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

He pauses, briefly, before saying, “Right. Absolutely.”

We stare at each other for a long beat, the only sound the crashing of my heart in my ears.

“Okay, well . . .” Savage finally says. “I’m glad we talked about this. It’s a good thing you’re so familiar with songwriting and the creative process, or this could have created a huge misunderstanding. Especially going into our . . . arrangement.”

I press my lips together. “It’s a good thing, indeed.”

He motions toward the door. “So . . . should I tell the makeup artist to—”

“Yes, please. We’re running tight on time, apparently, and she’s got quite a bit more to do to make this shit stain look halfway decent.”

“Actually, I would have thought she’s already done. You look great.”

“Thanks. Zander’s hangover cure worked, exactly as promised. I feel . . .” Weird. Confused. Shocked. Skittish. Suspicious. Freaked out. “Remarkably good, actually.”

“Glad to hear it. Okay, well, I’ll go get the makeup artist for you. See you at the press conference.”

“See you then.”

He turns to leave.

“Actually, one quick question.”

Savage turns around slowly, his facial expression saying, And I was so close to escaping, too.

I smile. “In the second half of the chorus, that sort of post-chorus sing-along part . . . Are you singing, ‘La la la . . . Laila’ there?”

He flushes. “No.”

“No?”

“Nope. I’m singing ‘la la.’”

“Yeah, I know, but at the tail end there. After the string of ‘la la’s,’ you didn’t cap it off with ‘Laila’?”

“No. I sang, ‘La la’ the whole way through.”

“Huh. That’s so weird. I was positive I heard you singing my name.”

“That’s what being a narcissist will do to you, I guess. You think everyone is singing your name.”

I smile sweetly. “Takes one to know one, honey.”

We chuckle awkwardly. But, seriously. I swear I heard that part as Laila.

His face is red. His Adam’s apple bobs. “I was definitely singing ‘la la’ there. But if you think it sounds too much like Laila, then I can re-record that part, very easily, to make it crystal clear what I’m actually singing—which absolutely isn’t ‘Laila.’”

“No need. I’m sure I was just imagining it. Thinking the world revolves around me, like you said. I’m sure when I listen again, I’ll laugh that I ever thought you sang my name on that part.”

Savage chuckles with me. “Yeah, that’s funny.” He claps his hands together and exhales. “Okay, well, I’ll let you get to it. Like you said, time is tight.”

“Great. Thanks.”

Looking a bit out of sorts, Savage practically stumbles out the door, and a moment later, the makeup artist returns. After she’s picked up her eyeshadow palette, and I’ve settled back into my chair, I shove my earbuds back in, restart “Hate Sex High” from the beginning, and listen to every single word, this time extra carefully: