Unrivaled (14 page)

M
adison grabbed her purse, slipped out of her car, and made for Night for Night, where she greeted the bouncer, James, and leaned in for a rare, sincere hug she reserved for a small list of people. She truly liked James. Sure, he was a little rough around the edges, but heck, there'd been a time when the same could be said of her. James was street-smart, a striver, not afraid to work hard by taking on a few extra assignments, and he was fiercely loyal to those who were fiercely loyal to him—all qualities Madison admired.

She tipped onto her toes and whispered into his ear. “Is she here?”

He nodded. “But so far, Ryan's a no-show.”

“Oh, he'll show.” Madison peered over his shoulder,
squinting to get a better look inside the club. “You'll alert me when he does?”

“You know it.”

“Also, don't give her the credit for getting me here.”

“Any preference?”

“Anyone but Aster.” She kissed him on the cheek, discreetly slipped a wad of bills into his pocket, and made her way in. It was rare for her to go out alone, but her usual crowd would only distract her, and besides, she didn't plan to stay long.

She moved through the club. It was one of her favorites based on decor alone. She'd visited Marrakech once, and though the trip had been brief, she thought Ira had done a good job of capturing that exotic, luxe feel with all the copper lanterns, curved archways, and abundance of hand-painted tiles. Even the music they played was more languorous and mellow than most clubs, the slow, sexy beat just low enough so you didn't have to scream to have a conversation.

She looked all around, hoping Ira wasn't there. He'd waste no time trying to impress her with buckets of champagne and a spot at the best VIP table. He was always really gracious, bordering on ingratiating, and while she usually didn't mind, tonight she preferred to keep it low-key. She would've told James not to tell Ira she'd arrived, but she doubted he'd go along. She wasn't the only one he was fiercely loyal to.

Even though the club was crowded, Aster was easy to find. She was right there in the Riad, as Madison had figured. In spite of all the pictures she'd seen, she was still surprised to find the girl was exceedingly pretty. While there was no shortage of beautiful actresses in LA, Madison was convinced the intangible thing that made some more compelling than others had nothing to do with the tilt of a nose, or the sweep of cheekbones. It was the ability to inhabit a role so fully the flesh seemed to dissolve into the character's being.

For Madison, the ability to disappear was what drew her to the craft. And, ironically enough, the time had come for her to vanish for real. Paul would do what he could, but she no longer trusted him to keep her safe on his own, and she had no intention of sitting around, waiting for the threat to find her. Luckily, she'd delayed her breakup with Ryan. Turned out she needed him now more than ever.

Madison prided herself on possessing a level of insight that was rare for someone her age. Her ability to read beyond the lines in a script and get to the absolute motivation behind every word, every action, was her greatest gift. And at that moment, watching Aster flirt with a producer who really should've been home with his wife and new baby, Madison sensed Aster's desperation, the insatiable need to be the star of every scene. Not exactly rare for an actor; they were known to be a needy, neurotic, insecure
bunch, but unlike Aster, Madison had learned to rid herself of her baser emotions (or at least appear to), and desperation was the first to go.

A wisp of a grin caught Madison's face. If it was attention the girl wanted, then Madison would gladly provide. Though it would come at a price Aster wouldn't expect.

Madison watched in amusement as Aster's face transitioned from her charming, flirty, party-hostess expression to one of the absolute shock of finding Madison Brooks standing before her.

“Madison—hi!” Her tone was friendly, bubbly. And with her flawless olive complexion, glossy dark hair, enormous brown eyes with lashes so thick they didn't seem real though they most likely were, and the lithe, sinuous body of someone who was no stranger to dance class, she was even prettier up close and in person.

“I like your Sophia Websters.” Madison motioned to Aster's embellished stilettos. There was no better friendship starter than a mutual love of overpriced shoes. And though they'd never be actual friends, their fates were now tied together in ways Aster could never foresee.

“Can I get you a table?” Aster beamed as though she could barely contain her excitement.

