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Harlow finally appeared beside Brodie.
“What the hell, guys?” Harlow scoffed. “Can’t you even do one interview without it becoming a scandalous headline?”
“Us?” Brodie snapped and pointed at Jean-Luc. “He was the one asking invasive questions that we were not prepared to answer. I thought we made it clear back in December that kind of shit isn’t tolerated.”
“Did you vet the questions?” I asked Harlow point blank.
He glared at me. “It’s the highest-rated and most-viewed entertainment program in France. There was no need.”
“Sorry, but I beg to differ,” Van bit out. “Your job is to protect the band, not let some reporter ambush them like that.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, you’re not in charge anymore, Van, so keep your opinions to yourself!”
“Don’t you dare fucking talk to him like that!” Brodie charged at Harlow.
Lennie stepped in front of him, barring any further escalation.
“Lennie!” Dawson yelled out. “Everyone to the green room, now!”
Suddenly, we were all ushered away from the stage to the pre-show guest room.
Me and the guys were fucking furious—swearing and pacing back and forth. Well, they were.
I was more shocked than angry at this point.
Van took Brodie in his arms and started whispering in his ear, and I watched as my friend finally nodded and visibly calmed.
Dawson had taken hold of my arm and hadn’t let go. And for once, I appreciated his protection. I admit, I leaned into him and appreciated his warmth. I was freezing. So fucking cold that I was trembling.
“Are you okay?” Dawson whispered.
“No. And before you ask, I don’t want to talk about it.”
The question about my mom had rattled me. Badly. I was lightheaded, and my hands were shaking.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what? This isn’t your fault,” I replied and pointed at Harlow. “He’s the one who should apologize. He’s too busy on his phone kissing Greg Haddley’s ass to do his job.”
Greg was our boss and a cagey asshole. Long story short, Greg had outed Van to the media at the onset of his relationship with Brodie, and we were having none of it. Once our contract was done, so were we.
Still, we stuck to our agreement and didn’t publicly comment on the feud.
“Don’t start, Holloway,” Harlow snapped. “I work my ass off. Unlike some people who spend more time fucking around than playing actual music.”
My shock turned to anger, and I lunged forward. “You asshole?—”
I made self-deprecating remarks about my fuckboy reputation, and my band brothers teased me, but that was it. They never questioned my ability or my dedication to our music.
Dawson quickly swiveled, stepping in front of me, still not letting go. Gripping both of my arms, he glanced down at me with concern in his eyes. My stomach flipped over, just like it did before I took to the stage. I could feel the heat of his hands burning through my leather jacket, and foolishly, I wanted to step closer to him. Instead, I nodded and said, “I’m okay,” and he looked over his shoulder.
“Not one more word, Harlow. I fucking mean it,” Dawson boomed. “I will not hesitate to report you to Regan and Greg. Xavier, take him to the elevator and bring him back to the hotel. We’re gonna stay here and cool down for a while before we head out.”
Xavier motioned to the door and stepped beside Harlow.
“Don’t touch me,” Harlow growled. “I’m going.”
Once Harlow was gone, I finally breathed a sigh of relief.
