I head over to Savage and Kendrick, noting that Savage looks especially gorgeous. Savage often rocks edgy designer duds onstage, also when he’s on-camera for an interview or awards show, so I’m used to seeing him looking like a runway model. But Savage looks especially yummy right now, like he leaped off the pages of Gentlemen’s World.
“Hey, Fitzy,” Savage says when I reach him.
“Hey, Fitzy,” Kendrick echoes.
“No. Just me,” Savage says sharply to Kendrick, wagging his finger to emphasize his point. Savage pauses, making sure Kendrick got the message, and then returns to me with a smile. “What took you so long, Fitzy? I’ve been waiting on you for five minutes.”
I roll my eyes. “Sure, Jan.”
“It’s true,” Savage says. “Ask Kendrick.”
Kendrick nods. “It’s true.”
Savage looks me up and down, taking in my minidress and thigh-high boots. “I have to say, you were worth the wait. Damn, girl.”
“Yeah, you look great, Laila,” Kendrick concurs, his tone pointedly platonic, unlike the one used by Savage.
“Thank you. You both look very handsome, too.” I address Savage. “Thank you for not making me hunt you down on Day One of my babysitting gig.” I look at Kendrick. “I assume I have you to thank for that.”
“Nope. Savage was already here when I arrived.”
My eyebrows ride up in surprise.
Savage says, “I promised I’d be on time, so I was. Remember when I promised Reed I’d show up for Alessandra’s music video shoot? My word is my bond, baby. Mostly. Sometimes. On occasion.”
I can’t help chuckling, along with Kendrick and Savage. Even when he’s annoying, Adrian Savage is incredibly charming. There’s no denying that.
“Yeah, so I guess that VIP meet and greet you barely made it to was one of the two in ten times your promise is worth nothing, huh?” I say. “If you ask me, being an hour late for a professional obligation is the same thing as breaking a promise.”
I’ve intended to razz Savage, lightheartedly, with my comment. But Savage looks like I’ve slapped him across his chiseled face. And that’s all it takes for me to realize there’s been a shift between us, without me realizing it until now—a shift that’s made me seem like a petty bitch for bringing up that VIP event, yet again. Did the shift between us happen last night, when we shared our electrifying first kiss? Or did it happen while I was sitting on Savage’s face, screaming in ecstasy? Did it happen when Savage held my hair to keep it from falling into the toilet? Or when Savage said yes to every stupid, ridiculous thing the producers asked of him yesterday, and then agreed to pay two million bucks out of his own pocket to seal the deal?
Whenever the shift between us happened, it’s now clear that stupid VIP meet and greet is off-limits for me to bitch about, along with all the other petty stuff that pissed me off during the tour. I already reamed the guy about all of it in Atlanta, after all, in front of everyone. And the man is obviously trying to get off on the right foot in our new adventure by arriving here early. So, perhaps I should shut my mouth and turn the freaking page and try to get along.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” I blurt quickly, before Savage can reply to my barb. “That was petty of me. You’ve bent over backwards to get me this job, and I’m grateful to you.” I bite my lip. “I think it’s going to take some conscious effort to rewire my brain not to immediately switch into ‘bitch mode’ as my default around you. But I promise I’ll try my best, starting now.”
Savage swallows hard. “I don’t blame you for constantly putting up your dukes around me, Laila. I was a royal prick to you, over and over again, during the tour.”
My lips part in surprise. That sounded awfully close to an apology. “Well, it takes two to tango,” I murmur, my heart thumping. “I reacted to you. You reacted to me. And around and around we went.”
“Yeah, but I think we both know who was leading our tango.”
Holy fuck. I’m floored. I stare at him in disbelief for a long moment, as palpable conciliation passes between us. Or maybe that’s nothing but our usual white-hot lust. Whatever it is, it’s enough to make Kendrick clear his throat and excuse himself, mumbling something about needing to talk to Fish, who’s chatting with Aloha nearby in the game room.
When Kendrick is gone, Savage says, “Listen, Laila. I can’t explain away all the times I was late during the tour. Sometimes, I lost track of time, which happens to me a lot. Other times, I showed up late on purpose to piss you off. But regarding that VIP meet and greet, specifically, I had good reason to be late. As I was leaving to head over there, my cousin called with some bad news about our grandmother. Mimi—that’s my grandmother—had been in treatment for cancer for a while at that point, and my cousin called to say she’d taken a turn for the worse.”
“Oh no.”
“So, after hanging up with my cousin, it took me a while to pull myself together enough to head over to the meet and greet, where I knew I’d be expected to take selfies and smile. I’m not great at interacting with strangers, in the best of times, but—”
“Oh, Savage,” I interject. My heart feels like it’s exploding with sympathy, along with remorse for the way I tore into him about his lateness for that particular event. “I get it. How is your grandma doing now?”
The man shakes his head woefully, looking devastated. “Not well, unfortunately. She’s decided to quit treatments altogether and let nature take its course.”
I look around the large room at the other cast members and staff milling around, and feel an overwhelming tidal wave of regret flooding me. I can’t believe I screamed at Savage in Atlanta about his tardiness for that particular event, and he never once defended himself by telling me the situation. I ask, “Is your grandma here in LA?”
Savage shakes his head, his devastation palpable. “No, she lives in Chicago with my cousin. I visit as much as I can. Usually, about once a month.”
Chicago.
At the mention of that city, I feel even more regretful. That’s the city Kendrick mentioned the day our tour kicked off, when I was all bent out of shape that Savage had flown into Philadelphia the same day as our opening show, thereby messing up my schedule with his lateness. My interviews and hair and makeup. As if any of those things mattered more than Savage maximizing his time with his ailing grandmother.
“I had no idea you were carrying such a heavy burden all this time,” I say. “Why didn’t you tell me about your grandmother when I was ripping you a new asshole in Atlanta?”
Savage screws up his face, looking confused. “Why would I tell you about my grandmother being sick?”
“To defend yourself! I went on and on about you being a selfish and unprofessional prick for being late for that event, and then going through the motions, halfheartedly, once you got there. But in reality, you showing up at all to that event was the epitome of selflessness and professionalism! Savage, you were a saint to show up to that event at all, given what you were going through that day. But you didn’t tell me any of that.”
Savage shrugs. “I didn’t say anything about my grandmother because you were right about everything else you accused me of doing. Why defend myself about the one time I hadn’t done anything wrong, when my rap sheet was long and embarrassing, regardless? Plus, I was in a particularly foul mood in Atlanta and it felt good to unload on you. That was the day my cousin called to say my grandmother had decided to stop treatments, so—”