by Lauren Rowe
Nadine and the director both leave, and the minute they’re gone, Savage leans into me and says, “This is going to be even more painful than I thought.”
“Nah, I’m sure it’ll be lots of fun, once we get the hang of it.”
He looks at me like I’m crazy. “No, it’ll be flat-out torture, from beginning to end. All I can say is thank God you’re here with me.”
My heart skips a beat.
“Hey, everyone!” Sunshine says to the studio audience, after conferring with Nadine. “In a minute here, I’m going to chitchat with the judges. And when I get to Savage, he’s going to kiss Laila again, the same way he did a moment ago. And when he does, will you folks please whoop and cheer, the same way you did the last time?”
The audience claps enthusiastically.
“I knew I could I count on you! Let’s cheer even more loudly than last time, yes?”
I look at Savage and roll my eyes and he pulls a face like he wants to bang his head against the table.
A moment later, Sunshine begins going down the line of judges, chatting with Jon, and then Aloha, followed by me, asking us if we’re excited to kick things off. Yes, yes, yes. We’re so excited. When she gets to Savage, however, and asks him if he’s excited about the season, he smiles at me and says, “I’ll say this: I’m excited to be here with Laila.”
“Aw,” the audience says, along with me, just as Savage leans forward and kisses me. As promised, the audience combusts when Savage’s lips touch mine, which prompts me to break away and act like I’m flustered and embarrassed by the crowd’s boisterous reaction. For his part, however, Savage leans back in his chair and flashes a look that says, “Yeah, I fucked her three times last night.” And the audience eats it up.
There’s a bit more pageantry from Sunshine, until, finally, she introduces the first audition of the season—a blue-haired cutie named Addison Swain from Madison, Wisconsin, age eighteen. At the sound of her name, Addison walks onstage, looking nervous and adorable. She greets the judges and Sunshine and says this is a dream come true. After a little chatter, she performs a bit of “Titanium” by Sia—instantly establishing, in my opinion, she’s the one to beat this season. I mean, holy hell, this blue-haired pixie can sing!
When Addison finishes her performance, the audience goes ballistic. As they should. On impulse, I bolt out of my chair and give Addison a standing ovation—which makes the girl burst into soggy tears. When the audience’s applause dies down, Jon, Aloha, and I give Addison our effusive praise, with me being the most effusive. And, finally, all eyes turn to Savage, who’s apparently already positioned himself as The Hard-to-Impress Judge.
“I agree with everyone else,” Savage says calmly. “Addison, you’ve got some serious pipes and stage presence. You get an unreserved ‘atta girl’ from me.”
The audience loses their collective mind. And, just this fast, it’s clear Savage’s opinion is going to hold more weight than anyone else’s this season. Why? I don’t know, exactly. All I know is that Savage’s opinion has always held a whole lot of weight for me, too.
“Okay, judges,” Sunshine says. “It’s time to decide if you want to use one of your valuable tokens on Addison, in order to mark her as someone you want to haggle over on Draft Day!”
Jon and Aloha say they adored Addison’s performance, but they’re going to pass, since it’s early days yet. But Savage and I both throw in our precious tokens, signifying we plan to fight over Addison, tooth and nail, when the time comes, and the audience claps and screams their approval of our choice.
And away we go, seeing audition after audition after Addison’s, with varying degrees of success. Finally, the long day is over, and Nadine appears at the judges’ table, bursting with enthusiasm. She tells Savage and me we “killed it” and that we should continue doing everything as we did today. I thank Nadine effusively, feeling the weight of the world lifted off my shoulders, while Savage, predictably, says nothing.
After a bit, Nadine asks Savage to come with her backstage. “My boss brought his thirteen-year-old to the taping today,” she explains. “And apparently, she’s a huge Fugitive Summer fan.”
“I’m pretty tired, Nadine,” Savage says, much to my shock. Dude. This woman is our boss and she’s trying to impress her boss. Does Savage not understand workplace politics at all?
