Falling Into Love with You (The Hate-Love Duet #2) - Lauren Rowe Page 0,51

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 friends 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,