second longer. In a torrent of angry words, I let loose on him, ripping him a new asshole for his selfishness, rudeness, and extreme unprofessionalism, especially over the past couple weeks. I rail against him for all the times he’s been insanely late for soundchecks and the buses. And then, I scream at him even more passionately about the time, just last week, Savage kept a room full of VIP fans waiting a ridiculously long amount of time.
I wasn’t there to see Savage’s bad behavior at that VIP event, and it didn’t affect me, personally. But I heard about it and it pissed me off! Apparently, when Savage finally arrived, after keeping those poor people waiting far too long for their demi-god, he only half-heartedly rushed through his duties in lightning speed. Totally unacceptable!
Wrapping up my diatribe, I shout, “Remember in Providence, you told me you feared becoming a rockstar cliché?” I take a step forward and shove my nose into his face, my breathing hot and heavy. “Well, guess what, Adrian? Transformation complete!”
Savage’s dark eyes drift to my lips for the briefest moment. But then, he takes in the shocked faces of the crew and staffers who’ve witnessed my tirade. And, suddenly, he transforms into a raging lunatic, before my eyes.
Practically vibrating with rage, Savage grits his teeth and lets me have it for a full five minutes, basically telling me in every conceivable way I need to know my place, mind my business, and shut the fuck up. As the cherry on top, Savage also tells me I’m lucky to be on this tour at all—that, in fact, he didn’t want me here, and told Reed as much, from the get-go.
“But since you are here, against my will,” he spits out, “you should be kissing my goddamned ass, not ripping it a new asshole—and especially not in front of the entire crew.” He motions to the flabbergasted crowd of people standing around us, their mouths hanging open—a group that now includes not only staff and crew, but the members of Fugitive Summer, as well. “Know your place, Laila. Or, I assure you, you can and will be replaced.” He smiles at whatever panic he’s seeing on my face. “You think you’re the one who makes every single one of these people’s paychecks possible? You think the fans in this stadium paid to see you? Think again!”
He steps forward, closing the already small gap between us, and gets right into my face.
“Now, why don’t you go to your dressing room and have your little glass of white wine and call your asshole boyfriend to tell him about me being a big, fat meanie to you tonight. Actually, I don’t care what you do, as long as you stay the fuck out my way for the rest of the night, so I don’t cut your ass from the tour, just to teach you a much-needed lesson in humility.” He exhales, and his warm breath releases onto my face. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for me to head onstage to entertain the thousands of people who came out tonight to watch me shake my ass like a motherfucking rockstar cliché.”
Fifteen
Savage
Phoenix, Arizona
When Kendrick and I step outside the door of his hotel suite, the moonlit air feels unexpectedly warm for this late hour.
“Thanks for the birthday party, brother,” I say, gripping Kendrick’s sideways palm.
After releasing my hand, Kendrick looks around at the moonlit night and winces. “It’s still hot as an oven out here, at this hour?”
“Welcome to Phoenix,” I quip. As Kendrick knows, I spent my earliest years in this oven of a city, before moving to Chicago at age twelve to live with my grandma in her apartment complex, which was where I met the Cook brothers, whose family lived down the hall.
“You were ruthless in ‘Birthday Truth or Dare’ tonight,” Kendrick says, laughing.
I shake my head. “You were way more ruthless on your birthday. Surely, making the head of our label hate my guts is far worse than me making you briefly turn your balls into cucumber slices at the spa.”
We laugh together, both of us reliving tonight’s silliness. After Kai had passed out on the couch in Kendrick’s suite, I dared my best friend to whip out his balls and rest them onto his brother’s sleeping eyelids—you know, as if Kai were a customer at a spa and Kendrick’s balls were a couple of cucumber slices. And thanks to the rules of our game, Kendrick couldn’t