Brooklyn Rockstar (Kendall Family #1) (6 page)

The last thing I need is a pissed off reporter who will expose me in a bad light to the public. If Danny was around, he’d gladly take her off my hands and show her a good time. I can just picture him foaming at the mouth for the chance.

I turn on the charm with a smirk and pull her in close, trying not to gag when I’m greeted with the stench of cigarettes on her breath. “It’s just that we both have our careers to think about first. Once the interview is out of the way,
then
we can see where the night takes us.”

“Good,” she answers, snuggling up in the crook of my arm. “Because, sweetheart, I’m going to show you moves that will have you begging for more. I’ll ride that beautiful cock so hard you won’t ever go back to twenty-something year old pussies.”

I lean forward to tap on the partition glass. The old driver opens the window between us. “Sir?” his deep voice asks.

“Take us to Mikey’s on Furman.”

“Yes, sir,” he answers before closing the window.

“Isn’t that a bar?” Gwen asks with a smirk.

I nod. “Changed my mind.”

It’s going to take a shit-ton of booze to get through the rest of the night.

H
arsh sunlight
over my face rouses me from a deep sleep. Rubbing at my aching forehead, I grab my phone from the pillow next to me to confirm what I already guessed—I missed the late morning jam session with my producer.

Dreams of the brunette and those big brown eyes surrounded by freckles haunted me all night long. In some she was laughing cruelly and telling me I’d never make it on my own. In others she was seducing me and begging me to make her come. Just the memory of the erotic fantasy makes my dick hard. I stumble my way into the bathroom and beat off in the shower.

In the end I couldn’t stand to let the reporter touch me, even after four shots of top shelf tequila. She was pissed as hell when I grabbed a cab ride home, but I was gutted when it really sunk in that I wasn’t going to find the girl that wouldn’t leave my fucking head alone.

I came home to spend the better part of an hour searching Leona’s website and social media, hoping to find a past picture of the brunette or her friend. With a visual reference I could send Lorenzo back to the bar and have him ask around to see if anyone knows her or the blonde. He’d think I’ve lost my goddamned mind, but he’ll do whatever I ask. I don’t have any other leads to go by and I’m desperate.

I throw on a pair of jeans before starting a pot of coffee and checking my messages. The private investigator I hired to search for Danny on his mom’s behalf checked in early with the usual:
nothing.
At least some things don’t change.

Lorenzo and Rick both tried calling, texting, and sending emails to get my attention, saying I needed to contact them ASAP. Lorenzo was likely livid after hearing I blew Rick off this morning. I decide that I better talk to Lorenzo as his last text reads:

“About fucking time!” Lorenzo snaps into the phone, sending the throbbing inside my head into overdrive. “Have you been online yet?”

Yawning, I glance at my laptop sitting at the end of the kitchen island and scratch my ass. I had planned on purposely avoiding the internet today, knowing there’d be reviews of the gig.
I’m definitely not ready for that shit.
“I just woke up,” I tell him.

“Listen, I don’t know what the fuck you did last night to piss that reporter off, but Rick’s outta his mind and wants you in his office. Better get your ass dressed because I’m on my way to get you. We’ll discuss our options on the way.”

Before I can ask him any more questions, he ends the call.
Shit.
Whatever Gwen wrote must not be good. Probably would’ve been better to make good on my promise to her.

I whip my phone onto the counter, pissed that Lorenzo had the nerve to use that tone with me, and go for my laptop. A Google search of my name produces 5,020,011 results. I normally don’t search myself, but this sounds pretty serious and I don’t want Lorenzo hanging over my shoulder when I get the news.

The first article to pop up grabs me by my balls.

‘Trashes gig?’ ‘Failed?’
What the actual fuck?
It wasn’t my best performance by any means, but she’s taking it way too far. By the time I click on the link, my heart’s about to burst from my chest. The magazine’s home page features a larger than life photograph showing an unflattering frown on my face as I’m escorting the reporter to the car. I rub my temples, swearing underneath my breath as I read the article.

Staring slack jawed at the screen, I pound my fists on the table. “That conniving little
bitch!”

Even if it had been as bad as she says—which I’m dead fucking certain it wasn’t—making it sound like I’ve turned into a troll was a low blow. How did she know about Madison and her friend, and why did she have to remind everyone about the Cabo mess? I should’ve known she’d be trouble the minute she walked into our meeting. But per usual, I let my fucking ego take the lead and it got me in one hell of a mess.

