Falling Into Love with You (The Hate-Love Duet #2) - Lauren Rowe Page 0,14
Sunshine wraps things up.
“Thank you for coming today! Full promo packages have been sent to you via email.”
I look at Savage, ready to flash him a look of relief that the press conference is over, but he’s eyeing my mentor behind me like he’s plotting murder.
“Hey,” I whisper sharply, squeezing Savage’s thigh, and he turns around and smiles at the crowd again. But it’s too late. His jealousy was on full display. Clearly, he’s trying to figure out why the producers chose Colin, of all people—a drummer known more for his recent underwear campaign than his singing—as my mentor. And I must admit, I’m wondering the same thing. Colin and I have never been anything but friends. But there’s no denying our chemistry. Also, I can’t help remembering I offered up Colin on Sylvia as someone I’ve been wrongly linked with, right before I denied the rumors about Savage and me. Did the producers notice that little detail, too?
“Back to the greenroom, guys,” a PA says to the cast. And, in short order, all eight of us exit the press conference and head back into Reed’s game room. The minute we get to our destination, I begin walking toward Colin, intending to ask him what the producers said to him when they hired him. Did they mention what I said on Sylvia as one of the reasons they’d picked him? But before I’ve reached Colin, Nadine, the executive producer of the show, hugs me and pulls me over to Savage.
“You two are geniuses!” Nadine blurts, her angular face aflame. “We had extremely high expectations about you two this season. But now that I’ve seen the goosebumps you’re capable of delivering, I can already tell we didn’t aim nearly high enough.”
Five
Laila
I’m sitting next to Savage in the backseat of a large, black SUV with tinted windows, headed toward whatever home the producers have secured as our fake love nest for the next three months. The same driver and bodyguard from yesterday are seated up front. Savage is looking out the window on his side of the car. And I’m freaking out.
Which parts of Savage’s speech during the press conference—the one where he itemized all the things he supposedly “loves” about me—were based in truth? For my part, every word I said about Savage in my speech was tethered to truth. I don’t love Savage, obviously, but now that I know about his devotion to his ailing grandma—like, seriously, where did that come from?—I realize he’s not quite the monster I’d come to believe by the end of the tour. In fact, I think he might be a whole lot more like the dude I shared a bottle of whiskey with in Providence, than the asshole who tore me a new one in Atlanta.
Also, those two kisses Savage and I shared during the press conference are messing with my head. I’ve never swooned so hard in my life as I did during those kisses! My brain knew it was all for show, but my heart exploded like a nuclear bomb. I felt urgency and need in Savage’s lips and tongue. I felt passion. And now, as I sit here next to Savage, driving to who-knows-where, I’m realizing, much to my dismay, I’m in for a very confusing three months, exactly as Aloha warned.
I look at Savage sitting next to me to find him tapping on his phone with a cute little smile on his face—the kind of grin I’ve seen on him only when he’s interacting with one of his bandmates, but especially with Kendrick or Ruby.
“Are you texting with Kendrick?” I venture, looking for any excuse to start a conversation.
Savage looks up, still looking adorable. “My cousin, Sasha. She lives with our grandmother in Chicago. They watched the press conference and now my cousin is texting in all caps.” He snorts. “She’s so funny. Both Sasha and my grandma are losing it about the ‘amazing girlfriend’ I’ve never bothered to tell them about.”
I glance at the two men at the front of the car and lean in to whisper. Surely, our companions are bound by an ironclad non-disclosure agreement, but better safe than sorry. “What are you telling your family about our ‘relationship’?”
Savage flushes a deep crimson, telegraphing the answer to my question is: I’ve let them believe we’re an actual couple.
“You haven’t told them the truth?” I whisper.
He shakes his head, looking sheepish. “I was going to give my cousin a heads-up about us before the press conference, but I