What on earth did that mean? Kinga read out the messages to Tinsley, who looked equally astonished. Kinga tried to imagine why Griff would call a press meeting without telling her and felt her stomach twist into a tangled knot. What if he was pulling out of the concert? What if he was announcing his retirement, telling the world he was going on a retreat to find inner peace?
Kinga verbalized her fears to Tinsley, who frowned. “If that’s the case, then I’ll personally track him down and drag him back to Portland by his hair. Let’s go find out what he’s up to, Kingaroo.”
Kinga followed Tinsley to her car, her stomach burning and her head pounding.
I won’t let you down.
Kinga remembered his words and his determined eyes and her shoulders dropped and her tension eased away. She didn’t know what this was about, but Griff wouldn’t let her down. He’d said he’d be there for her and he would be.
“He won’t disappoint me, Tins,” Kinga told Tinsley as she negotiated her way through the evening traffic to the Portland Harbor Hotel.
“Okay,” Tinsley said, sounding doubtful, slipping her car between a delivery van and an SUV.
“It’ll be okay, I promise.”
Tinsley tossed her a quick look and then a smile. “Of course it will, because my sister—cautious, analytical and very wary of making mistakes—would never fall in love with a man who would let her down.”
Kinga considered Tinsley’s words, and when they sank in, she smiled. Damn straight. He might not love her and he couldn’t give her the life she wanted—to shelter in his arms, to make babies with him, to live and love and laugh with him—but she was too smart to fall in love with someone who was flaky and foolish.
No, whatever this was about, Griff would still perform at their ball the following weekend.
Tinsley pulled up next to the corner entrance of the redbrick hotel, telling her that she’d find a parking space and meet her as soon as she could. Kinga nodded, exited the vehicle, and raised her hand in apology to the driver in the car behind them. Adjusting her bag on her shoulder, she entered the lobby of the lovely hotel and walked up to the front desk, asking where the press conference was being held.
Ten minutes later, she slipped into the biggest of their conference rooms, her eyebrows lifting at the number of people in the room. A feminine voice was talking about being an ambassador for mental health and the journalists were entranced by whatever she was saying, heads lifting and falling as pens flew across notepads. Unable to see Griff, his sister or anyone else, Kinga edged down the wall until she was at the front of the packed crowd. Standing behind a diminutive journalist with a fearsome reputation, she looked at the table in front of her, her breath catching as her eyes fell on her favorite X-rated fantasy man who was wearing a...
Kinga squinted, unable to believe her eyes. Was Griff wearing a suit? Yep, dark gray, with a white shirt and patterned tie in greens and blues. He was also clean-shaven, his hair was neatly brushed, and he looked like a Wall Street trader, someone who frequented Ryder’s Bar in Manhattan.
She far preferred him in ripped jeans and a tight T-shirt.
Her eyes danced over the rest of the table. Ava Maxwell sat between Griff and her husband, looking as she always did, indescribably lovely. Stan wore his usual black and his expression was both bored and forbidding. Griff’s arm rested on the back of his twin’s chair, a clear signal that she was under his protection.
Sian was the feminine version of her brother, with darker hair, green eyes and the same sexy mouth. She was tall and thin, and while her mouth was pulled up into a practiced smile, her eyes looked tired.
Griff kept his eyes on her profile and, as if hearing her thoughts, leaned forward to speak into his microphone. “I think that’s enough for today, folks.” When the room responded with collective disappointment, he shook his head, his expression hardening. “You guys have enough for several articles and any other questions can be directed to our publicist...”
They had a publicist? Since when? And why didn’t she know about it?
Griff cleared his throat and the room quieted down. “I would like to remind you about my upcoming concert at the Ryder International ball. I would be grateful if you could mention the ball, that all the money raised through this project will go to the Ryder Foundation and that donations are always welcome.”
Without missing a beat, Griff looked straight at her, his smile going from practiced to personal. He winked at her and her insides liquefied.
God, she loved this man. She didn’t know what was happening or what bombshells he’d just dropped, but, in front of a dozen cameras, he’d given the ball some truly excellent press.
Bonus points for the bad boy—he’d denied Mick his spot in the sun by calling this press conference at the same time Mick wanted the press at his function.
Griff made some concluding remarks and, all around her, the press started to exit the room. She stayed where she was, watching as Griff, his sister and two of the biggest faces in the celebrity land walked in the opposite direction to a door guarded by two black-suited bodyguards.
Kinga scrubbed her hands over her face, still in the dark. She’d discover the reason for this get-together shortly. Hell, she just had to step outside and anyone would tell her, but for now, she was content to stay where she was. She needed a minute to get her bearings.
She’d been right to trust Griff. He hadn’t let her down and wouldn’t. He’d be behind the microphone at the ball and as soon as his performance ended, he’d be completely out of her life.
Her heart, struck by an invisible but heavy hammer, shattered anew at the realization. Fighting the urge to drop to her knees, she sucked in a couple of breaths, terrified she was heading toward a panic attack. Oh, God, she’d forgotten how painful it was to love and lose someone and she most definitely didn’t need the reminder.
Needing to find Tinsley, Kinga blinked back tears. She was about to follow the last of the stragglers out of the room when she saw one of the beefy security guards approaching her, his expression impassive.
“Ms. Ryder-White?”
“Yes?”