by Alyson Noel
She tilted her head, allowing her hair to sweep past her cheek as she inspected him from behind the veil of loose strands.
“What’d you think of the band?” He hooked a thumb toward the stage, desperate to engage her.
“From what little I heard, they were good.” She pushed her hair back behind her ears, highlighting those magnificent cheekbones, the gold and turquoise hoops, but none of it could compete with those deep purple/blue eyes that roamed his.
“You just get here?” Surely he would’ve noticed had she arrived earlier. Then again, when he wasn’t partying with his gets, he was dreaming of the day he’d be onstage. He could’ve easily missed her.
Her lips tugged at the sides, forming a sort of half smile that rendered her so unbearably beautiful he thought his heart would melt in his chest. She lifted her slim shoulders into a shrug, but otherwise stayed quiet. She also didn’t try to leave, so he had that on his side.
“Can I get you a drink? Someplace to sit?” Instantly chiding himself the moment the words were out for sounding so overly eager to please. Then again, Madison Brooks was standing directly before him! It was amazing he could even form a sentence in her magical presence.
“Yes to both,” she said, that simple statement enough to inspire a million fist pumps in Tommy’s head. “But not tonight. Maybe some other time when it’s not so crowded.”
“It’s usually pretty crowded.” Tommy’s face broke into a humble-brag grin. “We’ve got the best live acts in town. But I can reserve whatever table you want.”
“I know about your contest.”
Tommy gaped, unsure what to say.
“You’re the only one who hasn’t stalked me, either on Insta, Twitter, or even in person. That kind of thing usually brings out the worst in people, but not you.”
Tommy shrugged, tried to play it cool. “Didn’t seem like you’d respond to any of those things, so I focused on quantity instead.”
“Looks like it’s working.” Her gaze bounced around the club before returning to him. “Too bad Layla and Aster didn’t share your strategy. Those two are the worst. You can tell them I said so.”
“I’ll pass,” Tommy said, suddenly glad he’d never strategized with Layla. Because of it, he’d scored Madison.
Madison’s gaze softened, she lifted a hand to his cheek, and for one brief moment allowed her fingers to move over his skin as though discovering something, or maybe even remembering something, it was impossible to tell. If Madison Brooks wanted to wander into his club and fondle his cheek, it wasn’t his place to question her motives.
Though she had a reputation for being a big-time party girl, her gaze was sober and clear, yet there was something about the depth of her focus that made it seem like she was looking right through him to some other place.
“You’re not from here.” Her hand fell from his cheek.
Tommy shook his head. He was mesmerized. She was everything he’d expected—poised, pretty, not at all getable—and the exact opposite of what he assumed—open, authentic, deep.
“Let me guess—you came here to chase your dream of fortune and fame?” She cocked her head as her eyes glinted mischievously.
Tommy shot her a sheepish look and buried his hands deep into the front pockets of his jeans, suddenly reduced to yet another LA cliché.
She looked around the room. “I like this place. No one gives a shit that I’m here. You have no idea what a relief that is.”
“Oh, but I do.” Tommy grinned. “I’m here every day and no one ever gives a shit.”
She laughed in a way that made the joke seem funnier than it was, leaving Tommy to wonder if she was serious, or maybe just acting. The whole thing was confusing as hell. All Tommy knew for sure was that he’d never seen anything more beautiful than Madison Brooks enjoying a spontaneous laugh, whatever the reason. From the moment it happened, Tommy was hers to command.
The band returned and began a new set. The sudden burst of sound prompted Tommy to look toward the stage, only to return to Madison and discover she’d left.
He chased after her, which was not at all cool, but it wasn’t like that stopped him. “There’s still another set!” he called, but she was already gone, leaving Tommy to make a frantic grab for his cell and snap a photo of her retreating form. He needed evidence to prove it really had happened, as much for Ira as for himself.
When he could no longer see her, he touched the place on his cheek where her fingers had been, wishing he’d at least taken the time to shave, while simultaneously feeling bad for having misjudged her as yet another high-maintenance bitch who was way out of his league.
She might be out of his league, but after having met her and actually spoken to her, he had the sense there was more to Madison Brooks than he’d thought. He imagined them kicking back with a beer, riffing on their individual philosophies of life. From what he’d seen, it seemed entirely possible.
TWENTY-SIX
SHOW ME WHAT I’M LOOKING FOR
Layla hovered near her most important table of gets, making sure they had plenty of drinks, cell phone chargers, and whatever else they might need. She’d basically been reduced to a professional party fluffer for low-level celebrities, but a few of them had made Ira’s list, so there was that to consider.
One thing was sure—she could remove Madison Brooks from her list, since Madison wouldn’t be stopping by anytime soon. Still, despite the cop’s dire warnings, Madison had never gotten around to filing a complaint, which gave Layla free rein to go after her on her blog every chance she could get.
When she wasn’t bashing Madison, she was using her blog to promote Jewel, and it had made all the difference. She’d also contacted Hollywood’s top managers and publicists, letting them know their clients had a permanent spot on her guest list, and her dad had a friend who owned a trendy boutique in Santa Monica who was willing to offer some nice tie-in discounts. The kind of stuff she should’ve done from the start.
