by Lydia Rowan
“Drop the act. We have business to discuss, and I need you on your game.”
“Act, Mr. Means?” She pinned him with a wide-eyed, innocent look that he didn’t buy for a second. “I don’t understand.”
“Jesus, Layla. Don’t be such a baby.”
That hit landed. He saw the spark in her eyes, the first hint of the real Layla he’d seen. But she quickly covered it, slammed that blank mask back into place.
“Mr. Means,” she said, her tone that same sickly sweet, totally not Layla sound that he was beginning to hate, “I think we’re having a misunderstanding. I’m not quite clear what you’re referring to, but I have a number of tasks I need to complete this afternoon, so if we could proceed?”
A stab of irritation shot through him, and the slight tilt of her furrowed brow made it clear she knew exactly what she was doing. He considered telling her his plan, even, God forbid, explaining why he’d been so terse earlier, but he decided against it. She was his employee, and ultimately, his choices, including who did and did not attend a given meeting, weren’t her concern. She’d get over this little upset. But maybe he could placate her a bit.
“Make reservations for La Vie tonight,” he said. He knew how much she loved the filet at the quaint bistro.
“For how many?”
“Just the two of us. We can go over some numbers while we eat.”
“Sorry. Can’t make it. I have plans this evening.”
He huffed. “Reschedule.”
“That’s not possible. Now what did you want to see me about, sir?”
The subject was closed.
She hadn’t ever done anything like this before, denied him anything.
Leighton wondered if he should be worried.
Chapter Five
“I have to admit, my dear, I was surprised when you agreed to join me,” Smythe said.
“Me, too,” Layla admitted.
That earned her a smile.
“So why did you?” he asked, his curiosity clear in his cerulean-blue eyes.
“Why not? It never hurts to listen.”
He didn’t look convinced. “I’d thought it was something else, that you’d finally seen what’s apparent to everyone in the business community.”
“And what’s that?” she asked, feeling a bit on edge at Smythe’s insinuations, but intrigued nonetheless.
“You’ve reached your peak with Means, and if you don’t make a move, you’ll never get anywhere. And time is running out.”
“A frank answer, Mr. Smythe.”
“Call me Anson, and I prefer to be direct. I’m too old for anything else.”
“So, be direct. Why am I here?”
“I want you to work for me.”
Layla had known what was coming, but she still found herself surprised.
“Why?”
“You’re amazing at what you do, and unlike the rest of us heartless bastards, you’re a good person.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Since when has that mattered in finance?”
“My point exactly. It doesn’t, never has, and I accept my responsibility for contributing to that, but I want do something different, and I think you can help.”
Layla’s interest was sparked, and rising excitement began to thrum through her. Smythe didn’t miss her response and gave her slight nod.
“Yes, Layla, I want to do it. I want to invest in a microfinance fund, and I want you to manage it.”
She couldn’t believe it. She’d kicked around the idea in her head, put out some tentative feelers, but the response had been tepid at best. While micro-financing helped small businesses and communities, it wasn’t sexy, and most importantly, didn’t produce gaudy profits, so big-time investors weren’t interested. Which raised a question.
“And why are you interested, Anson? There’s not really any money to be made and no prestige at all.”
“I’ve made enough money to last a thousand lifetimes, and whatever’s left of me when Means is done will be enough to support a nice-sized fund. I want you to run it.”
“What do you mean ‘when Means is done’?”
Awareness buzzed through her, and she knew he was there before he spoke.
“Yes, Smythe, what do you mean?” Leighton asked.
Chapter Six
Leighton looked back and forth between them, Layla looking like a kid caught with her hand in a cookie jar and Smythe as stiff, smug, and proper as ever.
“Won’t you join us, Leighton? Your colleague and I were just discussing the most interesting subject.”
“Which is?”
“I’ve offered Ms. Grayson a job.”
Leighton felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He looked at Layla, but she glanced around, nervously wiped her hands on her skirt—Layla was wearing a skirt?—and wouldn’t look at him.
