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

by Lauren Rowe

  “Not joking. Look.” As she peeks out from behind her hands, I turn my phone around to show her the screen. “See? Now, say hi to the nice people.”

  She waves halfheartedly and says hello. “Sorry, guys,” she says. “We’ll come back after I’ve had my coffee. Say goodbye, Savage.”

  I turn the camera lens on myself. “Isn’t Laila adorable when she first wakes up? So cranky! Ha! So, here’s the deal, guys. I woke Laila up way earlier than her alarm, so we could squeeze in a workout before heading off to work today, since we’ve got plans with friends tonight. So, would you guys do me a big favor in the comments and help me convince Laila to work out with me? Only positive comments, please. Give her a pep talk. No trolling. And if it works, we’ll come back later and show you part of our workout.” I return the camera to Laila’s angry face. “Say goodbye to everyone, babe.”

  She waves. “When you guys leave your comments, be sure to tell Savage he’s annoying as hell.”

  Ha. Operation Annoy Laila is already off to a fantastic start.

  I turn off my camera and spank Laila’s ass. “Now, get dressed and meet me in the gym to see your surprise.” With that, I exit the room, and head back to Charlie the Fitness Trainer, who’s waiting for me in the gym.

  “Charlie,” Laila gasps out, freezing just inside the doorway of the gym. Her blue eyes shift to me. Confusion. Anger. Betrayal. Those are the emotions flickering across Laila’s frozen face as she stares at me in disbelief.

  Charlie reaches Laila and gives her a warm bear hug, unaware of his status as my unwitting pawn, and Laila peeks over his broad shoulder to shoot me the kind of scathing look I haven’t seen from her in a very long time. Well, that’s weird. I haven’t even gotten to the annoying part yet—the part where I supposedly find out, in front of Laila, that Charlie is gay and married. And she’s already shooting me murderous daggers? Well, that feels a bit premature . . . and vaguely worrisome. But, oh well. I’ve got a job to do. And I’m going to do it.

  “It’s great to see you again, Laila,” Charlie says.

  Laila returns the compliment, her face flushed.

  Charlie says, “I’ve been following you and Savage on Instagram. Looks like you two are having a blast, living together and shooting the show. Emma can’t wait to see you as a judge. When will the first episode air?”

  “Right after New Year’s,” Laila replies.

  “Sorry, who’s Emma?” I ask. “Your daughter?”

  “My stepdaughter. She and my husband came to visit me during the tour—and when Emma met Laila, she was starry-eyed. And then, when Emma saw Laila perform, forget about it. An obsession was born.”

  “Tell Emma to join the club,” I say. But my eyes are on Laila’s, letting her know the full implication of Charlie’s story hasn’t escaped me. Charlie is married. And not only that, he’s married to a dude. Frankly, it was a lot easier than I thought it’d be to pull that information out of Charlie. I thought I’d have to ask him all sorts of awkward, uncharacteristically personal questions to get him to mention any of what he just said. But, no, right off the bat, I’ve hit a grand slam homerun.

  Laila’s plainly furious with me. It’s not hard to see. Which makes sense, since I’ve just outed her as a liar, unless, I suppose, Charlie is a bisexual adulterer and Laila the kind of girl who’d have a tour fling with a married man. But, come on, I think we both know, in this moment, the jig is up. Her lie revealed. Yes, I was the one who jumped to the wrong conclusion in the first place about Charlie and then went on and on about my theory backstage at the awards show. But Laila confirmed her fling with Charlie and stoked my jealousy, mercilessly. So now, as far as she’s concerned, I’ve just figured out the truth about all of it.

  “Hey, you know what, Charlie?” Laila says, peeling her blazing blue eyes off my smug face. “Savage didn’t know this when he invited you here to surprise me, but I’ve got plans this morning I can’t reschedule.”

  “Oh, no,” Charlie says.

  “Yeah, it’s a bummer. Hopefully, we can do this another time. But you two go ahead.” She looks at me, her blue eyes homicidal. “I’ll have Mike come get me now and come back for you later.”

  And that’s it. Before I’ve replied, Laila turns on her heel and strides toward the exit of the gym.