“It’ll only take a few minutes,” Nadine says. “I’d be grateful.”
“Go on,” I say in a casual tone, but my eyes are screaming, “Don’t be an idiot! This woman signs the check you split with me!”
“Uh, okay,” Savage says, peeling his gaze off mine. “I’d be happy to do it.” He shoots me a look that says, Happy now? And I shoot him one that says, Yes, I am, dumbass. Thank you.
Savage leaves with Nadine, throwing over his shoulder as he goes, “I’ll come to your dressing room when I’m done, babe.”
“Okay, babe,” I reply, and then giggle at the wink he shoots me, just before turning away.
“Laila.”
I turn and discover Aloha standing before me, her famous green eyes sparkling.
“Hey, girl,” I say. “What a day, huh? I’m exhausted.”
“Every audition day is always exhausting,” she says. “Hey, will you come hang out with me in my dressing room while I change? I’d love to chat with you about your first day.”
“Great.”
As we walk, Aloha and I talk casually about the day. Mostly, about the amazing talent we’ve seen. But the second we get into Aloha’s dressing room, and she’s closed the door behind us, she whirls around and whisper-shouts, “What the hell is going on with you and Savage?”
Twelve
Laila
“What do you mean what’s going on?” I say to Aloha, taken aback.
She drags me to a couch on the far side of her dressing room. “I mean you and Savage couldn’t keep your hands off each other all day, even when the cameras were off. You exchanged googly-eyed looks and goofy smiles, even when the cameras were off. And you giggled at everything that man said, even when it wasn’t funny, even when the cameras were off. So, I’m asking you, ‘What the heck is going on between you and that man that you haven’t told me,’ because I know you and this is exactly how you act when you’re gone, baby, gone!”
I flop onto the couch and rub my face. “You nailed it. I’m gone, baby, gone.”
“Oh, girl.”
“I’m in big trouble here, Aloha.” I throw up my hands. “Savage is The Beast and I’m Belle and last night was our snowball fight!”
Aloha gasps. “No.”
“Yes!”
“Holy hell, Laila. The boy gives you a few orgasms and suddenly you’ve got amnesia about all the times he made you cry during the tour?”
“Well, it wasn’t just a few orgasms,” I mutter, snickering. And when Aloha chastises me nonverbally, I add, “Okay, look, I know Savage was a colossal jerk to me during the tour. But I wasn’t exactly a saint to him.”
“You didn’t deserve what he did to you, though. That tirade in Atlanta. The groupies he brought to your dressing rooms. The groupie he fucked in Vegas, mere hours after having sex with you.”
“I know. But I found out he’d gotten some terrible news the morning of his tirade in Atlanta. And he thought I was dating Malik when he brought all those groupies into my dressing rooms. And it’s not like we’d agreed to be exclusive when he banged that groupie in Vegas. So, all things considered—”
“He’d sent you a text, begging you to come to his room, mere minutes before banging that groupie, Laila!”
I pout. “Yes, I know, Aloha. But we’ve both agreed to forgive and forget all sins committed during the tour by either of us. We’re going to press the reset button and see what happens and I’m excited about that.”
Aloha raises her eyebrows. “You think you can do that?”
“I do. Now that I’ve had a chance to get to know him on a deeper level, I think I can forgive and forget and move on. I’ve told him that
I expect and require monogamy while we’re living together, and he said he totally understands and promises to be with nobody but me. And not because of his contract or the fake romance. But for real. And I believe him.”
Aloha looks skeptical.
“What’s the downside?” I blurt. “He’s hot as hell and I’m stuck with him in a fancy house for three months. I might as well enjoy myself.”
Aloha smirks. “Well, that’s true. I just don’t want you getting hurt, that’s all.”
“I’ll be fine. Thank you.”
“Regardless, I think you should bring it down a notch, on-camera, just to give yourself a little headroom, so to speak—room for the on-camera romance to grow.”
