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The giddy expression on Laila’s face evaporates when she sees my sour one. “Oh, come on,” she says, shoving my shoulder. “You’re still grouchy about the money? Let it go!”
“Yes, I’m still grouchy. It’s been less than an hour since we signed our contracts, through which you extorted me for two million bucks.”
“Extorted,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “You made a willing and informed decision, based on expert guidance from your agent. Now, get up, dust off your knees, and get over it.”
“Get over it? Laila, I’m rightfully going to be pissed about two million bucks until the day I die.”
She holds up her water bottle, like she’s toasting me. “Well, here’s hoping that day comes sooner, rather than later, for both our sakes.”
“I never even wanted to do the stupid show!” I blurt. “When they first offered it to me, I said no. They offered me two mill, and then three, before I finally, begrudgingly, said yes for four. I never would have done it for two mill!”
“Well, lesson learned,” she says. “Maybe next time you won’t take a two-million-dollar naked swan dive into a swimming pool where anyone could see you, huh?”
“It was a dare.”
“No,” she says. “It was Drunk Savage’s way of self-sabotaging—of getting himself out of a contract he wishes he’d never signed in the first place.”
I open and close my mouth. Is she right about that? It rings true. I’ve definitely had a problem with self-sabotage throughout my life. Case in point, the way I pushed Laila away, so vigorously, during the tour. I lean toward her. “Tell the truth, Laila. Now that the contracts are signed and your agent isn’t here to get you all fired up about the gender pay gap, you know you let Daria commit highway robbery on your behalf today, right?”
She scoffs. “Absolutely not. Am I elated about the way things worked out? Hell yes, I am! Whoop! This is one of the best days of my life.” She narrows her eyes. “But I don’t feel sorry for you. You’re already making more money in a year than most people make in a lifetime. Way more than me, I’m sure, despite what your agent said about you having four bandmates and a shitty deal at the label.”
“I’m not nearly as flush as you probably think. I’ve made some big purchases recently.”
“Oh, waah, waah. You’re blessed to be doing the thing you love most as your actual job, for some amount of money that would make anyone else feel like they won the lottery. So, suck it up. Your agent advised you to give me half your already-inflated ‘salary’ so you wouldn’t get fired, due to your own screw-up. If you want to be mad at someone, be mad at yourself for being a self-sabotaging idiot.”
Well, damn. I look out the window, so she won’t see me smile. I don’t like getting bitch-slapped by most people in this world. But when Laila does it, I can’t deny that it turns me on.
Laila continues speaking to the back of my head. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need you to stop complaining about the money, so I can try to get into character, which I can’t do when you’re acting like a whiny little bitch.”
I return my gaze to hers. “Get into character?”
She nods. “Somehow, against all odds, I need to convince myself I’m not in deep hate with you, but in deep and abiding love.” At that last word, she sticks out her tongue, like a cat getting rid of a fur ball. And, once again, I look out the window to hide my grin. A lot of things suck about this situation. But being stuck with Laila for the next three months ain’t one of them.
For the millionth time, I find myself wondering how she resisted coming to my room in Vegas and beyond. I would have bet anything she’d have caved at some point. In fact, I was so positive she’d relent and come to me in Vegas, I stayed up all night after that show, alone in my bed, waiting for her. Thinking every sound outside my door was her. I must have opened my hotel room door or peeked out my peephole ten times that night. Each time, feeling more and more deflated when she wasn’t there.
“So, that’s it?” Laila says, filling the silence. “You’re going to look out your window and sulk and not speak to me?”
I take a deep breath and return my gaze to hers. “I’m not not speaking to you. I’m processing everything that’s happened. It’s been a crazy day and I’ve still got a hangover.”
“Speaking of which, you think you’ll be able to handle not drinking for the next three months?”
“Starting tomorrow, mind you. And yes, I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll do it with you, if you’d like.”
