I’d grown up in New York, but it was a funny thing. Once you’d lived in California for several years, all that biting wind and slush? You realized there was another way. Sure, you could brave it all, charge through the fiercest storms as tough as nails. But once you’d lived in California you realized that you didn’t have to. There was a land, a golden land, with beaches and palm trees and sunshine. OK, where I lived in San Francisco it was mostly fog, but at least it never did this shit, with the driving sleet coming at you from an angle that just seemed deliberately vicious.

I ducked into a coffee shop. My buddy Vance lived around here in SoHo, or at least he had when we’d last partied, which now I realized had been a year or so ago. Things got hectic in the Ash carnival. I texted him again:

Two o’clock on a Friday afternoon, I guessed Vance would be into hanging out. Vance was the kind of cavalier rich kid I’d grown up with, the type who drank Krystal for breakfast and ate pussy for lunch. Right now he was probably flanked by hot chicks, one to the right, one to the left and one right between his legs. He was always up for a party.

I’d flown in from S.F. last night and checked myself into a hotel because I’d be damned if I’d see my family any more than I had to. I’d headed out, figuring I could meet up with Vance, and now I guessed I might as well grab a coffee. Baseball cap down low over my face, I got in line like the rest of the poor schmucks in New York, standing around and waiting to order.

Day four of Mandygate as my agent, Joel, had started calling it, and this thing wasn’t going away. It wasn’t getting any better. If I were honest, it was getting worse. I’d lost a sponsor, our biggest one for the New Year’s show.

Before the video, I’d been all set to headline the Super Bowl halftime show. The t’s were crossed, i’s dotted, the big news was going to be announced in a couple of weeks. But now they were having second thoughts. Was I family friendly enough? As if before I’d broken up with Mandy Monroe I’d been a cuddly teddy bear, but now the world saw me as a grizzly.

Yesterday Mandy had leaked 30 seconds of a new song, all about her heart twisting and aching and breaking. Over-the-top bullshit, all of it, but people were eating it up. And sending me hate mail. With death threats on Facebook, “#DieAsh” was gaining alarming popularity on Twitter. I didn’t spend a lot of time with my fan base on social media—make that any time—I had people to handle that. I was too busy out living life and actually doing the shit that made me fans. But the last couple nights I’d stayed up late, alone and sober, watching the waves of hate roll in. Because something about it, all that trash talk, a strange, small part of me had to agree. I was an asshole. How had it taken the world so long to realize it? I’d known it all along.

Shit, someone in the coffee shop recognized me. The worst kind, a girl, maybe around 17. They didn’t hold back, the young ones, like wild tigresses after a meal. I popped the collar on my jacket and tucked my chin into it. Brim pulled down low, hands in my pockets, everything about me gave off the “stay the fuck away” vibe.

She started whispering with her friend. I took my phone out of my pocket. Nothing back from Vance. Something from my agent Joel, of course.

I rolled my eyes. He’d cooked up some half-baked rescue plan last night, something about getting back at Mandy with her own medicine. I hadn’t followed all of it, told him he’d lost his mind. This had to blow over soon. Not yet, though.

By the time I got up to the counter, I could feel a rumble behind me. Like the start of a small earthquake, a tremor building up. Whispering and phones clicking, the girls were snapping photos of me and spreading the word.

“Double tall latte.” I leaned in close to the girl behind the counter so I didn’t have to speak loudly. That was the problem with having one of the most recognizable voices in the world. My deep, gravelly snarl had made me famous, working my way into bedrooms and hearts all over. Now it made the barista scowl.

Giving me the stink-eye, she punched in my order. Then she turned her back and whispered to her co-worker by the coffee machines. The other one looked over her shoulder at me like I’d committed war crimes. They must be raging Mandy Monroe fans. God knew what they’d do to my coffee.

My phone rang. Joel again. I’d already ducked three of his calls.

“Hey, man.” I tucked myself into a corner, trying for inconspicuous. A couple more people walked into the coffee shop, joining the girls in line, staring over at me.

“I almost got you on Good Morning America.”

“Cool.” I didn’t really mean it. I hated morning shows and all the smarminess that went along with them. But I knew if I wanted to hold onto all this, keep the Ash Black brand on top of the world, I needed to do it. I needed to hang my head and show America I wasn’t such a bad guy after all. But the strange thing about all this crisis was the part of me—a growing part of me—asking why exactly should I give a shit about any of this? Why did it matter so much for me to stay so famous? Why did I have to care if I did Good Morning America or not? What was the point?

“I said almost, Ash. They booked Mandy instead.”

“Huh.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw a crowd gathering, the line becoming more of a swirl, the doors of the coffee shop now forced open due to incoming gawkers. Someone had tagged me, released my location, and now the hounds were on the hunt.

“Have you found her yet?”

“Listen, man, this isn’t really a good time.” I knew he was trying to reference our conversation from last night, keep after me about some idea he’d had, but right now the crowd gathering behind me was starting to feel like an angry mob.

“Don’t you tell me it’s not a good time to talk, Ash. You need serious image rehab. America likes bad boys, but not like this. You need to clean this up.”

