by Lydia Rowan
“Yes...”
“Well, unfortunately, circumstances have changed, and I won’t be able to hire you to manage the fund.”
Layla has suspected as much, but something felt off about this conversation, so she was compelled to dig.
“Um...I’m sorry to hear that, but may I ask what’s changed?”
“I really should have done this sooner, but I’ve been dragging my feet. Circumstances changed. That’s all. You know how this business is.”
She was on high alert now but sensed that Anson wouldn’t be more forthcoming.
“I do. It’s unfortunate that things didn’t work out, but perhaps we’ll have a chance to work together in the future.”
“Yes, maybe, dear. Have a nice evening.”
“You, too, Anson. Good-bye.”
She hung up the phone and stood by her desk, confused. Something was seriously off but she couldn’t put her finger on what. She headed down to her car, still puzzling over the phone call, and it stayed at the front of her mind during the drive home. It was just so strange. Maybe she’d ask Leighton—
A chill settled over her, turning her bones to ice. It couldn’t be. He’d made a promise, and Leighton never went back on his word. But still...
She argued with herself through her shower, as she brushed her teeth, and as she lay in bed.
Screw it.
She knew she wouldn’t get any rest unless she talked to Leighton, so she threw on a pair of thin cotton pants and jacket and headed back to the office.
••••
Leighton perked up when he heard someone entering his outer office. The area was access-restricted in the evening, so he knew it would be her. She’d changed her mind and decided to stay the night, an indication, small though it was, that she enjoyed him as much as he enjoyed her. He stood and walked across the office, anxious to feel her in his arms, but pulled up short when he say her face. She seemed pensive, tentative.
“Layla, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
He went over to her and put his hands on her shoulders.
“I’m fine, it’s just that I got a strange call tonight.”
“From who?”
“Anson Smythe.”
Uneasiness filled him.
“What about?” he asked, though he knew.
“He called to rescind the job offer.”
“I can’t say I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t expect you would.” She looked up at him, her expression serious. “Leighton, I’m going to ask you something. I’ll believe whatever you say, no questions asked, but please tell me the truth.”
Uneasiness turned to dread. He knew what was coming, and he knew he couldn’t lie to her, but he was terrified about how she’d respond. He nodded.
“Did you, directly or indirectly, have anything to do with Smythe’s call?”
The words hung between them, and Leighton knew that the answer would change the trajectory of his life.
“Yes.”
She flinched, but she didn’t run, and he took that as a hopeful sign. He slid his hands down to rest on her waist and stepped closer to her. She didn’t melt into him as usual, but still, she didn’t run. She looked up at him again, her brown eyes unreadable. He hated the distant expression, missed the heat, out of amusement or anger, he didn’t care. This absent, blank-eyed Layla wasn’t his.
“Explain,” she said, her voice as flat as her expression.
“It was before...”
“We slept together the first time?”
“No, after that but before we came to our understanding.”
“And you didn’t think it important to mention this conversation to me?”
“No. I don’t know. I have a...history...with Smythe, and I couldn’t let him take you away.”
“So you used me as a weapon and lied to me?”
“I’ve never lied to you.”
“By omission, you did.” There was fire in her eyes now, and though he preferred mad Layla to void Layla, he’d never seen her this angry and feared that this meant for them. “You kept something from me, let me believe the opposite of the truth. That’s a lie in my book.”
She wrenched away and turned her back to him, wrapping her arms around herself. Leighton stared at the strong line of her back, the full curve of her ass, the long distance of her legs, tried to imagine not being able to touch her again. He knew how Layla felt about lies, knew she could never accept them, and if he didn’t do something, she’d walk out of that door and out of his life.
That couldn’t happen.
He put his arms around her again, and this time, to his surprise, she leaned against his chest. He ran his hands up and down her abdomen and kissed her head and neck.
“I’m sorry. But it doesn’t matter. If that’s what you want, I can start a fund for you to manage.”
She stiffened, and he took another approach.
“Or not, whatever you want.”
He turned her around and kissed her lips, trying to get some reaction. Finally, after a long moment, she opened her mouth, and he plunged his tongue inside, trying to pour all of his emotion into the kiss. He slipped his hand into his pants, relieved to find the wetness that always greeted him there. He slipped one finger inside her and squeezed her breast with his other hand. Layla moaned into his mouth and grappled with his belt and pants, finally freeing his hard cock. He wanted her, but this was something else. He needed to be with her, try to make her understand how much he loved her. He’d never admitted that, even to himself, but faced with the prospect of losing her, he could no longer deny it. He pushed her pants around her knees, then lifted one leg and slammed inside her, the grip of her cunt a homecoming.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he pounded into her, the desperation clear in his voice.
She didn’t respond, just clung to shoulders, her eyes closed.
He continued thrusting into her, trying to touch all of her at once, get some reaction, to no avail. Then he stilled, put a hand on her cheek.
“Look at me, Layla. Please,” he said when she didn’t comply.
She opened her eyes, and he saw nothing in them. He thrust gently, and reached down to strum her clit. He continued when he saw her chest begin to rise and fall in earnest, felt the pussy pulse around him.
“I love you.”
He saw the shock in her expression, then felt her cunt clamp down on him as she came, the action sending him over the precipice.
