She sighed, unsure what to do. Part of her was tempted to delete the site and walk away while she could. While another part, a less emotional, practical part saw an opportunity that was so far untapped.
Last time she’d checked, her number of subscribers had drastically fallen, so Layla was surprised to find the count spiking again. Then again, there was nothing like a little controversy to incite the trolls into action. She imagined an army of passive-aggressive, socially maladapted, vitamin D–deprived misfits hunched before their computer screens, just waiting for her to write something unpopular so they could all pounce—the comments section being their only source of power in an otherwise powerless life.
While writing about Aster was off-limits—she wouldn’t stoop to that level, nor would she risk harming her any more than she already had—she wondered if maybe she should take the bait and use her blog to share the diary entries she’d been sent.
Then again, if she attributed the posts to Madison and it turned out they were fake, then Madison’s team could go after her for libel. The last thing she needed was for Madison’s pasty-faced, Dockers-wearing attorney to track her down and nail her for defamation of character, in addition to the restraining order he’d already served her.
Her phone chimed with an incoming text, and when she glanced at the display, she was surprised to see Aster’s name.
I’m out & I need your help. Meet me 2nite?
Aster was out? It was the first Layla had heard of it, and she’d been keeping close tabs on the news for any and everything Aster related. How she had managed to elude the press when there was a crowd of paparazzi permanently camped outside the jail was anyone’s guess. Though she’d be willing to bet Ira had something to do with it. Aster’s family was rich and powerful in their own way, but only Ira had the kind of connections that could keep such a newsworthy piece under wraps.
If anyone was sleeping with Ira, it was Aster. And yet, while there was an undeniable, indefinable something between them, Layla still couldn’t imagine it. While Layla didn’t know Aster all that well, she just didn’t seem like the sugar-daddy-seeking type. For one thing, Aster was already rich. For another, the ick factor was just too high to contemplate.
Layla shook free of the thought and responded.
Welcome home. Tell me when/where & I’m there.
She stared at the screen, waiting for Aster’s reply.
Et tu, Tommy?
At seeing his name, Layla frowned. She hadn’t realized it was a group text until then, but she didn’t expect Tommy to respond anytime soon. He’d stated his feelings on the subject loud and clear.
After a few moments of silence, Aster wrote:
Tommy I’m counting on you for keys/Layla=DVD
Layla was pretty sure Aster couldn’t count on Tommy for much of anything, including a reply, so she typed:
Forget T—I’ll bring everything.
Layla stared at the three dots on the screen, until Aster’s reply appeared.
Fine. Whatever. Address to follow.
Layla pushed her phone aside, shoved the latest diary entry into her bag alongside the first one she’d received, and stowed it safely under her desk. Since anything she posted about Madison could end up backfiring on all of them, she figured she should probably consult Aster before she made a decision.
Aware of someone watching, Layla glanced over to find Emerson standing off to the side, chatting with a fellow coworker, while pretending to ignore her. Though she’d felt the weight of his gaze on her the whole time.
Was he somehow connected to the diary entries?
When he’d handed her the first one, he’d claimed it had been accidentally delivered to him—but was that even true? And hadn’t he just mentioned how he was the one who put all the goodie-bag boxes on her desk? Did that include the box containing the note?
While she couldn’t say for sure, there was definitely something off about him that set her on edge.
When her eye caught his, she flashed him the brightest grin she could manage, added a little wave for good measure, then turned back toward her desk and busied herself with opening boxes and judging the contents.
TWELVE
LOVE DROUGHT
Somewhere in the distance, a cell phone was chiming, the sound as annoying as it was insistent. One chime. Two. Hopefully the third would be the last. Tommy had been smack in the middle of a wonderful dream, and he didn’t appreciate the intrusion.
“Tommy? Tommy, you awake? I think that’s your phone buzzing.”
The girl’s voice lured Tommy away from his dreams as a long, cool arm slipped around his waist and dropped his phone onto the sheets before him.