When he wasn’t doing any of the above, he should have gone back to his hotel suite and slept. That’s what any sane person would have done. But noooo. He just had to case the streets. He just had to spend his nonexistent free time looking in the shop windows and restaurants she’d tagged on Facebook on the off chance he might run into her. Because he hasn’t been able to get her off his mind or out of his system. Trust him, he’s tried. Women, whiskey, and work. No matter the all-nighter, he can’t shake his thing for Joy.

“What about Nigel?” Chase asks. “He still on board?” The producer Dylan wants on location in New York, that is, until he got a better idea when he was there.

“We didn’t meet.”

“Talk?”

Dylan shakes his head, yawning. He rises to his feet, tosses his empty cup into the waste can, and goes to the window.

“What the hell, Dyl? How do you expect us to produce albums without a producer?”

“Oh, you’ll get your producer,” he tells Chase over his shoulder and smirks. “The best.”

“You?” Chase guffaws. “What about LA?”

“Sharon’s ready. I’m promoting her.”

Not to pat himself on the back, but he’s trained her well. Her style and vision for their artists is aligned with his, and she’s a phenom at not only guiding them through the recording process but doing so within budget.

Chase stares at him and Dylan scratches the scruff on the underneath side of his chin. He can’t read his cousin’s expression. “What? You don’t agree?”

“Who’s Joy?”

Blood surges through him, making his skin hot. That came out of left field.

He plays innocent. Pulls a straight face.

“Who?”

“The woman with you in that photo you keep on your phone. The one you look at all the fucking time.”

His mouth falls open, then clamps shut. Has he been that obvious? And how the hell does Chase know her name?

Dylan shakes his head. Denial. Best policy.

“Cut the bullshit. You’re obsessed with her.” Chase stands, stabs a finger in the air in Dylan’s direction.

“Am not,” Dylan objects with an internal wince. He sounds like a complaining teen.

“When was the last time you stalked her Facebook profile?”

When his plane landed and he powered on his mobile.

Dylan grinds his jaw. Chase is always looking over his shoulder when Dylan is on the phone. Nosy bastard. His cousin must have picked up her name from Facebook. He then connected her to the photo on his phone. He’ll have to be more careful around his cousin.

“Who is she?” Chase pushes.

“No one.” That’s the way he should think of her. Hasn’t worked yet.

“She lives in New York, doesn’t she?”

His mouth pinches. He turns back to the window.