Tommy had been dumb enough to invite Tiki to the party, and he was already regretting it. He barely knew her, and he certainly didn’t think of her as a girlfriend or even a potential girlfriend. Truth was, he wasn’t even sure why he’d done it, other than he’d been scrambling for something to say to fill the awkward silence when five minutes into breakfast he’d discovered they had virtually nothing in common and so he’d blurted the only thing he could think of—he invited her to his debut and she’d been quick to accept. He would’ve been better off making the usual halfhearted promise to call, but Tommy had never been any good at that either.
Malina had ordered him a limo, and for the entire ride there, he watched Tiki take selfies as she posed provocatively across the long bench seats, while Tommy mentally rehearsed the playlist. It was only a handful of songs, but the gig was more important than most. He’d be singing for A-listers, tastemakers, influencers with unlimited reach—the kind of celebrities and Hollywood players who had the power to make him if they liked what they saw.
The fact that he had Layla to thank for the gig left him uneasy. When Malina had informed him of her meeting with Layla, Tommy had groaned and figured he was doomed. Malina had raised a brow, but Tommy refused to explain.
“You’re in no position to be making enemies,” she’d told him.
To which Tommy replied, “Then you’ve definitely got the wrong guy. Thanks to the Madison mess, I have way more haters than fans.”
“It’s handled,” Malina had assured him, before going on to inform him of her decision to keep his identity under wraps. Which was how he came to be billed as “Special Surprise Performing Artist.”
Tommy thought for sure the idea would backfire. That sort of contrived vagueness only worked for real artists like Bono or Springsteen or some other Rock & Roll Hall of Famer who people would actually get excited about. Using it for some young, dumb unknown was bound to disappoint.
“You are famous,” she’d said. “Just not the right kind of famous—or at least not yet. But trust me, you will be.” When Malina’s dark eyes met his, it was just like she’d said: he was in no position to make enemies, much less disagree with people who knew more than him.
And now, after having just finished his set, he was filled with what could only be described as elation. The initial shocked silence when the crowd first recognized him as the thug tied to the Madison scandal had been more than a little disconcerting. But after a shaky start, Tommy found his voice, and it didn’t take long before the crowd forgot who he was and gave him a chance. The enthusiastic applause and screams for an encore when he finished his set proved Malina was right.
Someone handed him a water, someone else a shot of tequila, and the next thing Tommy knew, he was surrounded by the kind of gorgeous models and actresses that had once only populated his dreams. And yet, here they were in real life, telling him how amazing he was, while Malina was swarmed by execs wanting to set up meetings and talk about how working together could be of mutual benefit.
Tiki squeezed inside the circle of models and clutched his arm in a proprietary way—a move that worked to deter some of the models, but not all. Still, he had only himself to blame. Tiki was pretty and nice and eager to please. Problem was, she just wasn’t Layla and never would be.
Luckily, it wasn’t long before Malina saved him by introducing Tiki to an actor rumored to be newly single, before deftly pulling Tommy aside.
“You okay with losing the girl?” she asked.
Tommy shrugged. By the looks of it, Tiki had already moved on.
“Good. You need to be single. Your star will rise quicker if every girl in America thinks she has a shot at you.”
“Just America? Why are we limiting ourselves?”
Malina grinned. “Last I checked, every girl in America wanted to kill you, so we have a bit of a PR crisis on our hands. Nothing I can’t handle, though, as long as you do what I say.”
So far he was fully aligned with whatever she planned. “Have you talked to Ira?” he asked, trying to keep his voice from betraying his nerves. But in his mind, it was Ira’s response that mattered most.
“Not yet. Though my spies tell me he looked pleased.”
Tommy frowned. “Then they’re lying. Ira never looks pleased.”
“Why don’t you ask him yourself, then?”
Tommy turned to find Ira standing just behind him.
“I hate surprises.” Ira’s gaze was flat as he shifted between Malina and Tommy.
“Most people do.” Tommy fought to determine what was really going on behind the immaculate mask, but as usual Ira was impossible to read.
“It’s my night. Been planning it for weeks. And somehow you two manage to pull a fast one.”
