She hesitated. He was smarter than she'd expected. He'd know if she lied. "Not entirely," she admitted. "I'm thinking Madison would make for one scary enemy. I'm determined not to find out either way."

He took a swig of champagne, then leaned so close he had to rest his hand on her knee to keep from falling into her lap. "Tell you what, no more Madison talk, okay? I'm sorry for the smarmy line I ran by you earlier. I'm embarra.s.sed I tried. I can see you're no overeager groupie who will pretend to be charmed by whatever I say. Truth is, you intrigue me. And trust me when I say I did my best to stay away. Even tried to persuade Mad to join me for a nice romantic dinner, hoping it would keep me from doing something there's no turning back from-"

Before he could continue, Aster lifted a hand between them, halting his words. She needed him to slow down, needed them both to take a step back.

"I'm eighteen years old. I come from an area of Beverly Hills you might know as Tehrangeles, and I'd be under permanent house arrest if my family knew I was here, wearing these clothes and talking to you. I dream of being an actress, but it's proven impossible to catch a break. So I took this job hoping it'll help me live the life of my dreams as opposed to the life my parents have dreamed for me. Ira wants us to fill up the clubs, but if we can bring in celebrities, it counts more toward the win. And I'm telling you this because I already know about you since you're famous, but also because you're saying all kinds of complimentary stuff, when you don't know the first thing about me. Also, I figured you'd find out eventually and I didn't want you to think I was stringing you along, even though, admittedly, in the beginning, I was." She took a deep breath and clamped her lips shut. Fearing she'd gone too far when he c.o.c.ked his head and narrowed his eyes.

"So, you were stringing me along in the beginning, and now?"

She paused; she'd already said too much. But with his green eyes boring into hers, he was impossible to resist. "Now I'm doing something I'll no doubt regret." She heaved a deep exhale, hardly able to believe she'd veered so far from her earlier vow, which had made better sense. She steeled herself for any reply he might volley, but she was wholly unprepared for the unexpected gentleness of the kiss that followed.

It was just one kiss. Soft. Warm. Over almost as quickly as it started. But the impression lingered.

He drew away and ran his fingers along the curve of her jaw, looking at her as though she was something both fragile and wonderful. "I'll tell you what, Aster Amirpour of Tehrangeles." His gaze glinted on hers. "If it helps you secure the win and live the life of your dreams, then I'll return as often as I can. I'll even bring Madison. But you have to remember when you see us together that nothing in this town is ever quite what it seems."

TWENTY-ONE.

SUNDAY b.l.o.o.d.y SUNDAY.

Layla woke with a raging headache, a soul stained with regret, and her father sitting on the edge of her bed, wearing an old paint-splattered Neil Young concert tee, looking unshaven, scruffy, but still handsome, while peering at her with concern.

"You okay?" he asked, his silver-streaked hair flopping into his eyes.

He seemed sincere, but she couldn't bear to face him, so she grabbed the extra pillow and held it over her head.

"Come on. None of that. I got you a treat." He tossed the pillow aside and handed her a cup of coffee from her favorite place down the street.

"I don't deserve a treat." She inched up the wooden headboard and took a small sip.

"I added a couple shots of tequila, you know-little hair of the dog-"

"You didn't!" She pushed the cup away, but her dad just laughed and pushed it right back. "You know you're not supposed to joke about that stuff." She reached for the aspirin and water he'd left on her nightstand. "And you're not supposed to help me feel better." She swallowed the aspirin and chased it with a big gulp of water, before returning to the coffee.

"Wikipedia claims otherwise."

She started to laugh, then instantly regretted it when it increased the pounding in her head. "You're supposed to lecture me, steep me in shame."

"Figured I could skip that part. You usually handle that just fine on your own."

She closed her eyes and fell back against the pillows, wishing she could rewind the last week and start over. In addition to all her bad decisions, of which there were many, she'd gotten drunk on tequila and kissed a boy she had no business kissing. What a train wreck she'd become.

Did that mean she was just like her mom?

Was the propensity for betrayal genetic?

She sincerely hoped not.

"So what happened? You try to outdrink all your gets? Is this an occupational hazard of working in a nightclub?"

She rolled her eyes. "I didn't have any gets."

"So who's Tommy then?"

Her eyes flew open. How did he know that name? But an instant later the memory b.i.t.c.h-slapped her smack in the brain.

She'd bolted to the bathroom right after that kiss, only to exit and find Tommy waiting to warn her Ira was there. Then he hauled her outside before Ira could see her.

"Tommy is-" She shook her head and shrugged, having no idea how to explain.

"Well, he got you home safely, so he can't be all bad."

He'd insisted on driving her bike, and for the first half of the ride she'd made fun of the way he handled it. The second half she asked him to pull over so she could hurl into the gutter. By the time they got to her door, she fumbled for her keys for so long Tommy took his chances on ringing the bell.

"Sorry we woke you," she said. It was the least of a long list of things she felt sorry about.

