Page 48 of Perfect Satisfaction

“For yourself, for others? To clarify, have you thought about going into producing?” I flick a look in Carys’s direction. “I’m aware that’s my second question.”

She nods but doesn’t interrupt.

“I do some of that today, though only for a few very select individuals.”

“Can you elaborate?”

He cocks his head before giving me the honesty his fans have come to expect from him. “When you’re the artist, you have a certain vision for a song. As the producer, you evaluate that performance with a different ear. There can be some very difficult... conversations had in the studio.” His face breaks into a self-deprecating smile. “That very reason is why I do it for so few.”

I chuckle. “I think many of your fans can relate to that—going into business with family, that sort of thing.”

“I have some family I’m extraordinarily close with who have worked together for years. They make a hell of a team.”

“Do they mind you sharing their secret with the rest of the world?”

His face takes on an expression I can’t quite decipher. “Maybe one day.” Shaking it off, he smirks. “Carys is being lenient with you, Mr. Ronan. It must be because she’s in a coffee coma. What’s your next question?”

As I launch into it, I begin to relax imperceptibly.

Excluding the potential catastrophe with Angie, things are going fine.

I might have spoken too soon.

An hour later, Brendan’s just finished my last pre-approved question. He takes his boots off the table before ordering David out of the room.

My anticipation rises as I scent another predator emerging. “Pause the recording, Mr. Ronan,” Carys dictates quietly.

“Why?” I fire back belligerently.

“Because what we have to say to you is completely off the record. Then we’ll address your final question,” Brendan drawls.

I hesitate but then press the Pause button. “Go on.”

Carys pushes to her feet and leans forward. “If it wasn’t for the fact I don’t believe in punishing innocent people for your transgressions, you would not be sitting in that chair right now. What you had done to Smith is reprehensible.”

“Whoa! I didn’t do anything,” I protest.

“Then explain to me why you would sully Brendan Blake’s brand and insinuate such things about women like Ursula Moore without substantiated facts. You do realize I could—and I’m damn tempted to—help her press a libel suit against you. We both know it would stick.”

I press my lips together. She’s right. We both know it.

Brendan drawls, “What, nothing to ask?”

In my fury, I lash out, “Who is Ursula Moore to you, Mr. Blake?”

“Other than none of your damned business?”

“Yes.”

The older man stands before leaning in. His smile is just short of lethal. “She’s a part of my extended family. I’ve known her since before I ever sang a single note on stage.”

My mouth drops open. “You have?”

“That’s an extra question.” Brendan smirks. Instead of answering me, he taunts, “Maybe if you knew the kind of woman she is and didn’t try to make a buck off her persistently—and those she cares about—you’d know this instead of finding it out too late.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I surge to my feet to get right into his face.

“It means your whole world’s about to change. In no way are you prepared for it,” Brendan enunciates the words clearly.