open and Layla appeared as a small, black-clad figure in a circle of light, Tommy took one look at her platinum-blond hair, gray-blue eyes, and pale lovely face, and realized he wasn’t even close to being over her.
Though she was definitely over him.
Not that there was anything to be over exactly. The kiss they’d shared had been a one-time thing; not to mention, last he’d checked, Layla had a boyfriend. Still, the memory had managed to stick no matter how hard he tried to forget.
She paused in the entry, scanning the room. She’d find him eventually, though no thanks to him. It wasn’t often Tommy got a chance to observe her unaware—looking just the slightest bit lost and unsure as opposed to her usual sarcasm and swagger—and he planned to enjoy it for as long as he could.
“Way to pick a venue, Tommy.” Layla flung her bag into the booth and slid in beside it, as Tommy tried not to notice the way her dress hitched up her thighs. If she caught him staring, she’d eat him alive. “Isn’t this where they found that actress’s body parts chopped into bits and stored in plastic containers in the fridge?”
“That was back in the sixties. They’ve remodeled the kitchen since then,” Tommy said, not the least bit disturbed by the bar’s grisly past.
Layla took a dubious look all around. “Looks like that’s the only thing that’s been remodeled.”
The waitress arrived with his beer and Layla ordered a coffee, black. As the server walked away, Layla turned to Tommy and said, “Did she just roll her eyes at me?”
“They depend on their tips.” Tommy shrugged. “Besides, haven’t you reached your caffeine quota by now?”
Layla checked her phone and placed it on the table before her. “I didn’t call you to discuss my need for coffee rehab.”
Tommy bit back a grin and took a slow sip of beer. Layla had no patience for small talk. He’d learned that the first day they’d met, when he’d made the mistake of trying to engage the cute blonde who’d rolled up to the Unrivaled Nightlife interview on an electric-blue Kawasaki. That first meeting hadn’t gone well, but back then Layla had hated Aster too. And yet, here she was, determined to find some way to save her.
Tommy pressed his forearms to the table and leaned toward her. It was time he stopped fantasizing about a relationship that would never be and focused on the real point of the meeting.
“Still can’t get in to see Aster.” Layla sighed. “Who knew county jail was tougher to breach than the VIP list at Ira’s clubs?” She frowned. “Not to mention how I’m pretty sure Trena knows more than she’s letting on. But every time I bring it up, she insists on talking around it. It’s like she’s determined to block me and I can’t figure out why. After all, I’m the one who fed her the clue about Ryan Hawthorne. Maybe she needs a reminder.”
“She’s protecting her intel. Doesn’t want you to scoop her, or whatever you journalists call it.” Tommy watched as Layla absentmindedly drew invisible circles on the tabletop using the tip of a blue-painted nail. Trena wasn’t the only one talking around it; Layla was holding back too. On the phone, she’d been urgent, insisting he drop everything and meet right away. But now that they were face-to-face, she was acting like she regretted her choice, or worse—debating whether or not she could trust him.
Layla started to speak, then paused as the waitress dropped off her coffee. The moment the server moved out of earshot, she looked at Tommy and said, “I told her I’m no longer writing about it. I’m taking a break from the subject, and believe me when I say my numbers have plummeted because of it. My advertisers are bailing, and I’m taking a major money hit. Still, I can’t in good conscience continue to write about it. Not when I’m sure Aster’s innocent.” She regarded her coffee with a regretful stare. “I never should’ve posted those pics of her and Ryan kissing. I put the cops right on her trail, and once there, they were too lazy to look anywhere else.”
Tommy could hardly believe what he’d just heard. “And what about the pics you posted of me?”
If he was expecting an apology, clearly it wasn’t forthcoming. He watched as Layla shot back against the vinyl upholstery, folded her arms at her chest, and centered a steely gaze right on his. “Way I remember it, you didn’t hesitate to claim your fifteen minutes of fame.”
Tommy felt flush with anger. No one ever triggered him quite like she could. After a few moments of edgy silence, he’d calmed enough to concede that what she’d said was in many ways true. Though he’d be damned if he’d admit it to her.
“So why not write in her defense?” he said, hoping to move on before Layla stormed out, or worse. The solution seemed obvious enough to him. If he had a blog, that was what he’d do. It’s certainly the stance he’d taken whenever he granted an interview, which was less often these days.
Having moved to LA with dreams of breaking into the music industry, Tommy had soon discovered it wasn’t going to be nearly as easy as he’d hoped. The good looks and talent that had made him a standout in his small Oklahoma town barely registered in a place where virtually everyone was ridiculously beautiful and well on their way to fortune and fame. So when news of Madison’s disappearance first broke, Tommy didn’t hesitate to claim a piece of the spotlight. At the time, he was sure Madison was merely lying low and would surface soon enough. What he hadn’t counted on was the discovery of her blood on the Night for Night terrace, much less Aster’s stained dress linking her to the crime.
Layla unfolded her arms and sipped from her coffee. After crinkling her nose in distaste, she went back for more. “Clearly you don’t read my blog.” She returned the cup to its saucer. “Otherwise you’d know that the one time I dared write a piece in Aster’s defense, it resulted in death threats.” She shook her head at the memory.
“Everyone loves an easy target.” Tommy studied her, watching an array of emotions play across her delicate features as she reluctantly nodded in agreement.
“Unfortunately for Aster, she’s easy to hate. She’s young, rich, gorgeous, a little on the prissy side. . . .”
“A little?” Tommy felt ashamed the moment he said it. With everything Aster was facing, it didn’t seem right to poke fun, no matter how true the accusation. “Though actually, the same goes for you. Anytime you dare to put yourself out there, or worse, put yourself out there in a way that honors your convictions, you can expect to be dog piled.”
“Speaking from experience?” Layla quirked a brow as her gaze moved over him.
Tommy shrugged and sipped his beer, remembering the backlash he’d faced—the slew of hate tweets, his car tires getting slashed—all because he’d been the last known person to be seen with Madison. The internet was the most terrifying court of all. It was mob mentality at its worst—rife with torch-wielding armchair judges ready to convict on mere hearsay alone. Luckily for Tommy, the furor had eventually died down, but only because the haters had found a new target in Aster.
“Look,” Layla said. “As the former president of the I Hate Aster Amirpour Club, I get it. But now I just want to help her. For one thing, Aster’s innocent. For another, it’s the right thing to do.”
Tommy studied her closely. She was acting odd, cagey, purposely avoiding whatever she’d come to discuss. And while part of him wished the whole thing had been an excuse just to see him, he knew better. Layla was simply not the flirty, coy type. She was the most straightforward girl he’d ever met, or at least, usually. At the moment, she
