Falling Into Love with You (The Hate-Love Duet Book 2)

by Rowe, Lauren

  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—”

  “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.”

  Clever boy. He just paraphrased something I said to Sylvia about why I don’t like making my relationships “Instagram official.”

  Savage continues, “But then, when that Instagrammer made her video, broadcasting to the world everything I’d drunkenly babbled to her in private, I told Laila, ‘There’s no turning back now, babe. Let’s make it official!’ But before we’d decided how or when to do that, the producers called to say they’d decided to promote Laila from mentor to judge this season.” He smiles at me. “And now, here we are.”

  “Ah, so this is a publicity stunt,” a reporter yells.

  “No, not at all,” Savage insists. “The powers that be at the show determined Laila sitting at the judges’ table would make things especially fun and interesting this season. But that doesn’t make our relationship any less real. All that means is Laila and I will get to spend a whole lot more time together over the next few months.” He looks at me and smiles. “Which is a great thing, as far as we’re concerned. Who wouldn’t leap at the chance to work with the person they’re head over heels in love with?”

  Whoa. The man is good.

  “How long have you two been together?” that same reporter asks, all prior skepticism gone from his tone.

  “It happened little by little during our tour,” Savage explains. “But we’ve been glued at the hip for about the past month.”

  “To be clear,” I interject, my finger raised, “I wasn’t lying to Sylvia when I said Savage and I didn’t get along during most of the tour. As a matter of fact, we couldn’t stand each other for a large portion of it.”

  “No, you couldn’t stand me,” Savage corrects, making everyone chuckle. “And rightly so. I was like a kid pulling her pigtails on the playground, guys. But after we got back from the tour, I called Laila and charmed her pants off . . . literally.” Everyone guffaws, while I bat Savage’s shoulder playfully. “And then, everything took off from there, on a rocket.” Savage leans forward. “That ‘rocket’ being the one in my pants.”

  As the room explodes at Savage’s raunchy comment, Sunshine chokes out, “It’s a family show, Savage.” But by the expression on Nadine Collins’ face at the back of the room, it’s clear our executive producer isn’t upset in the least about Savage’s sexual innuendo. In fact, her expression makes it clear the head honcho is pleased as punch.

  “How’d you convince Laila to board your rocket, Savage?” someone shouts.

  “Have you seen me?” he says cheekily. And, again, everyone in the room rolls with laughter. Savage waves the air in front of him. “No, no. Actually, it required some good old- fashioned groveling to get things going with Laila. I called her after the tour and apologized for my bad behavior, and, thankfully, things took off from there.” He looks at me. “I’m not the best at apologizing, usually. At least, not first. But, somehow, my desire to win Laila over outweighed my ego and pride.” He kisses the top of my hand that’s still clasped in his. “It was the best decision I’ve ever made.”

  Awwww, everyone in the room says in unison. And I must admit, I’m swooning along with them. I know, intellectually, this is all fake. A pitch-perfect performance from one of the world’s best performers. But my heart and body can’t resist reacting to this moment as if what Savage is saying is very, very real.

  “What’d you think when Savage called and groveled, Laila?” someone yells.

  I look at my fake boyfriend adoringly. “I thought ‘Is this a prank?’”

  Everyone chuckles.

  “But then, Savage shocked me by letting down his guard. He told me some personal things that made me realize I’d misjudged him during the tour. And that’s when he really turned on the charm.” I grin at Savage. “He told me that, ever since we’d been home from tour, he’d been desperately missing my ‘beautiful face,’ and—”

  “No,” Savage interrupts. “I said I’d been missing your beautiful smug face. And I didn’t use the word ‘desperately.’”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “That word isn’t in my vocabulary.”

  “Well, it was that day.” I address the crowd, rolling my eyes, and it’s cl
ear they’re eating up this interaction with a spoon. “Savage told me he’d been ‘desperately’ missing my ‘beautiful smug face’—I admit he used the word ‘smug.’ And then, he said he was sorry for being such a ‘jerk’ to me during the tour. He explained he’d had some personal stuff going on during that time that had been difficult for him, and my heart cracked wide open.” I look into Savage’s dark eyes. “After that, this man crawled right into the crack in my heart he created that day, during that first phone call, and he’s never crawled back out.”

  Savage is blushing, which I find surprising. Humans can’t fake blushing, can they?

  “I feel like I should mention,” Savage says, “Laila apologized to me, too, during that first phone call. Don’t leave me hanging out here, looking like too big a softie, Laila.”

  “Yes, it’s true. I apologized to him, too. Profusely. If Savage had been a kid pulling my pigtails on the playground, then I’d been the annoying girl who’d purposely tried to provoke that exact reaction. Lucky for me, Savage accepted my apology, and we both agreed to press the reset button. And we haven’t looked back, ever since.”

  A collective swoon rises up in the room and Savage and I look away from each other again. And this time, Savage isn’t the only one blushing.

  “Thank you for sharing that beautiful story,” Sunshine says reverently. She looks at the crowd. “I don’t know about you, but I’m all aflutter here. Wow.” She returns to Savage and me. “Tell us about your first date.”

  Savage says, “At the end of our first phone call, Laila invited me to her place for pizza. And I was like, ‘Pizza? No, I’ll cook for you!’”

  I interject, “So, he came over to my place that night and made me a phenomenal meal, and”—I smirk suggestively at Savage—“we’ve been inseparable ever since.”

  The crowd applauds.

  “Wonderful!” Sunshine bellows. “And now, are there any questions for Jon and Aloha?”