“It’s pretty great, isn’t it?” He beamed with pride, though Layla was quick to note that the pride was reserved entirely for his students. It was a complete lack of hubris that proved she’d been right all along. He really was too good for her.
“Still, it’s not quite the same as a big book deal. And last I heard, a movie deal too?”
He looked genuinely impressed. But compared to what Mateo had built, she wasn’t sure she deserved his praise. Writing what was hyped to become the hottest new teen thriller was one thing, saving lives was another.
“Are you going to write the screenplay?”
“They agreed to let me take a stab at it,” she said. “But most likely they’ll fire me at some point and turn it over to someone with more experience.” Mateo looked as though he was about to disagree, but Layla stopped him and said, “That’s how it usually works, and I’m fine with it. I figure I’ll learn a lot in the process.”
“And school?” His deep brown gaze rested on hers.
“School is still happening. Not sure if I’ll go for a journalism degree, but I have time to decide.”
“So how is it in New York? Are you happy?”
Was she happy? She gazed at Mateo and thought of all she had lost the moment she decided to leave. Then she nodded and said, “Honestly, I love it.” Her enthusiasm for the city was undeniable. “But sometimes I miss it here. You know, mellow moments like this—hanging on the beach and watching you surf.”
Mateo laughed. “No, you don’t.”
She laughed too. She kind of did, but she recognized those feelings as more a nostalgia for a past she could never reclaim than a wish for her future. “Maybe not. But sometimes I do miss other things, you know?”
He held her gaze, letting the moment stretch and float. His voice wistful, he said, “How’s H.D.?”
Layla smiled. “Happy. Dating. Did you know he’s running the VIP room at the Vesper when he’s not painting? He seems to love it.”
“And your mom?”
Layla closed her eyes and sighed. “We met for coffee. She might come to New York for a visit. We’re taking it slowly. And Valentina?”
The grin that lit Mateo’s face was like the sun peeking out from the clouds on an overcast day. “Fully on the mend. She’ll be twenty-one any day now, just ask her.”
Layla sighed. There was so much to catch up on—so much he deserved to hear. After the scene at RED, she’d holed up at home with her dad for a really long time. Hadn’t spoken much to anyone until months had gone by. She’d needed the time to process and heal, but now she realized there might be a price to her silence. “Mateo . . . ,” she started.
He leaned toward her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. We’re good,” he told her, and in that moment she knew that they were. Mateo had always been a man of few words.
She watched as a beautiful girl made her way toward them. Her long black hair hung to her waist in soft waves, and she held tightly to a little girl’s hand. When she came to stand beside Mateo, Layla got the sense they were dating, and her first instinct was to instruct the girl on just how special Mateo was—that his heart was not to be messed with—that she’d better not even consider treating him the way Layla had.
She was just about to introduce herself when Mateo nodded and said, “Looks like you have a visitor.”
Layla glanced behind her to find Tommy.
She turned back to Mateo, wondering why she suddenly felt so guilty. She was happy. Mateo was happy. So it had all worked out for the best, hadn’t it?
Tommy slipped his arm around Layla’s waist and planted a light kiss on the side of her cheek.
“Are you Tommy Phillips?” The little girl gazed at him in awe.
Tommy grinned and bent down to her level.
“I am,” he said. “And you are?”
She hid her face in her hands. “Violet.” She grinned behind her fingers.
“You know I wrote a song about you?” Tommy said, sending her into a flurry of giggles.
As Tommy spoke with the little girl, Layla looked at Mateo. “We’re heading to New York tomorrow, but tonight we’re all going over to Aster’s new place to watch the Oscars. Do you guys want to join us?” She looked at Mateo’s friend, making sure to include her.
Mateo looked at Layla, then reached for the girl’s hand. “Thanks,” he said. “But Maria and I are just going to hang with the family tonight.”
Layla nodded, then took one last look at the beach. She loved New York City—the hectic pace was a good fit. Still, LA would always be home, and nothing could ever replace it.
She leaned forward and hugged Mateo to her. She had so many things to tell him, but none of them mattered. Not anymore.
She and Tommy were heading for the car when Mateo called out to her. “I forgot to ask—am I in the book?”
Layla glanced back with a grin. “Guess you’ll have to read it and find out.”
With Tommy’s hand in hers, she turned away from her past and headed into her future.
FIFTYTHE MAN WHO SOLD THE WORLD
Ira Redman sat behind his desk in his office at RED, looking over the list of potential A-list guests begging for the chance to either form their own narrative, or simply indulge their deepest voyeuristic fantasy.
Thanks to the tragedy, Ira’s clubs had never been hotter. But at the moment, none was hotter then RED.
He looked away from his papers and fiddled a bit with his phone, scrolling for Tommy’s text. Shame how everything had gone down just exactly as he’d planned, all except for that moment when Tommy was forced to reveal Ira was his dad.
Of course he hadn’t controlled the outcome. It had never been his to decide. Still, as a keen observer of people, he