With the colored lights swirling overhead, and the music seeming to pulse against her skin, it was like being inside a kaleidoscope. Funny how quickly she’d gone from hating everything about her job to looking forward to the time she spent at the club. If nothing else, her nights at Jewel provided a nice respite from the outside world and the more stressful parts of her life, namely the growing tension between her and Mateo.
“The models are here!” Zion brandished a bottle of top-shelf vodka, grinning in a way that made it hard to tell if he was gloating or sharing. Though where he was concerned, it was one and the same. He modeled part-time (when he wasn’t at the club, or waiting tables), and he’d managed to cut a deal with his agency that brought in the hot, young demographic Ira was after. Good for Jewel, not necessarily good for her.
She smiled tightly and showed him the text that had just come through. Ryan Hawthorne was back at Night for Night. The constant updates from Ira’s assistants were simultaneously annoying and addicting.
“Bitch.” Zion scowled, as Layla quirked her brow.
“More like Queen Bitch,” she snapped, watching Zion make for his table of thirsty models.
She lingered near the edge of the sleek, white leather sofas that gleamed in alternating, vibrant jewel tones cast from the colored lights overhead, waiting for just the right moment to pounce. It was amazing how careless those silly starlets became after a few drinks. The cell phones they left lying around had given Layla access to all manner of juicy photos and texts she had no problem exploiting.
Her insider access had already paid off in a major surge in ad revenue. If things continued, she could easily pay for journalism school through her blog profits alone. Sure, the comments section was getting a bit vitriolic, but who cared? The numbers were the only thing that mattered, and the numbers never lied.
She ran her hands down the front of her tight black leather minidress—a recent investment paid for with blog money. She’d never intended to spend it on anything as banal as clothes, but the best way to gain the
confidence of her gets was to emulate them. At first it made her uncomfortable, and between the sexy new clothes and platinum-blond highlights, she felt like an imposter. But the new angled layers did give her hair an edgy feel that suited her, and weren’t the clothes really just a slightly girlier version of her usual look? Whatever. There was no denying it worked.
“I think my phone charger’s broken!” one of the starlets whined, acting like it was the worst thing that had ever happened, and maybe it was. Layla had never met a more entitled, spoiled group.
She tried to determine who out of the whole rotten crew had said it. Her gaze centered on Heather Rollins, a B-list TV star with a major fixation on all things Madison Brooks. She was glaring at Layla as though she was personally responsible. Which she was, but there was no way Heather could’ve known that Layla always switched off at least one of the chargers each night. It might have been overkill, but so far, it had worked. And as much as she disliked Heather (she was hands down the worst behaved of them all, which was really saying something), for whatever reason, tonight the dice had landed on her. Layla considered it a windfall.
She topped off Heather’s drink and fumbled with the switch she’d turned off earlier as though trying to fix it.
“How long is this going to take? We all want to dance.”
“I’ll have it working by the time you get back.”
Heather swung her long blond hair over her shoulder and glared. “It better be.” She watched her friends leave, then purposely unlocked the screen. Her pink glossy lips widening into a conniving grin as she slid the phone toward Layla.
Layla glanced between Heather and the phone.
Was Heather onto her?
“There’s some new pics you might like.” Heather’s brown eyes shot Layla a knowing look. “Also, be sure not to miss the latest text from my assistant.” Layla stared, dumbfounded, watching her go, as Heather glanced over her shoulder and said, “I help you—you help me. Feel free to send yourself whatever you need.”
She merged into the crowded dance floor, as Layla scrolled through the phone before it could return to lock mode. She counted so many photos of Madison it seemed kind of creepy. Especially since it was obvious Madison wasn’t aware of being photographed. Still, she moved through them quickly, zeroing in on a series of Madison and Ryan in a restaurant. One with them both at the table with a strange middle-aged man taking pictures in the background, one with Madison walking away as that same man approached Ryan, and the next with the man getting what looked like an autograph from Ryan while staring after Madison. They were weird, sure, though she wasn’t sure why Heather had bothered to keep them. Still, she sent them to herself anyway along with another one so incriminating, the blog post was practically writing itself.
The texts were next. The one from her assistant included a pic of Ryan and Aster.
So that’s how Aster did it.
She forwarded the pic to herself and left the phone charging. Apparently Heather loathed Madison as much as Layla did. And now, thanks to her, Layla’s blog was about to go viral.
TWENTY-SEVEN
BACK DOOR MAN
Ira sat behind his desk and pushed another cash-filled envelope toward her. “Seems like Ryan’s becoming a regular.” His brow lifted. “I’d say that deserves a reward, wouldn’t you?”
Aster stared hard at the envelope, feeling hollow, shaky, and more than a little nauseated.
Madison knew about her and Ryan.
Not that there was anything to know, or at least not exactly, but one thing was clear—Madison Brooks was onto her.
The way Madison had looked at her and purposely sought her out—there was no other way to explain it.
