Unrivalled

Another test. Ira was trying to rile him by inferring that his dream guitar was somehow inferior. But Tommy just grinned. Following Jennifer out the door, he said, “Glad to hear she’s working for you.”

EIGHT TEENAGE DREAM (#ulink_3c47a148-592d-5ed9-a447-3470d2226ee2)

Of course Aster made the cut. She saw how Ira looked at her. Like most men who’d risen to a place of power, he appreciated the sight of a pretty girl. Probably even thought his success somehow entitled him to date her. Only in Ira’s case, it wasn’t just that.

As Aster sat across from him, she couldn’t help but notice that while he clearly liked what he saw, it was more in terms of what her sexy good looks could do for his clubs (as opposed to him envisioning her legs wrapped around him, or whatever old men think about when they’re fantasizing about girls who are far too young for them). His eyes conducted a thorough inspection, evaluating her physical advantages like any other commodity, while determining the best way to exploit them for professional gain, and it didn’t bother her in the least. She’d survived enough disappointing auditions to know the score. This was the first time she’d nailed one.

She wondered if it had to do with his final question: What makes you think you can win this thing? All the while studying her with that deeply penetrating gaze of his.

For a few panicked moments she sat silently before him, trying to determine the best angle to follow. Finally deciding that Ira didn’t seem like the type to honor humility, she met his gaze and said, “Next to me, everyone else is an amateur.” Then she chased it with the sexy and confident grin she’d practiced earlier.

He’d gazed at her a good long time—enough for Aster to second-guess her answer. She was just about to say something to soften the boast, when he ordered his assistant to escort her into the next room.

What she didn’t expect when she got there was the unlikely group who’d made the cut too. Of course that damn Layla was there, she’d figured as much. But Tommy she’d pegged as a wild card. She guessed he was cute—if you liked ‘em low rent, anguished, and hungry. Aster did not. As for the rest, well, Karly was a surprise; then again, some guys (a lot of guys—most guys) really went for that sparkly, frothy blond look. The goth guy, Ash, made it, as did Brittney, the girl in cowboy boots and denim cutoffs so short they covered only slightly more ass than Aster’s Burberry bikini bottom. There was another guy, Jin, who was so skinny and pasty Aster figured him for a gamer or tech geek who rarely ventured outside, and an androgynous girl, Sydney, covered in loads of tattoos and piercings (or at least Aster thought she was a girl). Two of the guys, Diego and Zion, looked normal enough (well, normal for LA), which meant they looked like they’d strolled straight off the page of a Calvin Klein underwear ad. Cute, no doubt, but Aster didn’t go for the overtly pretty types. Guys like that tended to spend way too much time thinking about themselves, and not enough time focusing on her. The final two looked wholesome, all-American. The girl, Taylor, was so fresh faced and healthy, she looked like she came straight from an equestrian lesson, while the guy, Brandon, was tanned with just the right amount of windblown hair, like he’d docked his yacht in the harbor and was waiting for his driver to whisk him off for dinner and drinks at the club.

Ira had cast a wide net of looks and ethnicities. Six girls and six guys—not a single one over the age of nineteen. Guess he wasn’t joking when he said he was after a young, hot demographic of club goers.

Aster settled among them, making a point to avoid Layla, who she’d already deemed as the first to take down—and waited for what happened next. Unlike the earlier waiting room, this new room was silent. Probably because they were no longer potential comrades—they were now competitors out for the win.

She crossed her legs and massaged the tight muscles around her ankle and calf. It’d been a long day, and her toes were starting to ache after so many hours inside the take-no-prisoners Louboutin toe box. She snuck a glance at Layla, wondering if her cheap knockoffs hurt too, only to discover they’d been replaced with a pair of serious-looking black motorcycle boots.

“It’s been a long and grueling day.” Ira strode into the room, followed by his usual team of assistants. “Which should give you an indication of the level of commitment I expect. Though before you get too full of yourselves for having made it this far, let me remind you that not a single one of you is over nineteen—which makes you woefully inexperienced, despite what you think. Working for me will allow for the sort of real-life education you can’t get at school. But before I continue, is anyone having second thoughts? Anyone want to back out?” He surveyed the room for a beat before continuing. “So, on to the logistics … there are legal forms to fill out. My assistants will guide you through the process. But first, you’re probably wondering which clubs you’ll promote.”