  “Wait!” I shout, my heart thrumming wildly in my chest. I feel panicky. Like I’ve made a misstep. Something is off. Laila was pissed the minute she saw Charlie. Yes, her anger seemed to escalate when Charlie mentioned his stepdaughter and husband, thereby proving her a liar. But I can’t shake the feeling there’s something I don’t know at play here. Some land mine I’ve stumbled into that just blew my arms and legs off, without me realizing it. “Laila, wait!”

  To my surprise, she turns around in the doorway, her blue eyes blazing and her cheeks on fire. “What?” she says.

  “Maybe we should . . . do another live video to let people know you made it into the gym.”

  She smiles, making my stomach twist. That wasn’t a happy smile. That was a murderous one. “Great idea,” she says. “Record it now. We’ll tell everyone you got exactly what you wanted this morning.”

  I grimace, unsure what to do.

  “Go on,” she prompts, motioning. “Wouldn’t want to keep everyone in suspense.”

  Fuck. She looks genuinely enraged. Capable of murder. And not for show.

  “Uhh . . .”

  “I’ll do it myself.” She grabs her phone out of a side pocket in her leggings, trains the camera on herself, and plasters a huge, fake smile on her face. She says, “Hey, guys! You did it! You convinced me to get in here and work out! I’m in the gym with my boyfriend now. He’s right there. Say hi, Savage.”

  I wave feebly, feeling the hair on the back of my neck standing up.

  “And that’s Charlie Ford right there. The world’s most amazing personal trainer. Say hi, Charlie!”

  “Hey, everyone!”

  Laila returns the camera to herself. “I’ll put Charlie’s links below so you can follow him. He’s amazing, guys. And easy on the eyes, too. I can honestly tell you there’s not a mean, selfish, self-centered, thoughtless, hypocritical bone in Charlie’s body. Which is more than I can say about the other guy in this room. Man, don’t you hate hypocrisy? When someone says one thing and does another? I especially hate it when the thing that person said was deeply meaningful to me. When I relied on it, totally. And in fact, needed it to be the truth, or everything else would fall apart.” With that, she trains the camera on my astonished face and shouts, “That’s the face of a hypocrite, guys! Not so pretty, is it?” With that, she lowers her phone, flips me off, and stalks out of the room.

  “Whoa,” Charlie says, obviously taken aback by what just transpired. “What just happened?”

  My heart is crashing. “Hell if I know,” I say. And, unfortunately, it’s the truth. For a second there, I thought Laila figured out what I was trying to do and played along, a little too well. But the look in her eye at the end there felt all too real. Like genuine white-hot rage, the likes of which I haven’t seen from Laila since the tour. “That had nothing to do with you, Charlie,” I choke out. “Laila and I were having an argument before you got here, and I guess I didn’t read the situation right.”

  “You should go.”

  I take a deep breath. “No. Let’s work out. She obviously needs a little ‘alone time.’”

  Charlie shakes his head. “No, I think you should follow her, Savage.”

  My heart wants to run after her. To take her into my arms and tell her I did this for her—to get her into character for today’s shooting day. But my head tells me that’s exactly what I shouldn’t do. “No, trust me,” I say, “it’s for the best if I leave her alone to stew and get as angry as possible at me. Let’s work out. I’ll talk to Laila about everything tonight, when we get home from work.”

  Charlie looks at me like I’m crazy. “I realize I don’t know Laila nearly as well as you do, but we got to be pretty good f
riends during the tour. And I think she wanted you to follow her, Savage. Did you see the way she lingered in the doorway for a minute? It seemed like—”

  “You need to trust me on this, Charlie. The best thing I can do for Laila is leave her alone, let her get pissed as hell, and throw myself on her mercy later tonight after all shooting has wrapped for the day. Now come on. I want you to really make me sweat.”

  Eighteen

  Laila

  “Where the hell is Savage?” Nadine barks at no one in particular.

  It’s Draft Day at Sing Your Heart Out. And all the judges, minus Savage, are seated at a large, round table, surrounded by the entire crew and staff, ready to start shooting. Savage’s ass should have been sitting in the empty seat next to mine a full fifteen minutes ago, but he’s nowhere to be found.

