Kinga walked over to him, conscious of the heat in his eyes. She’d pulled on thick black tights and a gray turtleneck sweater dress that ended six inches above her boots and Griff seemed fascinated by the space between her hem and her boots.
“Hi,” he said, standing up as she approached him. To her surprise, he placed his hand on her forearm and bent his head to drop a kiss on her temple. “How are you? You’re looking tired.”
There was genuine concern in his voice and interest in his eyes and because of both, Kinga answered him honestly. “Iamtired.”
“Working like a demon?” Griff said, gesturing for her to sit next to him on the leather sofa.
She couldn’t tell him that most of her exhaustion was due to her vivid sex dreams, so Kinga just sat down and crossed her legs. She looked toward the stage, where the musicians were gathering, laughing and joking.
Kinga gestured to the stage. “I see you have a band.”
Griff sat down next to her and rested his forearms on his thighs, turning his head to look at her. “Yeah, most of the musicians I like to work with were available, thank God. The backup singers are new to me but they have experience.”
Kinga looked at the notepad he’d tossed on the table, saw the pages covered in his chicken scratch and what she thought might be lyrics.
Despite not wanting to invade his privacy, she nodded to the writing pad before looking away. “Are you writing again?”
Griff’s sigh was long and loud. “Mmm. I’ve been thinking about releasing an album of my compositions.”
Kinga swiveled on the couch to face him. “That’s fantastic!”
Griff grimaced. “It might be, if I knew if the songs were any good.”
It was so strange to hear the usually confident man sound so uncertain. “I’m sure they are great, Griff. I mean, the last album you released went platinum.”
“That was a while ago, Kinga,” Griff responded, looking troubled. “And I had a cowriter.” He placed his hand on the notepad. “This is all me...”
“I can’t imagine how hard it must be to put your creations out in the world,” she mused. “I suppose it must be like having a baby and putting his picture on social media and asking the world to comment on whether he’s ugly or not.”
Griff stared at her for a long time, his surprised expression eventually turning to amusement. “That’s exactly what it feels like. I couldn’t put it better myself.” Griff took his glasses off and put them into the top pocket of his untucked button-down. Today’s jeans were faded and thin, authentically aged, and he wore trendy, expensive sneakers on his feet. His hair was all over the place, probably because he’d spent the morning running his hands through it.
“How are your rehearsals going?” Kinga asked him.
“Good, mostly. I’m a bit rusty,” Griff admitted. “It should go better now that I’ve finalized the set list.”
“Will my grandfather approve?” Kinga asked him, knowing that Callum had very definite ideas on what music he wanted Griff to perform.
“I’ve gone for jazz and classic standards, very similar to a concert I did in London. But I’ve tossed in a couple of modern songs to keep the younger crowd happy.”
Kinga twisted her lips. “I should warn you that my grandfather is planning to watch some of your rehearsals.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Griff told her, his expression implacable. “Nobody watches me rehearse. Nobody but the band, dancers and crew are allowed into my practice studio.”
“I’m here,” Kinga pointed out.
“Not for long,” Griff told her on a smile. He checked his watch, which was high-end and overly complicated. “I’m about to kick you out—the session starts in five minutes.”
Kinga pouted and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Just a few songs, please? I’ll be as quiet as a church mouse.”
Griff squinted at her. “Mmm. One song and then you leave.”
Kinga bounced up and down, thoroughly excited. But if she only had five minutes, she needed to discuss business with him. Pulling her tablet from her bag, she powered it up before looking at Griff again. “Uh, a couple of quick questions. I’ve managed to book you onto a hugely popular morning talk show next week to discuss your comeback and the ball.”
Griff looked like he’d rather be hanged, drawn and quartered. “The least favorite aspect of my work.”
“Interviews are a necessary evil. So, what questions are off-limits? Same as for the press?” Kinga asked. She needed to produce a publicity pack for the talk shows and included in the briefing would be a list of dos and don’ts. Some interviewers pushed for more, but most respected the celebrity’s privacy. None of them wanted to run the risk of losing trust and not being able to book interesting guests.
Griff rubbed his hand over his stubbled jaw. “Uh, same as last time. I definitely don’t want to answer any questions about Sian.”