“Mr. O’Hare would like to see you. He’s asked me to escort you to his executive suite.”
“Okay, thanks. Just give me a minute, I need to tell my sister I’ve been delayed.”
Kinga banged out the text message, shoved her phone in her bag and nodded to the man-in-black. Kinga’s breath evened out and her heart settled. She knew Griff would be leaving her life after the ball, but that wasn’t tonight. As long as the broad-shouldered man was leading her to Griff, she’d follow him anywhere. O’Hare was, after all, her personal pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
The security guard knocked on the door to the suite and it opened a few seconds later. Had Griff been waiting for her? Was he as anxious to see her as she was to see him?
Griff gestured her to enter and nodded to the guard standing behind her. “Thanks, Reynolds. Appreciate your help.”
Griff closed the door behind the guard and Kinga’s eyes drifted over him. He’d shed his suit jacket and his tie was pulled from his open collar. His hair was now ruffled, as if he’d shoved his hands through it. Frankly, he looked exhausted.
Kinga couldn’t help lifting her hand to his cheek, feeling the beginnings of his fast-growing beard. “Are you okay? You look shattered.”
“I am tired... That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” Griff told her. Placing a hand on her lower back, he guided her into the exquisitely decorated sitting room and suggested she take a seat. “Do you want a drink?”
“No, but you look like you need one,” Kinga said, sitting down on the edge of a gray couch. Placing her forearms on her knees, she watched as Griff, obviously distracted, poured himself a shot of whiskey and tossed it back. He then poured another two shots into heavy tumblers and walked back across the room to her, handing her a drink she’d told him she didn’t want. Kinga thanked him, placed the drink on the glass coffee table and softly suggested that he sit down.
Griff shook his head and stood behind the chair opposite her, his forearms—sleeves of his shirt rolled up—resting on the top of the chair. Instead of explaining why he’d requested her to come up to his room, he just stared at her, his eyes troubled and his expression brooding.
Unable to contain her curiosity, Kinga spoke. “I have no idea what’s going on, why the press pool looks like you just handed them the moon.”
“I didn’t, Sian did,” Griff replied, his voice raspy. His voice always took on that growly quality when he was tired or feeling stressed or emotional. Kinga cocked her head, waiting for him to speak.
He sipped at his whiskey and frowned at her. “It’s a long, complicated story.”
She didn’t have enough patience for long and complicated. “Give me the highlights.”
Griff nodded. “Uh...so, in our early to midtwenties we were flying high. If anything, Sian was flying faster and higher than me—she was always the more talented twin.” He said those words without any rancor or jealousy. Instead, his voice held a healthy dose of pride.
“You’re a pretty talented guy, O’Hare,” Kinga pointed out.
He shrugged. “But Sian was next-level good. She was exploring more facets of her talent and people were starting to notice. She was frequently compared to some of the greats, Garland and Hepburn, and was widely considered, by the industry heavyweights, to be a once-in-a-generation performer.”
Okay, she hadn’t known that.
“Long story short, Sian had always struggled with anxiety and depression, but a few years back she started to behave erratically and, because the press paid so much attention to her, they quickly picked up that something was amiss. They hounded her and the rumors started flying about her using drugs.” Griff’s frown deepened. “It was, after all, the most logical conclusion.”
“But she wasn’t,” Kinga softly interjected.
“No, she was diagnosed with a mild form of schizophrenia,” he said, staring at the glass in his hand. “Her interest in performing declined and she became a bit of a recluse. Her psychiatrist recommended she retreat from the limelight permanently and try to live a life as calm and normal as possible.”
“Pretty impossible when you are one of the world’s hottest and most recognizable stars,” Kinga commented.
“The burning question on everyone’s lips—the press, our friends and our colleagues—was why a talented performer at the height of her career would bail? The media interest in her...well, exploded. Finn, our manager, and I both knew we had to do something to change that.”
Oh, God, she thought she knew what he was about to say, but because she could be wrong, she waited for him to continue.
“Stan and I have been friends since we were teenagers and he suggested that I start behaving like a spoiled, selfish asshole to pull the attention off Sian.”
Ding! Ding! Ding!All at once, everything fell into place and Kinga knew her instincts were spot-on.
Griff looked at her, a puzzled expression on his face. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“I’m not,” Kinga told him, picking up her glass and taking a small sip. “For a while now, I’ve felt that you were playing a role, that you’re not who the press portrays you to be.”
Griff looked astounded at her almost casual comment. Kinga hid her smile behind her glass and gestured for him to continue. “Carry on with the highlight reel, O’Hare,” she told him.
“Finn told me he’d take care of Sian, that he’d keep an eye on her while I went on a tear. We set up a worldwide tour and I caused chaos,” Griff reluctantly admitted. “The press attention shifted off Sian and onto me. I behaved like a jerk, but it worked, they bought it.”