Five
Right, well...
That went as well as she’d expected it to.
In the small meeting room adjacent to the conference room where they’d held the press conference to announce Griff’s comeback, Kinga sank into a chair, put her elbows on her thighs and stared at the carpet below her feet. She felt like she’d gone ten rounds with a sumo wrestler.
Sitting next to Griff, she’d been asked a few questions about the ball, and how far Ryder International had come in a century, but most of the questions, andallof the interest, had been directed at Griff. The room had been fascinated with his return to the limelight.
And despite her telling the press that his private life was off-limits, he’d been bombarded with questions about his past.
“Why did you divorce Greta after four months?”
“Have you racked up anymore DUIs?”
“Stan Maxwell threatened to sue you when pictures of you and his wife kissing in a corner of a notorious New York nightclub were leaked to the press. Did you settle out of court and how much did you have to pay your former best friend?”
“Who is your current girlfriend, Griff? And have you cheated on her yet?”
“Is Sian thinking about making a comeback as well? Where is she? Why haven’t we seen her for years?”
The rude, intrusive questions were machine-gun fast and had Kinga feeling weirdly protective, a stupid reaction because Griff was the last person in the world who needed or wanted her protection. Throughout the torture session, she’d worked damn hard to keep her expression bland.
Griff, to his credit, had handled the press with aplomb and good humor. He ignored the rude reporters, repeatedly telling the big crowd that he’d only answer questions about his comeback, his upcoming performance at the Ryder ball, and his future career plans.
They’d persisted, but Griff just handed the offenders hard stares and took the next question. After an hour of watching the reporters pummel Griff, Kinga had called the press conference to an end.
If she felt like she needed a shot of tequila before lying down, then Griff had to feel like he’d been run over by a tank.
Frankly, it had been a brutal twenty-four hours. She always felt drained after a panic attack and she’d had to spend extra time on her makeup earlier to cover the dark stripes under her eyes. Her thoughts kept bouncing from wondering whether Mick would ever leave her be—she’d received another text message from him this morning demanding another meeting—to how sweet Griff had been when she’d called him the night before.
Griff was, reputedly, everything she didn’t need in her life: a hard-living bad boy and a self-absorbed celebrity. But she’d still called him. He’d arrived quickly, provided his strength and support and had, to her surprise, stuck around. And, as he’d pointed out, he hadn’t peppered her with questions. He’d respected her privacy.
She hadn’t respected his.
In her defense, she desperately wanted to understand what drove him, what motivated him, why he acted like an entitled, spoiled superstar.
Because Kinga was starting to suspect that he wasn’t as bad as he was reported to be.
She had no evidence to back up her suspicions, but she had a gut-deep feeling that she, and the rest of the world, were missing some crucial information.
The door opened behind her and Kinga turned to see a relaxed-looking Griff walk into the room, followed by...holy shit, Stan Maxwell, the front man of one of the world’s most famous rock groups, Milestone. His wife, the ex-supermodel turned actress Ava Brandon, was at his side. Ava wore tight, ripped-at-the-knee jeans, Doc Martens boots and a twenty-thousand-dollar designer jacket.
Stan, as was his habit, wore black. Black jeans, black V-neck sweater, black high-tops.
Kinga slowly stood up, her eyes darting from Griff to Stan to Ava and back to Griff. Why were they all here, together? Weren’t they supposed to hate each other? Her brain struggled to make sense of their obvious affection for each other as Stan had his hand on Griff’s shoulder and Ava’s smile reflected both worry and concern.
They were unaware she was in the room. And as Kinga watched, Griff pulled Ava into a hug, wrapping his arm around the model’s waist and holding her head against his shoulder. “I can’t believe you guys are here. Jesus, this is an unexpected treat, but please, for the love of God, promise me nobody knows you are here.”
“We’ve gotten good at fooling the paparazzi,” Stan replied. “We used the back entrance and the staff corridors. We watched the press conference in the limo.”
“But what are you doing here?” Griff asked, as Ava stepped away from him to take her husband’s hand.
“You didn’t think we were going to let you face that rabble for the first time without us being here, if only in the background, giving you moral support, right?” Ava asked, a hand on her slim hip.
Kinga stared at them, trying to wrap her head around the fact that the participants in Griff’s most notorious scandal were in Portland, in this room.
“We put out a fake story that we’re going to our cabin in Vail so anyone looking for us will look for us there. But honestly, since our wedding and you falling off the face of the earth, the press attention has lessened considerably,” Stan stated.