A giant, hulking slab of beef lumbered over to me, baseball cap on backwards. “What, do you think you’re cool, bro?” he asked me, his face round and pale like a rising full moon on a cold, clear winter’s night. “You think you’re a big shot?”

A few girls flanked him, angry heat in their eyes. A growing, vengeful army started to form behind them. The linebacker was clearly trying to score some points by sticking it to the guy who’d dumped America’s sweetheart. Not that he cared a flying fuck about Mandy Monroe, I could guarantee that, but he definitely cared about impressing the girls behind him.

Side entrance. I ducked out quick, pushing my way through a throng forming on the sidewalk. I could imagine the barista tweeting right now, letting everyone know how I’d skipped out without paying for my coffee. Add it to the list of my sins. Brim down, I hustled along the sidewalk, but then it happened. The blinding flash of a professional camera. They’d found me, the paparazzi. Never far away, like a biblical plague of locusts raining down on my head from above. This guy seemed to be perched up on the rooftop of a storefront across the street. You wouldn’t believe what those guys would do for a shot. One time a guy had lowered himself down in a harness wearing full-on climbing gear to get some shots into my hotel room in London. Sexy pics he got, too. I bet they made him a bundle.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!” Joel’s voice blasted through the phone I was still clutching. I forgot I was still on the call.

“Right, just heading out of a coffee shop.”

“Listen, I’m serious about what we talked about yesterday.”

“Yup.” With a slight turn of my head, I checked out the scene behind me. At least ten people were heading out of the coffee shop on my tail. Quickly, I ducked into an alleyway which, thank God, wasn’t a dead end. Who knew celebrity stardom would involve such cloak-and-dagger shit?

“Have you thought about it?”

“What?” Tucking around the side of a large dumpster, I hunched down in its shadow. Such glamour in my rock-n-roll lifestyle.

“The kindergarten teacher. The nurse.”

“Right, right.” He’d pitched me something yesterday, an idea he and Lola had come up with. Probably Lola, my main point-person from the PR firm representing me. She was a schemer, that one.

“We’re working on a few leads, but it’s better if it’s someone you know. From your circles.”

“My circles?” I peeked my head around the corner. No sign of the angry mob, but you never knew with these types of things. One minute, nothing. The next minute pitchforks, torches and your head’s on a spike.

“You must know some wholesome girl, some goody-two-shoes who’d play along for a month. Then dump you in public.”

That was what they’d come up with, taking Mandy’s idea right out from under her. I needed to get my heart stomped, publically, by some young sweet thing. Because what could humanize a demon? Seeing him get his come-uppance.

It was the holiday season, the time when everyone wanted to cozy up fireside with a loved one. What better time for me to launch a highly publicized romance? They wanted me to pull out all the stops with staged visits to a tree-lighting, ice skating at Rockefeller Center, a snowball fight in Central Park. They even wanted me to declare my love and propose to this lucky girl at my New Year’s Eve concert. It would play out like every woman’s dream of a whirlwind romance. And then she’d dump me even more heartlessly than Ash Black. On camera.

It was a good idea, I’d give them that. The problem was the woman. She had to be legit, no actress pretending. Celebrity hounds would be on that in a second and it would all turn on me, the asshole who’d hired someone to make him look better than he really was. No, we had to find someone real. She had to be pretty in that wholesome, classic Ivory soap girl kind of a way. She had to be sweet and kind and giving and adorable with not a single black mark to her name. And she had to be willing to be my fake girlfriend for a month, then dump me heartlessly and preferably on live TV.

“A nurse would be good.” Joel was still talking, brainstorming.

Hmm. I’d played naughty nurse with some girl a few weeks ago. But I think she’d been a stripper.

“Naughty nurse won’t cut it.” It was like Joel could read my mind. He knew me too well.

“I could adopt a puppy?” And hire someone to actually raise it. “That could be good for a few photo ops, right?” Maybe a golden retriever puppy, and we could put a big, fat red bow on it.

“You’d need to adopt every puppy in the country. And you’d still fuck that up. Did you know Mandy’s writing a song about you now?”

I pressed the palm of my hand into my eye socket. Yes, I did know.

“She’s posting about it. It’s called ‘Ride.’”

I nodded. “As in, you took me for a—”

“Ride, yeah,” Joel confirmed.

Just then a couple of celebrity rats came swarming around the corner, cameras in hand. On the hunt, somehow they could smell my blood.

“Gotta go,” I whispered into the phone and took off down the alleyway. I needed better cover, somewhere they wouldn’t think to look for me.

“Find her,” Joel demanded. I ended the call and shoved the phone into my pocket. Where the hell was a guy like me going to find a nice girl, sweet and pretty with nothing sketchy in her past, yet still willing to enter into this circus for a whole month? It wasn’t going to happen.

Footsteps, I could hear them behind me. Turning right once I hit the street, I broke into a run, weaving between a couple people, crossing onto the other side. I made it around the corner, quick, and saw it: lions, gargoyles, the building had once been grand but now looked dusty, old and in desperate need of repair. A public library. Perfect. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d set foot in one. Had I ever? Time to give it a try.

