by Alyson Noel
“So, you come up with all that.” She drew air circles with her finger. “And yet, you claim you ‘didn’t really talk all that much.’” She cocked her head, allowing her hair to flop into her eyes. “Sounds like you talked a lot more than you let on.”
Tommy shifted uncomfortably, picked at a loose thread on the cushion. “Maybe it’s better if we don’t talk about the competition.”
“Why not?” She narrowed her gaze. “It’s the only thing we have in common.”
“We both like Zeppelin,” he said. It was a pathetic attempt, but he was eager to return to a more peaceful state. He hated confrontation. Especially when he had no idea why he was being confronted. “What’re you doing?” he asked, watching as she leaped from the couch and inexplicably made for the door.
“This was a bad idea.” She ran a hand through her white-blond hair and frowned. “Competition and friendship don’t mix.”
“But—you barely drank any of your beer.” He pointed stupidly at the mostly full bottle as though that was enough to convince her to stay.
“You finish it,” she snapped, her mood shifting so quickly he could barely keep up. “Like you said, you handle it better.”
Without another word, she let herself out. Leaving Tommy to wonder what the hell had just happened.
THIRTY
NOTHING ELSE MATTERS
Madison sat on the patio at Nobu gazing out at Malibu Beach, enjoying the feel of the soft breeze brushing over her cheek. Ever since she’d moved to LA, the ocean had become a welcome retreat. Watching the waves continuously lap at the shore was her favorite way to meditate. She’d thought about buying a place by the water, but with all the public access, beach houses were tough to safeguard. Besides, for the moment, all her dreams were on hold until her problem was handled.
“Was that James I just saw?” Ryan bent to give her a perfunctory kiss. “You know, the bouncer at Night for Night? Could’ve sworn I just saw him tipping the valet and collecting a sick matte-black CTS-V coupe.” He shook his head. “Didn’t know being a bouncer paid so well.”
Madison shrugged like she had no idea what he was talking about. Ryan didn’t need to know about her arrangement with James or anyone else on her payroll. What she was about to divulge was revealing enough. She could only hope he’d cooperate—that their time together hadn’t resulted in complete animosity.
He claimed his seat reluctantly, wearing an expression of wary distrust. Well, they’d have to find a way around all that. Now more than ever they needed each other.
“So, what’s this about?” He centered his green eyes on her, his voice surprisingly brusque.
She gazed out at the sea, watching the sun slice through glorious bands of purple and pink as it dove toward the glistening silver-blue water. “Remember that night when you wanted to come here for dinner but I chose to stay home, so you said you were going out with your friends but you really went to see Aster Amirpour at Night for Night?”
His eyes widened, but he soon got control of his face and switched into neutral.
“I was just wondering—exactly how serious are you about Aster?” She leaned back in her seat, observing him closely. Watching as he shook his head, clutched the sides of his chair. He was just about to bail when she reached toward him and said, “Please—no more games. Let’s be straight for a change.”
He flashed her a dubious look, shot a hand through his tousled blond hair. The silence stretched between them until he finally relented. “I don’t know.” He splayed his hands on the smooth wood tabletop, studying his fingers as though trying to recall the lines that went with this scene. “I guess my interest lies somewhere between not very and very.”
Madison nodded. “And what is it you see in her, aside from the obvious?”
He ran a hand over his face, gazed at the other diners, before returning to her. “Mad, come on.” He flipped his hands on the table and frowned. “What’s this about?”
“It’s about getting to the truth.”
“Jeez, I . . . this is really uncomfortable, okay?”
Madison nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“Fine.” He focused on his fork, pressing the tines with the tips of his fingers. “According to my shrink—”
“You told your shrink?” She knew he saw a shrink, everyone did, but she didn’t realize he actually confided in her. She figured he was just there for the medical marijuana prescription she’d written for him.