Malina started to speak, but Tommy beat her to it. “I just seized an opportunity when it was offered to me. Isn’t that what you would’ve done?” He was tempted to end the sentence with Dad—Isn’t that what you would’ve done, Dad? But if Ira didn’t like the surprise of Tommy replacing his headlining musician, there was no telling how he’d react to that particular bombshell. Besides, Tommy wasn’t quite ready to make the reveal. His career was just starting. He had a long road ahead.
Ira clenched his jaw and stared at the glittering city skylights beyond. “How does it feel to have your dream come true?” he asked, returning his focus to Tommy.
Since he’d arrived in LA, Tommy’s dream had been to hear Ira praise him. Praise him in a way that proved he’d be proud to claim Tommy as his son. But if anything, Ira only seemed annoyed to have lost a small margin of control over his launch. And while Tommy considered it a small victory, it was hardly the stuff of his fantasies.
“I’ll let you know when it happens.” Tommy tossed back a shot of tequila and turned to leave. “Oh, and congrats on your party,” he called over his shoulder, leaving Ira to stare at his retreating form as he made his way across the lawn to where Layla stood, contemplating her own shot of tequila while looking sexy as hell in an off-the-shoulder red dress.
“I hear I have you to thank.” Tommy grinned, though his smile vanished as soon as he took in her blurry, unmistakably tear-stung gaze. “Uh, Malina told me about your meeting,” he added, watching Layla awkwardly dab at her face in an attempt to appear as though everything was fine. “Something tells me that’s not a celebratory drink.” He looked pointedly at the shot glass clutched in her hand.
“Either way, the effect is the same—it helps you forget.”
Tommy squinted and rubbed an uncertain hand over his chin, unsure how to respond. He knew he owed her an apology, but clearly, this was not the best time.
“Mateo and I broke up.” The words seemed to stumble forward in a rush, as though she was desperate to be rid of them, pass the burden to someone else. After a moment of silence, she said, “How come you don’t look even the slightest bit surprised?”
Tommy shrugged. He’d heard some vague rumor about Mateo being seen out and about with Heather Rollins, and while he’d felt bad for Layla, part of him hoped it was true. To her he just said, “You okay?”
She nodded confidently, but Tommy wasn’t buying the act. Layla hated to be pitied. Anyone could see that.
“Happily ever after is for movies and books.” She tilted her chin and forced her gaze to meet his. “In the real world, everything has a beginning, middle, and end. There’s no such thing as forever.”
Tommy regarded her with a skeptical look. “You saying you don’t believe in the big, splashy Hollywood ending?” When their eyes met, Tommy felt a stream of energy pulsating between them. But maybe that was just him. Layla seemed preoccupied and oblivious.
“Even as a kid I wanted Cinderella to pretend the shoe didn’t fit so she could do something more interesting with her life than marry a prince.”
A slow smile broke across Tommy’s face. All around them, the party raged on, but at that moment, he was immune to it all. All he could see was Layla’s lovely face hovering just inches from his.
“Anyway, cheers!” She hoisted her glass and drained the shot in a single gulp.
“Did it work?” He cocked his head and waited expectantly.
Layla shrugged. “Too soon to tell. So, where’s your date?” She glanced all around as though looking for the blonde he’d arrived with, but in that particular crowd, it was a needle meet haystack situation.
“Last I saw she’d latched onto someone way more famous than me.”
“In this crowd, that could be just about anybody.”
Tommy laughed. “According to Malina, in order to build my fan base, I need to stay single.”
“That sounds a little . . . controlling.”
“It’s as good an excuse as any. Not like Tiki was a contender.”
“Tiki?” Layla made an exaggerated gaping face.
“Don’t mock. It’s not like I named her.”
Layla burst out laughing, and Tommy began to relax. It felt good to be back on friendly terms. He’d missed her feistiness, her friendship, and the easy banter they shared.
A waiter passed and Tommy was quick to claim two glasses and hand one to her. “How many of these have you had?”
Layla took a moment to think, then wiggled two fingers before him.
“Good.” He handed her a glass. “From what I remember, things don’t get interesting until number four.” When his gaze met hers, to his delight, he found she was grinning. “To Ira,” he said, clinking his glass against hers. “For better or worse, we have him to thank for all this.”
“To Ira!” Layla pressed the glass to her lips at the same moment the power went out.