Bounding up the stairs two at a time, I yanked open the huge front doors and dashed behind the first thing I could find: a large, wooden desk. Huddled there, I realized I wasn’t alone. Next to me were a pair of long, sexy legs in black tights laced into a pair of boots with just enough heel to suggest saucy. My gaze kept traveling on up to a simple black dress that ended mid-thigh. Up and up I caught a glimpse of soft, rounded breasts and long, shiny light brown hair I wanted to stroke and touch, maybe knot in my fist.

“Excuse me?” Huffy, indignant, the woman looked down at me full-on stern librarian. With sweet, full parted lips perfect to taste, lick, and bite. At her neck, her dress had a rounded white Peter Pan collar, fussy and prim. Why did I suddenly have a raging hard-on picturing undoing that dress and easing her on out of it?

“What are you doing?” She knelt down slightly and I caught a scent of her, light and vanilla.

“Hey,” I spoke in a hushed whisper. “I’m trying to hide out for a sec.”

Her eyes widened as she looked at me and realized. “You’re Ash Black.”

Before I had a chance to work my magic, take that intro and make it all happen, the library door opened with a cacophony of voices. They’d found me.

“May I help you?” My mystery woman rose up to her full height, not so large or tall but still, she commanded an impressively haughty tone. With her boot, she nudged me slightly and I eased myself further under the desk. She planted both feet directly at my side, helping to hide my spot.

“Yeah, we’re looking for—”

“A book?” she offered. She was a librarian, I realized. That’s why she sounded and looked like one.

“Is he here?” another voice asked.

“I swore I saw him come in here,” another declared.

“He could be down the other side. I’ll go check.”

“This is a library,” my heroine declared. “I’m happy to help you find a book. But if you’re looking for something else—”

“You seen Ash Black, sweetheart?” one of them asked. I didn’t like him calling her sweetheart.

“Why would you come in here looking for him? That’s ridiculous.” Man, she needed a pair of dark-framed glasses with that tone of voice. So stern. She had a great pair of legs. Her boots ended at her calves, and then her legs just kept going and going, long and lean.

More hustle and bustle, more gusts of cold wind blasting in from the outside. I could tell a small crowd was forming. I didn’t want a crowd. I wanted some time alone, just me and this prim little librarian.

“He’s around here somewhere,” a deep, guttural voice insisted.

“Librarians only behind the reference desk!” She stopped them in their tracks. I liked this one. I couldn’t help it, I’d never been able to stop myself from unwrapping a present right in front of me. I brought a hand up to her leg and stroked her lightly around the start of her thigh, right above her knee. Nothing too naughty, just my thumb grazing the inside of her leg.

She cleared her throat, loudly, took a step away and clamped her feet firmly together. It made me smile. I couldn’t remember the last time a girl had denied me access.

“C’mon, some guy saw him head into a store down the street.” I could hear them start to retreat.

“If you’re from the press, I have a story for you here,” she called after them.

“What’s that now, hon?” I could tell from the tone of his voice, the guy answering already wasn’t interested.

“This library branch may have to close due to lack of funds. Why don’t you do a story on that?”

“Some other time.” I heard the sounds of the door opening and their footsteps leaving.

“If you cared half as much about children learning to love books as you did about stupid celebrities the world would be a much better place!” she called after them.

Yeah, you tell them. Except, wait, did she say stupid celebrities? The door closed behind them.

“Vultures,” she muttered. That was better.

“Is everything OK, Miss Ana?” a child asked.

“Of course,” she offered reassurance. “You go sit tight and I’ll be over in a minute.” She turned her pretty face back to me, entirely displeased.

“The next time you pick a place to hide,” she hissed, “please don’t choose my library. That was very disruptive.”

My face broke into a wide grin. “Are you a librarian?”

“Yes, I’m a children’s librarian.” She looked so proud of it, eyes flashing with indignation.

My grin got even wider. “Are you married?”

“No.” She flushed and turned slightly from me, then murmured, “That’s a strange question.”

A single, goody-two-shoes librarian. Pretty as a picture with a goddamn Peter Pan collar on her dress. Had I told my agent that I didn’t know any good girls? Hold the phone. She was fucking perfect.

Flashing her my most devastatingly sexy Ash Black smile, I set Operation Image Rehab into play. I gave her my trademark smoldering gaze and whispered, “Hello, gorgeous.”

She rolled her eyes and started straightening papers on her desk. Yeah, I liked this one. I liked her a lot. Now I just needed to get her to like me back.

I wound a hand around her calf, brushing her slender leg with my fingers. She frowned at me and stomped her foot like I was a fly she was trying to shoo away. I smiled up at her, all wicked sin and temptation. I got a blush.

She looked good when she blushed. I wanted to see it on her again. One month together, that’s what my agent had suggested. Now I liked the idea a whole lot.

“Is the coast clear for me to come out?” I asked. “Or would you rather come down and hide under here with me?” I caught her eye and gave her a naughty wink. There was that blush again.

This was going to be one fun month.