He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and looked her over. “You’re pretty jumpy.”
“I had a late night. And a lot of caffeine.” She cringed under the intensity of his gaze.
“Is that why you didn’t answer my texts?”
She sighed and closed her eyes, wishing she could stay that way, block the world out. He was going to make her late, but mentioning that wouldn’t go over well.
“I’m sorry. I was busy, and—” She directed the words to a spot just past his shoulder to avoid looking at him.
“Your blog. I know. Trust me, I read it.” He continued to study her, as though daring her to meet his eyes.
His voice hinted at something she was sure she didn’t want to know, and yet she couldn’t keep from asking, “And—what did you think?”
His features sharpened, as he gazed out at the house across the street—a recent remodel that resembled a two-story gift box with windows. “I think it’s unlike you to be cruel,” he finally said.
“It’s not cruel if it’s true,” she snapped.
“But these are people you know—not public figures. There’s a difference.”
Inside she fumed. Mateo didn’t know what he was talking about, but she wasn’t going to stick around and enlighten him. “Listen,” she said, trying to keep the edge from her voice. No matter how angry he made her, she hated when they fought, and lately it seemed like fighting had taken the place of everything else. “I have to go. We can discuss this later.” She rolled her bike onto the street, trying to ignore the hurt look on Mateo’s face.
She’d make it up to him later. But for now, she had a meeting to attend, and it had to come first.
She forced her mind to go blank as she made her way to the Vesper, but it was no use. Her hands were shaky, her heart was racing, and she knew it wasn’t just the result of too much caffeine and too little sleep. This was about Mateo, and Mateo was wrong. The moment Aster had decided to steal Madison’s boyfriend (not that Layla actually believed a person could be stolen, short of being kidnapped; people either went willingly or they didn’t go at all—they weren’t property one could swipe when no one was looking), she’d thrown herself into the ring. Same went for Tommy when he decided to rescue everyone’s favorite celebrity. Layla had only done what any good journalist would do by reporting the story.
And yet, no matter how many times she replayed the words in her head, in the quiet of her soul she knew it wasn’t entirely true. She’d acted from a dense, dark, and shadowy place. Forfeited her neutrality, the last remaining shreds of her journalistic integrity, and picked sides by choosing herself over everyone else. Anyone with a smidgen of insight could see Layla Harrison was far from innocent.
She paused before the ugly metal door and wondered if it wasn’t too late to turn back. She could leave now, climb back in bed, and for a few blissful hours forget she’d ever allowed herself to get caught in this mess. She could—
“Layla?” The door opened before her as Ira Redman loomed on the threshold. “You joining us?”
She ducked her head low and slipped inside. The Vesper was the darkest of all Ira’s clubs. Even with the lights turned up, it still resembled someone’s hip, gritty dungeon.
“So, now that everyone’s here—” Ira began.
Before he could finish, someone called from the back, “What about Aster?”
Ira lifted his gaze from his clipboard. His features sharpening, he said, “Aster won’t be joining us. Though I advise you to worry about your own survival, not hers.”
From somewhere in back, someone snickered. Loudly, unmistakably, intended for Ira to hear.
Ira’s steely gaze swept the room, though Layla sensed he knew exactly where it had come from. Ira claimed to know everything. Not to mention there were only eight suspects to choose from.
“If any of you have something to say, I suggest you do so. Passive-aggressive snickers, groans, eye rolls, and the like will not be tolerated.”
The words were barely out before he had a taker. “Yeah, I have a comment.”
Layla watched as Brittney rose from her seat, face flushed with anger. “How am I—how are any of us expected to compete when Aster and Tommy choose to pimp themselves out to the top names on your list?” She tucked her blond hair behind her ear and glared hard at Tommy, who sank lower in his seat. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.” She folded her arms beneath her abundant chest and turned her focus to Ira. “Thanks to Layla, the whole freaking world read it. It’s all anyone’s talking about!”
Layla cringed and slipped toward the edge of her chair until she was hanging off the edge, wishing she could bend herself into tiny, unnoticeable, origami-like folds. The words she’d always dreamed of hearing—the whole freaking world read it, it’s all anyone’s talking about—were finally being applied to her, only it was for all the wrong reasons. Hardly the victory she’d dreamed it would be.
“We either need a new list, or . . .”
“Or?” Ira cocked his head, regarding her closely.
Brittney stood uncertainly before him, questioning her own convictions as she searched the room, desperate for takers to join her one-woman meltdown. But with everyone shifting uncomfortably, intent on avoiding her gaze, she was all on her own. Having talked herself into a hole, there was only one way out, continue or fold.
“I just—” Her voice cracked. She took a moment to clear it, harden her reserve. “I just don’t see the point in continuing if the whole thing is rigged against me.”