Well, there you have it. I never stood a chance. I was destined to lose from day one.
“So the winners are decided on a percentage basis—which is to say we calculate the percentage based on club capacity versus absolute numbers. With that in mind, the winner for Saturday night is . . .”
There it was, the long pause Layla had been waiting for. She was surprised there wasn’t a drumroll. Ira was so freaking dramatic.
“The Vesper.”
Layla tried not to scowl as the Vesper crowd all virtually high-fived from their various corners.
“You guys have a bit of an underdog vibe, as the size of your crowd bears a direct correlation to the popularity of the bands that come through. That said, we’ve managed to book some solid summer acts, so I expect to see bigger and better numbers from here. Night for Night, you’re second. You were close, but close isn’t first.”
There were eight people in the room all breathing easier. Layla wasn’t among them. Still, maybe she should just close her eyes and take a little catnap like Tommy had. Surely they’d wake her in time to get sacked.
“Jewel was last.” Layla popped an eye open long enough to see Ira addressing the Jewel team with a stern face. “If you don’t pick it up, you won’t stand a chance in hell of winning this competition.”
Layla cringed. She couldn’t help it. She made up one-fourth of their group, but she took 100 percent responsibility for the failure.
“I don’t know what happened, but I suggest you figure it out.”
So there it was, they’d been properly chastised. Now on with the public beheading!
“The club with the highest totals this week is the Vesper.”
“But—” Aster nearly leaped from her chair.
Ira quirked a brow.
“But I brought in Ryan Hawthorne!”
&n
bsp; “Ryan’s not Madison. The get wasn’t enough to overcome the Vesper’s numbers.”
Aster frowned. “Next time I’ll get Madison,” she mumbled, sinking back to her seat.
“My advice to you”—he stole a quick look at Aster—“to all of you, is not to get too comfortable. Rules can change on a whim. You need to be ready for whatever I throw at you. Now, on to the cut—”
Layla uncrossed her legs and ran her hands down the front of her dark skinny jeans. She should’ve made more of an effort on her appearance so she wouldn’t so closely resemble the loser she was.
“Layla Harrison?”
The moment had arrived. She’d soon be the dead girl walking. Ira would do his best to embarrass her, of that she was sure. But it couldn’t be any worse than the numerous ways she’d embarrassed herself last night alone. As soon as it was over, she’d be on her way, never have to see these people again.
“How you feeling?”
She shrugged, painfully aware of everyone openly staring.
“You helped yourself to a sizable amount of top-shelf tequila last night.”
Layla rubbed her lips together, refusing to confirm or deny.
“Nothing wrong with knocking back a few, but not in the club when you’re under twenty-one.”
She grabbed her bag, ready to bail, when Tommy rose from the couch and said, “That was me, not Layla.”
Ira shot him a shrewd look, while Layla stared incredulously.
“I was checking out the competition, not that there was any.” He stole a glance at Layla, before returning to Ira. “Guess I got carried away.”