by Sam Crescent
“It’s Friday,” Harold continued. “Find me something I can use to destroy Damian Harker by Monday morning, or I tell my contact to release all of these photos. Do you understand?”
She felt as if her stomach rotted on the spot. There was no other way to describe her immediate, overpowering need to bend over and throw up everything she’d ever eaten. Layla clamped a hand over her mouth for a moment, afraid she’d actually do it, and only once she was moderately sure she’d pushed back the urge did she nod her head.
“Good girl.” Harold tucked his phone away. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to get to.”
Layla sat there after her uncle departed, frozen in place. Her hands shook in her lap. She felt as though she could barely breathe. Her mind was spinning.
What had just happened?
Somehow, her uncle had photographs of her night with Damian. Photographs he was now blackmailing her with, in an attempt to get to her to commit a major crime. All because he wanted to ruin Damian. But apparently, he was willing to settle for humiliating him in a public scandal.
Why? Why was Harold so dead-set on going after Damian? Why did he resent Damian so much? Was he really that desperate to be the sole shareholder of Harker Technologies?
No. It didn’t matter. Whatever her uncle’s motives were, Layla was done playing his pawn. She refused to let him—or allow him to make her—hurt someone she cared about. It wasn’t too late. He’d given her until Monday. Even if it cost her her job, even if Damian chose never to speak to her again, she would stop her bastard uncle.
Layla tossed her purse properly off her lap, fumbled with her seatbelt, and stabbed her keys into the ignition a little harder than necessary. Determination chased away the immediate sense of nausea, and she clung to it, focusing on what she had to do.
Whether he would ultimately want anything to do with her or not, Damian was exactly the person she needed. So she drove. She took a detour down a scenic route, swung an illegal U-turn on top of the bridge and pitched her cell phone out the window. Maybe she was being paranoid, but she didn’t trust that her uncle hadn’t put some kind of tracking app on it. Once her phone was gone, she barreled back toward the heart of town, barely remembering to pay attention to the traffic lights, until she’d claimed a parking spot in the public garage down the street from Damian’s building.
The business sector of town wasn’t her neighborhood by any means. A poor girl with a criminal family tended to avoid places that would judge her unfairly. But today she wasn’t some penniless girl who just wanted to keep her head down. At the moment she had a weird, but name-drop worthy job, and a mission. A very important mission.
Still, she made the effort to change into regular clothes before climbing from her car. She’d probably make a scene without wanting to, so she didn’t need to do it in yoga pants and a sports bra.
With nothing more than her car keys and wallet in her purse, Layla started for the large, glass and steel building with the name Harker engraved over the door.
She felt immensely out of place as she pulled open the door, and she tried hard to ignore the sideways looks being sent her way.
Once she made it past the first security checkpoint she stopped and looked around. Going up to the front desk and just asking for Damian probably wouldn’t work. There was also no way they’d let her hop into the elevator and ride it up to the top, where she assumed his office was. Maybe I was too paranoid about my phone. Well then, what the hell?
Layla drew a breath and marched up to the front desk, moving to the nearest available receptionist. “Excuse me,” she said, putting on her friendliest smile.
The thirty-something brunette in the crisp, dark blue, skirt suit offered a short, professional smile in return. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” she said. “We’re not conducting interviews this afternoon.”
Layla blinked at her. Seriously? “No,” she said. She did her best to keep her tone polite. “I actually already work for Damian—Mr. Harker.” The slip was one hundred percent intentional. “I’m his animal caretaker, Layla Evangeline. I’m afraid I need to speak with him urgently. Can you please call up to his office for me?”
The woman didn’t even flinch. “Mr. Harker is very busy. If you have an emergency, I recommend calling 911.”
“You don’t understand,” Layla said, firming up her voice. “It’s incredibly important I speak to Damian. It really can’t wait. I’d go up to his office myself, but I’m sure security would tackle me.”
