Falling Into Love with You (The Hate-Love Duet Book 2) by Rowe, Lauren (grave mercy .TXT) 📕

her stories made it clear the producers of that show always hedge their bets. They manipulate the contestants in lots of different ways, and then run with whatever storyline begins taking shape. Savage, you wouldn’t believe the stuff they do to people to manipulate their emotions and actions on that show. I think Nadine has taken a page out of her old playbook.”

I process that for a moment. “Okay, then. If you’re genuinely worried about this, then I’ll do my best to be more of a dick to you tomorrow, so you can fight fire with fire, and we can deliver ‘Vintage Savage and Laila,’ like Nadine wants.”

Laila sighs with relief. “Thank you. I don’t know if I’m capable of scowling at you anymore, let alone being a bitch to you. I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to pick a fight with me tomorrow to get the ball rolling.”

“Hell no! You’ll have to be a bitch to me first, or I’ll come off like a misogynistic asshole. Like I’m punching down. I’ll play along and give almost as good as I get, but you’re going to have to be the one to get the ball rolling.” Laila snuggles into me and I put my arm around her. “It’ll be fine, baby,” I coo softly. “You’ll be a bitch to me and I’ll fight fire with fire, and we’ll be everything Nadine wants and more.”

She sighs like there’s a hundred-pound weight resting on her chest, and my heart pangs in reply.

“I don’t know if I’m capable of being a bitch to you anymore, Adrian. You fucking bastard. You’ve tamed the shrew.”

I can’t help chuckling. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is. I can’t even imagine how mortified I’d be if I got fired from the show. The list of fired judges, forevermore, would be me and Hugh Delaney.” She makes a guttural, disgusted sound. “Let’s face it. The word ‘disaster’ really does say it best.”

We sit without speaking for a long moment, listening to the loud music in the car. The song, by chance, is “Fireflies,” by our friends 22 Goats. Finally, Laila sits up and breaks the silence. “What if you told them you’re planning to propose to me in the finale? Maybe that would make them want to keep me around!”

My heart explodes. “I . . . I don’t think I could do that convincingly, Laila.”

She pauses. “You couldn’t tell them convincingly . . . or fake-propose to me convincingly?”

“I couldn’t fake-propose convincingly. I’ve never once imagined myself proposing to someone. Never once imagined myself even wanting to get married. I think I’d stumble through it, red-faced and stammering, and wind up doing more harm than good.”

Laila’s chest heaves. “You don’t think you could do it convincingly for a quarter million bucks? That’s a lot of money, especially when you’re already paying half your salary to me.”

“We’ve agreed not to talk about the money anymore, remember?”

“No, you asked me not to talk about it. But I never said I wouldn’t.”

“I’m over it, Laila. You negotiated for an equal partnership, fair and square. And that’s exactly what we are.”

Boom.

For some reason, saying those words out loud—acknowledging the now-obvious fact that Laila and I truly are an equal partnership—makes me think maybe I could convincingly perform a fake proposal in the finale, after all. Not for the money, as Laila’s suggested. But because Mimi would be thrilled to see it. That’s all she’s ever wanted for me—to see me settle down with a woman who loves me for me. So, why not give my grandmother all the bells and whistles, and also save Laila’s job on the show while I’m at it? I think, up until now, I’ve been dismissing the idea of ambushing Laila with an on-air proposal, partly because I was scared she’d turn me down on national TV. Talk about public humiliation. And by the same token, I didn’t want to risk ambushing Laila and having her say yes to me on national TV . . . only to find out afterwards the proposal wasn’t real—that it was made by me, solely in exchange for a quarter-million bucks.

As if reading my mind, Laila says, “Now that you’ve told me about the bonus provision in your contract, I don’t see why you wouldn’t do it. Why not take their money? I promise I’ll act totally surprised when you kneel down and ask me. I’ll make this face.” She gasps, widens her eyes, and brings a shaky hand to her mouth, like she’s a newly minted beauty queen who’s just heard the good news. In a heartbeat, she drops the beauty queen act, and flashes a mischievous smile. “Pretty convincing, huh?”

“Masterful,” I concede.

“So . . .? I’d be thrilled for you to get a little extra money out of this gig, after I’ve taken half your salary. All I ask is that you give me a heads up the day before you ‘propose,’ to confirm you’re going ahead with it, so I can warn my mom and sister it’s coming. If they saw you pop the question on TV, without me telling them the real deal beforehand, they’d crap their panties with excitement, and I wouldn’t want to do that to them. Telling them after the fact it was all a money grab would break their poor little hearts.”

Fuck. My heart squeezes. In a flash, I have the preposterous impulse to propose to Laila for real. It’s a stupid thought and I chastise myself for having it the moment I do. I’m not husband material, any more than I’m boyfriend material. But, man, it would be fun to give the Fitzgerald women that kind of thrill. A happily ever after, after all the shit they’ve been through with Laila’s father.

“It’s okay,” Laila says, apparently reacting to my facial expression. “I’m sure the idea of fake-proposing to me gives you hives. It was just an idea to make some money for you and give me an insurance policy.