Her blog had surpassed her wildest expectations, had put her on the map, and was making her money!
But all that would end as soon as she got booted from the contest and lost the access needed to keep it going.
Ira commissioning a mural from her dad freed her up for journalism school in the fall!
But she worried about her dad getting caught up in Ira’s world.
With Mateo now out of the picture, she no longer had to feel guilty about moving to New York!
Mateo was out of the picture.
Who was she kidding? She sucked at positive thinking. For every good thought, she could easily find its much darker opposite.
It was only when she let herself into her room that she thought of one positive that didn’t come with a dark side: Thanks to her friendship with Trena, she was no longer a suspect in Madison’s disappearance!
And yet, without Mateo, even that failed to feel like a win.
FIFTY-SEVEN
BANG BANG
Tommy stood on the pink-and-gold-star-studded sidewalk just outside the Vesper, shielding his face from the relentless summer sun blazing high overhead like a cruel judging eye. It was another scorching-hot, zero-humidity day, and thanks to the drought and the Santa Ana winds, it seemed the whole city was burning. Griffith Park, La Cañada Flintridge, Angeles National Forest, and most recently, a brushfire was raging in Malibu. The air turned more acrid than usual and the sky darkened as though singed by flames, sending flecks of ash raining down, covering the city in a blanket of soot.
So far the expensive beachfront homes had been spared, but everyone knew if the fires didn’t get ’em, the earthquakes eventually would.
Maybe it was the constant threat of impending Armageddon that gave Californians the reputation of being so open and friendly. Perhaps living on the edge of destruction and knowing the dream could end at any second gave their lives the kind of intensity other places lacked.
All Tommy knew for sure was that despite the grim faces on the local news channel, on Hollywood Boulevard it was business as usual. A stream of double-decker tour buses cruised past, as out-of-work actors dressed as Shrek, R2D2, and Superman hustled the tourists for pictures, and Aster reeled on Layla, her eyes blazing, body trembling, as she shook her phone in Layla’s face.
“You did this, didn’t you?”
Layla nodded, not so much as flinching at the sight of an enraged Aster looming before her, oblivious to the usual Hollywood Boulevard circus bustling all around.
“Even though you promised you wouldn’t, you went straight to Trena Moretti and spilled all my secrets.” Aster seethed, her anger so palpable Tommy was sure it was just a matter of seconds before he’d be forced to break them apart, and he wasn’t entirely sure he was up for the task. The heat sapped his energy, made him lethargic, and the smoke-choked air made it a struggle to breath. Maybe the Hulk would be willing to help?
“Not exactly.” Layla remained completely unfazed, which only added to Aster’s rage. “I didn’t divulge any personal details. I never told her how I got the info.”
To Tommy’s ears, it seemed sincere enough to end the fight. Which was good, since he was eager to escape the blistering heat and head inside the dark, windowless, air-conditioned club. But judging by Aster’s clenched jaw and hate-filled stare, it didn’t work. But then, just when he was about to intervene, he watched in astonishment as Aster seemed to melt right before him.
“I’m not sure whether I should thank you or curse you.” She uncrossed her arms as the beginnings of a smile brightened her face. Leaving Tommy to question if he’d maybe imagined the whole thing. Surely what he’d witnessed had been no less than a brawl in the making?
One thing was sure, he was no closer to understanding the female species, and sincerely doubted he ever would. Though being a dedicated pacifist, he was mostly relieved he’d been spared a potentially violent scene between two people he was beginning to care about.
Layla nodded, seeming to take Aster’s change of heart in stride. The Teflon expression she wore on her face gave nothing away. Tommy had seen that look before. It was the mask she wore when she was determined to deflect whatever chaos surrounded her. It was a shame things had gotten so weird between them. But with the contest winding down, and with the cops focusing on Ryan Hawthorne, maybe she’d learn to forgive him for pointing Larsen in her direction.
He looked at her with a hopeful expression, only to be met by a pair of rolling eyes and smirking lips that instantly reminded him exactly who he was dealing with. His chances of earning a pardon were slim. Though that wasn’t to say he planned to give up. Even when she was hot, bothered, smelling of smoke, and misted with sweat he found her appealing in a way he couldn’t shake.
“On the one hand”—Aster bent toward them, her voice lowered to a level that forced Tommy and Layla to lean in—“Ryan’s involvement will undoubtedly result in more questions for me. I may even be considered an accessory for not admitting he left. But if Ryan really did harm Madison, then he deserves to be locked behind bars. But now that the mystery’s solved, I have another, potentially worse one. Or at least worse for me.” Her voice dropped even lower until it was just barely audible. “Remember that DVD I told you about?”
Tommy tensed, glancing between Aster and Layla, but before Aster could continue, the door swung open and Ira called them inside.
“Change of plans.” His expression was as sharp as his tone, the opposite of what Tommy expected. Usually, Ira approached the Sunday meetings like a piece of performance art, all too happy to ramble and pontificate and waste their sweet time before finally getting to the point and firing the worst-performing contestant. But this time, after casting a wary gaze around the premises, scrutinizing the trash cans as though he expected to see someone leap out from behind them, he ushered them inside and motioned for them to sit at one of the tables. When he closed the door, it was like he’d shut out the world—leaving them at the mercy of Ira’s agenda.
“I’m sure you’ve seen the headlines.”
Ira’s voice shook Tommy away from his thoughts and back to the present. There was no podium, no team of smokin’-hot nubile assistants, no formalities or hierarchy of any kind. The usual show was pared down to a casually dressed Ira, his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, his muscular forearms resting on the scarred wood table. It was a side of Ira Tommy hadn’t seen, and it left him uneasy.
“Night for Night is shut down.” His jaw tensed