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Dominick
Once I had Kendall back at my house, making her as comfortable as possible in my bed with a bottle of wine and a glass of water next to her—whichever she needed most—I got in my car and drove straight to the studio.
Fuck calling.
I needed Ted’s fucking head in my hands, and a conversation over the phone with the studio’s CEO wasn’t going to give me that satisfaction.
I was only a mile past my driveway when I phoned my assistant. Once she answered, I ordered, “I need Brett Young and my brothers on a conference call immediately. I don’t care if they’re in meetings; haul their asses out.”
“Give me two seconds. I’m just going to put you on hold while I call them.”
I was driving double the speed limit, barely braking around turns, running yellows that changed to red.
“Dominick,” my assistant said through my car speakers, “I have them all on the line. I’m going to connect you now.”
I heard the click and said, “Brett? Jenner and Ford?” When they confirmed, I continued, “I know you all have seen the alert. I’ve gotten your voice mails and texts. It’s easier to have this conversation all together.”
“Jesus, brother. I pity the fucking asshole who’s about to get the wrath of you,” Ford said. “What do you know so far?”
“First, it goes without saying that it’s me in the photographs.”
“Never questioned it,” Jenner said. “I just want to know who the fuck I’m about to sue.”
I slowed down at the next red light, my foot feeling heavy enough to run it. “I was only at Kendall’s place once—the day before she started filming. We stopped by, so she could change her clothes before we went to brunch, and the obvious happened. The contract was clear—I’d read it with my own goddamn eyes—and the cameras weren’t supposed to be on until filming began.”
“That’s correct,” Brett said. “I read the same verbiage.”
“Then, how the fuck did this happen?” Jenner asked.
“I’d like to know the same thing,” Brett replied.
“I’m going to tie up that studio in so much legal, that show is going to sit on a hard drive, collecting twelve inches of fucking dust.”
“Should I start the proceedings?” Jenner asked.
I blew through the next yellow, turning onto the street where the studio’s executive offices were located. “Not yet. I’m headed there now for answers. I’m bypassing Shane—that motherfucker can’t give me what I want—and I’m going straight to Ted.”
“Going right for the big dog—I like your style,” Jenner said. “But be prepared. I’m sure their legal counsel is on his way there as well. They don’t want litigation or their name tied to this. If they’re responsible for the leak, they’re going to offer a private settlement before this goes to court—I can promise you that. And they’re going to do it quickly; they don’t want anything or anyone delaying the airing of this show.”
I laughed. “It’s far too fucking late for that.”
“Do you want me to meet you over there?” Brett asked.
“I’m not dragging you into this,” I responded.
“What do you think happened?” Ford asked. “Do you think it’s to garner attention for the show? Or something else?”
Since I’d read the alert and viewed the photographs, that question had been fucking eating at me.
I had theories, but I needed proof.
“I don’t know,” I told them. “But you bet your ass I’m going to find out. I’ll call you once I leave the studio.”
“We’re on standby,” Jenner said.
I disconnected the call and turned up the music, pounding my fist on the steering wheel, my mood bubbling like I was standing on burning coal.
This was bullshit.
There shouldn’t be naked photos of my girlfriend online, causing her to throw up her coffee at breakfast.
I shouldn’t have to worry about her safety or her unpredictable fucking sister.
Kendall was right; the show had changed so much.
And I was responsible for all of it.
Now, the aftermath was tucked into my bed, sobbing her fucking eyes out.
I had to fix this.
I parked in front of the studio’s entrance and rushed inside the lobby.
I walked past the three receptionists who were sitting behind the desk and said, “I’m Dominick Dalton. You can let Ted know I’m on my way up.”
I stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for the top floor, the lift instantly rising. Once it opened, I headed for his office, passing another receptionist on the way.
“Excuse me, Mr. Dalton—”
I held up my hand. “If he’s in a meeting, tell him to end it.”
I continued past her toward the end of the hall, clenching his doorknob and pushing it open. Ted was behind his desk, the CFO also in the room, the COO in another chair, and a fourth guy, who I assumed was their legal counsel.
“Dominick,” Ted said as I entered, a man I’d had drinks with many times at social events around town, “we’ve been expecting you.” He pointed at the only empty chair. “Take a seat.”
I planted my ass down and crossed my legs. “I want answers. Now.”