I furrow my brow. “Nadine said she was thrilled with what we did today.”
“Yeah, I heard. But let me offer some unsolicited advice. I’ve been in this industry my whole life, so trust me when I say you can’t give the suits everything they want on day one, or there’s nowhere for your performance to go. Trust me, they always want more, more, more, until their expectations feel impossible to fulfill. You and Savage should leave yourselves some room for your ‘romance’ to blossom each week on the show, or else, by the finale, they’re going to want you to give birth on-air.”
I laugh.
“I’m only half-kidding.”
I process that for a moment. “Here’s my predicament, though. The producers slipped a cheap buy-out clause into my contract, and I’m worried if the romance storyline isn’t a ratings bonanza out of the gate, the producers will axe me from the show.”
“Shoot, Laila. Daria was okay with a buy-out clause?”
“We had no choice. The producers wouldn’t do the deal without it, and I wanted to do the deal. Daria said the chances of them invoking the clause are almost nothing, because she thinks we’ll pull in record ratings. But, still, just knowing that clause is in my contract like a ticking time bomb is messing with my head. It makes me not want to give anything less than a hundred percent, right out of the gate.”
Aloha pats my arm. “Don’t worry, Laila. Like you said, Nadine is thrilled with you and Savage. I’m probably just being paranoid. Nadine was the executive producer of The Engagement Experiment when it first launched, so I know for a fact she’s hard-wired to wring every drop of romance she can out of every situation, at full blast.”
“I’ll keep that in mind and maybe try to pace myself a little bit more, on-camera.”
“And also maybe try to keep your wits about you a tiny bit, off-camera, too?” She smiles. “Honey, I want you to be happy. And I want this thing with Savage to work out great for you. I’m just saying you cried a whole lot during that tour. And I don’t want that boy to make you cry again, this time around.”
I pat her arm. “I hear you and appreciate what you’re saying. But it’s going to be okay. Like I said, we’re both pretending the past doesn’t exist and taking each other as we are now. Trust me, that strategy absolves me of almost as many sins as Savage.”
Aloha looks at me for a very long moment with nothing but kindness in her eyes. “Well, that sounds like a great thing, then. I’m happy for you.”
“But you think I’m pulling a ‘Laila.’ Sprinting ahead with blinders on and ignoring every red flag.”
Aloha pauses. “No. I mean, yes. But I don’t blame you. What I think is that you’re a gorgeous, passionate, horny-ass woman who’s stuck for three months in the mansion from The Engagement Experiment with a rock star who regularly gives you multiple orgasms that make you scream in ecstasy. Frankly, I don’t think you’re pulling a ‘Laila’ this time, as much I think you’re pulling a ‘red-blooded human.’”
Thirteen
Laila
“Cheers!” I say, holding up a glass of champagne in one hand and my phone in video mode in the other. While recording a live video, Savage and I are sitting side by side on the couch in our living room, toasting our first day of shooting with a bottle of Dom Perignon sent home with us by Nadine. Despite the sobriety clause in Savage’s contract, Nadine gave us the bottle on two conditions. One, we had to promise we’d open the champagne in a live video tonight and joyfully toast on-camera to our first day as judges. And two, Savage had to promise no photos of his dick or bare ass would join his already robust collection on the internet.
“Cheers, baby,” Savage says, clinking my glass with his and kissing my cheek.
We sip our champagne and talk about the day’s shoot, telling everyone watching we can’t wait for them to see the amazing talent we witnessed today when the first episode airs in a few weeks. We trade playful banter about who’s going to wind up with the best team after Draft Day—the notorious day on Sing Your Heart Out when the judges haggle and jockey to wind up with the best contestants from those they’ve given a precious token. And, finally, we wrap up our video with a little kiss on the mouth and a joyful “See you next time!”
When I turn off my camera, I plop my phone onto the coffee table in front of us and exhale. “I think it’s distinctly possible by the end of the season, these daily videos will feel like a colossal pain in the ass.”
