Falling out of Hate with You: Hate - Love Duet Book One Rowe, Lauren (black books to read TXT) 📖

“Oh no,” I whisper. “You figured me out. Did Charlie tell you? Shoot. I made him swear he wouldn’t tell a soul about us.” I lean forward. “Just like I made you promise the same thing after I fucked you.”

Savage’s nostrils flare. “Cut the bullshit, Laila. Did you fuck Charlie or not? I need to know.”

“It’s none of your business. But, yes.”

“Are you messing with me or telling me the truth?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I deserve to know, after everything you’ve put me through.”

“After what I’ve put you through? Ha! Why do you even care who I’ve been with, when there’s an endless supply of groupies, all of them dying to ‘get their hands on you’?”

Savage’s dark eyes are a scorching pyre of jealousy and fury. “Stop it. What happened the night of the hot tub was off the charts for both of us, and you know it. Let’s press the restart button and give this a try. Laila, I can’t get that night off my mind.”

“Well, that’s your misfortune, then. I’ve certainly been able to get it off mine, thanks, in part, to the masterful way Charlie fucked me, every single night of the tour after Phoenix . . . and continues doing to this day.”

It’s all a lie, of course, even besides the Charlie part. In truth, I’ve thought about that mind-blowing night with Savage in Phoenix on a running loop. Every single day since it happened. And even more so every night, when I’m all alone and lonely in bed. Hell, I’ve even started dreaming about Savage! But there’s no way I’d admit that to him now. If he’s feeling tortured and confused by my supposed immunity to his charms, then good. Serves him right.

Savage opens his mouth to reply, looking absolutely furious, just as the PA appears. “Here we go,” she says brightly. She presses on her headphones, briefly, before nodding and holding up three fingers. 3-2-1.

An announcer bellows, “Please welcome Savage from Fugitive Summer . . . and Laila Fitzgerald!”

The audience applauds. The PA tells us to go. And Savage and I begin striding onstage, shoulder to shoulder, our eyes locked and our jaws clenched, with an energy I’d caption “homicidal lust” coursing between us.

Nineteen

Laila

I toss my hair behind my shoulder, like I’m getting ready to throw down in a wrestling ring, and belt out the last powerful note of my latest single—the third one off my sophomore album that’s been taking off like a rocket. And when my song ends, Sylvia Lennox, the beloved host of this long-running daytime talk show, leaps up and applauds with her studio audience, before beckoning me to join her in a cozy sitting area.

As I walk toward my glamorous host, I wave and smile at the boisterous crowd, even though I feel like collapsing onto the floor in relief. I’ve felt extreme nerves during other high-stakes performances in my young career, especially lately, but nothing compares to this. I couldn’t sleep last night, worrying I’d somehow screw this up. But, thank God, I think I just nailed it.

“That was fantastic!” Sylvia shouts above the din, before giving me a warm hug. “I love that song, Laila! So catchy!”

“Thank you so much, Sylvia.”

We take our seats and make brief small talk about the album, and then about my weird hobby of making pottery on a wheel. Or, more accurately, trying to make pottery on a wheel. Until, finally, Sylvia crosses her legs, leans forward, and says “So, let’s talk about your upcoming appearance on Sing Your Heart Out.” She turns to her audience. “Have y’all heard Laila is going to be Aloha’s mentor this season?” The audience claps, confirming, yes, they’ve heard the exciting news, before Sylvia returns to me. “Has shooting on the show started yet?”

“Not yet. Very soon.”

“I’ve heard Aloha helped you get the job. True?”

“True.” I tell the story, briefly, and sing Aloha’s praises, and the audience claps.

“Who do you think will replace Hugh at the judges’ table?” Sylvia asks. “It’s a hot topic. They haven’t made an announcement yet.”

“I have no idea.” Unfortunately, it’s the truth. All I know is, it’s not going to be me. I add, “I’m as excited as everyone else to find out who they pick.”

Sylvia flashes me a suspicious side-eye. “Is it you, by any chance, Miss Laila, and you’re being remarkably coy with me?”

I giggle. “No. And by the way, I’m perfectly happy being a mentor.”

It’s true, even though I’m slightly bummed the producers didn’t bite. Apparently, the producers said they’re not interested in a relative newbie like me as a judge. I’m way too green, they said. Plus, as predicted, they also claimed their “tried and true formula” is having two men and a woman at the judges’ table. So, that was that.

Daria thinks there’s still a slim possibility she could convince them to reconsider their position, if I do exceptionally well today on Sylvia. Or, if not, she said a particularly buzz-worthy interview today will almost certainly open other doors for me. So, either way, she encouraged me, strongly, to say or do something to make this interview go viral. So, that’s what I plan to do.

“Well, if you ask me,” Sylvia says, “they should give you Hugh’s spot. I think it’s high time they had two women at the judges’ table. Don’t you?”

The audience claps energetically.

I chuckle. “Did my mother pay you to say that, Sylvia?” Everyone giggles and claps again. “In all honesty,” I say on an exhale, “I’m thrilled to be on the show, in any capacity. Growing up, my mom, sister, and I had two shows we watched religiously. Yours and Sing Your Heart Out. So, I’m a lucky girl to have two of my biggest dreams come true.”

“Aw, you’re so sweet, Laila. Isn’t she sweet?” The audience confirms my sweetness. “I hope you don’t mind me saying your darling personality kind of surprises me.”

I feign offense, making Sylvia chuckle.

“It’s a compliment,” Sylvia insists.