The receptionist’s fake-friendly mask fell away. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to step aside. There are people here who actually intend to do business. Mr. Harker will surely reach out to you when he has the time—presuming you are, as you say, his animal caretaker.” She said the words with blatant disbelief.
“You know Damian will absolutely fire you if you’re the reason he doesn’t hear pressing news on time,” Layla said, a little sharper than she meant to. Okay, maybe she had no way to know that for sure. But it sounded plausible. Damian had a fairly widely known reputation for firing employees for contestable reasons.
The woman pursed her lips. Then she pressed a button on her phone base and the tiny light on her earpiece lit up.
Layla released a breath. She was a little surprised, but entirely grateful.
“Yes, I have a woman here refusing to leave.” The receptionist looked her dead in the eye as she spoke. The bitch had called security. “Thank you.”
“Are you serious?” Layla demanded, her temper fraying. Of course the woman was serious. What had she expected? She was a no one; she looked like a no one, and she didn’t have an appointment. She was lucky she hadn’t been arrested. Yet. Her hands curled into fists on the edge of the desk. “This is important! I need to see him!” God, now she sounded like a desperate ex.
Murmurs reached her ears seconds before heavy presences settled on either side of her. Four men in identical black suits flanked her. The largest one, of course, stepped up and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Ma’am. Step away from the counter.”
Layla dropped her arms to her sides, shooting one final glare at the smug receptionist, and took a large step backwards. “Take your hand off me. I haven’t done anything wrong. I need to speak with Mr. Harker urgently.”
“I’m afraid you need to leave the premises,” the same security guard said. He did at least remove his hand.
Layla turned her focus to him with narrowed eyes. “Why are none of you even attempting to verify my identity? I work for Damian Harker. I understand he’s busy. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t incredibly important.”
The towering man in front of her scowled disapprovingly, but it was one of his companions that spoke. “Ma’am,” Nameless Guard Number Two said. His tone of voice was irritated. “If you don’t leave voluntarily, we will remove you.”
She arched her eyebrows at the guy. “You will keep your hands off me.” That was what she said, but she didn’t know what she would do next. She didn’t harbor any delusions about getting past this squad of behemoths, so there was no way she’d make it to the elevator. No one seemed inclined to call up to Damian or his PA to see if she might, actually, be who she said she was. Judge-y much?
One of the goons at her back placed his hand firmly between her shoulder blades. “It’s time for you to leave, ma’am.” He even gave her a nudge.
“Hey!”
“What the hell is going on here?” Damian’s angry question overrode her outcry, but it was more than welcome.
Layla, and her unwanted entourage, turned toward him. She started to move forward, but each of her upper arms was immediately caught in a vise-like grip, holding her firmly in place. Adrenaline shot through her system. “Let go!”
“Sir, please stay back,” the first guard said, speaking up again.
Damian ignored him as he all but stomped forward, cutting a path through the growing crowd of onlookers. Fury boiled in his eyes, but he wasn’t glaring at Layla. “Release her.”
/>
Chapter Seven
Layla swore she could feel the tension in the guards surrounding her. One of the hands attached to her tightened.
“Sir,” Guard Number Two said in a cautious tone. “This woman—”
“Is under my employ. Which is more than anyone will be able to say about the four of you if you’re within arms’ reach of her in the next thirty seconds.”
Even the crowd seemed to hold their breath as Damian’s words hung in the air.
The restrictive grips on Layla’s arms fell away as if she’d caught fire.
Layla didn’t wait for them to move back. She fast-walked straight to Damian, despite her burning cheeks and pounding heart, and didn’t stop until she was standing beside him. She refrained from doing something stupid and presumptuous, but the urge was definitely there. It would have been awfully satisfying to see the look on the receptionist’s face. Still, she held herself in check.
Damian stretched out his hand and latched on to her wrist. “My office. Now.” He didn’t wait to finish speaking before striding forward, forcing the dumbfounded security guards to scatter in the process.
