurt, which puts an even bigger smile on her face. “Glad you enjoyed.”

“So, I must have missed the part where you played your new stuff.” She crosses her arms across her ample, doctor-enhanced chest. “Right?”

No wasting time with this one. Directly for the jugular. I shrug. “Aw, Ginger. I haven’t seen you in what? A few weeks? And you don’t even kiss me hello before jumping right to work shit?” I grab her hand, making a show out of kissing it. “That’s better.”

She fans her slightly-pink face with the hand I just had my lips on. Not immune. Yeah, I can finesse my way out of this. Again. I start toward my kitchen. “Come on in, stay for a while. Hey Aiden,” I toss over my shoulder. “We’re all stocked up on prosecco, right?”

Behind me, Aiden clears his throat. “Of course. Top shelf of the wine fridge.”

“Let’s go out to the patio and talk like civilized folks. Mimosas for everyone,” I say, hitting my thigh twice for Bans to follow. Unlike all of the other women in my life, she follows my orders immediately.

“Ozzy, we have work to discuss,” Ginger reminds me. As if I could forget.

“And we shall. With prosecco and orange juice. Nothing says we have to talk business sitting around a stuffy conference table dying of thirst.” I grab a bottle of OJ and dig into my wine fridge, pulling out two bottles of bubbly. One for me and one for them. I nod for Aiden to take the glasses and head out.

On the patio, I pick up a ball, while Aiden makes the drinks. Bans barks and runs around, retrieving the ball and dropping it at my feet. I’d much rather play with her than deal with Ginger.

“Here you go.” Ginger hands me a glass and clinks hers against it. “To making more music together.” Emphasis on the word “more.”

My eyebrow quirks up. Last I checked, I was the one in charge of writing songs. Ginger’s only here to protect Platinum’s investment. Make me happy so I produce more songs that sell and make everyone—especially the label—more money. I know the game. Downing my glass in a couple of swallows, I hand it back to Aiden for a refill while tossing the ball for Bans.

Ginger’s eyes follow my dog’s progress, her face now pinched in annoyance. Maybe she’ll leave me alone if I keep playing fetch. “So, tell me, how’s the writing going?”

No such luck. “It’s coming along.” I offer Ginger the ball, but she shakes her head so I throw it deep into the yard. Bans races toward it, totally oblivious of my inner turmoil.

Ginger puts her half-full glass down on the table. “I’m here now. Let’s hear a new song. I’m excited to hear how your writing has changed since your last album.”

I smother a snort. It’s changed alright. I no longer have a writing partner. Nor do I have anything to show for my well over one-year break. That is, if you can call performing five shows a week at the Jade a hiatus. “It’s a different sound now. You know, reflects the current times.”

She claps her hands. “Great. We at Platinum want our talent to stay on top of, or even ahead of, the trend.”

“Yeah.” Bans drops the slobbery mess of a ball at my feet again, tail wagging furiously. Bending down, I flex my thighs and then my arms, and stand. Ginger’s eyes are somewhere south of my face. Time to change tactics.

Stepping away from my rep, I head toward the pool. This will work nicely.

“So, a new song? Your deadline’s right around the corner.”

Knowing full well the label expects me to record my next album in a couple of months, and my muse is buried in an iceberg in Siberia, I do what I always do when I don’t want to answer a question—deflect. I toss the ball toward the nearby pool, which Bans dives for and catches in her mouth before hitting the water. A huge splash ensues, to which I position myself to get drenched for my efforts. Perfect.

“Bans! Good girl!” I whip my now wet head from left to right, causing water droplets to fly everywhere, including on Ginger’s no doubt million-dollar outfit. “Did you see that catch?”

She wipes the water off her blouse while I strip off the shirt that’s now clinging to my torso—unsnagging it from one of my nipple rings—and drop the wet material over the back of a patio chair.

Ginger licks her bottom lip when Bans jumps out of the pool and shakes the water off her body. “Oh!” She jumps back to avoid being sprayed again.

I smile at my rep, amping up the wattage. “Sorry.” Yeah. So not.

Bare from the waist up, I accept my refilled glass from Aiden with a thanks. He rolls his eyes, knowing exactly what this play is all about.

As I take a sip, he says, “I don’t want to interrupt, but Ozzy’s plane leaves in an hour for Cole and Rose’s wedding.”

Any annoyance I felt toward Aiden for letting Ginger in dissipates. “Oh, right.” I make a show of looking at my watch. “I didn’t realize the time.”

Ginger sighs. “It’s been a pleasure as always, Ozzy. Are you all set for the wedding?”

Now, that’s two times in under a minute that the “W” word’s been used. The mimosas threaten to make a second appearance. Breathe, man.

