A question he got a lot, especially in the rare interviews he did. His father had built a music empire which he’d made no secret about wanting to leave in Keiran’s hands, but he hadn’t wanted that.

“I do work with him in some capacity. I produce stuff for some of his clients, but working at KKE just wasn’t for me. I just wanted to do my own thing. Make my own path. It’s funny, but not really, that my dad keeps insisting about me being his legacy when it’s no secret Maxi wants that. She went to school for Music Management, and he just ignored all that, kept insisting he wanted his son at his side. Devon couldn’t give a shit about music, so that was a dead end. My dad has this old-school ‘my son is my legacy’ thinking.”

“That’s bullshit,” Cherisse said.

“Totally. He uses the fact that Maxi did the degree, then stayed up there, got married, had a kid, and didn’t come back here to justify why he didn’t insist she come work for him. Talk about an asshole. I’d be miserable there.”

He had his own style of doing things, worked well with Dale because they wanted the same things, had the same vision, but under his father, he’d have a hard time. Maxi always said she could change all that if she’d just get a foot into KKE, but Keiran didn’t have the patience.

His father was already driving him to contemplating murder with this Sean Daley thing. Keiran felt a pang of guilt at that, working with that piece of shit even though the man had talent oozing out of his pores. He couldn’t get rid of Sean soon enough.

His phone beeped, and like a summons from the devil himself, a message from Sean—who he’d saved as That Mofo—popped up: need to reschedule next session. Can’t do this week, will be off island.

This fucking guy. Sean had confirmed his availability, and now this. Prolonging this process was not ideal. He was likely to strangle Sean before this was over.

“Everything okay?”

He shoved his phone into the pocket of his sweats and nodded. “Yup. You hungry? A successful session calls for some food. My treat.”

She gave him one last piercing look then patted her stomach, sustenance clearly more important than her curiosity about that message. Good. Sean Daley wasn’t a topic he wanted to raise. He was, in fact, doing her a favor by not ruining her day. “Food sounds like heaven right now.”

“Right. So, let’s head up, so I can get started on cooking.”

“You’re cooking?”

“I’ll have you know, Ms. Gooding, my hands are good for things other than making music.”

She raised her brow at his choice of words, but neither of them touched the obvious innuendo there. Instead, he focused on her skepticism over his cooking skills. Granted, he didn’t have a vast repertoire of fancy dishes he could make, but he was thrilled to introduce her to his fish broth masterpiece. He’d had some kingfish thawing out this morning. It was time to bubble a pot.