Layla stumbled for a second in her effort to keep up but didn’t protest. Though it hadn’t been her intent, she couldn’t say she was surprised a scene had been made. She felt bad about that, and for upsetting him, but she was glad it had worked out. Soon they would be in his private office, where she could tell him the news that would upset him even more. She would have to tell him everything. It was the only way to explain it all.
The elevator doors slid closed, leaving them temporarily alone. A different kind of silence filled the space. Damian didn’t let go of her wrist.
“I’m sorry,” Layla whispered. She wanted him to know that.
Damian was silent for three whole floors. “I presume you told someone who you were.”
It wasn’t a question, but Layla answered anyway. “Of course. The lady at the desk didn’t even try to verify my story.” She was very proud of herself for using the word “lady”. “I never meant for it to get out of hand.” She closed her eyes. Maybe she should have gone home and made up a story to try to get him home instead of going to his workplace. The idea had briefly occurred to her, while she was disposing of her phone, but she hadn’t wanted to lie to him. To scare him with the false threat of a sick or injured animal.
Damian let out a breath, released her wrist, and turned enough to cup her cheeks in both hands. “You’re on my list of authorized visitors, Layla. The receptionist should have asked for your ID and then let you through.”
Oh. She was on a list. Her heart did a little dance at that. She knew she wouldn’t be, very soon, but it was nice to know. If only for the moment.
Damian backed her into the wall and slid his hands into her hair. “Did they hurt you?” His question was thick with a mixture of anger and lust that sent pleasant, distracting chills down Layla’s spine.
She had to swallow to find her voice. “No.” She studied his face as he leaned in, her hands twisting in the sides of his coat. His face was perfect. Clean-shaven, angular cheek bones over a strong jaw, with a straight nose and mesmerizing amber eyes. And his lips. She moaned as they crashed over hers, her eyes fluttering closed, her lips parting to welcome his probing tongue. His lips were contradictorily soft in texture, but his kiss was hungry and demanding.
If he’d tried to fuck her right there in the elevator, she would absolutely have let him.
He didn’t. He dragged his hands through her hair, down her back, and clamped both hands over her denim-covered ass. Then he let go and took one full step backwards.
The elevator came to a stop with a simultaneous ding!
He was a cruel, cruel man.
Damian led the way out of the elevator, leaving Layla no choice but to scurry after him. It wasn’t as if she knew her way around.
“Mr. Harker—oh.” The sharply dressed woman who’d spoken came up short barely a foot past her large desk. Layla would bet her final paycheck this was Damian’s personal assistant.
Damian didn’t seem to acknowledge her. He continued walking, but said, “See that I’m not disturbed.”
“Ah, yes, of course.” Surprise and suspicion clouded her eyes as Layla followed in Damian’s wake.
Layla offered her an awkward smile. It was probably a bad time for introductions.
Damian led her to the closed door at the end of the hall and surprised her by holding it open for her. He stepped in directly behind her, pulled the door shut, and flipped the lock.
Layla drew a breath and looked around. She wasn’t in the least surprised to see that Damian’s office was large, or that one entire wall was floor-to-ceiling window. He had a beautiful desk topped with a pair of side-by-side monitors in front of a single keyboard and an organized display of what one might expect to find. In addition to his high-backed leather chair and the pair of cushioned seats facing the desk itself, there was also a sofa along the far wall. Overall his office was more inviting than she’d expected.
“All right,” Damian said, his rich voice jarring Layla out of her strange trance. “I assume you didn’t come all this way because you missed me.”
If only. Layla turned to keep Damian in her sights as he moved and watched as he peeled off his jacket. He tossed it with startling nonchalance over his chair and proceeded to roll up his sleeves. “I’m afraid we … have a problem.” Nothing like the reality of her impending doom to douse her bubbling arousal.
