“What?” Emily forced herself to look away from his body and focus on his face. “Yeah, I mean, I guess. Do you remember Madison’s dog, Blue?”
Mateo shrugged. Layla might’ve mentioned it. But back then, he was so sick of all the Madison-related drama, he’d ignored most of what she’d told him.
“Well, I’ve been taking care of him. I guess I grew attached. Heather too. Then from out of nowhere, Paul calls to say he wants him back.”
“Paul?” Mateo knew exactly who Paul was.
Emily frowned. “Legally, I know I have no right to keep him, but I’m not sure Paul does either. Have you ever met him, Paul, I mean?”
Mateo shook his head.
“Well, he’s pretty scary. Not in the way he looks. In that department, he’s beyond basic—all lumpy and beige, like a piece of cardboard left out in the rain. It’s more in his attitude. There’s just something vaguely threatening about him. Madison adored him, though. He’s the only one she really trusted. But I never liked being around him. And honestly—” She lowered her voice and leaned closer. “I’m still not convinced that whatever happened to Madison isn’t his fault.” Her gaze held steady on his. “But, please don’t tell anyone I said that. I don’t want to get involved. I prefer to steer clear of anything having to do with it at this point. I mean, look what happened to your girlfriend.”
Mateo was taken aback, wondering what she meant.
“Sorry, I mean ex-girlfriend, Layla. Anyway.” Emily shook her head and flushed in embarrassment. “Heather was so upset when I told her about my meeting with Paul that she decided to go in my place. That’s why she ran out of here without telling you. Hopefully she’ll succeed and we can keep Blue.” She ran a knowing gaze over Mateo. “God knows she’s a master at getting whatever she wants.”
The smile she flashed him saw Mateo mumbling a quick good-bye and retreating to Heather’s room. He dressed in a hurry and was about to leave, when he decided to jot a quick note. Not a breakup note—since they weren’t exactly a couple, there was no relationship to break. But it was time to put some distance between them. And though Mateo hated to admit it, it was a lot easier for him to do that when Heather wasn’t in front of him.
Heather was fun, and he’d meant what he said when he told her she was sexy as hell. But aside from their mutual lust, he didn’t feel any real and lasting connection to her. He’d thank her for all that she’d done on his behalf, and avoid making mention of possibly meeting again.
He’d just found a pen and was searching for paper, when a picture slid free from a binder and swooped onto her desk.
Speechless, Mateo desperately searched his mind for a way to explain the photo now lying before him.
It was a picture of Layla, standing in the middle of the Jewel dance floor, kissing Tommy.
Mateo instantly recognized it as the same picture someone had anonymously sent to his phone, which had prompted him and Layla to split.
So what was Heather doing with it—unless she was the one who sent it?
Did she manipulate their breakup just so she could move in on him?
He was trying to decide what to do when his phone chimed with an incoming text.
So sorry I had to run. Promise to make it up to you!
Attached was a photo of Heather’s promise.
Mateo glanced between his cell and the picture on the desk, wondering what the hell kind of mess he’d gotten himself into.
Instead of leaving a note, he slipped the picture back inside the binder and quietly let himself out.
ELEVENWORLD SPINS MADLY
There was a little less than half a tank of gas in the Jeep. Probably enough to make the drive, but Madison wouldn’t risk it. Driving in LA was less about actual distance, and more about flow of traffic. If she got caught in the dreaded stop-and-coast snarl, she’d burn through the fuel in no time.
She pulled up to the pump and killed the ignition. With a wallet full of cash and no credit cards, she had no choice but to pay inside.
The whole world was searching for her—her face was on every TV screen, every magazine cover—and yet, she was about to march straight into that mini-mart and take her place at the end of the line. Her entire future now hung on the hope that no one would see through her cover.
Her sunglasses were dark and oversize. The wig was of the highest quality, made from real hair. And while she’d always been thin, it was more in a lean and sinewy personal trainer kind of way, as opposed to the gaunt and bony look she had now. Weeks of poor nutrition and little to no exercise had left her looking haunted and stark. Although she was eager to return to a healthier, stronger version of herself, she had to admit it did lend a certain authenticity to her current disguise.
It’d been a while since she’d worn this particular getup. The frayed denim mini and black lace camisole were the opposite of what her fans would expect, which was why they had never once failed her.
Though thanks to her injury, the usual shoes she paired the outfit with had to be swapped for a flip-flop on one foot and a big, black medical boot on the other. At the last minute, she’d pulled on a long-sleeved army jacket, figuring it would help her feel less exposed, and also cover the telltale burn scar on the inside of her arm.
She had a lot to lose, and the game she was playing was risky at best. One false move and the entire thing would backfire, resulting in the sort of headlines that could end her career, or worse—wind
