Hell, all of the above.
Cade’s phone didn’t have Kylie’s phone number, though. This was just getting worse and worse. Nor did he recall a last name. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate, but the only image he had was of her pretty, smiling face, the way her hair danced on her shoulders as she moved, the way her breasts heaved and bounced as his cock pounded into her—
He scrubbed a hand down his face and willed his morning wood to go away. Thinking about naked, moaning Kylie wasn’t helping his control.
He couldn’t call Daphne, though. What on earth could he possibly say to her? Hey, are you busy? Remember how last night I showed up to give you a car and talk with you and you ignored me? What’s the full name of your cute makeup assistant? I drunk-fucked her bareback and I’d really like to make sure everything’s cool. Hope you don’t mind.
Because he knew Daphne, and he knew she’d mind. Daphne was many things, but open-minded wasn’t one of them. She was a jealous sort, and that extended to her friends. If everyone wasn’t dancing to her tune, it’d upset her.
And he didn’t need to unbalance her more than she already was.
Cade threw his phone down and stormed off to the bathroom to take a shower.
By the time he emerged, he had a game plan. He called his personal assistant, Jerome. Unlike his friends, he wasn’t keen on using an assistant to do basic things that he could do himself, like take his clothes to the cleaners or return a DVD rental. As it was, Jerome tended to have it easier than most, and Reese’s wife, Audrey, had laughingly told Cade several times that he needed to hand off more things.
Well, now was his chance.
“What’s up, boss?” Jerome said, answering immediately.
“I hate to bother you—”
“No bother. You pay my mortgage.” Jerome sounded amused at Cade’s apology. “Least I can do is answer when you call.”
“I need a favor.”
“Name it.”
He looked at the clock. One in the afternoon—Daphne’s tour would already be on its way to the next city. “Can you tell me where Daphne Petty’s next tour stop is?”
A pause. “I can, but there is this neat little thing called ‘the Internet.’”
“Just pretend I’m a helpless man with tons of money and an inability to do things for myself.”
“Pretending real hard right now,” Jerome teased, but Cade could hear him typing on the other side of the line. “Looks like her next stop is tomorrow night in Des Moines.”
“Okay. Get me tickets. And backstage passes.”
“I’m probably being presumptuous, but can’t Daphne get those for you?” Jerome had worked for Cade for a long time and knew about his mixed-up relationship with the pop star.
“It’s . . . complicated.”
“Try me.”
So he told Jerome about his night, and how it was part wonderful and part awful. And how he wanted to contact Kylie now without getting Daphne involved.
Jerome was silent when Cade finished.
“So . . . tickets?” Cade asked to break the silence.
“You want to know what I think, boss?”
“Probably not, but hit me with it anyhow.”
“I think you need to stay far away from anything even remotely related to Daphne Petty.”
He wasn’t the only one thinking that. The more Cade was around her, the more he felt mired in quicksand.
“I also think you need to let Reese’s wife know about her sister.”
Cade rubbed his forehead, his headache pounding. He headed toward the minibar for some hair of the dog. “Noted.”
“And I think you should get tested to make sure you’re clean of any diseases.”
He closed his eyes. God, what a nightmare this was turning out to be. The one bright spot in everything was Kylie. Sweet, laughing Kylie with her gorgeous body and her lovely smile. An image of her with her head thrown back as she came flashed through his mind. “I’m pretty sure she’s clean.”
“You were pretty sure Daphne was stable eight months ago, too.”
Ouch. “Point taken. All right, then. What do I need to do?”
“You sit tight. I’ll get you tickets and passes for the upcoming show. And I’ll contact your personal doctor and see if he can fly out to Chicago.”
“You want to call Reese and Audrey for me?”
“Hell, no,” Jerome said. “I’ll do the easy stuff. You get the hard work.”
Cade smiled grimly as he hung up the phone, uncapped a tiny bottle of tequila, and swigged it. Hair of the dog—tasted as awful as it smelled. Still, maybe it would help settle him. Telling a six-month pregnant Audrey that her sister was back off the wagon again? Yeah, that wasn’t going to go over well.