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“You wanted me to do promo. I did it,” Brodie smirked, running a hand over his shaved head. His hazel eyes were glassy and bright with amusement.
“I wanted you to answer the reporter’s questions about the album and tour. Not fuck around with said reporter right after the interview and then piss him off. He wrote a very unflattering piece on you. Not to mention he’s left me and our PR rep several angry voicemails.”
“He’s just ticked off because I wouldn’t go back for seconds. Guy’s a fucking clinger.”
I grabbed my phone and slammed it on the table. I’d been working sixteen-hour days, and I was at the end of my goddamn patience.
Brodie’s ensuing chuckle had all the hair on my body standing on end.
“What the fuck is so funny?” I asked, standing up and pacing.
“You,” Brodie sneered, then inhaled another drag. “You’re wound tighter than Faise’s drums. You need to chill. This guy you’re talking about is the closest thing to a tabloid reporter. He tells lies for a living. No one’s gonna believe anything he says.”
I shook my head. “He already contacted the PR team and told them he’s gonna sue. Our lawyers are preparing a ten-thousand-dollar settlement offer as we speak.”
“Get the fuck out!” Brodie exclaimed, standing up to face me. “Suing for what?”
“He claims that after your interview, he—” I paused, my stomach doing a weird kind of somersault. “He gave you a blowjob, and you ruined the interior of his vehicle.”
“He’s suing me for getting cum on his car?”
Brodie burst out laughing, and so did the rest of the guys.
I stepped in closer, getting right up in his face.
Okay, even I could admit that the whole situation was ridiculous. And, yes, I’d probably laugh about it next week. But my boss had reamed me out an hour ago and my ears were still ringing.
So yeah, I wasn’t all that amused right now.
“Tabarnak, Dee! You just think you can do whatever the fuck you want and, haha, Van is gonna clean up the mess,” I snapped.
“Apparently not if my cum’s involved,” Brodie chuckled again, then gripped my shoulder.
His touch burned through the thin layer of my shirt. I had the strange urge to step closer to him but shook it off. Then he dropped his hand just as quickly.
“Come on, Van. This is hilarious. I stained his car seat, and he’s suing me? You can’t make this shit up. God, I fucking love this crazy life!”
I should’ve just chalked the incident up to another rockstar antic, but for some reason, Brodie’s flippant manner chafed me. And dealing with the aftermath of his many, many conquests was starting to wear.
And it had only been a year.
My phone rang and I glanced at it.
Incoming call: Dad.
“I’ve got to take this.”
I stepped out onto the patio overlooking the pool. “Hey, Dad, what’s up?”
There was silence on the other end of the line.
“Dad?”
“You need to come home,” he mumbled, his voice raspy and low.
“Maybe in a few weeks, I—”
“Now. Van. Now. She’s gone. My Keira is gone.”
