She might be out of his league, but after having met her and actually spoken to her, he had the sense there was more to Madison Brooks than he'd thought. He imagined them kicking back with a beer, riffing on their individual philosophies of life. From what he'd seen, it seemed entirely possible.

TWENTY-SIX.

SHOW ME WHAT I'M LOOKING FOR Layla hovered near her most important table of gets, making sure they had plenty of drinks, cell phone chargers, and whatever else they might need. She'd basically been reduced to a professional party fluffer for low-level celebrities, but a few of them had made Ira's list, so there was that to consider.

One thing was sure-she could remove Madison Brooks from her list, since Madison wouldn't be stopping by anytime soon. Still, despite the cop's dire warnings, Madison had never gotten around to filing a complaint, which gave Layla free rein to go after her on her blog every chance she could get.

When she wasn't bashing Madison, she was using her blog to promote Jewel, and it had made all the difference. She'd also contacted Hollywood's top managers and publicists, letting them know their clients had a permanent spot on her guest list, and her dad had a friend who owned a trendy boutique in Santa Monica who was willing to offer some nice tie-in discounts. The kind of stuff she should've done from the start.

With the colored lights swirling overhead, and the music seeming to pulse against her skin, it was like being inside a kaleidoscope. Funny how quickly she'd gone from hating everything about her job to looking forward to the time she spent at the club. If nothing else, her nights at Jewel provided a nice respite from the outside world and the more stressful parts of her life, namely the growing tension between her and Mateo.

"The models are here!" Zion brandished a bottle of top-shelf vodka, grinning in a way that made it hard to tell if he was gloating or sharing. Though where he was concerned, it was one and the same. He modeled part-time (when he wasn't at the club, or waiting tables), and he'd managed to cut a deal with his agency that brought in the hot, young demographic Ira was after. Good for Jewel, not necessarily good for her.

She smiled tightly and showed him the text that had just come through. Ryan Hawthorne was back at Night for Night. The constant updates from Ira's a.s.sistants were simultaneously annoying and addicting.

"b.i.t.c.h." Zion scowled, as Layla quirked her brow.

"More like Queen b.i.t.c.h," she snapped, watching Zion make for his table of thirsty models.

She lingered near the edge of the sleek, white leather sofas that gleamed in alternating, vibrant jewel tones cast from the colored lights overhead, waiting for just the right moment to pounce. It was amazing how careless those silly starlets became after a few drinks. The cell phones they left lying around had given Layla access to all manner of juicy photos and texts she had no problem exploiting.

Her insider access had already paid off in a major surge in ad revenue. If things continued, she could easily pay for journalism school through her blog profits alone. Sure, the comments section was getting a bit vitriolic, but who cared? The numbers were the only thing that mattered, and the numbers never lied.

She ran her hands down the front of her tight black leather minidress-a recent investment paid for with blog money. She'd never intended to spend it on anything as ba.n.a.l as clothes, but the best way to gain the confidence of her gets was to emulate them. At first it made her uncomfortable, and between the s.e.xy new clothes and platinum-blond highlights, she felt like an imposter. But the new angled layers did give her hair an edgy feel that suited her, and weren't the clothes really just a slightly girlier version of her usual look? Whatever. There was no denying it worked.

"I think my phone charger's broken!" one of the starlets whined, acting like it was the worst thing that had ever happened, and maybe it was. Layla had never met a more ent.i.tled, spoiled group.

She tried to determine who out of the whole rotten crew had said it. Her gaze centered on Heather Rollins, a B-list TV star with a major fixation on all things Madison Brooks. She was glaring at Layla as though she was personally responsible. Which she was, but there was no way Heather could've known that Layla always switched off at least one of the chargers each night. It might have been overkill, but so far, it had worked. And as much as she disliked Heather (she was hands down the worst behaved of them all, which was really saying something), for whatever reason, tonight the dice had landed on her. Layla considered it a windfall.

She topped off Heather's drink and fumbled with the switch she'd turned off earlier as though trying to fix it.

"How long is this going to take? We all want to dance."

"I'll have it working by the time you get back."

Heather swung her long blond hair over her shoulder and glared. "It better be." She watched her friends leave, then purposely unlocked the screen. Her pink glossy lips widening into a conniving grin as she slid the phone toward Layla.

Layla glanced between Heather and the phone.

