Falling out of Hate with You: Hate - Love Duet Book One

by Rowe, Lauren

  Eli runs his palm down his face. “Aw, Savage. You’re such a fucking . . . softie.”

  I press my lips together. That’s not how I thought Eli was going to end that sentence. I was expecting him to say idiot. Or maybe asshole. And I can’t deny his word choice has moved me.

  “I’m sorry I messed up last night,” I murmur. “I considered last night a last hurrah before I turn into a pumpkin, you know? I truly didn’t think they’d care if I added to my dick pic collection.”

  “You were already a pumpkin. That’s my whole point. The contract was effective the minute you signed it. And the infuriating part is that I told you that.”

  “The good news is that, besides that one naked swan dive, I truly was a Boy Scout last night. A popular Instagram model practically begged me to take her upstairs to my room, but I said no.” I gasp. “Hey, let’s call the producers and tell them about that!”

  “They already know, dumbass. Everyone already knows because that highly popular Instagrammer posted a video about her interaction with you this morning, which is now making the rounds on the internet, right alongside screenshots and videos of your gigantic dong, mid-flight.”

  Twenty-One

  Savage

  I furrow my brow at my manager. “What do you mean the Instagrammer made a video about her interaction with me last night? There was nothing to say because I turned her down.”

  “That’s exactly what she said,” Eli replies. “It’s the supposed reason you turned her down that’s making her video take off. And thank God it is, because that video is the only reason I’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell of fixing this mess for you.”

  I blink in confusion. “What’d the Instagrammer say in her video?”

  “Tell me your version of your conversation with her, first. Word for word, if you can.”

  I release a puff of scornful air. “I can’t remember what I said to her, word for word. I was drunk. Plus, the party was noisy, so I couldn’t hear everything she said.”

  Eli rolls his eyes. “Okay, I’ll get you started. She approached you at the party and said she’s a huge fan. Sound about right?”

  “Yeah. But that’s what always happens. And then, she suggested we head upstairs to my hotel room for sex. Or to fuck. Something like that. And, like I said, I turned her down.”

  “But what reason did you give for turning her down?”

  I pause to recollect. “Honestly, I wasn’t interested in her. But I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. So, I think I said something like, ‘I can’t because of the morality clause in my contract with the show.’ Now, show me her video. I’m freaking out.”

  Eli hands me his phone, all cued up. “Fair warning, this is going to piss you off. But keep in mind this video is your saving grace.”

  My stomach churning, I look down at the screen in my palm, and there she is. The Instagrammer from Kai’s birthday party last night. Long, sandy hair, blue eyes, full lips. She’s gorgeous, obviously. But not my type. Apparently, besides being gorgeous, she’s also a greedy little bitch who didn’t hesitate to spew lies about me for her fifteen minutes of fame. So, good on me for sensing her character and immediately turning her down.

  With a deep sigh of resignation, I press play on the video and the frozen woman on my screen instantly springs to life. “Hey, guys!” she says brightly. “You won’t believe what happened!” And off she goes, telling the story of last night’s “star-studded” birthday party. First off, she admits she basically sneaked in, thanks to a friend of a friend with a connection. Next, she talks about the famous people she saw. And, finally, she gets to the part I’ve been waiting for—the part about me. “He’s even hotter in person, guys,” she gushes. “He’s godlike in person.”

  “I like her,” I declare, making Eli chuckle.

  “And when I told him I’m a model,” she says, “Savage goes, ‘Well, I’m not surprised about that. You’re stunning. Actually, you know who you remind of . . .?’” She pauses for effect, her blue eyes dancing, before finishing with, “‘Laila.’”

  “Oh, Jesus,” I mumble.

  “Pause it,” Eli commands. And when I comply, he asks, “Did you say that?”

  “I . . . I don’t know,” I stammer. “Would it be bad if I did?”

  “There’s no good or bad answer here. Only the truth.”