He kept his eyes on Layla. “Smythe, lying is beneath you. Layla is my most-trusted employee. She knows how much I value loyalty, and she would never, ever, betray me by meeting with a competitor in a restaurant frequented by the city’s business elite to discuss another job.” His voice was a low growl by the time he finished.
She still refused to meet his gaze, and as the moment stretched, a wave of emotions, rage first among equals, washed over him.
Smythe broke the silence. “I can see you two have things to discuss, so I’ll leave you to it. Ms. Grayson, please consider what I’ve said.”
She looked up, then gave Smythe a nod and smile, still warm toward him despite the circumstances. “I’ll be in touch, Anson. Thank you.”
Anson.
Her use of his first name and the friendly tone ripped through him like a stab. Smythe walked away, and Leighton calmed a bit. He was overreacting. Smythe was playing at something and using Layla to get to him. Yes, that was it. He sat down in Smythe’s vacated seat, relief filling him. Once he got Layla up to speed, she’d see Smythe’s ploy for what it was. And he’d keep a better eye out for poachers. Smythe was smart; his ability to stay afloat for as long as he had was a testament to that. But he’d crossed the line with Layla, and for that he would pay dearly.
Settled now, he decided there was no point in wasting a good reservation. He was famished and had intended to grab a quick bite, when he’d noticed Layla and Smythe.
“Might as well have dinner since we’re here. And I need to talk—”
“Leighton, I’m taking the job.”
Chapter Seven
The tension radiated off him in waves. To the untrained eye, he seem as he always did, cool, controlled, but Layla knew different. The years had given her insight, and she could see the way he gripped his phone a little tighter than usual, the slightly harsher set of his mouth, the flinty-steel color of his eyes the biggest clue that he was barely holding on to his control, and somewhere, deep under the anger, a flash of betrayal and hurt that cut her to her core.
After her pronouncement, he’d cut dinner short, and once he’d ordered her to ride back to the office in his limo, hadn’t said another word. Silence reigned through the excruciating ride, and Layla’s nerves were on edge. Her announcement had been...inelegant, but the day’s events had only proven the necessity of the move. She’d always be grateful, but she simply couldn’t do this anymore.
She looked away from Leighton and at the city streets as the limo wove through downtown Dallas, trying to grasp how they’d ended up here. When he’d taken over the company, Leighton had seen promise in her and had given her more and more opportunities, trusted her to do a good a job. When he’d found out she wanted to go to college, he’d worked around her schedule and insisted she put school first.
And then, when the worst had happened, he’d shown her compassion that had made her see him in a new light.
She still remembered how devastated she’d been when her mother had gotten the diagnosis. Pancreatic cancer. Grave prognosis. “We should be thinking weeks and months, not months and years,” the oncologist had said. She’d been stunned, numb. Her mothe
r had been her world, her rock, and the idea of her dying was totally inconceivable.
She’d gone to work the next day, her mother had insisted, and Leighton had known something was wrong. She’d tried to keep it in, hadn’t wanted to be a burden, but the words, and the tears, had come tumbling out. He’d sat next to her in his office and listened to her story.
“Go be with her,” he’d said when she’d finished.
“Um, okay. But we have Rodgers today and—”
“No, Layla. Go be with her for as long as it takes. I’ll take care of everything.”
And he had.
He’d hired specialists, made available every cutting-edge treatment imaginable. Her mother always had been a fighter, and with Leighton’s help, she’d made it eighteen months. The hardest and best eighteen months of Layla’s life. Layla had thought she was prepared, but the end had still crushed her, the one light in that devastating pain the fact that she’d gotten the extra time, had had a chance to show her mother how much she loved her.
And now she was going to turn her back on the man who had made it possible.
The limo eased to a stop, and she grabbed her bag and jumped out of the car, intending to head straight home.
“Come to my office in fifteen minuets, Layla.” He spoke the words without looking at her and walked off, his intent that she follow clear.