“I thought it was like confession—that I was supposed to confide all my sins.” He shrugged. “Anyway, according to her, my attraction to Aster is about her needing me in ways you never could. She also says I’m acting out because of my show getting canceled. Trying to bolster my ego and feel important again.” He looked away, as though it pained him to say it.
“And what if I said she was wrong?”
Madison observed him placidly, knowing she’d clinched it when he tilted his head, nodded for her to go on.
“What if I told you I do need you—more than you could ever guess?”
Ryan licked his lips and leaned toward her, clearly aware that a deal was about to be struck. “I’m listening.”
“Good.” Madison grinned, settled deeper into her seat. “Order us some drinks, and I’ll explain everything. But first you have to promise not to tell your shrink, your priest, or anyone else what I’m about to tell you.”
He nodded agreeably and flagged down a waiter. As the man approached, Ryan flashed Madison his best heartthrob grin and said, “And then later, you can tell me all about Della, your arrangement with James, and how you really got that scar on your arm.”
THIRTY-ONE
DESTINATION UNKNOWN
Aster spun before her full-length mirror, making sure she appeared flawless from every angle. Ira was hosting an industry party at Night for Night and all the biggest players were invited, which meant she needed to look her absolute best.
She gazed at her Valentino heels and frowned. They went perfectly with her cream-colored vintage Alaïa minidress she’d recently picked up at Decades on Melrose. Normally she avoided used clothing; something about it seemed kind of icky. But the way the dress clung to her curves banished her worst germophobe fears. There was no doubt Ryan would love it. But to really pull it off, the shoes were imperative. Question was: How to get them down the stairs and out the door without Nanny Mitra noticing.
It was the final night of week three in the competition, and though she was managing to hold her own, the Vesper’s numbers continually trumped hers, and Jewel was gaining traction, what with all the models and B-list celebs they were pulling in. Layla was crazy if she thought she could bribe Aster into sending Ryan Hawthorne her way.
When she’d first seen the pic, she was panicked. The thought of someone photographing what she thought was an intimate, private moment was disturbing at best. Last thing she needed was the pic to go viral, and yet she couldn’t afford to let Layla win. She’d send Sugar Mills and whoever else she could wrangle from her agent, but that was the most she would do. Layla would just have to deal.
For now, she had bigger problems at stake, namely the shoes. Nanny was definitely onto her and Javen. Usually she was in bed by nine o’clock, nine thirty at the latest. But lately she’d taken to watching late-night TV, claiming to be a recent convert to Conan and company. Though they’d done their best to cover for each other, it was getting increasingly difficult with Nanny always poking around in their business.
She lifted her fingers to the gold-and-diamond hamsa pendant and begged whoever was in charge of such things to see her through another night, and, if it wasn’t too much to ask, all the ones that followed. Despite outward appearances, Aster was starting to slip, mostly thanks to her friendship with Ryan.
While she’d managed to put him off, she couldn’t help but wonder how much longer he’d be willing to settle for the few covert kisses they’d shared. Just the other night he’d accused her of being a tease. And though he’d smiled when he
said it, there was an edge to his voice that left her uneasy.
She couldn’t afford for him to lose interest. Not only was she becoming addicted to all the attention he showered on her—it was a rush unlike any she’d ever known—but she was also starting to believe he was actually serious about helping her break into Hollywood. He’d even promised to set up a meeting between her and his agent—a major upgrade from her own worthless agent. She knew he wouldn’t let her down, but she also knew that eventually, he’d expect her to yield to more than just kissing.
From what Aster could piece together via the tabloids and blogs, Ryan and Madison were still together, but Ryan swore they were as good as over. She hoped he was telling the truth. She’d never intended to like him so much.
She slid her purse onto her lap and riffled through the contents—keys, lip gloss, driver’s license, cash, and the condom she and her best friend, Safi, had bought one drunken night on a dare and that she’d carried around ever since just in case, were all there.
The only hitch in her plan was the shoes.