  I shrug. “I guess it’s possible. Like I said, I was drunk. And she definitely looks a bit like Laila.”

  “She’s her doppelganger.”

  “No way. Laila is way hotter.” Eli furrows his brow with surprise, so I quickly bark out, “Can I press play again, please?”

  “Sure.”

  My heart pounding, I cue the video. And once again, the woman springs to life.

  “So, after some flirting,” she says, “I decided to make my move. I suggested we head to Savage’s room upstairs—”

  “See?” I mutter.

  “So he could make my fantasies come true. And guess what Savage said to me in reply to that? You won’t believe it. Brace yourselves. He said, ‘Sorry, I can’t . . . because of . . . Laila.’”

  “Bullshit!” I blurt.

  The woman clutches her heart, just above her ample breasts. “I was like, ‘I knew it!’ And Savage just laughed and winked.”

  “I did not. She’s a liar.”

  The Instagrammer continues, “And then, I said, ‘You’re the sweetest boyfriend, ever.’”

  “Fuck!”

  “And he goes, ‘I’m not being sweet. I made a promise to her, and I’m going to keep it.’”

  “What the fuck?” I yell. I pause the video and practically hurl the phone at Eli. “I said none of that! Zippo. Zero! Either she’s lying, or she misheard me. I think she said something like, ‘Thanks for being so sweet about this.’ And I said, ‘I’m not being sweet. I made a promise.’ But I was talking about my contract! The morality clause! I didn’t say I couldn’t fuck her because of Laila. Why would I say that? I’d never say that! Laila never even crosses my mind!”

  Eli chuckles. “Calm down, Player. I know she’s full of shit. And so do the producers. If you ask me, the most logical explanation is that you said she looks like Laila, which she does, and then, when you said the next thing, she made the mental leap that you’d said the word ‘Laila’ again. My bet? You told her you needed to ‘lay low’ because of your contract.”

  Oh, thank God. I feel like he’s just thrown me a lifeline. “Yes!” I shout. “That’s exactly what I said! Lay low! Not Laila! That’s obviously what I said!”

  “You use that phrase a lot.”

  “I do! I totally do!” I exhale with relief. “I remember everything now. I said I had to ‘lay low’ because of the show. And when she said thanks for being sweet, I said, ‘I’m not being sweet, I made a promise to the show.’ Boom.” Oh, God, I’m so relieved. I sit quietly for a beat, rubbing my forehead, feeling like I’ve dodged a bullet. Until, suddenly, a horrifying thought strikes me—one that makes my blood turn cold. “Oh, fuck. Laila can’t see this video, Eli! Hand me my phone. I’ve got to post a rebuttal video, explaining what I really said, so Laila doesn’t see this bullshit and think—"

  “Like hell you will. That video, and the fact that the whole world believes every word of it, is the only thing keeping your job on life support right now.”

  “How?”

  Eli gestures to the phone in my hand. “Watch the rest.”

  With a loud groan, I press play again, and this time, the woman says, “So, guys, I can confidently report the exclusive scoop that Savage and Laila Fitzgerald are, indeed, secretly together, despite their denials.”

  “I’ve never denied anything,” I mutter.

  She continues, “Am I disappointed about Savage being off the market? Absolutely. But, at least, I’m thrilled to know he’s so happy and devoted to his girlfriend.” She leans into the camera. “Now, don’t you dare break our Savage’s heart, Laila. Or I’m coming for you, bitch.” She snarls comically and the video ends.<
br />
  I hand Eli his phone, my heart thudding in my ears. “I don’t see how this isn’t a horrific disaster for me. The thought of Laila seeing that and thinking I actually said any of that stuff makes me want to throw myself off a bridge.”

  Eli laughs. “Forget Laila’s reaction. That’s a casualty of war. All that matters is what the world thinks. And thanks to that, the producers have given me until five today to pull a rabbit out of my hat.”

  “What rabbit? Stop speaking in code and tell me what’s going on.”

