“Late as always.”
She gazed up at the woman who’d said it, about to defend herself, point out that she was actually early, when she realized the woman was referring to the event.
“Typical celebrity bullshit.” She looked at Layla as though expecting her to agree.
“I know, right?” Layla said, immediately regretting it. It made her sound as young and inexperienced as she was. But the woman didn’t seem to mind.
“Trena. Trena Moretti.” She offered a hand, and Layla juggled her coffee in order to take it. “LA Times digital division.” She shook her head, setting her wild bronze curls shimmering in a way that reminded Layla of fire season. “Still can’t get used to saying that. I came over from the Washington Post.”
Layla nodded. “Layla Harrison.” She purposely omitted the name of her rag, mostly because it didn’t exist. But when Trena leaned closer, eyes narrowed, trying to make out the name on her badge, she reluctantly said, “The Independent. Probably haven’t heard of it, since we’re new and . . . independent.” Oh yeah, that was super convincing.
Trena shot her a knowing look. “First time at one of these?”
Layla was about to deny it, claim she’d been to many, but Trena was onto her. “That obvious?”
“You’re drinking the coffee.” Trena grinned. “Though it’s good to see an excited new face. Reminds me why I was once drawn to this field.”
“Why’d you leave the Post?” Layla asked, wondering if it was too invasive of a question for someone she’d just met, but weren’t journalists supposed to dig deep? And besides, Trena could always plead the Fifth.
“A major career shift brought on by a cheating fiancé. Guess Madison and I have more in common than I thought.” She laughed, prompting Layla to laugh too. With her smooth caramel complexion, and intense blue-green eyes, she was incredibly striking. “So, what’s your interest in Madison?” Trena asked.
Layla shrugged. She didn’t have a ready answer for that. “I guess I don’t trust her,” she said, deciding to answer honestly. “And I’m waiting for her to slip up, show us who she really is.”
Trena tapped her water bottle against Layla’s Styrofoam cup. “That makes two of us. You see that breakup video?”
Layla nodded vaguely. If there was ever a time to brag about her accomplishments, it was now. But her badge claimed she worked for a nonexistent rag.
Trena looked toward the stage. “Oh, finally,” she said. “Shall we?”
Layla glanced in that direction. She’d planned to stay put, stick to the fifty-foot radius she’d been warned about. But just as quickly she decided against it. She was a member of the press, and the press wouldn’t be silenced.
She followed Trena, thrilled to have met someone who could possibly become a mentor. The two of them watched as Madison’s costars took the stage one by one, leaving the chair in the middle, the one reserved for the star, empty, as the moderator took the mike and said, “We apologize for the delay.”
“I’ll bet.” Trena rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“We’re now ready to begin, but there’s one caveat.” He paused as though waiting for the situation to change within the next twenty seconds. When it didn’t, he said, “It looks like Madison Brooks will not be joining us today.”
That simple announcement was enough to set off an explosion of shouting as the reporters jockeyed for attention, yelling their questions.
Where’s Madison?
What explanation did she give?
Does this have something to do with the events at Night for Night?
The moderator held up his hands. “I don’t have answers to any of your questions, but if you’ll all quiet down, we can proceed.”
Trena glanced at Layla with an annoyed look on her face. “I don’t know about you, but without Madison, I have no good reason to be here.” She made for the door as Layla followed. “I’m not much for clubbing,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “But I’d love to talk with someone who was there. Something about that breakup feels wrong.”
“I was there.” Layla stopped short of the door, reluctant to leave her first press conference. With or without Madison, it was still worth attending.
“You don’t strike me as the nightclub type.” Trena studied her with renewed interest.
“I’m not.” Layla shrugged. “Which is why I suck at my job as a promoter.”
Trena fought to maintain a neutral face, but Layla caught the fleeting glimmer in her eye all the same.
“What do you say I buy you lunch, and in exchange, you tell me about your job as a promoter at Night for Night?”