“Laila!”
I wrench my eyes off Mr. Perfect and discover Aloha walking toward me with our mutual agent, Daria Brown. When Aloha and I returned from our tour last year, she generously introduced me to Daria, her hot-shot agent, one of the best in the business—and then proceeded to convince Daria she’d be a fool not to take me on as a client, despite the fact that I’m still a relative newbie in this industry. But that’s Aloha for you. From day one of our friendship, when I was nothing but an opener with a debut album to promote, she’s never once hesitated to help me out and cheer me on and show me the ropes.
After hugging me in greeting, Daria says, “I’ve got some exciting news for you, Little Miss Laila!” Her smile widens with excitement, revealing white teeth that gleam against her beautiful dark skin. “I sealed the deal! You’re going to be a mentor on the eighteenth season of Sing Your Heart Out!”
I gasp in disbelief, slapping my palm to my cheek. “I don’t believe it!”
“Believe it, girl. It’s official.”
I launch myself at Daria and wrap her in a grateful hug. “This is a dream come true!”
When we disengage from our hug, Daria tells me the basics of the deal. I’ll be assigned to Aloha’s team of contestants, thankfully. That’s exciting. Also, per usual for mentors, I’ll only appear in one episode, but Daria assures me even one episode on a juggernaut like Sing Your Heart Out will introduce me to millions of new fans. I ask a few questions and find out my shooting schedule won’t be set for several months yet, since the show is currently shooting the season prior to mine. “The pay is basically nothing,” Daria explains. “Union scale. But I promise the exposure will be well worth it.”
“Oh, I don’t care what they pay me,” I say. “I’d pay them to get to be on the show.”
Daria flags down a roving server and the three of us grab flutes of champagne. With a loud whoop, we clink and drink and talk excitedly about the amazing news. But when the topic of conversation shifts, and Aloha and Daria fall into a conversation about a career decision for Aloha, I can’t resist sneaking a peek at Mr. Perfect across the party again.
This time, when I peep Savage, I’m shocked and thrilled to discover he’s not focused on his friends, like last time. This time, he’s looking straight at me. My heart stops as Savage’s dark eyes fix on mine, but I try to play it off like I’m totally unfazed and only vaguely interested, if at all. I know full well what I’m dealing with here—the kind of guy who can get any woman at this party. Actually, in the world. So, of course, on pure instinct, I’m instantly hell-bent on making him think he can’t get me.
To my surprise, Savage doesn’t look away, but continues brazenly staring at me, his dark eyes smoldering and his jaw set. Until . . . Oh, no! Shit! I waited too long to look away and let him do it first. Stupid Laila. Talk about a rookie mistake.
Granted, Savage’s buddy—the drummer in the band, I think?—put his arm around Savage’s shoulders, diverting his attention. So, I don’t think Savage looked away from me out of a lack of interest. But, still, it was a dumb error by me, all the same. With players like Adrian Savage, a girl should always be the first to look away. Always. She needs to be the one who couldn’t care less. Now that Savage knows he’s got me hooked on his line—which is exactly the opposite of what I should let him think—who knows if I’ll be able to attract his attention again tonight. Damn.
“Laila?”
I return to Aloha and Daria to find it’s Daria who’s spoken my name.
Daria continues, “When does Reed plan to release your second album?”
I’m flustered. Still reeling from the exciting news about the show. Feeling aroused by that sexy smolder Savage flashed me. Also, pissed as hell I’ve stumbled so stupidly in my effort to ensnare him.
“Oh. Uh.” I take a deep breath, collecting myself. “We’re not finished recording, but close. We only have a few more minor things to add before sending it off to mixing and mastering. At that point, we’ll set the schedule for release, promo, and a tour.”
Aloha smirks. “Who were you looking at, babe?”
“Huh? Me? Nobody. When?”
“Just now.” Aloha flashes me a side-eye. “Who was it, honey? I know you. Somebody’s got you all worked up.”
I blush. On tour, Aloha teased me all the time for being attracted to players and fuckboys. The ones who are the most fun to bring to their knees—but the least likely to stay there for long. “Yeah, I was being true to form. Having a staring contest with Savage from Fugitive Summer.”
Aloha giggles. “Oh, God, Laila. You’re so predictable. Didn’t you learn your lesson with Shawn?” She’s talking about my last boyfriend—a rookie basketball player for the Clippers I dated about six months ago. Shawn pursued me relentlessly, at first, and said all the right things . . . before turning out to be the world’s biggest d-o-g when he finally felt certain he had me.
Aloha looks at Daria. “Poor Laila has the worst taste in men. They’re always gorgeous. The hottest guys in the room. But nice boys need not apply.”
“Ugh. I can relate,” Daria says. She winks at me. “It’s a sickness, isn’t it? Pure insanity, in the true sense of the word, to think, over and over again, we can be the ones to tame them.”
“Exactly,”
