Graham does a fast once-over of me then frowns. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine. I just want to get out of here. Can you take me to the pool?”

Graham nods. “Sure. Your wish is my command, Princess.” His eyes twinkle. “At least until they stop paying me.

He grins, full dimples, and winks—he’s so sweet—but it’s not helping. I still feel lousy.

I shove my glasses high on my nose instead of wearing them low, California-style, and march toward the elevator. I bounce against the wall as I wait for the doors to open.

There is an immediate stir when I step out onto the rooftop patio. I wish everyone would just leave me alone. I make my way around bodies, tables, loungers and the pool, trying to find someplace to settle not too out in the open.

From the corner of my eye, I see Linda Rowan sitting at a table with her trendy pack of gal pals from the tour, laughing and tossing down Bloody Marys, whooping it up even though it isn’t even noon yet.

Nope, not joining that party. Linda has been no help in fixing my dismal circumstance with Bobby. She won’t even give me the details on why he dumped me—I still don’t know, not really, since it wasn’t bullshit and he hasn’t answered a text or taken a call since I left California—and darn if Linda isn’t tight-lipped about everything for the first time ever.

We used to be close. I know he’s her son, and that first priority garbage is in play but, crap, she could toss me something without betraying Bobby to help me make sense of what happened.

I move quickly past her and decide on the two vacant loungers across the pool out of view from her. I plop down and start taking the junk from my bag as Graham stretches out on the chaise beside me.

“Have you had breakfast yet?” he asks. “Do you want me to order you something?”

I shake my head, not looking at him, and start clicking away on my laptop.

“You need to eat, Kaley,” he chides.

“What? Are you a nanny, too, these days? First bodyguard and therapist, now nanny. So versatile. You’ll be in high demand in no time.”

He grins. “I’m in high demand always, sweetheart.”

I pucker my lips to keep from smiling but, damn, my cheeks are a little warm. Flirty and sexy today. He’s in a good mood.

I’m not interested.

But I’m not blind.

And it is a prop to my wounded ego that this nice, very hot guy likes to verbally tease me.

It’s undeniable.

Graham is an all-out chick magnet and I’m starting to worry he’s more into me than he should be. In fairness, I do send him the wrong vibe sometimes, on purpose. It just feels good to have this great guy want me since my guy broke my heart.

Not that I’m over Bobby or want anyone else.

But there’s that static between Graham and me.

It feels good. Nothing makes me feel good these days. It’s not wrong since I am flying solo now and it’s not unfair unless I cross the line into something I know I don’t really want.

Ignoring the naughty comment, I continue to click away. “If you want breakfast just order it. And don’t try that lame ploy of getting what I like thinking I’ll pick at your plate. I’m not on some pathetic hunger strike to get my dad to bounce me from the tour and you don’t have to worry I’m going to waste away. I’m really not hungry today. Dillon must have been on duty last night because if you’d been in the chair outside my door you would know that I ordered room service last night at 4 a.m. and scarfed like a pig until morning.”

He laughs and calls over a waiter. Good, his all-seeing eyes are occupied elsewhere and not on what I’m doing.

I quickly access my e-mail. Nothing. Rapid click into Facebook. Usual crap on my page. Nothing on Bobby’s. Fuck, it’s like he’s gone off the grid and I don’t know what to make of that.

X-ing out, I access my cloud and open the folder with the tour pictures and videos I’ve uploaded. It’s only raw footage. I haven’t done anything with it. I’m not sure that I want to.

I set the laptop on the table between us and pull that thick bound set of pages from my tote that Mom tucked into my suitcase before leaving California—though why she did that is anybody’s guess.

Long and Hard—The Biography of Alan Manzone.

Tossing it aside after I found it, I told myself nope, not reading this, read the first page and now I can’t stop. It’s freakishly addictive, surprisingly insight-filled, and without a doubt not what I expected a biography about my dad to be.

He’s led an interesting life; there’s no denying that.

Settling back in my chair, I resume the chapter I was reading before going to sleep. I’m halfway through it when movement beside me causes me to lift my nose from the pages.

Shit, I forgot to log off the laptop and Graham is invading my private shit again. My tour photos and videos are freakishly addictive for him.

I arch a brow. “Did I say you could look at my stuff?”

“Nope, but I never ask since this is my laptop and we had an agreement. I see all. Know all. Or I take the laptop back.”

I grimace. Such a control freak, and it’s so humiliating that Chrissie refused to let me leave the house with my own technology, no data or international airtime for my phone, reducing me to beg and wheedle a computer from Graham.

Even though he imposed rules, he was cool to let me borrow it when I’m pretty sure he knows he’s not supposed to, so I shouldn’t complain.

I shift my gaze away from him. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not doing anything wrong. Jeez, why doesn’t everyone lighten up? Is it really necessary for all of you to keep making me feel bad about what I did?”

Graham’s features soften sympathetically. “I’m not worried. And I’m not trying to make you feel badly. Has it ever occurred to you that I might just like looking at your work? You have an incredible eye.”

I flush over the compliment. “It’s uncut, unedited. I haven’t done anything with it yet.”

“Well, you should.”

I shrug. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

He leans over and turns the book in my hand. “What are you reading?”

“The publisher galley of my dad’s biography.”

His face brightens up. “Really? Your dad did a tell-all?  I bet that’s one page-turner of a story. I definitely would like to cuddle up with that one when you’re through.”

Cuddle up with that one—gag me—weird joke, not even close to funny that time, sweetheart.

Crinkling my nose, I hide the book from his gaze, flattening it against my chest. “It’s not really like that. It’s not a tell-all. I don’t know what to call it, but it is interesting. And don’t mention to my dad that I have it. I don’t think he knows. My mom slipped it into my bag before I left the ’Sades.”

“I won’t say a word,” he assures me. His eyes begin to twinkle. “Not if you let me have it once you’re through.”

I smile. “You’re obnoxious. Do you know that?”

“I’m a fan. What can I say?”

Making a face at him, I shove the galley back into my bag.

Breakfast arrives, he signs the bill, and then sits back and fills two cups of coffee.

He slides one close to me.

I rest my coffee cup against my lower lip, watching Graham clicking through my photos as he eats his breakfast, and I lapse back into silence, feeling melancholy again.

Graham knows everything; security always knows everything. Why don’t I just ask him? It can’t be any worse knowing the truth than it is the suspicions and worry. If I’ve irreparably broken my parents’ marriage, hiding from it won’t change a thing.

I lower my gaze, since I can’t say this looking at him. “Is my dad messing around on this tour with Jen? He comes in late every night. He hasn’t called my mom since we left. Not once. Is Alan seeing someone and planning on divorcing my mother?”

Graham’s features instantly alter; expertly inscrutable.

Oh fuck.

I set down my coffee. “Don’t give me that blank look. I’m not a child and I just want to know the truth because the waiting for everything to come apart is excruciating. Especially since it’s my fault. I can’t take it anymore. I just need to know how badly I fucked this up for them. Security knows where my dad goes and what he does 24/7. You know more about him than I do. I’d really appreciate it if you’d just talk straight to me.”