“Sounds like reason enough to me,” Aster said, never once taking her eyes off her brother.
Layla pushed away from the couch and headed for the window, wondering why she hadn’t shared her suspicions that Emerson might somehow be involved. “I guess I just feel like I need more proof,” she said, musing on how the statement applied equally to both her suspicions about her coworker and the diary entries. She needed more proof. They all did. They had plenty of bits and pieces, but nothing concrete, nothing real to go on. “If I just randomly publish them without revealing who wrote them, no one will care. If I claim they’re from Madison’s diary and it turns out they’re not, then I can be sued for libel, which I really don’t need.”
“Maybe you should consult Trena?” Ryan ventured. “You know, get some feedback on the best way to handle it.”
Layla made a considering face, but it was mostly for their benefit. “Journalists can get kind of competitive, and I’m not sure I trust her,” she said, deciding not to tell them about their meeting, and how she wasn’t questioning just Trena, but also the company she kept. It was probably just a coincidence that Trena’s assistant reminded her of someone she’d seen at the Unrivaled interviews, except Layla didn’t believe in coincidence, and as a journalist, she’d learned to rely on her instincts.
“I’m not sure you should trust anyone.” Aster shot Layla a look she couldn’t quite read. Though if she had to guess, she’d say there was something deeply suspicious lurking behind it.
“What exactly are you getting at?” Layla asked, figuring she might as well put it out there. She had enough games in her life. She didn’t have the patience to take on another.
Aster and Ryan exchanged a meaningful glance before Aster stretched her long bare legs before her, flexed her ankles, and said, “I guess I’m just wondering why your dad’s artwork is all over the building I woke up in that morning.”
“You found the building?” Layla looked from Aster to Ryan, wondering why they hadn’t bothered to mention it until now. This was big news—really big, in fact.
“Don’t change the subject,” Aster snapped.
“But . . . that is the subject.” Layla frowned, not getting what Aster was suddenly so worked up about.
“Just answer the question!” Aster was agitated, and when Ryan tried to calm her by placing his hand over hers, she promptly snatched hers away and focused on where her brother was working in the corner.
“Listen, I don’t know what this is about.” Layla spoke carefully, afraid of setting her off and inciting a meltdown. “Actually, let me rephrase that. I do know what you’re getting at. And before we both say things we cannot take back, let me assure you that my dad is a well-known artist. Which means his artwork hangs in many spaces, both private and public, throughout the city and beyond. So, if you saw his work somewhere, that doesn’t mean—”
“Two pieces. I saw two pieces in the same building!” Aster narrowed her eyes on Layla’s. “That seems a little excessive, don’t you think?”
“Not really, no.” Layla struggled to not take offense, which was virtually impossible with Aster seeming to imply that Layla somehow had something to do with setting Aster up. Or was she implying her dad was at fault? Either way, it was crazy, mind-boggling proof that Aster was seriously starting to lose it.
“And there was a hole in one of the paintings.”
Layla wondered if she looked as incredulous on the outside as she felt on the inside. “We
ll, I can assure you that I’d never do that. It’s like book burning—it’s unholy, sacrilegious.”
Ryan shook his head at Aster before turning to Layla with an apologetic look. “Listen, I think we’re all a little on edge here. So . . .” He frowned as Aster sprang from the couch and went to check on her brother.
“Did you find anything?” Aster’s tone was impatient, her body jumpy and restless.
“Maybe.” Javen stopped typing and swiveled around to face her, and once again Layla was struck by how much he resembled his sister. He might even be the slightest bit prettier, as impossible as that seemed.
“Don’t mess with me, Javen.” Aster thrust a hand on her hip. “This is important. My life is at stake.”
“But why is it important?” His dark, long-lashed eyes flashed on hers. “Why should this place possibly matter? How exactly does it fit in?”
Aster looked away. Her expression completely shut down in a way Layla found frustrating. If she didn’t want to tell her little brother, so be it. But why wouldn’t she at least confide in her lawyers? Why did she continue acting so stubborn, insisting on doing things her way, which as far as Layla was concerned, was veering more and more toward the wrong way?
Well, if Aster wouldn’t tell anyone, then maybe Layla would. With the way she’d acted so nice and ingratiating, as opposed to her usual, hurried, superior self, Trena was clearly desperate for info. Layla fingered her phone, tempted by the idea of setting up another meeting just as soon as she left.
“Is this where you spent the night when you came home that morning wearing some guy’s clothes?” Javen looked as though he already knew the answer; he was just willing his sister to show a little faith and confirm it.
Aster glared. “Are we really doing this? Are you really going to play me when I’m this desperate? What do you want this time—the keys to my car? Because you can’t have it—it’s been impounded.”
“I don’t want anything.” Javen spoke quietly, though he didn’t seem particularly stunned by the comment. Layla could only imagine what it must’ve been like to grow up in Aster’s shadow. “I’m just wondering why I’m seeing footage of you entering that apartment.”
“Wait—what?” In a flash, Aster was practically on top of him and grasping at the computer, but Javen was quicker and slammed the lid shut.
“I have answers,” he said. “But first I have questions.” He guarded the laptop in his arms as Aster stood shaking and furious before him. “As a reminder, hacking is illegal. Just because the feed was particularly easy to hack into doesn’t mean I can’t get in serious trouble for the things you’re asking me to do.”
Layla watched as Aster visibly softened, but only a little.