••••
Leighton hoped fifteen minutes would be enough. Rage thrummed through his body, seemingly in time with the beat of his heart, and he needed to compose himself or he might say—or do—something he’d regret. He was enraged that Layla sought to betray him, but even still, she was a useful asset, and he’d play nice if it would change her mind. This was a new circumstance for Leighton. He never played nice, but he’d do it for her, no matter how irritating.
He thought back to dinner, Layla there, looking happier and more relaxed than he’d seen her in a long time. The little shadows in her eyes had lifted, and he’d seen hints of the young woman she’d been.
Back when his father had been running the company into the ground, Layla had been hired fresh out of high school to handle administrative tasks. From what Leighton had gathered, she hadn’t had any skills in particular, but she’d been cheap. By the time Leighton took over four years later, Layla had become the backbone of the company, keeping things together while his father destroyed what was left of the family name. She’d been integral over the years, helping Leighton through that dark early time, working day and night to make sure they survived. No one—not his cowardly, wastrel of a father, his loving but weak mother, his so-called friends who couldn’t wait to turn their backs on him once they’d realized the money was gone, the women who fought for his attention now that the money was back—had been there through it all. No one but her.
He felt a sharp twist in his gut. She couldn’t go. It was nonnegotiable. That she was even considering it filled him rage and another emotion too close to fear for his liking.
But it wouldn’t come to that. She’d see reason, and they’d get back to normal.
••••
Layla stood at his office door for long moments, debating whether she should just leave. His haughty commands, expectation of complete obedience, were just a part of the trouble. Her need, unhealthy she knew but altogether undeniable, to please him, was the bigger issue. Beyond gratitude and respect, Leighton inspired something else, touched her on an elemental level, and if she didn’t break away, she’d lose herself forever.
Still, she was no wimp. She wouldn’t run from him. She opened the door and walked in, hoping she portrayed casual confidence instead of the mix of sadness, anger, shame, and a tiny bit of fear that she felt.
She settled in the leather love seat across from his desk and waited. She’d learned from the best, and she wouldn’t babble in the face of his stony silence, no matter how much she wanted to. As the silence stretched and Leighton stared, his gray gaze burning through her like icy fire, she thought back to the countless others she’d watched in this position. Business adversaries, employees who couldn’t hack it. Never had she imagined she’d be here, subject of his apparent scorn. But she’d been wrong.
“Layla,” he started, his even tone a vivid contrast to the intensity that practically vibrated around him, “I don’t know what this is about, but it’s unacceptable, and I won’t stand for it. I’ll give you a raise, you deserve it, but I insist you let Smythe know you’ve reconsidered and won’t be joining his firm. If you were anyone else, I’d fire you on the spot. But I know you’ve been working had, so take a couple of days off and we’ll put this behind us. And, Layla, as I’ve said before, as a representative of this company, you have an obligation to present the best possible face to the public.” His gaze traveled up her bare legs, briefly resting on the hem of her skirt, until it settled on the relatively low neckline of her satin scoop-neck shell.
“In the future, please ensure your attire is more befitting a person of your position. I won’t have you embarrassing me.”
“How dare you?” she said, her tone incredulous and her voice lowered an octave, a clear indication of her anger.
“How dare I what, Layla? How dare I overlook your betrayal, allow you liberties that I’d never permit anyone else?”
She jumped off the love seat, the rush of her blood in her ears and the pounding of her heart making it impossible for her to sit still.
“How magnanimous. I give everything, everything, to this company, and you’re willing to overlook my betrayal. Fuck you, Leighton!”
At her words, he rose and walked around his desk to stand in front of her. He looked down at her, and she noted the tic in his jaw and the deepening of the gray in his eyes. She knew he was on the edge, that she was playing with fire, but for once, she didn’t care.
“I’m doing this because I want it. You don’t control me, Leighton.”