Damian paused, second sleeve almost all the way to his elbow, and arched a brow. “I get the feeling this isn’t about the pets.”
“Oh God, no,” Layla said quickly. She waved her hands reflexively, as if she needed to dissuade the notion from the air. “No, it’s…” She pulled her lips between her teeth for a moment. “Us” seemed like a heavy word, but it wasn’t inaccurate. “It’s about us.”
Done rolling his sleeves, Damian walked up to her and settled his hands on her hips. He tugged her up to his chest and lowered his voice. “I don’t have a problem with ‘us’.”
Overwhelmed by his words, and her own emotional response, Layla grabbed his face and pressed her lips hard against his. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she murmured.
“Good.” Damian wound an arm around her waist, buried a hand in her hair, and took full control of the kiss. He bent her head back as he deepened it, his tongue plunging into her mouth.
All she wanted to do was forget her reason for being there and wrap herself around him. It would have been so easy. She was pressed up tight enough to him that she could feel his body responding.
If only she could.
“Damian,” she said with a gasp as he nibbled on her lip. She adjusted her grip to take hold of his shoulders. “Damian, wait. Stop.”
He stilled immediately, loosened his hold, and straightened. “What is it?”
Unintentionally digging her fingers into his shoulders, Layla fought with herself to hold his stare and said, “We really do have a problem. Also … there’s something important I have to tell you.”
“You have my attention.” Damian took her by the hand and guided her to the sofa, gently encouraging her to sit beside him. When they were sitting, he looked her in the eyes and asked the burning question. “What’s the problem?”
“Someone … somehow … has pictures. Of us.” Layla felt her throat tighten. She twisted her hands in her lap. “I saw one, and I very much believe the claim that they have more.”
Damian’s eyes widened for a moment before they narrowed again with renewed anger. “How did you learn about this? Who has them? Have they made demands?”
“I don’t know who the photographer is,” Layla said, answering the easiest part first. “The good news is that we have until Monday before they’re released.”
“You believe that?”
A lump clogged her throat and Layla looked away. “Yes,” she said, quieter. “Because releasing the photos isn’t his real objective.”
&nbs
p; “Whose?” Damian settled a hand on her shoulder. “Tell me the rest, Layla.”
Tears rushed up behind her eyes, and Layla struggled to push them back. She wasn’t completely sure what he would do about what she said next, but she had a couple of guesses. None of them were good. She deserved them all.
“Layla,” Damian said again, his voice gentling. He rubbed his thumb along her cheek. One of her tears must have escaped. “I’ll fix it. I just need to know—”
“No,” Layla said, choking a little with the effort. She cleared her throat. “I mean, I’m telling you because … because I need to. Because you don’t deserve the scandal and you’ll need the next two and a half days to do whatever it is you’ll have to do and—” She sucked in a breath. “God, Damian, please know that I’m sorry. I should never have—”
“Layla.” This time his voice was firm. He covered her fiddling hands with one of his.
She was fumbling this worse than she’d anticipated. She hadn’t realized, not until the moment was upon her and it was far, far too late, how badly this was going to hurt. She hadn’t realized how much she’d come to care about Damian Harker in the past four-plus months. And now, like it was always destined to, everything was falling apart around her.
Layla wiped at her face, did her best to catch her breath, and made herself meet Damian’s uncharacteristically concerned stare. “The photographer works for Harold Poleski.” Dropping her uncle’s name was surprisingly easy. A little satisfying, even.
Damian’s eyes widened, slightly. The concern faded to a calm patience.
“Harold let himself into my car about half an hour before I came here,” she continued. “He showed me one on his phone and told me the rest. The part I just told you.” Another wave of tears threatened, but this time she refused to look away. It was going to hurt; it was going to be uncomfortable, but it had to be dealt with. Promptly. “The bigger problem is … he doesn’t just want to scandalize you.” She held up a hand. “No, that’s the wrong way to start this. It’s worse than that.”