Falling Out of Hate with You (The Hate-Love Duet 1)

Eli pulls a face. “Our joint demands? We have none. Whatever ‘demands’ you might have, they’re between Laila and the producers.”

“Jesus, Eli. Either you’re full of shit, or genuinely terrible at this. I’ll assume it’s the latter, and break it down for you. If you want to lure my client to the negotiating table with the producers, then your client will need to promise to present a united front with her, during those negotiations, on all her key demands.”

Eli sighs and drapes his arm over the back of the love seat. “Which are?”

“Thank you for asking.” Daria smiles. “Laila would consider taking part in the proposed fake romance, if she’s doing so as a full-fledged judge for the entire season.”

“Ha!” Eli blurts, as I sit forward gaping like a fish.

Daria calmly says, “We want a seat at the judges’ table for Laila, and we want Savage to help her get it, or this whole deal will be dead and Savage can kiss his job goodbye.”

I look at Laila, trying to gauge if she’s onboard with this attempted extortion, but her face is impassive. A perfect poker face, unlike mine.

“It’s impossible,” Eli says.

“Nothing’s impossible,” Daria insists. “They hired Savage as a judge, in the first place, despite his reputation for being a womanizing man-child who can’t keep his donkey dick off Twitter.” She smiles at me. “No offense, Mr. Savage.”

I can’t help returning her smile. “None taken. I actually thought you were complimenting me.”

Daria bursts out laughing. “And there’s that famous charm. By the way, I thoroughly enjoyed Twitter this morning. That was a top-notch swan dive.”

“Why, thank you. I was simply doing my part to spread joy in an otherwise bleak world.”

“You’re a saint.”

“Would you tell Laila that, please? She seems to think I’m the devil.” I glance at Laila and smile when I discover her poker face has been replaced by a grin. A reluctant one, but it’s there. I explain to Laila, “It was Kai’s birthday last night. He dared me, so I had no choice.”

“Ah. Birthday Truth or Dare,” Laila says, having heard stories about our long-running game from Kendrick. She adds, “Well, then, screw the morality clause in your contract. You had no choice but to strip down and take that naked flying leap.”

“See? I knew you’d get it. Why can’t the producers?”

Her reluctant grin widens, and for the first time in a long time, we share an easy smile. One that feels genuine and not laced with arsenic. And I can’t help thinking that’s probably a good sign for my chances here.

Daria says, “The producers know The Savage and Laila Show would bring in record ratings. And that’s all they care about, really. Ratings. So, let’s work together to convince them that’s exactly what they’d get.”

Eli chuckles. “I admire your tenacity. But you’re aiming too high. They haven’t budgeted for a fourth judge and the season starts shooting in two days. Please, Daria, let’s talk more realistically and find a middle ground we can—"

“There’s no middle ground,” Daria says flatly. “Laila needs to be offered a full-fledged judgeship this season, with a salary to match, or she’ll stick with her current contract and appear for one episode as Aloha’s mentor. Agree to present a united front with us on a phone call, or this meeting is over.”

I flash Laila a look that says, Damn, maybe I need another agent. And she flashes me a return look that says, Right? She kind of scares me a little bit.

I smile.

So does Laila.

Again.

And, suddenly, I feel tingles skating across my skin.

“For the record,” Eli says, “I think you’re trying to climb Mount Everest in stilettos. But we’re willing to stand united with you, while you try. Right, Savage?”

I nod. “Honestly, I think Laila would make a great judge. I’m all for it.”

In truth, I’m deeply skeptical Daria can make this happen for Laila, but why not let her try? It’d be no skin off my nose, if Laila became a judge. In fact, I’d kind of like having her around. First off, to amuse and distract me while I try to stave off the inevitable hives that will surely come from my presence on such a stupid show. But, more importantly, the more weeks Laila appears on the show, the more time that will give me to try to get her into my bed—to finally convince that stubborn woman to let me eat her pussy while she eats her words. The ones that have been torturing me for two months. This will never happen again. If Daria’s pitch isn’t successful, I’m sure she’ll cave and negotiate some middle ground for Laila—which, in the end, will keep me on the show, either way.

“Thank you, Adrian,” Laila says, looking genuinely touched. And I feel a sudden jolt of optimism that maybe Laila could find her way to falling out of hate with me, at the end of all this.