Returning to the Google search, I scroll down to read other infuriating headlines that have me seeing dark red.

If that weren’t enough, the social media hits under my name are flooded with speculation from haters as well as fans losing their shit.

There are even
four
fucking
hashtags
trending that are specifically about
me
.

I let out a loud roar and swing my arm through the air, swiping my laptop off the island. It clatters onto the wooden floor with a sickening crack of metal and plastic parts that spew everywhere.

Social media has been both one of the best and worst things to influence my career. When the band first started playing small gigs like the one the night before, there was a virtual explosion on Facebook and Twitter of fans raving about us that got the attention of Rick and the studio. I feel like the world’s biggest asshole for even questioning it, but what if my chances for success passed with Danny’s disappearance? What if my career is finished?

There’s a sudden pounding on my door. Expecting Lorenzo, I don’t even bother looking through the peephole before swinging the door open.

“This is
bullshit!”
I snap.

I’m met with Gwen’s cold gaze.

In the light of day, wearing torn shorts and a cheap T-shirt, blond hair tied back in a tight ponytail, and no sexy heels, it’s easier to see her for what she is: a sleazy bitch.

A swell of anger burns through my head until it feels as if my ears are going to explode. “You have some
fucking
nerve! Do you know what you’ve
done?”

“Relax, Charlie. Your career isn’t over.” She barges past me to the kitchen, eyeing the broken laptop. Then she leans back against the island before her gaze swings back onto me. “At least not yet.”

My fists flex at my sides. If ever I were to break my rule of not hitting women, today would be the day. “What are you doing here? How
the fuck
did you get my address?”

“I’m a reporter. It’s my job to be resourceful.”

I shove my hands inside my jeans pockets, resisting the urge to wring her pretty little neck. “What. Do. You. Want? Are you here to bribe me? Do you think I’ll have sex with you if you somehow find a way to fix the mess you made, or are you here for money?” Blinding anger expands throughout my chest, making my hands shake and my throat tight. “You’re going to have to spell it out because I can’t think of any other reason why you’d be dumb enough to stand here and look me in the eye after you wrote that bullshit article!”

The way she squirms under my glare, I wonder if I have her intentions pegged. Sex with her wouldn’t be the end of the world, but the money thing could lead to bigger problems. I found that out the hard way two years ago when an officer from the NYPD let me off for driving under the influence in exchange for $10,000. He kept coming back for more money until my lawyer finally threatened to sue him for extortion.

“Spit it out, Gwen. I don’t have all fucking day for this. I have to find a way to save my reputation that you managed to piss down the toilet.”

Her eyes narrow into slits. “I
came
to tell you I’m sorry, but that was a mistake. You brought this all on yourself. Just because you’re
thee
Charlie Walker doesn’t mean you can treat women like shit. It was time someone taught you a lesson.”

I take two big steps until her back is against the wall and my body is pinning her in place. “You want me to believe you fucked me over because
you didn’t get laid?
What do you
really
want?”

When her eyes darken with rage, it wouldn’t come as a big surprise if she took a swing at me.

“Charlie?” Lorenzo asks from the open doorway. His eyes flicker between me and the broken computer before landing on Gwen. Spine straight, his nostrils flare. “What in the
hell
are you doing here?”

I push off Gwen to face him. “I was just giving
Miss Porter
a crash course on bribery one-oh-one.”

“You think you can mess with my boy?” Lorenzo asks her, eyebrows drawn down. “It was bad enough you made him sound like a washed up rockstar, but we both know the thing about the drugs and women was total bullshit. We could sue your ass for
libel
. Write anything like that again and I’ll have the best lawyer in Manhattan bury your skinny ass. I guarantee your Lois Lane gig isn’t going to pay for the legal fees you’ll burn through in court.”

“Your threats don’t scare me,” Gwen tells him. “My sources will back up every last word I printed.”

Madison must’ve blabbed. Big surprise. “Stay
the fuck
away from me,” I tell her.

“That won’t be a problem.” She starts for the door, pausing to glare at me over her shoulder. “Your career is over anyway. Did you notice how quickly your fans were ready to crucify you? They know you’re
shit
without Danny and the rest of the band.”

Once she’s out of sight, Lorenzo squeezes my shoulder. “Bro, she’s created a real cluster fuck. We better get this meeting with Rick over with so we can focus on damage control.”

As I’m throwing on a shirt and sandals, the negative media storm and Gwen’s final words push against my skull until I have a raging headache.
I’m fucking done for.