"Who said you woke me?" Her dad sipped his coffee. "I was in the studio. Working."

Layla brightened. At least one of them was taking positive steps in his life. "When can I see it?"

"Soon." He nodded, took another sip.

"Really?"

He shrugged unconvincingly and gazed out the window. "When it's ready. Meanwhile, I've got some interest from one of the bigger galleries. This could be the one that changes everything. Or at least it better be."

His jaw tensed with worry, causing Layla to study him with concern. It'd been years since he'd last sold a piece. And while it had fetched a high price, surely the money was close to running out by now.

She was about to ask him about it, but before she could get to it, he grinned and ruffled her hair.

"Hey-watch the head!" She playfully batted his hand. "Feels like I'm hosting a heavy metal band in there."

"Metallica or Iron Maiden?" His gaze narrowed as though he was trying to decide which would be worse.

"It's a metalpalooza, featuring Metallica, Iron Maiden, Black Sabbath . . . who'd I leave out?"

He made an exaggerated grimace. "You know what you need?"

"A time machine?"

"Yes." He nodded sagely, his blue eyes crinkling at the sides. "But until then, how 'bout I take you to breakfast. Something big, greasy, and loaded with trans fats."

"See, now you've just gone from being too soft on me to enabling me. It's a slippery slope, Dad."

"We'll discuss over breakfast. You can fill me in on the correct way to proceed when your daughter stumbles home drunk with a boy who's not her boyfriend." His gaze met hers. It was even sharper than his words.

"Looks like you got it down after all." She smiled wanly. "But I'm sorry I can't join you. I need to head out to a meeting so Ira can fire me."

Layla pulled up to Night for Night, wondering why Ira didn't just send the bad news via messenger. It would serve as a sort of poetic bookend to how the whole mess began. Well, at least they weren't meeting at Jewel. In her mind, the entire club was one gigantic crime scene she hoped never to revisit.

By the time she walked into the Moroccan-themed club, most everyone was there. She was five minutes early-they were probably ten. Yet another example of how poorly suited she was for the job.

She risked a quick glance at Aster, as perfect and prissy as ever in her short white tennis dress and long, glossy ponytail, and purposely avoided meeting Tommy's gaze. Though a quick head count told her Goth Boy was missing, and she couldn't help but hope his failure to show would count as a forfeit, allow her one more week to make up for the last.

But who was she kidding? She'd already been pegged as the first to go. Probably why they all looked so smug and relaxed, texting on their cell phones, or in Tommy's case, sprawling on one of the sofas, feet propped on an ottoman, taking a nap.

She needed to find another way to get to journalism school. Now more than ever a move out of state was imperative.

As luck would have it, Goth Boy slipped in seconds before Ira's swarm of a.s.sistants took their place before the contestants.

Layla found a vacant chair and sank into the cushions, looking lazy, insubordinate, but she was beyond caring. She just hoped they'd hurry up and fire her so she could get back on her bike and go on a nice, long, head-clearing ride. Laguna might be nice. And she could invite Mateo to join her. He'd like the surf, and they needed to spend some time together. . . .

". . . not surprisingly, Thursday night was our slowest night of the week."

When had Ira started talking? Layla forced herself to sit up straighter.

"Though there's no question the Night for Night team pulled in the most heads, mostly thanks to Aster Amirpour."

Layla fought back a smirk. Of course, Queen b.i.t.c.h Aster got all the credit. Why was life so stinkin' unfair?

"Numbers at all three clubs steadily increased, culminating in last night, which saw the biggest draw yet. Each club managed to bring in decent crowds, but some more decent than others." He took a moment to gaze leisurely among them. Stupid s.a.d.i.s.t was enjoying himself. He'd probably drag it out for as long as he could, like he was the host of some dumb reality TV show.

"As you may know, the Vesper is the smallest of the three clubs, while Jewel is the largest."

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 Sat.u.r.day 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 h.e.l.l of winning this compet.i.tion."

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!"

"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 embarra.s.s her, of that she was sure. But it couldn't be any worse than the numerous ways she'd embarra.s.sed 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 compet.i.tion, not that there was any." He stole a glance at Layla, before returning to Ira. "Guess I got carried away."

The way Tommy stood before Ira, Layla couldn't help but notice there was something markedly different about him. He wasn't doing this for her. This was about challenging Ira, daring the boss to fire him, all the while sure that he wouldn't. The silent standoff lingering for so long, everyone started fidgeting and shifting-everyone except Tommy, who stood his ground, making whatever incomprehensible point he was determined to make.

"Don't let it happen again," Ira finally said, his voice sharp, gaze unwavering. But Tommy just nodded and returned to his seat, as Ira turned his focus to Ash.

"The impressive numbers at Night for Night were no thanks to you. You pulled in maybe ten people max. We won't stand for that."

With the heavy eye makeup he wore, it was impossible to tell what Goth Boy might be thinking.

"You have anything to say for yourself?"