Was Heather onto her?

"There's some new pics you might like." Heather's brown eyes shot Layla a knowing look. "Also, be sure not to miss the latest text from my a.s.sistant." Layla stared, dumbfounded, watching her go, as Heather glanced over her shoulder and said, "I help you-you help me. Feel free to send yourself whatever you need."

She merged into the crowded dance floor, as Layla scrolled through the phone before it could return to lock mode. She counted so many photos of Madison it seemed kind of creepy. Especially since it was obvious Madison wasn't aware of being photographed. Still, she moved through them quickly, zeroing in on a series of Madison and Ryan in a restaurant. One with them both at the table with a strange middle-aged man taking pictures in the background, one with Madison walking away as that same man approached Ryan, and the next with the man getting what looked like an autograph from Ryan while staring after Madison. They were weird, sure, though she wasn't sure why Heather had bothered to keep them. Still, she sent them to herself anyway along with another one so incriminating, the blog post was practically writing itself.

The texts were next. The one from her a.s.sistant included a pic of Ryan and Aster.

So that's how Aster did it.

She forwarded the pic to herself and left the phone charging. Apparently Heather loathed Madison as much as Layla did. And now, thanks to her, Layla's blog was about to go viral.

TWENTY-SEVEN.

BACK DOOR MAN.

Ira sat behind his desk and pushed another cash-filled envelope toward her. "Seems like Ryan's becoming a regular." His brow lifted. "I'd say that deserves a reward, wouldn't you?"

Aster stared hard at the envelope, feeling hollow, shaky, and more than a little nauseated.

Madison knew about her and Ryan.

Not that there was anything to know, or at least not exactly, but one thing was clear-Madison Brooks was onto her.

The way Madison had looked at her and purposely sought her out-there was no other way to explain it.

Funny how she'd gotten everything she'd wanted, only to realize she was in way over her head.

"Heard Madison dropped by too. Strange how she left just when Ryan arrived. You know anything about that?"

Aster frowned and examined her nails.

"Anyway, keep it up and you'll have a real shot at winning this thing."

She smiled faintly, eager for the meeting to end.

"Not quite the reaction I expected."

She shook her head, hoping to clear it, but it proved an impossible task.

Would Madison go after her?

Get some kind of revenge for inadvertently stealing her guy?

The only thing she knew for sure was she needed to get out of her head and back in the room.

"I'm sorry. I guess I just s.p.a.ced. . . ."

What was she thinking? No one s.p.a.ces on Ira Redman!

"I mean, I don't consider it done until it's done," Aster said, returning to where she'd thought they'd left off. "Celebrities are fickle. They can turn on a dime. And we still have many weeks left."

Celebrities are fickle. They can turn on a dime.

She just hoped one celebrity in particular didn't turn on her.

Ira regarded her for a long, uncomfortable moment. Luckily, Aster knew better than to fill the silence with needless chatter, though she was never quite sure exactly what Ira expected. Whatever it was, she hoped it wasn't tied to the money he'd been giving her.

"Get some rest," he finally said. "Have James walk you to your car."

She nodded, pausing just shy of the door. "Ira-"

He glanced up from his phone.

"Thanks for the . . . recognition." She waved the envelope before him. "I really do appreciate your recognizing my hard work." She cringed at the redundancy, but she needed to make it clear that in her mind the money was a bonus for her efforts and nothing more was required of her.

He waved a hand in dismissal, and she made her way through the club, only to find Ryan waiting by the back door.

"I told you not to wait." She frowned in annoyance. Yes, he was gorgeous and famous and his attention was flattering. And yeah, there was a good chance she was starting to like him, but that was never part of the plan. He was supposed to help her make the right connections, maybe even win the compet.i.tion, but lately, she'd drifted wildly off course.

Aster wasn't the kind of girl who went after another girl's guy, and the idea of stealing Madison Brooks's guy was completely unthinkable. Some girls might consider it a victory to score a famous guy away from an even more famous girl, but Aster didn't see it that way. It made her feel guilty. And the way Madison had looked at her made her feel s.k.a.n.ky.

"I wanted to see you to your car." Ryan swiped a hand through his hair and flashed that irresistible grin.

"I have James for that." She sounded prim and spoiled in a way that reminded her of Madison. "Besides, you were with me all night." She stepped through the back door and pressed into the chilly night air, hugging her arms at her waist to keep from shivering.

