“Oh, for the love of fuck!” I yell, palming my forehead. “No wonder you tore into me that day, after I tore into you, so cluelessly—and in front of everyone.”
“I wasn’t in my right mind in Atlanta,” he says. “I was scared to death for my grandmother. Angry at God for making humans mortal creatures. So, when you read me the Riot Act in front of everyone, I just sort of used it as an excuse to get all my anger out. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was pissed at you for tearing into me in front of everyone. That was lame of you to do that, Laila. But I wasn’t nearly as pissed at you, specifically, as it seemed. I was mostly just taking a whole lot of shit out on you.”
I rub my forehead, feeling physically dizzy and disoriented by Savage’s words. After months of casting Savage as the villain in my narrative, I suddenly feel like I was equally villainous, if not more so. At least, in relation to what happened in Atlanta. But before I’ve figured out what to say in response, a PA approaches and tells us it’s time to line up on the far side of the game room, in order to await our cue to enter the press conference.
As the PA escorts Savage and me across the room, she tells us Sunshine Vaughn, the longtime host of Sing Your Heart Out, has already started making some opening remarks. The PA explains, “After Sunshine finishes her opening speech, the judges will be trotted out to answer questions for about thirty minutes, and then, at the very end, we’ll invite the mentors to join the panel, too.”
I feel a squeeze to my hand and realize Savage must have taken it as we walked across the room. Or did I take his? I don’t even remember how it happened that our hands came to be joined. It happened so naturally, so easily, I don’t know who made the first move.
When we reach our destination—a spot behind Aloha and Jon across Reed’s large game room—Savage and I make whispered small talk with our fellow judges for a few minutes. And through it all, Savage and I never let go of each other’s hands. Not only that, I can’t stop sneaking peeks at Savage’s striking profile, my heart squeezing and my stomach flip-flopping. Clearly, I misjudged this man during our tour. Not about everything, obviously. But about a lot. I turned Savage into a caricature by the end of the tour. A one-dimensional villain. A man without a shred of decency or conscience.
Well, enough of that. I wasn’t faultless during the tour, either. I don’t think I can forgive Savage for everything he did during the tour—at least, not for that groupie in Vegas—but I decide to wipe the slate clean, as best I can, and give our fake relationship a genuine shot.
Four
Laila
As we await our cue to enter the press conference in the next room, we hear the voice of the show’s longtime host, Sunshine Vaughn, as she cheerily welcomes the assembled press—the reporters and influencers who’ve come here today on a Sunday afternoon to interview the show’s judges, and especially to hear the “shocking announcement” they’ve been promised is going to “rock their worlds.” Although I’m sure every last one of them would have flocked here, regardless, if only to tour the legendary mansion of Reed Rivers and get to interview Hugh Delaney’s buzzworthy replacement—the savagely sexy rock star whose face and abs have become as much of a permanent fixture on magazine covers lately as his dick has become one on Twitter. And, oh yeah, the dude also sings and plays his guitar pretty well, too.
I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart, and in reaction to my body language, Savage squeezes my hand, leans in, and whispers, “You’re gonna be great. The world is going to fall head over heels for you.”
Aloha, who’s standing in front of us, turns around and says, “Amen, sister. The world is going to love you, Laila, every bit as much as I do.”
“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me,” I say to Aloha. “You’ve been my guardian angel.” I look at Savage. “And thank you, too. Being on this show is a dream come true for me. I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t said yes to every ridiculous demand by the producers and my agent. I’m grateful to you.”
Savage shakes his head. “You saved my ass, Laila. This show is my grandma’s all-time favorite, and I’d already told her I was going to be a judge when the shit hit the fan for me yesterday. You did me a huge favor by saving me from having to tell her I’d gotten myself fired.”
I press my lips together. The hits just keep on coming. Savage agreed to do the show for his ailing grandma. How did I not know about this man’s diehard devotion to his grandmother before now?
In the other room, the show’s host bellows, “And now, let’s welcome our panel of judges!” Excited applause rises up as Sunshine says, “First off, it’s our resident Teddy Bear . . . Jon Stapleton!” A production assistant cues Jon, prompting him to head into the adjacent room. Sunshine continues, “And now, it’s our beloved queen . . . Aloha Carmichael!” The PA waves Aloha into the room, and her entrance elicits even louder applause than Jon’s. “And noooow . . .” Sunshine teases, prompting a hushed anticipation to fall over the press conference. “Please, welcome our two new judges! That’s right, we’ve got not one, but two new judges this season: Savage from Fugitive Summer and his gorgeous and talented girlfriend, a superstar on the rise . . . Miss Laila Fitzgerald!”
A collective gasp rises up as Savage and I appear, our hands clasped and happy smiles plastered on our faces—and by the time we’re taking our assigned seats between Jon and Aloha at a table facing the assembled press, the room is pure pandemonium.
Once we’re seated, there’s a photo shoot for a long moment, as Savage and I, along with our two fellow judges, oscillate our smiling faces like sprinklers on a lawn, allowing every camera in the room to get a perfect shot of this season’s judges. Although, based on the number of reporters shouting at Savage and me, specifically, it seems the lion’s share of photos being snapped are of the happy couple.
“Let’s get to your questions!” Sunshine calls out, before pointing at one of the reporters.
The reporter stands. “Savage and Laila, are you really a couple or is this a publicity stunt?”
Well, that was fast.
“We’re a couple,” Savage answers smoothly, sliding his arm around me, and I instinctively rest my cheek on his broad shoulder.
“In fact,” I say, “we’ve recently moved in together.”
The room titters in response to that little nugget.
A reporter shouts, “So, Laila, did you lie about Savage during your interview on Sylvia?”
I lift my head from Savage’s shoulder and grimace at my fake boyfriend.
“Time to ’fess up, babe,” he says, smirking.
Sighing dramatically, I address the room. “Yeah, I lied through my teeth!” Everyone chuckles, along with Savage. “I wanted to keep our relationship under wraps for a bit longer, so we could make sure it was rock solid before we subjected ourselves to worldwide attention.”
Savage nods. “I respected where Laila was coming from on that, even though I was ready to shout about my feelings for Laila from the rooftops. Laila said she didn’t want to feel pressure to ‘perform’ our relationship for the world, and I understood that.”