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I gasp loudly.
“Don’t even bother fake gasping with me, Laila Fitzgerald,” Savage says. “I spent three months on the road with you. I know nothing fazes you.”
He’s right. That gasp was totally fake. And, unfortunately, a little over the top. But I don’t care. I gasp again and say, “Nobody sent you a text about me after Sylvia. You’re a liar.”
“Everybody did,” he replies.
“And by ‘everybody,’ you mean Kendrick and Kai?”
“Kendrick and Kai and lots more. C-Bomb . . .”
“And . . .?”
“Lots of people.”
“Bullshit.”
“Swear to God.
“Prove it.”
“I can.” He pulls out his phone and starts swiping angrily. “I saved all their texts, in case I’d ever have the opportunity to rub them in your smug little face.”
I snort. “Ha! That was a trap, Einstein, and you walked right into it. If your goal is to convince me you’re not totally obsessed with me, then admitting you saved a bunch of texts about us being secret fuck buddies isn’t helping your cause.”
“I didn’t save the texts,” Savage insists. “I never deleted them, because I didn’t get around to it.”
“Wow, shocker. Yet another thing I can’t stand about you. All your unread texts! Look at your inbox right now and tell me how many you have. I bet it’s more than a thousand.”
He looks down and makes a face that tells me I’ve guessed right. “They’re not all unread. Just because I haven’t clicked on them doesn’t mean I haven’t seen them in the preview pane or—"
“Hey, guys,” Nadine interjects on speaker phone, and we both freeze. She continues, “This is highly entertaining. Truly, it is. But I’ve gotta stop you now.” As Savage and I exchange a look I’d call, Well, that’s embarrassing, Nadine chuckles and says, “Damn, I wish I had a big bowl of popcorn right now. Or maybe a vibrator.”
Everyone on Nadine’s end of the call explodes with laughter, as Savage and I return to our seats and exchange angry looks that say, This is all your fault!
“You two really would be ratings gold,” Nadine says wistfully. “Great job, guys. If this ‘fight’ was your clever way of coaxing us to throw some more money into the pot for Laila, consider your tactic a success. We really don’t have another dime in the budget to offer, but in an effort to close the deal, we’re willing to offer Laila a performance slot in the finale.”
Whoa.
That’s the brass ring. The kind of publicity that catapults any song straight into the Top Ten, if not to Number One.
I look at Daria and she winks, yet again confirming everything is going exactly according to plan.
Eli interjects, “Savage would require a performance slot, as well.”
Nadine exhales with annoyance. “Hold, please.” She places the call on hold for an eternal moment, during which Savage and I exchange dirty looks to the beat of the elevator version of “Fuck You” by CeeLo Green. Finally, Nadine returns to the call and declares, “Okay. We’ll give Savage and Laila a shared performance slot in the finale. They can do a mash-up of their respective singles, or anything else they come up with. But we only have one performance slot to offer the happy couple, collectively. So they’ll have to learn to share.”
Savage and I look at each other, conciliation slowly passing between us. It’s not ideal, granted. But we could make it work. We might both have been posturing like peacocks with splayed tails for the past few minutes, but there’s no denying a performance slot in the finale, even a shared one, is too big a perk to pass up.
“I could make that work,” Savage murmurs.
I nod and look away, letting him know I agree, but only barely.
“Laila is on board, too,” Daria says. “Unhappy about it but on board.”
“Wonderful,” Nadine says. “So, can I finally send over the contracts, then?”
“Not quite yet,” Daria replies. “We have a deal, as far as you’re concerned. But we still need to reach an agreement on our end about Laila’s compensation.”
“Jesus Christ, Daria,” Eli snaps. “Savage isn’t going to pay Laila a dime out of his pocket!”
Daria shrugs nonchalantly. “Then I’m sorry to say the deal is dead.” She smiles ruefully at the phone on her desk. “Thank you for your time, everyone. We’re sorry we couldn’t make this work, but Laila is still thrilled to be Aloha’s mentor for one episode this season.”
“Eli!” Nadine barks. “Don’t be a fool! Negotiate with Laila about her compensation. For the love of all things holy, Savage is the one who screwed everything up here—so, if someone has to lose an ass cheek to make this work, it’s going to be him!”
Savage and his agent exchange a look, and I know, in my bones, Savage realizes the truth of what Nadine said. It’s a surprising development, to say the least, to witness Savage being so willing to make this work. Especially given what I know he thinks of this show. He said himself, in Philadelphia, he thinks it’s cringey-ass. So, why did he say yes to being Hugh’s replacement in the first place? And why is he fighting so hard to keep his job now? All I can think is the show must have offered Savage an arm, a leg, and two huge butt cheeks to do the show—some amount of money that made Savage willing to endure the “hives” he’s sure to contract every time he steps on-set.
