Infamous: the page-turning thriller from New York Times bestselling author Alyson Noël

If I ever go down, he’s going down with me. Though I’m pretty sure that only works one way. Because if P goes down first, he’ll go down alone. And he’ll take all my secrets with him as well. He already proved it six years ago when he made a choice to save me. Which is why I guess, in a lot of ways, I consider him my real father.

Anyway, tomorrow is the day I board the bus to LA and never look back. . . .

It’s crazy to think how next time I write in here, I’ll be living an entirely different life!

☺☺☺

Layla’s hand flew to her mouth. “Omigod,” she whispered through trembling fingers.

“Everything okay?”

Her dad watched with concern from inside the garage.

“Mmm . . . Yeah. Of course.” She sank her phone into her pocket and followed him inside.

She’d been hacked, that much was clear. And though her first instinct was to delete the post, the chilling text convinced her to leave it untouched.

According to whoever had sent it, her failure to play along before had landed them all in jail, possibly even getting someone killed.

Her dad ushered her down the hall and urged her to get some rest. “Later I’ll make dinner. Or we can order in, up to you. Also, I spoke with Ira. He said not to worry about coming to work. He wants you to take some time—whatever you need.”

Layla gave a distracted nod, headed into her room, and sank onto her bed. Gazing at the portrait her father had painted of her as a child, she wondered if she’d ever be able to smile as genuinely, spontaneously, and unselfconsciously as that again.

At the moment, it seemed inconceivable.

As wound up as she currently felt, sleep seemed inconceivable too. And yet, there were long days ahead, and she knew better than to face them in a state of exhaustion.

After a hot shower, she pulled on an old Stevie Nicks concert T-shirt and slipped beneath the covers.

Briefly, she thought of Tommy and the night they’d spent together. The sex had been amazing, but they’d sworn to each other there would be no strings attached. They were busy pursuing their dreams and couldn’t afford the distraction. That would only amount to a mistake neither of them was willing to make.

At the time, Layla had been willing to agree to just about anything to ensure that Tommy’s lips continued to press against hers.

But now she was glad for the pact. No matter how much she missed him, no matter how much she longed to check in and see how he was doing, the note had sent a clear warning. And in light of everything that had happened, she was done playing stubborn.

When she woke, the mess would still be there, calling her name. But for the moment, she closed her eyes and allowed sleep to claim her.

THREE (#ulink_de455f7e-36ce-583c-b556-970c42074e80)

CAN’T REMEMBER TO FORGET YOU (#ulink_de455f7e-36ce-583c-b556-970c42074e80)

Aster Amirpour climbed out of Ira Redman’s customized Cadillac Escalade and strolled into the lobby of the W residences, only to find Ryan Hawthorne sitting by the elevator bank.

Beside her, Ira paused, acting as though he was equally surprised to find the former teen idol hanging around, which left Aster feeling even more off balance than she’d initially felt.

First there was Ryan: gorgeous, sexy Ryan. With his glittering green eyes, personal-trainer-honed body, and that damn perfectly tousled hair glinting under the lights.

And then there was Ira—domineering, commanding, all-powerful Ira—acting as though he wasn’t really at the controls of absolutely everything that went down in LA, including that very moment. It made Aster suspicious.

“Looks like you no longer need me.” Ira nodded toward Ryan, who pushed away from the bench and made a tentative approach. His expression shifted from warm and welcoming to cautious and wary as his gaze moved between them. “I’ll leave you to it then.” Ira gave Aster a perfunctory hug, and she returned it with two dutiful pats to his back.

Outside of a romantic relationship, Aster wasn’t much for hugging. She always found those moments when someone came at her, arms wide and teeth flashing, to be clumsy and embarrassing at best. But hugging Ira was always a double dose of awkward. She was never sure what to make of it. It never felt entirely paternal, and yet it never felt inappropriate either. Not to mention, he was usually so distant and imperious, it seemed wildly out of character that he’d even try such a thing.

Ira gave them each one last look. Then, with a sharp turn of his heel, he headed for his ride, calling, “Let me know if you need anything,” over his shoulder.

Aster studied Ira’s retreating form. So far, she’d chosen to trust him, mostly due to the fact that he was the only one who’d shown up for her precisely when she needed it most. Ira had given her a place to live when life with her parents became unbearable. And not just any old place—he’d generously handed her the keys to a luxury condo and had so far asked for nothing in return.

He’d also supplied the top-notch team of lawyers who were set to defend her in her upcoming trial. And while she tried to be grateful, she never deluded herself into believing that when it was all said and done, his generosity wouldn’t come with a very hefty price tag attached.

Ira Redman wasn’t the altruistic type. But Aster was so far gone, all she could do was wait and see and hope against hope he’d wind up proving her wrong.

She watched as Ira was whisked away by his driver, then shook her head and trained her focus on Ryan’s stupidly beautiful face.

He had stupid long-lashed eyes.

Stupid sculpted cheekbones.

An absurdly stupid square heroic jawline.

And the most stupid part of all was that ridiculously stupid smile he now wore that seemed so disarmingly genuine that Aster defensively crossed her arms against her chest.

She frowned. Waited for him to make the first move. He’d said some unkind things about her to the press just after Madison had gone missing, and yet Aster had still taken a leap and decided to trust him after he’d pleaded for a chance to do better.

The way he stood before her now, hesitating to speak, reminded her of an actor waiting for someone offstage to feed him his lines so he’d know what to say.

She let out a weary sigh. She really hoped he didn’t turn out to be yet another mistake on what was becoming a very long list.

“You okay?” Ryan took an uncertain step forward, followed by another.

Aster lifted her shoulders in reply. She had no idea how to put her conflicting thoughts into actual words, so she didn’t bother to try.

Despite her growing doubts, she felt supremely lucky just to be standing right in that spot. Occupying that square of red carpet in the lobby of her luxury building felt like some sort of small miracle had been worked on her behalf.

Although the State of California had done its best to keep her locked up throughout her upcoming trial, through a bit of magic (or more likely, knowing Ira, through the weight of his considerable influence, with a pinch of dark sorcery), Ira had managed to spare her that fate. And so far, all he’d asked in return was that she stay in touch and not flee the state.

Ryan reached forward and traced a finger along the curve of her jaw. The move was so comforting, so tender, before Aster could stop herself she was falling into his arms.

She pressed her body hard against his, as he clinched her tightly at the waist and whispered into her ear. “I’m so glad you’re okay. . . . I was so worried about you.” He pulled away, sweeping her hair from her temple to better study her face. His gaze was brimming with such warmth and concern that Aster could barely bring herself to meet it. For a girl who’d been richly rewarded for her stunning good looks, she wasn’t sure what to make of Ryan’s admiring gaze.

She hadn’t had a proper shower in days. Couldn’t even remember the last time she’d brushed her teeth, popped a breath mint, or even glanced in a mirror that wasn’t spiderwebbed with cracks. Her long dark hair was greasy and unkempt. Her normally flawless complexion was mottled with zits. Her brows were an unruly mess. And she refused to take a closer look at whatever remained of the intricate nail art manicure she’d once rocked. She was at her absolute most unglamorous, and yet, Ryan looked at her as though he saw something far beyond all that.

It made her feel weird, and she wished he would stop.

She didn’t have time for this nonsense. Maybe later, after the trial, if somehow the verdict managed to work in her favor, but certainly not now, not . . .

She struggled against him, did her best to pull away, but Ryan only tightened his hold.

“Don’t.” His gaze deepened, demanding she meet it. “Please don’t. You have no idea how good it is to see you.”