Blacklist (Beautiful Idols 2)

“What do you know about music?” Malina demanded.

Layla gnawed the inside of her cheek. In her panic, her mind had gone blank and she couldn’t recall a single song that she liked. Thanks to her dad’s creative influence, Layla had grown up listening to some pretty cool bands. Much of her childhood had been spent touring art galleries, museums, and going to concerts. Because of that, she had no embarrassing boy band crushes that could ever come back to haunt her. And yet, with Malina warily eyeing her, the best Layla could do was mumble, “Um, I mostly like rock. I listen to a lot of classic rock, actually.”

“How classic?” Malina uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. Her chair squeaked in protest as Layla gulped. This was a test she would either pass or fail. There was no gray zone with Malina.

“Classic like . . . Zeppelin, Hendrix, Bowie, Nirvana . . . oh, and the Cure,” she said, remembering how Mateo had introduced her to them, and while she could no longer remember if she’d liked them, it was out there now and there was no retrieving the words.

“Nirvana is classic rock?” Malina quirked an amused brow.

“They were playing ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ when I bought guacamole at Gelson’s the other day.” Layla met her gaze and held it.

“Touché.” Malina grinned, well, barely, but still, Layla would take what she could get. “So reassuring to know my high school soundtrack has survived the test of time only to end up in the local produce aisles.” She tapped her fingers against her desk, then pulled a demo CD from a folder and pushed it halfway between them. “It’s not a proper studio recording, which means it’s a little rough. Also, we haven’t had time to schedule a professional photo shoot, but trust me when I say this guy is hot, hot, hot and has the talent to match.”

Layla nodded and waited for more, waited for Malina to remove her perfectly manicured index finger from the CD so she could stuff it into her bag and get the hell out of there.

“Originally, I was positioning him to debut at the Vesper. But now that this opportunity’s opened up, I think the Unrivaled tequila launch would work just as well. He’s new, but he’s ready. I’ve no doubt he can handle the crowd. Now it’s all up to you . . .” Malina’s eyes narrowed, her voice faded; clearly she’d already forgotten who she was talking to. Could this meeting get any worse?

“Layla,” she supplied, her voice as tight as the expression she wore on her face.

“Yes, so my hope is you’ll give him a chance, Layla.”

Malina emphasized the name as though committing it to memory, and suddenly Layla wished that she wouldn’t—wished that the moment she left, Malina would forget she existed.

“I’m sure you know how hard it is to make it in this town. The industry is very competitive, and . . .” Her phone buzzed then, and she glanced at the screen and pressed her lips into a frown. “Just—give it a listen.” She rushed to stand and pressed the demo into Layla’s hands as she promptly stood too.

“I expect to hear from you soon. We’re only days away from the event, so we need to move quickly.” She was already at the door. Layla was just a few steps behind her.

“And the artist’s name?” Layla asked. She knew nothing about the music biz, but it seemed weird that during the entire time Malina had been singing this unknown rock god’s praises, she’d yet to mention his name.

“Don’t worry about that. Just give it a chance.”

Layla left the office and made her way to her car. It felt so good to be out of that corporate env

ironment—away from Malina, free of Emerson. She thought she might even open her sunroof—something the sun-phobic LA native rarely did.

She plucked a flyer from under the windshield wiper, about to toss it when she realized it wasn’t a flyer at all.

It was another card. Her name was carefully scripted on the front of the envelope in that all-too-familiar curlicue scrawl, while the card itself bore a picture of the same cartoon cat from the first one. Only now, in addition to the noose around its neck and the bloody gunshot wound to its head, its front teeth were knocked out, making for an even more sinister grin.

Inside, someone had written:

Your reluctance to play is making me sad

Better move quickly before sad turns to mad

It would be a real shame

If you mistook this for a game

If you continue to delay

There will be a hefty price to pay.

Layla’s gaze darted frantically around the parking garage as she tried to catch a glimpse of whoever might’ve delivered it. Were they hidden away somewhere, watching her every move? She shook away the thought, buried the paper deep in her bag, and slid inside her car.

The only one who knew about her meeting was Emerson. Even Malina had expected to meet with Ira, not her. Had he really driven all the way out here just to slip the message under her windshield? She supposed it was possible, and yet, something about it didn’t make sense.

Eager to rule it either way, Layla phoned the office and asked to speak to him. If Emerson was there, then she’d know he didn’t do it. She hadn’t been in Malina’s office long enough for him to make the round trip.