Going barefoot wasn’t an option. But then neither was wearing the heels downstairs at ten o’clock at night in her robe while Nanny Mitra watched TV. Since she’d started the day faking a cold, if only to explain her exhaustion from staying up late and her subsequent need to sleep in, she figured she might as well play it out all the way. She slipped her robe over her dress, cinched it tightly at the waist, slid her window open, and tossed the shoes and purse onto the lawn two stories below. Cringing when the stilettos landed with a thud, she held her breath, hoping Nanny Mitra hadn’t heard, and made for the stairs.
Arranging her hair to hang in her face, mostly to hide the fact that she was wearing foundation and blush (the eyes and lips she’d do in the car), she headed into the den, her eyes widening when she saw Javen lounging in one of the side chairs, pretending to read. Guess she wasn’t the only one with big plans. He was playing his part, she was playing hers, the two of them working to keep Nanny subdued.
“Thought I’d come down and say good night,” she said. “I just took some NyQuil and it’s making me tired, so I think I’ll turn in.”
Nanny nodded and started to rise, but Aster raised a hand to ward her off.
“I might be contagious,” she explained. “And I’d hate for you to get sick. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She and Javen exchanged a complicit look, as Aster headed back to her room and waited for her brother to text her the moment Nanny fell asleep in her chair, which didn’t take long. Then she snuck down the stairs in her robe, just in case Nanny unexpectedly woke, slipped out the front door, gathered her purse and shoes from the lawn, and raced toward a whole new life that was finally about to begin.
Aster stood in the Riad and glanced nervously around the club, hoping Ryan hadn’t changed his mind about her just when she’d decided on him. He knew about the party. Knew how important it was to her. And tonight of all nights she needed him there. She checked the time again. It was unlike him to be late.
“Aster.”
A hand circled her wrist. Lips nudged her ear. She closed her eyes in relief and breathed in a cloud of Tom Ford Noir.
“You look amazing.” He led her to the sofa and claimed the space beside her, his fingers cupping her knee, at first tentatively. Then seeing she didn’t squirm or push him away, he ventured a few inches higher until his hand was resting near the hem of her dress.
“You came alone?” Her heart raced at the possibilities unfolding before her.
“You were expecting Madison?”
At the sound of her name, Aster instinctively recoiled, only to have Ryan pull her back to him. “Can’t even remember the last time we spoke,” he said between kisses.
“And yet, according to the tabloids, you guys are as hot and heavy as ever.”
Ryan pulled away, buying a few moments’ reprieve by pouring shots of chilled vodka. “It’s in the works. I promise. I just hope you can be as patient with me as I’ve been with you.” His gaze met hers, and she felt herself squirm. He had been patient. She had led him on. Or at least sort of. Not entirely. But yeah, maybe a little.
She leaned in for the kind of kiss she’d so far avoided. Her body pressed against his, she kissed him fully, deeply, and once she’d started she found it nearly impossible to stop. He buried a hand in her hair. Pulling away for a moment to gaze at her in wonder, before finding her lips once again. His fingers creeping steadily up her thigh, slipping under her dress, as she melted into his arms. Ryan adored her. She could hear it in his voice. Feel it in his touch. And as his fingers flirted with the edge of her thong, she wondered if it was actually possible to die of happiness.
His breath grew heated and quick, as he coaxed a finger under the lace, only to have her panic and push him away. “Aster, please,” he moaned, his voice hoarse. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” He pulled her back to him, reclaiming her lips in a way that had her torn between ripping his clothes off and doing him right there in the Riad, and pulling the brake while she still could. Losing her virginity in public was never part of the plan.
“Ryan.” She placed her palms on his shoulders and pushed him away until there was enough space between them for her to think clearly. “I can’t do this—not here—not like this. . . .” She paused, unsure if she should mention he was about to be her first. Some guys liked that sort of thing, while others did their best to steer clear. She decided against it. The night was already more perfect than she’d imagined; she wouldn’t allow anything to change that. “We need to slow down. Or at least I need to slow down.” She took a deep breath, then rushed to explain. “I’m still at work. I can’t exactly spend the whole night in here with you. Though that’s not to say that later, after the club closes, we can’t . . . finish what we started . . .” She flashed a flirtatious grin, aware of her heart pounding so loudly it was a wonder he couldn’t hear it.