  Eli grins. “A rabbit called Laila. If we can convince her to be your team’s mentor this season, rather than Aloha’s—and for three episodes, rather than one, and if—”

  “Kendrick’s going to be my mentor this season!”

  “Not if we can get Laila.”

  “She won’t do it. She hates me. Even for a three-episode stint, she’d never agree to it.”

  “You didn’t let me finish. There’s something else she’d have to do besides being your mentor for three episodes.” He smiles. “She’d also have to pretend to be your girlfriend.”

  My jaw hangs open. My manager has rendered me speechless.

  Eli smiles. “Just like the Instagrammer said.”

  “That’s . . . the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Maybe so,” Eli says with a shrug. “But it’s the only way for you to stay on the show. The producers don’t believe the Instagrammer’s version of the story, any more than I do. But guess who does believe her? Your fans and Laila’s. You should see the comments online. People are losing their minds. They’re obsessed. And that’s got the producers’ attention. After the debacle with Hugh, they’re desperate to lock in some huge ratings this season. And they think this storyline—a romance between you and Laila, unfolding before the audience’s eyes for three whole weeks—will be a ratings bonanza.”

  My mind is racing. “Did they tell Laila about this idea yet?”

  Eli nods. “They called her this morning. I’m told her answer was, ‘Hell to the fucking no.’”

  I throw up my hands in exasperation. “Then why are we even talking about this?”

  “Because it’s your only option, Savage! Because I have to believe Laila’s agent is smart enough to tell Laila that her knee-jerk reaction, if, indeed, that’s truly what it was, was stupid. I have to believe Daria, Laila’s very smart agent, has only conveyed her client’s alleged knee-jerk reaction, if that’s what it was, as a negotiation tactic. Daria is one of the best in the business. She knows this is a massive opportunity for Laila—the kind of exposure that will make her a household name. I have full faith Daria will eventually help us talk some sense into Laila.”

  “Good luck with that. Nobody can talk sense into Laila Fitzgerald.”

  “Well, we have to do it. And by five o’clock today.”

  “So, you’re saying you think Laila’s agent only said Laila flatly refused, to get her more money?”

  “Exactly. She’s playing hardball.”

  “Okay, then. Cool. Call the producers and tell them to sweeten the pot. What does that have to do with me?”

  Eli shakes his head. “I already tried. They were adamant they won’t negotiate against themselves. It’s our job to get Laila to agree to the deal—or, at least, to come to the table to negotiate more money—by five o’clock today. The producers didn’t say this, but I have to believe, if Laila says she’s open to being your mentor and fake girlfriend for the right price, they won’t let this ratings magnet slip through their fingers. They know this would be a win-win-win.”

  “The problem still remains, Eli. I can’t convince Laila Fitzgerald to do a damned thing. Trust me on that.”

  “Well, you’ve got four million reasons to try. If you want to keep your job—and the fat salary that comes with it—then you’d better do or say whatever it takes to make her say yes.”

  I scoff. “If I knew how to make Laila say yes, trust me, I would have done it a long time ago. Plus, this isn’t going to work, regardless. Now that Laila knows I need her to keep my job, she’ll say no, just to spite me.”

  “Do you think I’m stupid?” He leans back in his armchair. “Laila doesn’t know you need her. I made sure the producers won’t tell her that.”

  I flap my lips together. “Fine. I’ll do my best. But I’ll need to call Laila from your phone, because the little psychopath blocked my number during the tour.”

  Eli scoffs. “You’re not gonna call Laila, dumbass. You’re gonna do this in person.”

  “What?”

  He stands. “Come on. Get showered and dressed, Player, while I call room service for some coffee and breakfast for you. And make sure you put on some cologne and make yourself look extra irresistible. Your future fake girlfriend and her agent are expecting us at noon.”

  Twenty-Two

  Laila

  “Look, I get that you think Savage is an arrogant jerk,” my agent, Daria, says, although she doesn’t know the half of it. “But I think you should put your emotions aside and think about this as a business decision, Laila. I really think this could be a game changer for you.”