  Nadine looks at me, her dark eyes fierce. “Where’s your boyfriend, Laila? He’s your responsibility, remember?”

  “He’ll be here any minute . . .” I say reflexively, even though I haven’t heard from my ward all morning. Not since I left him in our home gym with Charlie. I’ve texted Savage, repeatedly, in the last few minutes, asking him where the heck he is, but he hasn’t answered. I look beyond the nearest camera, toward the backstage area, praying I’ll see Savage walking toward the set at the last minute, the way he always does in situations like this. But, no. There’s no sign of him.

  “I’ll give him a quick call from my dressing room,” I say. “Be right back.”

  Before anyone can reply, I bolt away and sprint down the hallway leading to my dressing room. How could Savage do this to me—today, of all days, when he knows I’m freaking out about my head being on the chopping block? Savage promised to help me today, and so far—

  Oh, Jesus.

  That fucking idiot.

  Savage thought he was helping me this morning by inviting Charlie over, didn’t he? And yet, as I know full well, inviting Charlie to the house to interrogate him, and find out the truth, once and for all, about my supposed tour fling with Charlie, was actually something Savage needed to do for himself. Yes, I’m sure Savage told himself he invited Charlie for my benefit. But in reality, whether Savage realizes it or not, he was pretending to wear a suit of armor for me, in order to get something he desperately wanted for himself, all along.

  I poke my head into Savage’s dressing room, and when he’s not there, I head to mine, figuring I’ll do what I said I’d do—give him a call. But when I swing open the door of my dressing room, there he is. Adrian Savage. Languidly lounging on the couch, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I bellow. “Everyone is waiting for you!”

  “Oh, hey, Fitzy,” he says. He puts his arms behind his head. “Turns out you didn’t fuck Charlie during the tour! I wonder why you didn’t tell me that.”

  “We’ll talk about it later,” I grit out through my teeth. “As your babysitter, I order you to head to the set now. I told you I’m on the chopping block today. How could this possibly help me, when the producers consider your misbehavior as mine?”

  Savage stands and winks at me. “Don’t worry about today. I’ve got a good feeling we’ll deliver everything Nadine asked for, and more.”

  So, that’s it. Savage has convinced himself he’s helping me out—being an asshole in order to inspire me to slap the shit out of him on-camera today—when in reality, he’s been dying to scratch this particular itch for months. That’s so Savage, it makes me want to punch his gorgeous face. “I’m not faking my anger toward you, if that’s what you think,” I say. “I’m not ‘playing along.’ I’m genuinely pissed and hurt about the stunt you pulled this morning.”

  He looks shocked by my word choice. “Hurt?”

  “We’ll talk about it later. Right now, I need you to act like a professional.”

  “What do you mean you’re hurt? You mean you’re annoyed. Pissed off. Miffed. Frustrated. Maybe even embarrassed I caught you red-handed in a lie. But hurt?”

  “Don’t tell me what I’m allowed to feel, Adrian. Trust me, I’ll be happy to explain my emotions to you, in full, later. Unfortunately, if I start explaining myself to you now, I won’t be able to stop. In fact, it’s fifty-fifty I’ll burst into tears.”

  “Tears?” Savage blurts, looking horrified. “Why? Laila, what’s going on?”

  “I can’t, Savage. Not with everyone waiting on us and my makeup done and a fucking buy-out clause hanging over me.” I point. “Just, please, get your clueless ass in there and don’t say another word about this morning until the cameras are off for the last time tonight.”

  Savage stands, looking uncertain. “I was trying to help you by inviting Charlie to the house. Surely, you’ve figured that out.”

  “Go.”

  His brow furrowed, he walks past me, out of the room, and I follow him into the hallway. When he stops and inhales like he’s about to speak, I cut him off.

  “No,” I say. “Don’t talk about it. Just go.”

  “I don’t understand you,” Savage mutters. “No good deed goes unpunished.”

  “Shut the fuck up and go.”

  He takes a few steps, his body language reflecting confusion . . . and then stops in the hallway, turns around, and flashes me a huge smile. “You’re fucking with me. Ha! Okay. Good. This is good.”