Ryan considered her for a long, thoughtful moment. Then, without another word, he rose to his feet, extended his hand, and shot her that world-famous smile that made a million hearts melt, hers included.
“Where we going?” she asked, afraid he was trying to lure her away, despite what she’d said.
“Dance with me, Aster. You’re at least allowed to dance, right?”
She grasped his hand and let him lead her onto the dance floor.
“Though believe me, once you’re off the clock, I have every intention of picking up exactly where we left off.”
THIRTY-TWO
THIS IS HOW A HEART BREAKS
Layla stood by the bar and checked the time on her phone. “You going to the party?” Zion asked, coming over to join her.
Layla took in his shaved head, gleaming brown skin, perfect bone structure, and bronze-colored eyes, and shrugged. Zion was ridiculously beautiful, and he knew how to work it. But somehow it wasn’t nearly as annoying coming from him as it was from Aster Amirpour.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to pass up the chance to celebrate Queen Bitch Aster?” Zion goaded her.
“It’s not about Aster,” she reminded him. “It just happens to take place at Night for Night. Ira promised he’d rotate the parties.”
“Well, don’t tell Aster. She thinks it’s her club. Just like she thinks it’s her party.”
Layla rolled her eyes. It was nice to share a common enemy. Not to mention Zion was the only one on her team still talking to her. Brandon was gone, and Karly had never warmed up. Though she often suspected it was probably because Zion didn’t view her as a threat. Sure, she’d managed to bring in Heather Rollins, but Zion consistently filled up the club with so many insanely gorgeous models, it eclipsed her more modest gets.
Not like she cared. Thanks to Heather and all the Madison gossip she fed Layla, the blog was taking off. Still, in order to maintain her insider access, she needed to stay in the game, which made her just as determined as Zion.
“Is that your get?” Zion shook his head and made
a disgusted face, as he nodded toward a man who could only be described as beige. “Honey, that’s not even normcore, that’s borecore. And it looks like mister tall, pale, and nondescript is heading your way. I’ll leave you to it.”
Layla watched as the man approached, the colorful overhead lights casting crazy shadows over his face. With his pleated khakis, tan walking shoes, and white golf shirt, he looked so out of place among the trendy young club kids, she wondered for a moment if he was somebody’s dad.
“Are you Layla Harrison?” His pale gaze moved over her.
She nodded, watching in confusion as he reached into his back pocket and handed her a folded sheet of paper. “What’s this?” She squinted at the official-looking typeface.
“Restraining order.”
She blinked and shook her head, sure she’d misheard.
“From this point on, you are not to go within fifty feet of Madison Brooks.”
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Layla trembled with frustration and rage as her fingers crunched the paper into her fist. “I trip and spill my drink and now I’m a stalker? Is she for real?”
“Stalking charges are no joke. Neither are the slanderous stories you post on your blog.” His face was impassive, gave nothing away.
“It’s not slander if it’s true,” Layla grumbled, before she could stop herself.
She shook her head and looked around the club, convinced Zion or Karly was playing some kind of prank. Until she looked at the tall, plain man again, saw the way his gaze narrowed on hers until his pale eyes nearly disappeared.
“Who the hell are you?” she asked. His bland face looked vaguely familiar, though she had no idea why.
“I represent Madison Brooks. And it’s in your best interest to take this seriously. We clear?”
“Crystal.” She glared, watching as he turned and made for the exit.
As soon as he was gone, she ripped the document to shreds, deposited the pieces into the can behind the bar, dumped a load of ice cubes and lime wedges on top, and stormed out of Jewel.
