He whipped past the hotel, stomping on the brakes so hard they screamed, and turned the car in a sharp one-eighty, whipping around to stop hard at the entrance. He was flushed when he handed the keys to the valet.
“Shall I arrange to send it back to the studio, sir?”
Doren laughed, reaching into the car to dislodge the CD from the player. He slid it into his jacket pocket, patting it for security. “No fucking way. Park it.”
He trotted up the stairs, through the hall, and into his room where he popped the CD into the DVD system and resumed the performance where he had left it. It didn’t cross his mind to make sure August was okay. Or even make sure he was there at all.
* * * *
August