I shake my head. “I could tell my sister, but my mom is always on me about my supposedly horrible taste in men. I’m hoping our ‘blissful relationship’ will give me a breather from constantly hearing about how I need to stop falling for jerks and find myself someone ‘nice’ who ‘treats me right.’”
“Your supposedly horrible taste in men?” Savage scoffs. “If Malik is any indication, there’s no ‘supposedly’ about it, Fitzy.”
I bite back a smile. Is it wrong of me to continue letting Savage think I had an actual relationship with Malik—and even more so that said relationship lasted well beyond Malik’s horrible behavior in New York? If so, I don’t want to be right. Not when Savage banged that flirty waitress in New York the very same night I kicked Malik to the curb.
“Are you sure your mom wouldn’t think I’m further evidence of your horrible taste in men?” Savage asks, his eyebrow raised.
“Well, yes, normally you would be. You’re exactly my type—which isn’t a compliment. But after all that amazing stuff you said about me during the press conference, my mother and sister are convinced I’ve finally found the perfect man who totally gets the real me. So, if you don’t mind, I’d be grateful for you to play along whenever I talk to my family, in exchange for me playing along when you talk to yours.”
“Deal. Although I should mention, I sing Mimi to sleep on FaceTime, pretty much every night when I’m not on tour.”
“Aw, that’s so sweet. Don’t worry. I’d love to say hi to your grandma, every single night.”
Savage shoots me a smolder that flash-melts my panties. “Thank you.”
“You’re paying me two million bucks. It’s the least I can do.”
Savage grabs my hand. “Let’s not talk about the money anymore, okay? I’m over it. Your agent was right—this is an equal partnership. I was an asshole to whine about it.”
I look into his dark eyes, feeling my heart beating like a hummingbird’s. “No, you weren’t. It was a huge and unexpected pay cut for you. It was only natural for you to feel upset about it. I tell you what. To help you recoup some of the money you’re paying to me, why don’t you leave my name in ‘Hate Sex High’ and make it your leadoff single? The song is amazing, and with all the publicity swirling around us, I bet that sexy little Easter egg buried in the mix will give the song even more buzz. It might even become your biggest hit yet.”
Savage looks excited. “Are you sure you don’t mind your name being in there?”
“Ha! You admit you sang my name!”
“No, I’m merely adopting your crazy megalomaniacal version of reality for the purposes of my question.”
He’s so full of it. Any sane human would hear my name at the end of those “la la” parts, as clear as a bell. But there’s no point in arguing with him. He’ll obviously never concede the point. “Yes, I’m sure,” I say. “After what you said about me at the press conference, everyone thinks you’re desperately in love with me. So, in that case, I’m now thinking it’d be kind of cool for people to think I’m not only the great love of your life, I’m also the freak in the sheets you made come three times. Plus, like I said, the smartest move in terms of marketing is making that song the leadoff single, with my name all over it.”
He snickers. “Reed already picked that song as the first single. He was furious when I told him I needed to rerecord the ‘la la’ lines to take out the part some insane megalomaniac had interpreted as her name.”
“You already told Reed about rerecording those parts? That was fast.”
Savage makes a face like it’s not a big deal. “You said you wanted it out and the album is set to drop soon, so . . .”
“I’m sorry if I freaked everyone out about changing it. Now that I’ve had a minute to get used to the idea, I don’t mind the world knowing the song is about me. In fact, I kind of like the idea of them knowing.”
“Yeah, and I’m sure it thrills you to no end that I’m now going to look like as big a liar as you.”
“Huh?”
“At the press conference, I said there are no songs on the album about you. And now, suddenly, I’m going to release an album that some people might interpret as containing the name Laila?”
I snort. “You’re never going to admit you’re singing Laila in those parts, are you?”
“I’m simply conceding there are probably lots more nutjobs in this world than you who’ll wrongly hear your name in those same parts, the way you did.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, it serves you right to look like a liar, seeing as how you are one, for denying you’re singing ‘Laila.’ Plus, it’s only fair, since I had to admit I was a liar on Sylvia. But don’t worry, people will think you only lied during the press conference to protect my privacy, which only makes you an even more swoonworthy boyfriend.”
“More swoonworthy?” he says. “You admit I was already swoonworthy?”
“I admit nothing. I’m merely conceding there are probably plenty more nutjobs in this world than you who’d think so.”
Savage belly laughs. “Touché, Fitzy. Too-fucking-shay.”
Butterflies.
They’ve just now whooshed into my belly at the sound of his laughter.
With a little wink to me, Savage returns to his phone, so I look out the car window for a while, biting back a huge smile. After a few minutes of staring at the coastline, I realize our car has headed far enough north that we must be heading into Malibu. “Do you think we’re going to be staying in Malibu?”
Savage looks up from his phone and looks around for a beat. “It sure looks like we’re headed there.”
“I hope that’s where we’ll be living,” I say. “I love Malibu.”
“Me, too. I love the ocean.”
“So do I. I wish I could wake up every day of my life and see it, first thing.”
“You can. By the end of the season, you’ll have two million bucks in your bank account. Buy yourself a beachfront condo, if that’s your pleasure.”
I press my lips together. That’s not going to happen, for several reasons. After taxes and commissions, and a few important things I want to do for my family, there won’t be much left of that two million bucks. Certainly, not enough to upgrade my small condo in the Valley to something along the coast. Beachfront property isn’t cheap. Plus, Savage is assuming I’ll make it to the end of the season on the show. When in reality, that’s not a certainty.
Unfortunately, when Daria and I finally got my contract from the show yesterday, it contained a buy-out clause that would allow the show to terminate me at any time for a payment of a hundred grand. Daria said the clause was non-negotiable. A dealbreaker. So, I signed on the dotted line. Luckily, Daria also assured me the chances the producers would exercise the buy-out were virtually nil. But, still, to be safe, I’m not going to spend a dime of my earnings from the show unless and until I’m positive I’m going to be around for the long haul. And even then, most of my salary will go toward helping my family in ways I’ve dreamed of doing for a while now, so a beachfront condo will have to wait.