Unrivaled (Beautiful Idols 1)

“Tommy—” She shot him a look like she was about to explain the truth about Santa and the Tooth Fairy all at once. “I know you’re not from here, so I’m going to do you a favor and—”

“How do you know I’m not from here?” Tommy cut in.

“For one thing, you have an accent, even though you’re convinced you don’t. For another, you’re way too languid to ever be confused for a native.”

“What? Everyone knows Angelenos are laid-back.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s all PR. You want to see the soul of the city, take your chance on the 405 freeway during rush hour and see how long it takes you to merge into the far left lane, and how many times they flip you the bird along the way.”

Tommy fought back a grin. She was sarcastic and cute, but it was better to keep the thought to himself. “Okay, so it’s a tough town, friends are in short supply—kind of remedial stuff, seeing as we covered all that at the interview. Clearly you mistake me for some dumb country hick with a clump of horseshit stuck to my boots.”

Layla bit her lip, looking surprisingly chagrined.

“I know you’re small-talk averse, but let’s get one thing clear—yes, I’m from Tulsa, or more accurately, a small town just outside Tulsa that no one’s ever heard of, so it’s easier to say I’m from Tulsa. But, contrary to what you might think, I did not grow up drinking milk from my very own cow. I didn’t do my business in an outhouse, and I do not make out with my cousins. My life so far has been normal, maybe a slightly different normal from yours, but that’s more about geography than anything else. I’m not a stereotype. So please don’t treat me like one.”

She frowned and settled back in her seat.

“And I wasn’t kidding about talking strategy.” He rubbed a hand across a swath of carefully cultivated chin stubble. “I think we can help each other.”

She folded her arms across her chest and glanced longingly toward the door. “We’re on different teams. I’m meeting mine in an hour.”

“Well, I just came from my second meeting with mine, and it was a total waste of time.”

&n

bsp; “So now you’re trying to get back at them by wasting mine?”

He shook his head, refusing to acknowledge her words. “Way I see it, this entire contest is rigged to help Ira, not us.”

“Um, yeah,” Layla snapped, which was pretty much the verbal equivalent of rolling her eyes. “Everything’s about Ira. The winner is a well-compensated afterthought.”

“And yet one of us will be eliminated each week for not pulling our weight or whatever excuse Ira comes up with.”

She allowed a cautious nod of her head. She was still with him, which was the most he could ask for.

“So, I don’t know about you, but I don’t have a lot of faith in my crew. And there’s no way I’ll share my better ideas so they can use them against me.”

Layla squinted in confusion, which only made her look cuter. “So . . . you want to give me your better ideas so I can use them against you?”

“Yes.” He grinned. “But not entirely . . .” He swiveled in his seat, surveyed the line at the counter, and without another word, got up and took his place at the end.

It was a trick he sometimes employed when he needed a moment to gather his thoughts. It also offered the added benefit of keeping the other person completely off balance, too busy wondering what was going on to build an argument against him.

When he returned a few minutes later with a cup of lemonade in each hand, he gave her first dibs. “Blood orange or mint?”

Layla flipped her hands on the table like she didn’t care either way. “You want to get on my good side, always default to coffee. But fine, blood orange, whatever. Is there a point to all this?”

“Here’s the thing—” He circled his hands at the base of his cup and leaned toward her. “Ira needs us more than we need him. After selling his Sunset Boulevard clubs last year, he’s determined to make his mark on Hollywood Boulevard. Sunset was a no-brainer. It’s been an established hangout for pretty much ever.” He looked pointedly at Layla. “I may not be a native, but I did do my research. Anyway, Ira’s sunk a ton of money into his attempt to revitalize the area and make it the new Sunset, money he can probably afford to lose if the whole thing blows up, since we all know Ira’s richer than God, but Ira doesn’t play to lose. Failure isn’t an option. He’s in it for the win. Always. And he’ll do anything to get it.”

“Sounds like you know an awful lot about Ira. What’s that about?” Her brow rose as she did this adorable thing with her mouth that Tommy tried not to focus on.

He shrugged in reply. No use alerting her to just how obsessed he’d become. “I like to know who I work for. Anyway, from what I gather, the clubs are struggling. Sure, some industry players have dropped in, but Hollywood Boulevard’s a tougher sell than Sunset, so they haven’t gained any traction. That’s where we come in. We’re there to elevate his brand, make it sexy, exclusive, and most important in Hollywood—young. In the end it will come down to three of us. Well, ultimately one of us, but before that, three, since there’s no way Ira will eliminate an entire club from the competition when there’s money to be made. He’ll pick us off one by one, just like he promised, but he’ll be far more strategic than he lets on. Then he’ll make us battle to the death, probably for his own amusement, because that’s how Ira rolls.”

Layla took a moment to consider. “Okay,” she ventured. “So why me? Out of all the other contestants, why me, as opposed to, oh, I don’t know, Gamer Boy, Goth Boy, Cowgirl, hell, even Queen Bitch Aster.” Reading Tommy’s expression, she explained, “I prefer nicknames to real names, and that last one is from an old David Bowie song.”

“Hunky Dory album.” He nodded appreciatively, enjoying her look of surprise. “What—you mistook me for a Directioner or a Belieber?”

“No—I—” She shook her head, gazed down at her drink. She was completely off balance, just how he wanted her.