Laila purses her lips and shifts her position on the car seat. “I think it’s fine. The producers said not to tell anyone not directly related to the show, remember? But Kendrick is directly related to the show, since he’s going to be your mentor this season. Even if you didn’t trust him like a brother, I’m sure his contract contains a confidentiality clause, the same as ours.”
“Excellent point, counselor.”
“But don’t worry, if I’m technically wrong and you aren’t allowed to tell him, I promise on our fake love not to rat you out to the producers for spilling the beans.”
Warmth pools in my chest at the adorable look on her face. “Thanks. If you want to text your mom and sister and tell them the situation, I also promise on our fake love not to rat you out. I know how close you are with them.”
Laila’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “How do you know that?”
My chest tightens. “You talked about them during the tour.”
“Not to you. I’m sure I never told you anything about my mom and sister.”
I feel my cheeks turning red. “You told Ruby or Kendrick when I was sitting nearby, I think . . .”
She looks floored but says nothing.
My cheeks burning hot, I say, “You mentioned your mom a couple times during your hideously exploitative Sylvia interview. You know, the one where you used me as click-bait? So, maybe that’s what I’m remembering.”
Laila rolls her eyes.
“So, are you going to tell your family or not?” I ask, desperate to deflect.
“No. I think I’ll keep things to myself for a while. My sister is trustworthy, but give my mom some wine and a few of her best friends, and she’d likely babble the whole damned story, without meaning to do it.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, it’s probably best to keep things tight as a drum for now, and stick with only telling people directly involved with the show.”
“Agreed. Better safe than sorry.”
“So, are you gonna tell Aloha, then?” I ask.
“Yeah. She’s going to laugh her ass off.” Chuckling, she grabs her phone while I grab mine.
“Tell Aloha I say hi,” I say.
“The same to Kendrick. Oh, hey . . .” She pushes on my thigh, and her touch sends a blast of arousal streaking through me. “Ask Kendrick to send me the scoop on babysitting Adrian Savage, since keeping you from self-destructing is apparently my actual job now.”
“I can already tell you what he’s going to say: ‘You’re fucked. There’s no owner’s manual. Every day with every one of Savage’s many personalities is a new adventure.’”
She snorts. “More like a nude adventure.”
I can’t help laughing. “Are you complaining about that? Because if so, you’re the only one.”
“Oh, God. I’ve got to endure three months of this?” With that, she looks down and starts tapping away. I watch her for a moment, admiring her profile. And, finally, grab my phone and tap out a reply to Kendrick.
Me: Crisis averted. The meeting was IN-FUCKING-SANE, but, in the end, I’m still a judge, by the skin of my teeth, and you’re still my team’s mentor. But in a shocking twist, Laila is now the show’s first-ever fourth judge and my live-in fake girlfriend for the entire season.
Kendrick: WHAAAAT?!?!?!
Me: It’s reality TV, baby! LOL. They think a “romance storyline” will bring in record ratings. They’re getting us a cool pad with lots of amenities so we can do tons of behind the scenes social media stuff. You know, like a real couple.
Kendrick: I’m shook. I got a text from the producers a few minutes ago, telling me to pack an overnight bag, clear my schedule for the rest of today and tomorrow, and stay tuned for further info. What’s that about?
Me: They’re pulling together a last minute promo shoot with the full cast this afternoon. They want to have everything ready to go right after tomorrow’s press conference.
Kendrick: Where are you right now?
Me: In a car with Laila, being driven to some secret hideout for tonight.
Kendrick: I’m surprised you agreed to go along with this. But I’m SHOCKED she agreed.
Me: It took half my salary to get her to do it. And by that, I mean I’m literally paying her half my salary out of my own pocket.
Kendrick: WHAT?!?!?!?! WHY?!?!?!?!
Me: Long story. I’ll tell you in person. Trust me, I’m not happy about it. But, in the end, it’ll be worth it.
Kendrick: Yeah, regardless, you’re still getting paid a shit-ton of EASY money, dude. And the show will sell a lot of records for us.
Me: Exactly.
Kendrick: Yo! I just got a text from the show. They’re sending a car for me in an hour.
Me: Then I guess I’ll be seeing you soon.
Kendrick: Be nice to Laila in the meantime.
Me: Now, why would I do that, when she likes assholes so much?
Kendrick: LOL. Okay, Player. You do you.
And then, hopefully, Laila, I think. But, of course, I don’t say that to Kendrick. He’s been cool about me getting with her in Phoenix, but there’s no need for me to rub salt in my best friend’s wound.
“Did Kendrick have any good babysitting tips for me?” Laila asks, when I put my phone in my lap.
“I forgot to ask him. But, like I said, there’s no point. His reply would be, basically, ‘You’re fucked.’”
“You never know. Ask him, anyway. I’ve never babysat a full-grown man-child before, and I need all the help I can get.”
I tap out the message and read Kendrick’s immediate reply. “Kendrick says, ‘Babysitting Savage is all about giving him positive reinforcement when he’s a good boy, redirecting or gently scolding when he’s a bad boy (but only if you catch him in the act). And, most importantly,