“By the end of the season?” Savage says, his expression making it clear he already feels that way.
A buzz simultaneously emanates from both our phones on the coffee table, and we grab them, curious to see who’s texted us. It’s Reed Rivers, telling us he wants us to write a “sappy, classic love song” as soon as possible—a single we’ll perform in the show’s finale and release that same day. Reed writes, “Send me the bones of the song within a week or so, to give us enough time to get it fully produced before the finale.”
I look up from my phone and wait a beat for Savage to finish reading. When he looks up, I say, “I think a week to write one song is doable. Do you?”
“In theory, yeah. But I’ve never written a ‘sappy, classic love song’ before. I’ve never even written a straight-up love song.”
“You’ve heard my songs. Sappy love songs aren’t exactly in my wheelhouse, either.” It’s the truth. I’m known for writing breakup songs. You-did-me-wrong songs. Or, on occasion, damn-boy-you’re-so-fine songs. But never the kind of song Reed has requested. “I still think we can do it, though,” I say. “All we have to do is treat this like a creative writing project. We’ll write the song as if we’re writing it about some other couple—a perfect, sweet one who’s ‘couple goals.’”
Savage scowls. “‘Perfect and sweet’ isn’t my goal, Laila.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not mine, either. But you know what is my goal? Making a whole lot of money off this song. And ‘perfect and sweet’ is the world’s couple goals, so that’s what we’ll write. God help us, if we infuse too much of our actual personalities into the lyrics, the song will be about a couple fucking in a shower.”
Savage’s face lights up. “And in a bathtub, a hot tub, a pool . . . a rainstorm . . .”
I snicker. True to his word, Savage arranged for a doctor to come to the set today during one of our breaks—a real one, not a dude who plays one on TV—and we both got our “all clear” results during the drive home.
“You know what I think we should do to get into the mindset to write this song?” I say. “We’ll pretend we’re writing the soundtrack to a romantic movie—like, you know, something unapologetically sweet. Like, I don’t know, we’ll pretend we’ve been asked to write the ‘big song’ for a remake of Ghost.”
“I haven’t seen that one. But I get your drift, I think.”
“You haven’t seen Ghost?” I shout incredulously.
Savage shrugs. “I think this is going to be a running theme, Laila. So I’d ration your outrage, if I were you.”
“But Ghost is one of the greatest movies ever made! I got my pottery wheel after seeing that one. It’s so romantic. A total tear-jerker.”
“Yecch. I hate tear jerkers.”
“Well, too bad, because we’re watching it now. Ghost is the perfect movie to inspire our song!” I pick up th
e remote control exuberantly. “Fire up the popcorn maker, Adrian! We’re going to snuggle up and watch the most romantic movie ever made, and then sit down and write the sweetest, sappiest love song ever written in fifteen minutes flat!”
So much for writing a love song after watching Ghost. The only thing that movie inspired Savage to do was demand that I immediately teach him how to work my pottery wheel. And I’m such a dork for my wheel, I leaped off the couch and sprinted up here with glee to get the thing fired up. Yes, I’m well aware Savage’s request was nothing but a ruse to be able to make out while using the wheel, the same way Demi and Patrick do in the movie. But I don’t care. I’d never pass up the chance to watch Savage’s talented fingers molding wet, spinning clay. Plus, bonus points, Savage is shirtless as he works, and his face is wearing an expression of extreme concentration. In short, he’s fatally gorgeous right now.
“How are you already so good at this?” I say, mesmerized by the bowl taking shape underneath his fingertips. He’s making it for Mimi, of course, as a Christmas present, he said, even though he’s already bought the woman a house for Christmas.
“It took me weeks to get anything to take shape that symmetrically,” I marvel as Savage slowly continues coaxing the clay into form. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you? You lied.”
Savage chuckles. “I swear I’ve never done this. I’ve always been pretty good with my hands, though. This feels intuitive to me.”