Everyone nodded like they’d been wondering exactly that, Aster included. She had her heart set on Night for Night, the Casablanca-chic rooftop treasure. It was a perfect fit in every way—classy, sexy, and named after a cinematography technique used for night filming. She’d had a thing for Morocco ever since she came across a stack of her mother’s old Vogues and spent the entire day staring at the spread of Talitha Getty wearing white patent-leather boots and a colorful coat, lounging on a roof with a mysterious man in the background. If Aster had to pick one single, defining moment that would shape who she’d hoped to one day become—it was that shot of Talitha Getty. She looked beautiful, pampered, exotic, and adored. Maybe even the slightest bit bored—but in a good way. Like her life was so full of lush adventures, she couldn’t help but wonder if there was anything left to amuse her. She tapped her hamsa pendant for luck while Ira squinted at the clipboard his assistant held before him.

“Layla Harrison—you’re promoting Night for Night.”

Aster involuntarily gasped and shot a quick look at Layla, trying to gauge her reaction. But Layla just nodded, gave nothing away.

“Tommy Phillips—” When Ira’s gaze centered on Tommy, Aster could’ve sworn she saw something pass between them. Something she couldn’t quite read. “You’re promoting Jewel.”

If Tommy looked upset, it was probably because he had his heart set on the Vesper. It was gaining a reputation as a gritty underground club attracting top-notch musicians—a perfect match for someone like Tommy. Jewel was sleek and modern and attracted a high-end crowd—it was out of his league.

Ira made his way down the list, and even though she’d been keeping track, she couldn’t stop from groaning when Ira’s gaze settled on hers. She knew what was coming.

“Aster Amirpour—you’ll be promoting the Vesper.”

She shook her head as her hand shot up.

“Problem?” Ira looked at her

“I’d like to request a different club.” There was no way she’d fit in at the Vesper, and someone as business savvy as Ira should’ve known that. She wondered if he was testing her, testing all of them.

Ira studied her for a long moment. “Then I guess you’ll have to find someone to trade with.” He left without another word, leaving his assistants to pass out the piles of legal forms.

Aster shoved the forms in her purse. She needed to get to the three other people who got Night for Night that she hadn’t almost run over.

“It’s Sydney, right?” Aster approached the girl who, from what Aster could tell, was wearing a full bodysuit of tattoos.

She was about to compliment Sydney on her septum piercing, anything to get on her good side, when Sydney snapped, “Don’t bother. I already traded with Taylor.” She turned away before Aster could react to the snub.

She headed for Diego and Jin on the other side of the room, but when she got there, they were already negotiating with Brittney and Ash, which left only Layla.

Great.

And on top of that, Layla was gone.

“Hey—Aster?”

She turned to find Tommy standing behind her.

“I was wondering if you were up for a trade?”

“Not unless you got Night for Night, which we both know you didn’t.” She raced for the door. Layla had probably already left, and Aster needed to reach her while she still had a chance. But when she replayed her words, she forced herself to turn back. She’d already made one enemy. She didn’t need to start a collection. “Sorry,” she said. “That was uncalled for.”

“Won’t argue with that.” Tommy’s face broke into a grin that made his eyes gleam. Maybe he was cuter than she’d first thought.

“It’s just—I really want Night for Night.”

“Well, Jewel’s a closer match than the Vesper, no?”

Sure it was better, but better wasn’t good enough. “Can you help me get to Layla?” she asked, hoping he’d made a better impression than she had.

He ran a hand over his chin and shot her a skeptical look. “Doubtful,” he said.

“Would you be willing to at least try?” She gave him her best grin, the one she saved for auditions and head shots.

“Depends.” He folded his arms across his chest and shifted his weight to his heels, like he had all the time in the world. “What’s in it for me?”

“The Vesper.” She shrugged. “That’s what you want, right?”

He studied her for a moment, then led her to the entry, where Layla was talking on her phone, until she saw Aster and Tommy and hastily ended the call.

“Can I help you?” She frowned.

Tommy hooked a thumb toward Aster. “I was thinking you two should meet.”

“We’ve met—” Layla turned away. “She nearly killed me in pursuit of a parking space.”

“And I want to apologize for that.” Aster hurried alongside her.

“So, it’s true.” Tommy looked amused by the news.

“No, it’s not true,” Aster snapped. “I didn’t even see her. It was all a big misunderstanding.”

“Oh, you saw me.” Layla whirled on her. “Don’t even try to pretend like you didn’t.”

“No wonder you needed me to mediate.” Tommy looked at Aster, shaking his head.