"I wanted more."

She leaned against her car door, letting it support her. "And Madison?" She looked right at him.

"I heard she left. I have no idea why."

"You sure about that?" She wanted him to admit he'd gone too far, crossed a line. At the same time she hoped he'd convince her that all was well, that whatever she was worried about existed only in her own paranoid head.

He scratched at his jaw, watching a stream of cars driving up and down the boulevard. "I'm pretty sure Madison doesn't give a s.h.i.t what I do."

Aster studied him closely. That was the last thing she'd expected. "So why are you still together?"

Ryan, frowned, glanced around the small, mostly vacant parking lot, then back at her. "It's . . . complicated."

"I don't do complicated." Her voice was drowsy, not just because of the late hour but also the confusing world she now occupied.

"I said Mad and I are complicated." He moved closer, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. "There's nothing complicated about you and me." The smile that followed was impossible to resist. And when he leaned in to kiss her, she did nothing to stop him.

He'd kissed her before, but never like this. She could feel the depth of his reverence in the way he held her, the way his tongue slid against hers, the way his hands tenderly cupped her cheeks.

"Aster . . ." He pressed his forehead to hers. "I'll handle Madison. But you have to know you're driving me crazy. I can't stop thinking about you."

It was all the right words said in all the right ways, and when he reclaimed the kiss, his hands gripped her hips and crushed them hard against his. A low, rumbly sound came from deep in his throat as his fingers crawled along the inward curve of her waist, inching toward her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, which seemed to swell in his hands. His thumbs tracing delirious circles, his breath warm in her ear, he whispered, "Aster, come home with me, please."

"No." It took all her will, but she somehow managed to push him away. Fl.u.s.tered and breathless, she tapped the door handle, eager to escape, only it didn't unlock. d.a.m.n! She shoved a hand in her bag and fumbled for her key fob, all too aware of the way her b.r.e.a.s.t.s ached for his touch, the way her hips longed to melt against his. She hadn't meant to let things progress so quickly. But Ryan was so s.e.xy, and sometimes being a virgin was a burden. Still, there was no way she was sleeping with him. Or at least not tonight.

"No?" He moved until she could feel him pressing hard at her back.

She took a steadying breath, located the key fob, and opened the door. "No." She pulled away, angled her body onto the seat, where she could finally catch her breath. "I know it's not a word you're used to hearing, especially when it comes to asking girls to have s.e.x with you." Her eyes met his, might as well put it out there. "But I'm not going home with you. It's been a long night, and I just want to go to bed. My bed. Alone."

He knelt beside her, that face, those lips just inches from hers. "You're killing me, Aster!" He reached for her cheek, ran the tip of his finger around the curve of her ear.

"So you tell me." She pushed him away, overcome with relief when he smiled good-naturedly and leaped out of her way.

She closed the door between them and pulled onto the street, glancing into her rearview mirror to see he was still standing right where she'd left him, watching her go.

How much longer would he be willing to wait?

Would he last the summer?

Or would he burn out in a week and never return?

The choice was his. All she could do was wait and see.

TWENTY-EIGHT.

WORK B**CH.

Layla parked Mateo's Jeep just behind Aster's Mercedes, scrolling through the comments left on her blog, as she waited for Aster to finish admiring herself in her rearview mirror.

Just as expected, the story she'd written, based on one of Heather's photos of Madison's face hovering suspiciously close to a tabletop, was a hit. The comments section almost evenly divided between Madison worshippers who refused to believe it, and Madison haters who'd suspected all along. Though it was starting to lean toward the latter.

In the end, it didn't matter what the majority thought. The seed had been planted, and Madison deserved nothing less.

BEAUTIFUL IDOLS.

Snow Angel I don't know about you, but I can't think of anything sadder than the picture that follows. Either that tabletop is rocking an irresistible winter-fresh scent-Madison Brooks has a serious case of undiagnosed narcolepsy-or, more likely, America's sweetheart has just hoovered up a nostril full of nose candy. . . .

Aster's door closed with a thunk, prompting Layla to shove her phone in her bag and scramble out of the Jeep to catch up. Determined to reach Aster before she went inside Jewel, Layla called for her to stop, only to watch Aster roll her eyes and keep going.