  “Go.”

  He winks. “You got it, Fitzy. Bring it, baby. I can take it.”

  As he turns around, his demeanor shifts. He’s lighter now. Unencumbered. Clearly, he’s convinced himself on a dime I couldn’t possibly be genuinely upset with him. But he’s wrong about that. Very, very wrong.

  We reach the sound stage and Savage whoops out a big hello to the crowd, like he’s just waltzed onstage at Madison Square Garden.

  “Thank God,” Nadine mutters. She claps her hands as Savage and I take our assigned seats at the round table. “Okay, folks, we’ve got two episodes to shoot today, back to back, as you know, and time is tight.” She glares at Savage and then me. “We’re already running late today, so let’s try to be as efficient as possible.”

  I lean sharply into Mr. Rockstar Cliché next to me and command, “Apologize to everyone for being late.”

  “Nah,” Savage says, leaning back into his chair and spreading his thighs. “I think I’ll let my babysitter do that for me. She’s the one being paid half my salary to make sure I’m on time.”

  “Asshole,” I whisper, before saying loudly to Nadine and the crowd, “Hey, everyone. Sorry about that. Savage was on a phone call with his grandmother.” I glare at Savage, who’s smirking infuriatingly at me. “We’re very sorry and both promise, it won’t happen again.”

  Nineteen

  Savage

  “Draft Day is a wrap, folks!” the director shouts, and in response, everyone around me on the stage—the three other judges, crew, and staff—sigh with relief and/or applaud. It’s only lunchtime and we’ve still got Mentor Day left to shoot this afternoon. But, at least, after hours of bantering, bartering, haggling and fighting—that last one being mostly between Laila and me—all four judges now have their final teams. I didn’t want to be the one to pick a fight with Laila today, but once she started giving me hell about that blue-haired pixie she wanted the most, Addison Swain, I actually enjoyed giving Laila as good as I got.

  And it worked. Midway through the morning, Nadine came over to Laila and me and flashed us a huge smile and thumbs up. Which means, if Laila ever had cause to worry that her job was on the line today—which I’m not convinced was ever the case—I’m now positive she’s in the clear. And that means whatever genuine anger my stunt this morning might have provoked in Laila, all will be forgiven by the time we leave the studio tonight. In fact, I’d bet dollars to doughnuts Laila will give me the blowjob of my life when we get home to thank me for knowing her better than she knows herself.

  “Hey, everyone, before we break for lunch,” the director says, and the room quiets down. “Why don’t we get
all four mentors out here real quick to shoot the full-cast round table discussion. We’ll do some trash-talking about the teams and then break for lunch.”

  “Sounds great,” Nadine says. She addresses a production assistant. “Wrangle the mentors from the greenroom, Gina.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  As crew members hustle-bustle around me, setting up whatever is coming next, I lean back in my chair and wink at Laila, who’s sitting next to me at the table. “What’d I tell you, Fitzy? We nailed it.” I hold up my hand for a high-five, but she leaves me hanging. “Aw, come on. You can drop the act now. Our scenes together are almost done. After this little round-table thing, you’ll be shooting with Colin and your team for the rest of the day.” I hold up my palm again. But, again, Laila leaves me hanging. Chuckling, I grab her limp hand and thwap her palm against mine, like a parent showing a toddler how to high-five. “’Thank you, Savage,’” I say on her behalf. “’You’re a genius and I’m grateful to you.’”

  Laila yanks her hand from mine. “I told you not to talk about this until we’re done for the day. I can’t get into this right now.”

  “Into what? You know why I invited Charlie over this morning.”

  She leans forward and whisper-shouts, “Stop. Talking. Now! Somehow, I need to get through the rest of the day without screaming at you, bursting into tears, or murdering you.”

  I’m flabbergasted. “Bursting into tears? There you go again. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Her nostrils flare. “Trust me, I plan to enlighten you, in great detail, when my job is done and we’re alone. For now, however, I’d appreciate you kindly pretending I’m not here.”

  “Laila, the only reason I invited Charlie to the house was to help you get into character today. Surely, you’ve figured that out by now.”