Falling Into Love with You (The Hate-Love Duet 2)
I poke my head into Savage’s dressing room, and when he’s not there, I head to mine, figuring I’ll do what I said I’d do—give him a call. But when I swing open the door of my dressing room, there he is. Adrian Savage. Languidly lounging on the couch, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I bellow. “Everyone is waiting for you!”
“Oh, hey, Fitzy,” he says. He puts his arms behind his head. “Turns out you didn’t fuck Charlie during the tour! I wonder why you didn’t tell me that.”
“We’ll talk about it later,” I grit out through my teeth. “As your babysitter, I order you to head to the set now. I told you I’m on the chopping block today. How could this possibly help me, when the producers consider your misbehavior as mine?”
Savage stands and winks at me. “Don’t worry about today. I’ve got a good feeling we’ll deliver everything Nadine asked for, and more.”
So, that’s it. Savage has convinced himself he’s helping me out—being an asshole in order to inspire me to slap the shit out of him on-camera today—when in reality, he’s been dying to scratch this particular itch for months. That’s so Savage, it makes me want to punch his gorgeous face. “I’m not faking my anger toward you, if that’s what you think,” I say. “I’m not ‘playing along.’ I’m genuinely pissed and hurt about the stunt you pulled this morning.”
He looks shocked by my word choice. “Hurt?”
“We’ll talk about it later. Right now, I need you to act like a professional.”
“What do you mean you’re hurt? You mean you’re annoyed. Pissed off. Miffed. Frustrated. Maybe even embarrassed I caught you red-handed in a lie. But hurt?”
“Don’t tell me what I’m allowed to feel, Adrian. Trust me, I’ll be happy to explain my emotions to you, in full, later. Unfortunately, if I start explaining myself to you now, I won’t be able to stop. In fact, it’s fifty-fifty I’ll burst into tears.”
“Tears?” Savage blurts, looking horrified. “Why? Laila, what’s going on?”
“I can’t, Savage. Not with everyone waiting on us and my makeup done and a fucking buy-out clause hanging over me.” I point. “Just, please, get your clueless ass in there and don’t say another word about this morning until the cameras are off for the last time tonight.”
Savage stands, looking uncertain. “I was trying to help you by inviting Charlie to the house. Surely, you’ve figured that out.”
“Go.”
His brow furrowed, he walks past me, out of the room, and I follow him into the hallway. When he stops and inhales like he’s about to speak, I cut him off.
“No,” I say. “Don’t talk about it. Just go.”
“I don’t understand you,” Savage mutters. “No good deed goes unpunished.”
“Shut the fuck up and go.”
He takes a few steps, his body language reflecting confusion . . . and then stops in the hallway, turns around, and flashes me a huge smile. “You’re fucking with me. Ha! Okay. Good. This is good.”
“Go.”
He winks. “You got it, Fitzy. Bring it, baby. I can take it.”
As he turns around, his demeanor shifts. He’s lighter now. Unencumbered. Clearly, he’s convinced himself on a dime I couldn’t possibly be genuinely upset with him. But he’s wrong about that. Very, very wrong.
We reach the sound stage and Savage whoops out a big hello to the crowd, like he’s just waltzed onstage at Madison Square Garden.
“Thank God,” Nadine mutters. She claps her hands as Savage and I take our assigned seats at the round table. “Okay, folks, we’ve got two episodes to shoot today, back to back, as you know, and time is tight.” She glares at Savage and then me. “We’re already running late today, so let’s try to be as efficient as possible.”
I lean sharply into Mr. Rockstar Cliché next to me and command, “Apologize to everyone for being late.”
“Nah,” Savage says, leaning back into his chair and spreading his thighs. “I think I’ll let my babysitter do that for me. She’s the one being paid half my salary to make sure I’m on time.”
“Asshole,” I whisper, before saying loudly to Nadine and the crowd, “Hey, everyone. Sorry about that. Savage was on a phone call with his grandmother.” I glare at Savage, who’s smirking infuriatingly at me. “We’re very sorry and both promise, it won’t happen again.”
Nineteen
Savage
“Draft Day is a wrap, folks!” the director shouts, and in response, everyone around me on the stage—the three other judges, crew, and staff—sigh with relief and/or applaud. It’s only lunchtime and we’ve still got Mentor Day left to shoot this afternoon. But, at least, after hours of bantering, bartering, haggling and fighting—that last one being mostly between Laila and me—all four judges now have their final teams. I didn’t want to be the one to pick a fight with Laila today, but once she started giving me hell about that blue-haired pixie she wanted the most, Addison Swain, I actually enjoyed giving Laila as good as I got.