Only no one knew it was Tommy. Malina had made Layla promise to keep his identity under wraps, and Layla was still struggling with the decision to go along with her request. Malina had reasoned that Tommy was too easily linked to Madison’s disappearance—that the connection would only hinder his chances of people taking him seriously. While it made perfect sense on the surface, something about it didn’t fully add up. Layla was sure there was more going on than there seemed.
She’d held off on booking Tommy for as long as she could, prompting Malina to leave a string of feverish messages before Layla got around to returning her calls. Though she was tempted to reject him, if for no other reason than to get back at him for acting like such a giant douche, in the end, her sense of ethics won out. Tommy deserved a fair shot at his dream. As for everything else, that was for his conscience to deal with, not hers.
Not to mention that if he nailed the performance, it would reflect well on her. If not, then she’d probably get canned, which might not turn out to be such a bad thing. Either way, someone would win.
She moved through the throng of Hollywood elite, spotting Trena over by the bar deep in conversation with James, while Ira made the rounds, looking slick and sleek and in total control. For a moment, when his steely navy-blue gaze met hers, Layla felt the tug of something familiar—there was someone he reminded her of that she could never quite place. Then, just as quickly, Ira moved on and Layla caught a glimpse of Tommy chatting up a curvy blonde in a minuscule dress she was seriously close to busting out of. Typical. Layla rolled her eyes and looked away.
So far she hadn’t seen Aster or Ryan, and while she could hardly blame them for bailing, she doubted Ira would view it so generously. No matter how crowded the party, Layla had no doubt Ira ran it much like his clubs—with his finger on the pulse of everything and everyone.
All around her, people were talking and laughing, and when she heard someone calling her name, she was surprised to find Emerson approaching. His arm was linked with that of a beautiful girl Layla soon recognized as Trena’s assistant, Priya.
Emerson was grinning, which was such an odd sight Layla wasn’t sure what to make of it. And though Priya grinned too, her eyes remained cold and dark and fixed right on Layla’s.
“Priya, this is Layla, the one I was telling you about.” Emerson motioned between them as Layla felt herself tense.
Whatever it was Emerson had told her, Layla guessed it wasn’t good. Around the office, Emerson made no attempt to hide how much he disliked her. And yet here he was, grinning like they were old friends. Was this for real? Or was this just Emerson’s way of putting on a party face?
“What could he have possibly told you?” Layla forced her lips into a bit of a curl. There, now he’d seen her party face too.
Priya gave her a long, considering gaze. Starting at Layla’s ankle-wrap sandals, she worked her way up the snug off-the-shoulder dress before landing on her artfully smudged eyeliner
, where she paused and said, “He told me you write a very popular blog. But of course I already knew that. I used to read it religiously. But other than that cryptic message you posted the other day, it seems you’ve stopped writing. May I ask why?”
The question was innocuous enough, but the delivery was as probing as Priya’s gaze, and it left Layla wondering what was really going on. This wasn’t just small talk.
“Just . . . taking a break.” Layla shrugged, shooting a quick look at Emerson, who seemed a little too interested in her answer as well. Returning her attention to Priya, she said, “So how’s it working out with Trena?”
Emerson glanced between them. “You two know each other?”
“Not exactly,” Priya said quickly—a little too quickly.
And again with the intense gaze. What was her problem?
“Well, now I’m confused.” Emerson laughed. Only it didn’t seem real. But then, everything about the conversation leaned more toward surreal.
“We both work for Trena,” Priya said.
Layla frowned. Clearly Priya knew that wasn’t true, so why would she make a point of saying it? “No,” Layla said, doing nothing to mask the edge creeping into her tone. “I don’t.”
Priya cocked her head to the side and furrowed her brow as though giving deep consideration to the matter. For Trena’s sake, Layla hoped Priya was better at researching than she was acting.
“Sorry, my bad,” Priya finally said. “I could’ve sworn you were one of her sources.”
Though Priya’s arm was still linked with Emerson’s, she kept just enough distance between her body and his that Layla couldn’t tell if they were merely friends, or something more. Not that it mattered, and not that it was any of her business. But at the moment, she’d welcome any sort of clue as to what was really going on here. Layla felt fairly confident that Trena would never reveal her sources. Not to anyone. And especially not to a part-time assistant she’d recently hired. Clearly, Priya was fishing, but what was she fishing for? All Layla knew for sure was that the two of them were giving her the creeps, and the sooner she got away from them, the better.
“Listen, I’m gonna . . .” She jabbed a thumb in the opposite direction and took off before they had a chance to respond.
Why were they so interested in her blog? Were they somehow involved with the creepy notes she’d been getting? While she wouldn’t put it past them, for the moment she had nothing that connected them to Madison. But after that strange encounter, she wouldn’t rule them out either.
She moved through the crowd of partygoers, desperate to shake off the bad vibe they’d given her. It seemed everyone was either happily paired off, or flirting to a degree that they were soon to be paired off. Hell, even her dad was poised to get lucky—a thought that elicited an image so horrifying Layla shook her head fiercely in a desperate attempt to dismiss it.
Still, all those happy couples left Layla feeling lonely. She missed having a partner, someone to flirt with and get excited about. Once again she found herself wondering if maybe letting Mateo go without a fight was something she’d always regret.
Instinctively, she reached for her phone. She could text him. Just to say hello, nothing more. Maybe she’d even include a pic of her current over-the-top surroundings and add a snarky quip to go with it. Mateo hated this sort of extravagance, and it would be a fun, harmless joke between them. After all, they had a history, and just because they’d decided to take a break didn’t mean she’d stopped caring about him.
She took a pic of the pool, filled with oversize white-and-gold swan floaties with bikini-clad models riding their backs and typed:
#SwanGoals