Funny how she’d gotten everything she’d wanted, only to realize she was in way over her head.
“Heard Madison dropped by too. Strange how she left just when Ryan arrived. You know anything about that?”
Aster frowned and examined her nails.
“Anyway, keep it up and you’ll have a real shot at winning this thing.”
She smiled faintly, eager for the meeting to end.
“Not quite the reaction I expected.”
She shook her head, hoping to clear it, but it proved an impossible task.
Would Madison go after her?
Get some kind of revenge for inadvertently stealing her guy?
The only thing she knew for sure was she needed to get out of her head and back in the room.
“I’m sorry. I guess I just spaced. . . .”
What was she thinking? No one spaces on Ira Redman!
“I mean, I don’t consider it done until it’s done,” Aster said, returning to where she’d thought they’d left off. “Celebrities are fickle. They can turn on a dime. And we still have many weeks left.”
Celebrities are fickle. They can turn on a dime.
She just hoped one celebrity in particular didn’t turn on her.
Ira regarded her for a long, uncomfortable moment. Luckily, Aster knew better than to fill the silence with needless chatter, though she was never quite sure exactly what Ira expected. Whatever it was, she hoped it wasn’t tied to the money he’d been giving her.
“Get some rest,” he finally said. “Have James walk you to your car.”
She nodded, pausing just shy of the door. “Ira—”
He glanced up from his phone.
“Thanks for the . . . recognition.” She waved the envelope before him. “I really do appreciate your recognizing my hard work.” She cringed at the redundancy, but she needed to make it clear that in her mind the money was a bonus for her efforts and nothing more was required of her.
He waved a hand in dismissal, and she made her way through the club, only to find Ryan waiting by the back door.
“I told you not to wait.” She frowned in annoyance. Yes, he was gorgeous and famous and his attention was flattering. And yeah, there was a good chance she was starting to like him, but that was never part of the plan. He was supposed to help her make the right connections, maybe even win the competition, but lately, she’d drifted wildly off course.
Aster wasn’t the kind of girl who went after another girl’s guy, and the idea of stealing Madison Brooks’s guy was completely unthinkable. Some girls might consider it a victory to score a famous guy away from an even more famous girl, but Aster didn’t see it that way. It made her feel guilty. And the way Madison had looked at her made her feel skanky.
“I wanted to see you to your car.” Ryan swiped a hand through his hair and flashed that irresistible grin.
“I have James for that.” She sounded prim and spoiled in a way that reminded her of Madison. “Besides, you were with me all night.” She stepped through the back door and pressed into the chilly night air, hugging her arms at her waist to keep from shivering.
“I wanted more.”
She leaned against her car door, letting it support her. “And Madison?” She looked right at him.
“I heard she left. I have no idea why.”
“You sure about that?” She wanted him to admit he’d gone too far, crossed a line. At the same time she hoped he’d convince her that all was well, that whatever she was worried about existed only in her own paranoid head.
He scratched at his jaw, watching a stream of cars driving up and down the boulevard. “I’m pretty sure Madison doesn’t give a shit what I do.”
Aster studied him closely. That was the last thing she’d expected. “So why are you still together?”
Ryan, frowned, glanced around the small, mostly vacant parking lot, then back at her. “It’s . . . complicated.”
“I don’t do complicated.” Her voice was drowsy, not just because of the late hour but also the confusing world she now occupied.
“I said Mad and I are complicated.” He moved closer, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. “There’s nothing complicated about you and me.” The smile that followed was impossible to resist. And when he leaned in to kiss her, she did nothin
g to stop him.
He’d kissed her before, but never like this. She could feel the depth of his reverence in the way he held her, the way his tongue slid against hers, the way his hands tenderly cupped her cheeks.
“Aster . . .” He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’ll handle Madison. But you have to know you’re driving me crazy. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
It was all the right words said in all the right ways, and when he reclaimed the kiss, his hands gripped her hips and crushed them hard against his. A low, rumbly sound came from deep in his throat as his fingers crawled along the inward curve of her waist, inching toward her breasts, which seemed to swell in his hands. His thumbs tracing delirious circles, his breath warm in her ear, he whispered, “Aster, come home with me, please.”
“No.” It took all her will, but she somehow managed to push him away. Flustered and breathless, she tapped the door handle, eager to escape, only it didn’t unlock. Damn! She shoved a hand in her bag and fumbled for her key fob, all too aware of the way her breasts ached for his touch, the way her hips longed to melt against his. She hadn’t meant to let things progress so quickly. But Ryan was so sexy, and sometimes being a virgin was a burden. Still, there was no way she was sleeping with him. Or at least not tonight.
“No?” He moved until she could feel him pressing hard at her back.
She took a steadying breath, located the key fob, and opened the door. “No.” She pulled away, angled her body onto the seat, where she could finally catch her breath. “I know it’s not a word you’re used to hearing, especially when it comes to asking girls to have sex with you.” Her eyes met his, might as well put it out there. “But I’m not going home with you. It’s been a long night, and I just want to go to bed. My bed. Alone.”