Madison glanced at her usual cabana. “I see my favorite is taken. . . .”

Aster blinked, once, twice, probably calculating the
amount of fallout she'd face by evicting the current occupants to make room for Madison. Wisely deciding against it, she said, “I'm so sorry. Had I known you were stopping by . . .”

Madison waved a hand in dismissal, favoring Aster with a grin like they were long-lost friends. “How could you have known?” The grin faded as she allowed the question to linger between them.

For a few startled moments Aster truly did resemble the cliché of a deer caught in headlights. Then just as quickly, the panic eased from her face and she said, “I have another great table I think you'll really like. And I can have your favorite champagne sent right over. Dom Pérignon rosé, right?”

Madison nodded. The girl had done her homework. Though if anyone had ever bothered to observe a little closer, they would've noticed Madison rarely drank from the bottomless glasses of champagne the clubs continuously foisted on her. That was where her entourage came in. They provided the perfect distraction to the sober truth that Madison wasn't quite the partier she pretended to be.

She followed Aster to a table along the terrace's perimeter, all the while studying her like Aster was a character she might someday portray. She'd already seen all of Aster's vitals on paper—home address, family net worth, the private schools and country club memberships—but to truly
understand Aster, Madison needed to observe her in person. It was imperative to know exactly who she was dealing with if she was going to allow Aster to play such a big role in her life.

Hollywood breakups were tricky. They came second only to the breathless vigil the tabloids kept over baby bumps and celebrity weddings. A split between actors had the power to boost or destroy a career—it all depended on how the story was spun.

Usually, a cheating scandal looked very bad for the cheater. But there were definitely cases where the tabloids turned on the victim, painting him or her to be so awful the cheater was automatically forgiven the discretion. However it played, one thing was sure: if the other person worked outside the industry, then they usually wasted no time trying to elevate themselves by selling their side of the story, attempting to make the leap from a virtual nobody to a permanent place in the spotlight. Of course, once a new scandal came along, they were quickly forgotten—but that didn't stop them from trying.

When news of Ryan and Madison broke, there would be no shortage of magazines willing to cough up some cash to anyone with info on the split. And after seeing her in person, Madison was convinced Aster wouldn't hesitate to make a grab for whatever fleeting shot at fame she could get.

From everything she'd gleaned so far, Aster was raised to be a good girl, and a scandal like that would rock her whole family.

Then again, Aster's dream of fame and fortune was apparently so strong she was willing to take a job her parents most likely did not approve of.

Who knew what else she was capable of?

Or just how far she'd go to get what she wanted?

It was that bottomless hunger that Madison was counting on.

She watched as Aster expertly popped the cork and filled a glass she then placed before Madison. “Can I get you anything else?” She smiled expectantly.

Madison was about to reply, figuring it might be fun to send the girl on an impossible errand, when her phone buzzed with a text from James, alerting her that Ryan had just walked through the door.

Madison waved her hand distractedly. She waited for Aster to leave before she texted James a quick thanks and slipped out without being seen.

W
hen Madison Brooks walked into the Vesper, not a single person noticed. The lights were dim, the band was in the middle of a raucous set, and the crowd was so focused on the music, no one bothered to check out the high-profile celebrity who seemed perfectly content to lean against the back wall, completely unseen.

When the band left the stage for a break, Tommy edged through the crowd, taking a mental inventory of all the faces he recognized as his gets when he spotted an image so inexplicable his first thought was that it was some kind of joke. Maybe even a look-alike. But when Madison centered her gaze right on his, and her beautiful face curved into a slow, flirtatious grin, well, he'd seen enough magazine covers and billboards to recognize the real thing when it was
standing before him.

He glanced around the room, searching for the other promoters, wanting to be sure they hadn't seen her, since it didn't even occur to him she might've been there because of them. Determining they hadn't, he closed the few steps between them, all the while wondering how to address her—
Madison? Ms. Brooks?
—before finally settling for a casual, “Hey.”

