Just One Spark (The Kingston Family 4)
“Calm down,” she mouthed at him through the glass that separated the studio from the outer room.
He glanced at Cassidy, who sat beside her, watching them, a frown on her lips. Though he’d fucked Daisy before he’d been with Cassidy, after the news broke and Daisy had accused him publicly, facing the one woman whose opinion mattered had been humiliating.
He managed to pull in a deep breath and reply to Lester through his clenched jaw. “I’m just glad the truth is out.”
“Must have been a tense couple of weeks while you waited for the results.”
Dash wondered if Lester wanted to keep his teeth. As this was live, Dash held his temper and curled his hands into tight fists beneath the table. “Next subject.”
Lester placed an elbow on the table and leaned closer to the mike. “Your reputation as, shall we say, a ladies’ man precedes you. Will this baby scare impact your future behavior?” The bastard’s eyes danced with glee. He knew damned well he was violating their agreement but obviously thought it was worth it.
Well, fuck him. Dash hadn’t signed up for this.
He slammed his hands onto the table and pushed himself up until he towered over the other man. “Interview over. Hope you’re happy.”
He stormed out of the room, ignoring Naomi, who’d let the questions go unchecked, and Cassidy, who he just didn’t want to face. The guys could wrap things up.
Dash shoved open the glass doors that led to the main reception area. Instead of taking the elevator, he jogged down the stairs, relieved when he burst out of the building and into the humid New York City air. Add Dash Kingston to the list of top ten rock stars who’d walked out on interviews. He didn’t give a shit. Not when he’d gone there to discuss the band and their music, not his personal life.
He’d had enough fucking coverage of his past to last a lifetime. While the baby daddy drama had dragged on, the online sites had exploited every dirty bit of drama they could find. As if a trashed room—thanks to drunk groupies and roadies who’d partied with the band—or women who claimed they’d fucked Dash after a concert were proof of fatherhood or some other culpability.
He looked around for something to kick or punch and realized he’d only end up with a broken hand courtesy of a brick wall or splattering garbage across the sidewalk. He needed an hour at the gym with a punching bag.
“Dash? Are you okay?”
He turned at the sound of Cassidy’s voice. Concern he wasn’t sure he deserved etched her features.
She stepped closer and he took her in, her blond hair in a high ponytail he wanted to wrap around his hand and yank while her red lips sucked his dick. That was one way to alleviate his current frustration. One that would not be happening any time soon.
Wishing he could adjust his cock, which stood at attention at the sight of her, he met her gaze. “Yeah. Just not in the mood for that asshole to ask questions that won’t do a damned thing to boost the band’s presence or public awareness.” Not in a positive manner, anyway.
“Naomi is going to ban them from future interviews,” Cassidy murmured.
“Too bad this one was live.” He ran a hand through his hair and let out a groan. “I want to be taken seriously as an artist and not be fodder for gossip and bullshit.”
“Then may I suggest you not give them a reason to focus more on your personal life than your music?” Naomi stepped up beside them, the band along with her.
After scowling at her, he glanced at the guys. “You finish the interview?”
All three shook their heads. “Fucker didn’t play by the rules. We walked out, too,” Axel said, surprising Dash because he was new to their group yet supported him.
“We’re a team,” Jagger said.
“What he said.” Mac shoved his hands into his pants pockets.
Naomi rolled her eyes. “Okay, nice love fest and you’re all correct. Lester was an ass and he’s on our company’s shit list now. I don’t care how influential he is. He has to follow the rules.”
Their limousine pulled up to the curb. They’d driven from the Hamptons in the spacious vehicle that fit everyone, picking up Naomi at the satellite Midtown office of her LA PR firm on the way.
“Get in, guys, Cassidy. It’s time for a talk.” Naomi barked out orders like a drill sergeant.
The driver had exited the limo and walked around to the sidewalk and opened the back door. They all made their way inside, and the driver shut the door, returned to his seat, and soon eased into traffic.
“He’s going to drive around while we talk. Then you can all let him know where you want to go.” Naomi sat back against the bench seat and crossed one leg over the other.