Falling Into Love with You (The Hate-Love Duet Book 2) Rowe, Lauren (read aloud TXT) 📖

judges, minus Savage, are seated at a large, round table, surrounded by the entire crew and staff, ready to start shooting. Savage’s ass should have been sitting in the empty seat next to mine a full fifteen minutes ago, but he’s nowhere to be found.

Nadine looks at me, her dark eyes fierce. “Where’s your boyfriend, Laila? He’s your responsibility, remember?”

“He’ll be here any minute . . .” I say reflexively, even though I haven’t heard from my ward all morning. Not since I left him in our home gym with Charlie. I’ve texted Savage, repeatedly, in the last few minutes, asking him where the heck he is, but he hasn’t answered. I look beyond the nearest camera, toward the backstage area, praying I’ll see Savage walking toward the set at the last minute, the way he always does in situations like this. But, no. There’s no sign of him.

“I’ll give him a quick call from my dressing room,” I say. “Be right back.”

Before anyone can reply, I bolt away and sprint down the hallway leading to my dressing room. How could Savage do this to me—today, of all days, when he knows I’m freaking out about my head being on the chopping block? Savage promised to help me today, and so far—

Oh, Jesus.

That fucking idiot.

Savage thought he was helping me this morning by inviting Charlie over, didn’t he? And yet, as I know full well, inviting Charlie to the house to interrogate him, and find out the truth, once and for all, about my supposed tour fling with Charlie, was actually something Savage needed to do for himself. Yes, I’m sure Savage told himself he invited Charlie for my benefit. But in reality, whether Savage realizes it or not, he was pretending to wear a suit of armor for me, in order to get something he desperately wanted for himself, all along.

I poke my head into Savage’s dressing room, and when he’s not there, I head to mine, figuring I’ll do what I said I’d do—give him a call. But when I swing open the door of my dressing room, there he is. Adrian Savage. Languidly lounging on the couch, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I bellow. “Everyone is waiting for you!”

“Oh, hey, Fitzy,” he says. He puts his arms behind his head. “Turns out you didn’t fuck Charlie during the tour! I wonder why you didn’t tell me that.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” I grit out through my teeth. “As your babysitter, I order you to head to the set now. I told you I’m on the chopping block today. How could this possibly help me, when the producers consider your misbehavior as mine?”

Savage stands and winks at me. “Don’t worry about today. I’ve got a good feeling we’ll deliver everything Nadine asked for, and more.”

So, that’s it. Savage has convinced himself he’s helping me out—being an asshole in order to inspire me to slap the shit out of him on-camera today—when in reality, he’s been dying to scratch this particular itch for months. That’s so Savage, it makes me want to punch his gorgeous face. “I’m not faking my anger toward you, if that’s what you think,” I say. “I’m not ‘playing along.’ I’m genuinely pissed and hurt about the stunt you pulled this morning.”

He looks shocked by my word choice. “Hurt?”

“We’ll talk about it later. Right now, I need you to act like a professional.”

“What do you mean you’re hurt? You mean you’re annoyed. Pissed off. Miffed. Frustrated. Maybe even embarrassed I caught you red-handed in a lie. But hurt?”

“Don’t tell me what I’m allowed to feel, Adrian. Trust me, I’ll be happy to explain my emotions to you, in full, later. Unfortunately, if I start explaining myself to you now, I won’t be able to stop. In fact, it’s fifty-fifty I’ll burst into tears.”

“Tears?” Savage blurts, looking horrified. “Why? Laila, what’s going on?”

“I can’t, Savage. Not with everyone waiting on us and my makeup done and a fucking buy-out clause hanging over me.” I point. “Just, please, get your clueless ass in there and don’t say another word about this morning until the cameras are off for the last time tonight.”

Savage stands, looking uncertain. “I was trying to help you by inviting Charlie to the house. Surely, you’ve figured that out.”

“Go.”

His brow furrowed, he walks past me, out of the room, and I follow him into the hallway. When he stops and inhales like he’s about to speak, I cut him off.

“No,” I say. “Don’t talk about it. Just go.”

“I don’t understand you,” Savage mutters. “No good deed goes unpunished.”

“Shut the fuck up and go.”

He takes a few steps, his body language reflecting confusion . . . and then stops in the hallway, turns around, and flashes me a huge smile. “You’re fucking with me. Ha! Okay. Good. This is good.”

“Go.”

He winks. “You got it, Fitzy. Bring it, baby. I can take it.”

As he turns around, his demeanor shifts. He’s lighter now. Unencumbered. Clearly, he’s convinced himself on a dime I couldn’t possibly be genuinely upset with him. But he’s wrong about that. Very, very wrong.

We reach the sound stage and Savage whoops out a big hello to the crowd, like he’s just waltzed onstage at Madison Square Garden.

“Thank God,” Nadine mutters. She claps her hands as Savage and I take our assigned seats at the round table. “Okay, folks, we’ve got two episodes to shoot today, back to back, as you know, and time is tight.” She glares at Savage and then me. “We’re already running late today, so let’s try to be as efficient as possible.”

I lean sharply into Mr. Rockstar Cliché next to me and command, “Apologize to everyone for being late.”

“Nah,” Savage says, leaning back into his chair and spreading his thighs. “I think I’ll let my babysitter do that for me. She’s the one being paid half my salary to make sure I’m on time.”

“Asshole,” I whisper, before saying loudly to