Falling out of Hate with You: Hate - Love Duet Book One by Rowe, Lauren (novel books to read txt) 📕

“Tell me your version of your conversation with her, first. Word for word, if you can.”

I release a puff of scornful air. “I can’t remember what I said to her, word for word. I was drunk. Plus, the party was noisy, so I couldn’t hear everything she said.”

Eli rolls his eyes. “Okay, I’ll get you started. She approached you at the party and said she’s a huge fan. Sound about right?”

“Yeah. But that’s what always happens. And then, she suggested we head upstairs to my hotel room for sex. Or to fuck. Something like that. And, like I said, I turned her down.”

“But what reason did you give for turning her down?”

I pause to recollect. “Honestly, I wasn’t interested in her. But I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. So, I think I said something like, ‘I can’t because of the morality clause in my contract with the show.’ Now, show me her video. I’m freaking out.”

Eli hands me his phone, all cued up. “Fair warning, this is going to piss you off. But keep in mind this video is your saving grace.”

My stomach churning, I look down at the screen in my palm, and there she is. The Instagrammer from Kai’s birthday party last night. Long, sandy hair, blue eyes, full lips. She’s gorgeous, obviously. But not my type. Apparently, besides being gorgeous, she’s also a greedy little bitch who didn’t hesitate to spew lies about me for her fifteen minutes of fame. So, good on me for sensing her character and immediately turning her down.

With a deep sigh of resignation, I press play on the video and the frozen woman on my screen instantly springs to life. “Hey, guys!” she says brightly. “You won’t believe what happened!” And off she goes, telling the story of last night’s “star-studded” birthday party. First off, she admits she basically sneaked in, thanks to a friend of a friend with a connection. Next, she talks about the famous people she saw. And, finally, she gets to the part I’ve been waiting for—the part about me. “He’s even hotter in person, guys,” she gushes. “He’s godlike in person.”

“I like her,” I declare, making Eli chuckle.

“And when I told him I’m a model,” she says, “Savage goes, ‘Well, I’m not surprised about that. You’re stunning. Actually, you know who you remind of . . .?’” She pauses for effect, her blue eyes dancing, before finishing with, “‘Laila.’”

“Oh, Jesus,” I mumble.

“Pause it,” Eli commands. And when I comply, he asks, “Did you say that?”

“I . . . I don’t know,” I stammer. “Would it be bad if I did?”

“There’s no good or bad answer here. Only the truth.”

I shrug. “I guess it’s possible. Like I said, I was drunk. And she definitely looks a bit like Laila.”

“She’s her doppelganger.”

“No way. Laila is way hotter.” Eli furrows his brow with surprise, so I quickly bark out, “Can I press play again, please?”

“Sure.”

My heart pounding, I cue the video. And once again, the woman springs to life.

“So, after some flirting,” she says, “I decided to make my move. I suggested we head to Savage’s room upstairs—”

“See?” I mutter.

“So he could make my fantasies come true. And guess what Savage said to me in reply to that? You won’t believe it. Brace yourselves. He said, ‘Sorry, I can’t . . . because of . . . Laila.’”

“Bullshit!” I blurt.

The woman clutches her heart, just above her ample breasts. “I was like, ‘I knew it!’ And Savage just laughed and winked.”

“I did not. She’s a liar.”

The Instagrammer continues, “And then, I said, ‘You’re the sweetest boyfriend, ever.’”

“Fuck!”

“And he goes, ‘I’m not being sweet. I made a promise to her, and I’m going to keep it.’”

“What the fuck?” I yell. I pause the video and practically hurl the phone at Eli. “I said none of that! Zippo. Zero! Either she’s lying, or she misheard me. I think she said something like, ‘Thanks for being so sweet about this.’ And I said, ‘I’m not being sweet. I made a promise.’ But I was talking about my contract! The morality clause! I didn’t say I couldn’t fuck her because of Laila. Why would I say that? I’d never say that! Laila never even crosses my mind!”

Eli chuckles. “Calm down, Player. I know she’s full of shit. And so do the producers. If you ask me, the most logical explanation is that you said she looks like Laila, which she does, and then, when you said the next thing, she made the mental leap that you’d said the word ‘Laila’ again. My bet? You told her you needed to ‘lay low’ because of your contract.”

Oh, thank God. I feel like he’s just thrown me a lifeline. “Yes!” I shout. “That’s exactly what I said! Lay low! Not Laila! That’s obviously what I said!”

“You use that phrase a lot.”

“I do! I totally do!” I exhale with relief. “I remember everything now. I said I had to ‘lay low’ because of the show. And when she said thanks for being sweet, I said, ‘I’m not being sweet, I made a promise to the show.’ Boom.” Oh, God, I’m so relieved. I sit quietly for a beat, rubbing my forehead, feeling like I’ve dodged a bullet. Until, suddenly, a horrifying thought strikes me—one that makes my blood turn cold. “Oh, fuck. Laila can’t see this video, Eli! Hand me my phone. I’ve got to post a rebuttal video, explaining what I really said, so Laila doesn’t see this bullshit and think—"

“Like hell you will. That video, and the fact that the whole world believes every word of it, is the only thing keeping your job on life support right now.”

“How?”

Eli gestures to the phone in my hand. “Watch the rest.”

With a loud groan, I press play again, and this time, the woman says, “So, guys, I can confidently report the exclusive scoop that Savage and Laila Fitzgerald are, indeed, secretly together, despite their denials.”

“I’ve never denied anything,” I