He looked at her, the heat in his gaze almost an inferno. “Don’t I?” he said with a smile.
Layla realized then how close he was, closer than he’d ever been, close enough to touch. If he leaned down...
He did. Leaned down and took her lips with his, the kiss as dominating and unyielding as his words. Layla couldn’t help herself; she opened against his kiss, her traitorous body bending to his command. Her mind warred with itself; the rational part of her screamed at her to stop, that this couldn’t happen, the other unbelieving but oh so overjoyed.
Her rational mind lost.
As much as she wanted to deny it, she’d longed for Leighton all these years, and despite the circumstances and ignoring the anger that motivated his actions, she was going to take whatever he’d give and deal with the devastation later.
She moaned low in her throat when he tangled his tongue with hers and lifted her hands to the solid wall of his chest, the heat of radiating from him and seeping through the fine wool of his suit jacket.
And then she found her cheek pressed against his office door, the cold of the wood a sharp and sudden contrast to the heat of Leighton’s mouth. The rapture of his kiss was so intense, she hadn’t even realized they’d moved. He pressed his pelvis against her ass, and she could feel his iron-hard erection through the fabric. In one smooth motion, he lifted her skirt up around her waist and pushed her panties down. He cupped her mound and found the wetness that had, much to her embarrassment, gathered between her lips.
He leaned his head down, and spoke low, his warm breath teasing her ear, “You say I don’t control you, Layla, but you’re wet for me. This is for me, isn’t it?”
When she didn’t respond, he lightly pinched her clit, and her knees buckled. “Yes,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t reveal her pleasure or her shame.
“Good,” he said, and he buried one, then two fingers, into her cunt.
She felt the harshness of his breath against her ear, the rough tickle of the wool against her bare bottom as he rubbed himself against her. Then, as she began to rock her hips against his fingers, he pulle
d them out. She started to turn, but his hand against her back stilled her. She placed her hands on the door, seeking purchase. Suddenly, his hand was gone, and her ears perked at the sound of his belt unbuckling. The air left her lungs in a whoosh. She heard the rasp of his zipper, and cried out when she felt what could only be his cock, hard and hot, prod her opening.
“You’d let me fuck you right here, right now. You’d let me and you’d love it.”
It wasn’t a question, but her answer slipped out anyway. “Yes,” she said on a sigh, so quiet even she could barely hear it.
Before the word was completely out of her mouth, he plunged up and filled her with his cock in one stroke. He held still, forcing her to focus on the sensation, his chest against her back, his hands on her ample hips, and her pussy full of him, stretched beyond anything she’d experienced. She’d been with someone before, but Leighton’s cock filling and stretching her made her feel new. The shock of his intrusion was quickly replaced by a trace of disappointment at his stillness, which faded completely when he started moving.
Leighton gave no quarter and, hand still on her hips, began pounding her unrelentlessly. She creamed even more, and the pleasure was so intense, almost painful, that she wanted, needed, to move, to find some respite, but there was none. There was only Leighton and his cock, and she gave in to them, rested her head on her hands, and, still pressed against the door, took what he gave. She desperately wanted to moan, to yell at him to fuck her harder, faster, but her pride wouldn’t let her. It was of no matter, because he whispered, “So quiet, Layla. You won’t scream for me?” She shook her head no. “That’s okay,” he said, “you’re pussy is soaked and gripping my cock like a vise. I don’t need your screams or your words. Your body is speaking loud and clear.” He thrust hard, forcing her up on the tips of her toes. “And its saying you belong to me.”
He thrust hard again, as if for emphasis, and Layla came apart. Stars danced behind her eyelids, the pleasure radiating from the place where she and Leighton were joined, up and through her entire body. She clenched her fingers, ineffectively attempting to grasp the smooth door. Then, almost without conscious thought, she rested her face on the door and reached behind her, settled her hands on Leighton’s, strong, warm, and holding her hips as he continued to pound into her. She went limp against him, trusting he’d hold her despite her size.