  I’m sitting across from Daria in her Beverly Hills office. I’m in jeans and a T-shirt. She’s dressed like the goddess she is in a Gucci pantsuit and large gold hoops. And, honestly, I don’t know why I’m here, seeing as how we’ve already talked about this on the phone and I’ve told her the offer is a non-starter. If it were anyone else, I would have refused to race down here to talk about the producers’ crazy offer, yet again, only this time in person. But I suppose, at the end of the day, I respect my agent’s opinion far too much to ignore an “urgent” request from her.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “Like I said on the phone, I couldn’t pull off a fake romance, even if I wanted to. My dislike of Savage runs too deep. After one episode, let alone three, the whole world would know I’m a liar.”

  “Aw, I have faith in your performance skills,” Daria coaxes. “All you’d have to do is focus on nothing but Savage’s physical beauty, and ignore everything else about him, and, voila, you’d convince yourself he’s the great love of your life.” She leans forward across her sleek desk. “In other words, I’m telling you to think like a man.”

  We both giggle at the joke.

  Daria leans back in her high-back chair again, steepling her fingers. “Do you think you’d be able to fall in ‘fake love’ with Savage for the right price?”

  I shake my head. “You know they reserve the real money in their budget for the judges. They’d never offer me anything even close to what I’d need to feel tempted.”

  Daria lifts an eyebrow. “Ah, so you admit there is a number, at least, theoretically, that could make you say yes.”

  “Hypothetically, sure. But whatever that number is—and, honestly, I don’t know what it would be—the show would never offer it to me, so it’s a moot point.”

  Daria looks like the gears in her head are turning. “I’m not so sure about that. When I spoke to the executive producer, Nadine, this morning, she played it cool, but I could tell she was dying to make this happen. Thanks to that video of you and Savage arguing on the sidewalk in New York, and your interview on Sylvia, and, the meme from the awards show, and now, this Instagrammer’s viral video, I don’t think it’s an understatement to say you and Savage are a powerhouse. A shoo-in to grab massive ratings. Surely, Nadine knows that.”

  None of this is new information. Daria said all of this, essentially, during our conversation on the phone.

  When I shrug and say nothing, simply because I don’t believe for a minute the show would pay me what it would take, Daria puts her elbows onto her desk and smiles.

  “What do you make of that Instagram video?” she asks. “Do you think she was telling the truth about what Savage said?”

  I snort. “Heck no. If a beautiful woman suggested going upstairs, I guarantee I didn’t even cross Savage’s mind. Obviously, that Instagrammer came up with a story she knew would make he
r video go viral.”

  Daria looks unconvinced. “Well, for God’s sake, don’t let on you don’t believe the video when you see Savage. Let him think you believe every single word.”

  “I don’t plan to see him. Even when I’m on-set in a few weeks, I’m going to avoid him like the plague.”

  Daria smirks. “Actually, you’ll be seeing Savage sooner than you think.” She looks at her watch. “He was supposed to be here five minutes ago, actually.”

  “Daria!”

  She shrugs. “His agent called and begged me for a meeting and I felt it would be in your best interests to hear him out.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t want to see him.”

  “Come on. At the very least, won’t it be fun to torture him by pretending you believe every word that woman said? That has to be his worst nightmare.”

  I twist my mouth. She’s got a point. “Still,” I say, “the fun in that wouldn’t outweigh the discomfort I’d feel at seeing him.”

  “Why do you hate him so much?” Daria narrows her eyes. “You two really did get together, didn’t you? You fell for him, and he cheated on you?”

  “Oh, God, no. Daria, listen. I sincerely appreciate you looking out for me and fighting so hard for my career, but there’s no point in having this meeting with Savage and his agent. The show won’t offer me enough to tempt me. And you said yourself three episodes as a mentor won’t make that much more of an impact than one.”

  “You’re misconstruing what I said.”