“Yeah. Packed yesterday.” Trying to forget where I’m headed today was the main reason I kept Jenna up all night. I run my fingers through my damp hair. “I appreciate Platinum letting me use the private plane.”

“Of course. Besides, Cole’s also a Platinum family member. We’ll do anything to keep our talent happy.”

Cole’s one of my best friends and a fantastic musician. I’ve enjoyed rocking with him. Yet, he’s put out three albums to my one, with another in the works. Writing never slows him down. Unlike my current Sahara Desert status….

Ginger brings me out of my musings when her eyes run the length of my naked chest, lingering on my V. “Anything.”

Play it cool. “Got anything to take the edge off having to get into a penguin suit?” At least my request is genuine, if not the reason for my nerves.

“What do you need? I’ll make it happen.”

Now she’s talking. Something to help me get through the upcoming ordeal. “How about some Molly?”

“There’ll be some waiting on the plane for you.” She takes a sip of her mimosa. “As long as I hear your new song when you return.”

Ignoring the last part, my lips tip upward. “You’re alright, Ginger. No matter what Aiden says about you.” I offer her a wink and escort her out to her car.

Back on the patio, I take a deep breath. “Hey Aiden, thanks for helping me get the suit out of here. You texted you wanted to talk about something before I leave?”

He pats Bans and stands. “Yeah. You’re not going to like it.”

Great. What’s new? I swallow the rest of my mimosa and hold out the glass. “No OJ this time.”

“You might want a clear head for this, but fine.” He refills my glass without the juice and says, “Let’s go to your office. I put the papers there.”

Papers. That can mean only one thing. My heart starts to pound. “It’s done?”

He nods and I follow him inside. Walking directly to my desk, a nondescript manila package sits front and center. I pick up the opened envelope and dump the contents on top. “You looked at these?”

“Yes.”

My eyes search his face, but I can’t read anything in it. I take a deep breath and dive in. The words in Spanish flash before my eyes. It’s done. I flip through the pages, noting everything that we agreed to is in here. I get to the next-to-last page and stop.

Pago. SRTA. ALFONSO acuerda aceptar un pago único del SR. MARTINEZ por un monto de $10 millones.

Translation—I pay the bitch ten million dollars and she goes away. In any language, that’s a shit ton of money. I suck in my breath. “Once I pay her off, it’s over, right?”

Aiden doesn’t say anything but hands me a piece of paper with “Wire Transfer” written across the top. Fuck. Me. “I have everything arranged with the bank. Sign here and here.” He points to two spots.

I swallow. She’s totally wiping me out. Bitch. I grab a pen and write “Osvaldo Martinez” in the two places Aiden marked. Exhaling through my mouth, I drop the pen to the desk. “Done.”

Aiden picks up the wire transfer paperwork and points to one last place for my signature. Right above Teresa’s on the last page.

“Gladly.” I scrawl my name across the final divorce papers and stalk out of the office, straight to the liquor cabinet. Enough with the prosecco shit. I don’t care if it is before noon. I need a shot—or ten—of whiskey. Neat.

Pounding my first, I slam the shot glass on the counter. Married for four, finally divorced after three. “Fucking bitch.”

Aiden enters the room. “It’s over.”

I pour another one. “Thank fuck. I can’t afford another day and another million for that whore.” I take the second shot in one swallow.

“I’ll make sure the wire gets processed.” Coming up next to me, he deposits the wedding invitation on the counter, showing the date for tomorrow—November nineteenth. Ice runs down my spine. Cole’s getting married. Besides my family, my label and my PR team—who’ve kept even a whiff of my marital status top secret—he’s the only other soul who knows about my failed marriage. And now I’m going to his wedding the day after the final curtain dropped on my own. I shake my head.

As if reading the direction my thoughts veered, Aiden says, “Rose isn’t anything like Teresa.”

My assistant is a good guy. He knows me, my moods and my preferences. And he’s right—Rose seems to be a good woman. But then again, so did Teresa.

Right now, all I want to do is throw something against the wall. Break every fucking piece of crystal in this place. “Whatever.”

“You have to get going.” He grabs the leash off the counter.

“I’d rather stay here with Bans,” I mutter. Aiden taps his lip and I trod to the bedroom to grab my luggage while he heads to the kitchen for her bowl and dogfood. My thoughts bounce off the walls and land squarely on the ridiculous institution of marriage. I’ll never get caught up in that trap again.

The next twenty-four hours are going to suck.

Without warning, the maid-of-honor’s face flits across my brain. McKenna is a freak in bed and never pushes for more.

Yeah. Banging McKenna’s brains out is just what the matchbreaker ordered.