She tilted her head, allowing her hair to sweep past her cheek as she inspected him from behind the veil of loose strands.

“What'd you think of the band?” He hooked a thumb toward the stage, desperate to engage her.

“From what little I heard, they were good.” She pushed her hair back behind her ears, highlighting those magnificent cheekbones, the gold and turquoise hoops, but none of it could compete with those deep purple/blue eyes that roamed his.

“You just get here?” Surely he would've noticed had she arrived earlier. Then again, when he wasn't partying with his gets, he was dreaming of the day he'd be onstage. He could've easily missed her.

Her lips tugged at the sides, forming a sort of half smile that rendered her so unbearably beautiful he thought his heart would melt in his chest. She lifted her slim shoulders into a shrug, but otherwise stayed quiet. She also didn't try
to leave, so he had that on his side.

“Can I get you a drink? Someplace to sit?” Instantly chiding himself the moment the words were out for sounding so overly eager to please. Then again,
Madison Brooks
was standing directly before him!
It was amazing he could even form a sentence in her magical presence.

“Yes to both,” she said, that simple statement enough to inspire a million fist pumps in Tommy's head. “But not tonight. Maybe some other time when it's not so crowded.”

“It's usually pretty crowded.” Tommy's face broke into a humble-brag grin. “We've got the best live acts in town. But I can reserve whatever table you want.”

“I know about your contest.”

Tommy gaped, unsure what to say.

“You're the only one who hasn't stalked me, either on Insta, Twitter, or even in person. That kind of thing usually brings out the worst in people, but not you.”

Tommy shrugged, tried to play it cool. “Didn't seem like you'd respond to any of those things, so I focused on quantity instead.”

“Looks like it's working.” Her gaze bounced around the club before returning to him. “Too bad Layla and Aster didn't share your strategy. Those two are the worst. You can tell them I said so.”

“I'll pass,” Tommy said, suddenly glad he'd never strategized with Layla. Because of it, he'd scored Madison.

Madison's gaze softened, she lifted a hand to his cheek, and for one brief moment allowed her fingers to move over his skin as though discovering something, or maybe even remembering something, it was impossible to tell. If Madison Brooks wanted to wander into his club and fondle his cheek, it wasn't his place to question her motives.

Though she had a reputation for being a big-time party girl, her gaze was sober and clear, yet there was something about the depth of her focus that made it seem like she was looking right through him to some other place.

“You're not from here.” Her hand fell from his cheek.

Tommy shook his head. He was mesmerized. She was everything he'd expected—poised, pretty, not at all getable—and the exact opposite of what he assumed—open, authentic, deep.

“Let me guess—you came here to chase your dream of fortune and fame?” She cocked her head as her eyes glinted mischievously.

Tommy shot her a sheepish look and buried his hands deep into the front pockets of his jeans, suddenly reduced to yet another LA cliché.

She looked around the room. “I like this place. No one gives a shit that I'm here. You have no idea what a relief that is.”

“Oh, but I do.” Tommy grinned. “I'm here every day and no one ever gives a shit.”

She laughed in a way that made the joke seem funnier
than it was, leaving Tommy to wonder if she was serious, or maybe just acting. The whole thing was confusing as hell. All Tommy knew for sure was that he'd never seen anything more beautiful than Madison Brooks enjoying a spontaneous laugh, whatever the reason. From the moment it happened, Tommy was hers to command.

The band returned and began a new set. The sudden burst of sound prompted Tommy to look toward the stage, only to return to Madison and discover she'd left.

He chased after her, which was not at all cool, but it wasn't like that stopped him. “There's still another set!” he called, but she was already gone, leaving Tommy to make a frantic grab for his cell and snap a photo of her retreating form. He needed evidence to prove it really had happened, as much for Ira as for himself.

When he could no longer see her, he touched the place on his cheek where her fingers had been, wishing he'd at least taken the time to shave, while simultaneously feeling bad for having misjudged her as yet another high-maintenance bitch who was way out of his league.

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.