Unrivaled (Beautiful Idols 1)

Slowly the color returned to Javen’s cheeks. “Does this mean you’ll reconsider sneaking me into your club?”

“No.” She frowned. “I’m new at this. I can’t take any chances.”

“But later?”

“Everything’s negotiable,” she said, knowing in that particular case it most certainly wasn’t.

They drove the rest of the way in silence until she pulled into the Grove parking lot, where his friend waited. “You’ll cover for me tonight, right?” She needed a verbal so she’d have one less thing to worry about.

Javen nodded distractedly, his attention drawn to the cute boy waiting for him. “You know, when Mom and Dad told us they were spending the summer in Dubai, I knew it was destined to be the best summer ever. But then when they said Nanny was coming to stay, I thought my life was officially over.”

Aster laughed. She’d felt the same way.

“But now that I know we’ve got each other’s back, I’m pretty sure it’s gonna be epic.” He grinned in a way that left him looking so beautiful, so young and hopeful, Aster’s heart clenched in response. Her brother was standing on the cusp of his life, about to experience all the undiluted joy and heartbreak the world had to offer, and there was nothing she could do to protect him from the darker moments that would surely find him. Though she’d do her best to protect him from Nanny Mitra and her parents.

He slid from his seat and loped toward his friend, while Aster, overcome by a surge of love and protectiveness, tapped the gold-and-diamond hamsa pendant that hung from her neck, said a silent prayer for Javen, and made her way to Safi’s.

TWELVE

I WANNA BE SEDATED

Layla gazed around the nearly empty club and sighed. It was closing time at Jewel, but it was only slightly less crowded than it had been before. The crowd on the dance floor had been so sparse, even the DJ looked bored. Her first night on the job was a flop. And despite Karly’s claim that her good friend’s cousin’s boyfriend’s brother had once styled Madison’s hair on a movie set so she’d probably be the first to snag her, Madison never appeared. Still, they had managed to pull in enough people to save the night from being a total disaster, no thanks to Layla.

While Layla had plenty of friends, none of them were big on clubbing. Had she been in charge of the Vesper, they might’ve shown, but soon as they heard she was promoting the slick, glitzy, upscale Jewel, they were quick to turn up their noses in that totally hypocritical, indie snobbery way that always amused and amazed her. When it came down to it, her friends’ disdain of the mainstream and moneyed made them just as big snobs as the mainstream and moneyed snobs they disdained. Yet they could never quite see it that way. Whatever. She loved her friends. Loved them for the very reasons they wouldn’t be caught dead at Jewel. But that didn’t mean she didn’t feel they’d abandoned her.

Hoping to secure some gets for the weekend, she made for a group of girls whose slinky, barely there dresses told her they were into being noticed.

“Hey!” She rushed toward them, ignoring their withering glares. “I was wondering if you wanted me to take your picture.” She waved her cell phone in front of them, pegging them as way too vain to pass up the offer.

“Um, no, thanks.” The tall blonde sneered as though Layla was some pathetic last-call letch.

“It’s not for me,” Layla raced to explain. For better or worse she’d started this mess, and she was determined to finish. “It’s for the club. I’m one of the promoters.” She paused, giving them ample time to act impressed, but they remained before her, arms crossed, brows raised. “I was going to post it on Twitter and Instagram. You know, under the Jewel account.” She rubbed her lips together, hoping they were too clueless to know the club didn’t have social network accounts. Ira thought his brand was too cool for all that, a major misstep she intended to fix.

She waited while they conferred with one another, acting like it was a much bigger deal than it was. Making Layla feel as weird and obtrusive as she had on her first day of junior high, when the popular girls physically ejected her when she’d accidentally sat at their lunch table.

“Okay,” the blonde finally said. Every group had a leader, and she’d clearly been crowned. “But only if we get to approve the picture before you post it and you promise to tag us.”

Layla blinked. This was one high-maintenance crowd. “Maybe I should run it by your agents first,” she joked.

They stared blankly in return.

“Deal,” she agreed, taking a series of shots and trying not to laugh as they all huddled together, making that bizarre this is my sexy face duck-lips expression she’d never understood. After collecting all of their Twitter and Insta handles, which she planned to use to lure them back, she called, “Bye!” as they made for the exit. She immediately regretted it when they all burst out laughing.

God. She was such a colossal dork. Mateo had no reason to worry. There was no way she’d get sucked into this world. Stupid Tommy was right—if she couldn’t even get her friends to show up, and the duck-lips girls had taken her for a joke, then how in hell was she supposed to appeal to Madison Brooks? She needed to do something quick if she didn’t want to be the first to flame out.

She climbed on her bike and made her way down the boulevard, vowing not to look when she passed Night for Night and the Vesper. It would only make her feel worse, yet the fierce competitor in her couldn’t keep from sneaking a peek.

The LA private-school crowd lingered outside Night for Night, leaving Layla to wonder how many were regulars, and how many Aster and her team had lured in.

When she reached the Vesper, she revved the throttle, desperate to make it past the intersection before the light turned. Then she cursed her crummy luck when the car in front of her hit the brakes, forcing her to skid to a stop just a few feet from Tommy and some platinum blonde wearing fishnets, sky-high ankle boots, and a tiny black dress that just barely contained her.

Fortunately he was too busy flirting to notice she was there.

Or not.

“Layla!”

He called her name twice, as Layla focused hard on the light, willing it to turn. If it wasn’t for the camera just waiting for her to make a run for it so it could photograph the evidence and deliver a ticket straight to her door, she would’ve been out of there.