“I love you, too,” she said, and he heard the truth in her words. “But I can never be with a man who doesn’t respect me, a man who can lie to me.”
He heard the truth in those words too. She pushed at the wall of his chest, and after he slipped out of her and lowered her leg, she pulled up her pants and made her way out of the office.
She didn’t look back.
Book Three
Chapter One
Leighton looked up at knock on his door. For an instant his heart soared, but it soon came crashing down. She wouldn’t knock. She never knocked.
“Enter,” he bit out, his tone harsh even to his own ears.
The door opened slowly, tentatively, and his assistant Dawn came in. She stood silent for a moment, the fear on her face dampening his already terrible mood. Still, he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t restrain the thoughtless, selfish, cruel man recent events had proven him to be.
“Spit it out, Dawn!”
She jumped and begin speaking, her words a nervous tangle. “Ah, sorry to disturb you, sir, but security called, and Anson Smythe is downstairs asking to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment, so I didn’t know if you wanted me to refuse the visit.”
Leighton sat up, that hated name in his ear demanding some sort of reaction. Smythe. The man who’d destroyed his life. Bile burned at the back of his throat. He was tempted to accept the visit just to have an opportunity to be alone with the bastard, hopeful that punching him would relieve at least some of his pent-up frustration.
Beating up o
n old men now, Leighton?
Her voice rang in his ears, the tone uniquely hers, chiding yet playful, a reprimand that also served as a caress. It was as clear as if she’d actually spoken words.
As if she wasn’t gone.
The thought drained him, and he leaned back, his focus returning to Dawn, who still stood there waiting for his response, eyes wide and terror on her face. He should probably apologize. He chuckled instead, the bitter sound barely resembling a laugh. Before her he wouldn’t have even considered such a thing.
“Uh, sorry, Dawn. And yes, please show Smythe in.”
Dawn nodded and left, and Leighton tried to pull himself together before Smythe arrived. After his initial impulse of violence passed, he was inclined to send the man away, but he curiosity was piqued. And maybe he’d even get a scrap or two about Layla.
Layla, the love of his life, his anchor, as much a part of him as his right arm. Layla, who’d left him because of Smythe’s interference. Leighton’s anger ran hot again at the thought, and he had only a moment to calm himself before Dawn knocked and entered with Smythe.
He was dressed smartly as always, but seemed older, more broken, than he had before. His appearance didn’t stoke any sympathy. Anson Smythe was a creature of the cutthroat business world, and any lumps he’d taken, some, but not nearly enough, delivered by Leighton, were well deserved.
Smythe walked across the office and settled in a chair, his face a pleasant blank that had undoubtedly served him well over the years. But Leighton was no slouch either and understood this whole interaction was a part of an unspoken but elaborate play. Leighton wanted to pepper Smythe with questions, find out everything he knew, but restrained himself because any hint of eagerness would be taken as weakness that Smythe wouldn’t hesitate to exploit.
So they sat, silent, but amiable, each waiting for the other to crack.
“Your father would be proud.”
Round one to Smythe.
“What would you know about it?” Leighton growled, his tone churlish and far too revealing.
Leighton prided himself on his self-control, at least when it came to business, and knew his icy detachment was one of the keys to his success. Still he hadn’t been expecting that, as Smythe certainly had known, and the words had thrown him off his game.
“More than you’d think, and more than I’d care to admit.”
“Is that why you destroyed him?”
“Who knows? It’s business. I saw an opportunity, and I took it. Can you honestly say you wouldn’t do, and haven’t already done, the same?”
“No. I can’t say I wouldn’t have.”
That knowledge stung.
“Don’t be down about it. It’s what we do, Leighton. We take and take and one day wake up and realize that, through some trick of fate, we have nothing. Nothing of value anyway. Did you know I have a son?”
Leighton nodded. “I’ve seen him around occasionally.”
Smythe let out a wistful sigh. “Me too. I may as well be dead for as much as I see him. And, truth be told, I can’t blame him. I ignored him when he was young and tried to use him when he was older. He got fed up and disgusted and pushed me away. This sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”
“Your point, Smythe?” Leighton said, warning threading his tone.
“My point is I’ve watched you for more than a decade, and you’ve succeeded beyond anyone’s wildest imagination. But I see the path ahead for you, and it’s not pretty. Unless you want to be me in thirty years, dispensing advice to competitors because your child can’t stand you, facing your twilight years alone but for the people you pay to be around you, change. I heard that Ms. Grayson has left the company.”
“Ah, so now we get to it.” Leighton leaned back in his chair. “It’s your fault she’s gone, and you came here to gloat, and all under the guise of giving kindly advice.”
“It’s no guise, and this certainly doesn’t constitute gloating. I don’t know Ms. Grayson well, but I liked and respected her, and I suspect she’s independent. If she’s not here, it’s because she doesn’t want to be.”
Smythe leaned forward and placed his hands on Leighton’s desk, his blue gaze burning with a fierceness that was incongruous with the droll, disinterested facade he so often wore.
“And that’s my point. A person as loyal and competent as her wouldn’t jump ship without a good reason. As I said, I don’t know her well, but if you don’t patch things up with her, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.” He reclined, mask back in place. “Or not. I’m just an old man. What do I know?”
Smythe stood and turned on his heels.
“I’ll show myself out,” he said and exited the office.
Leighton jumped up walked over to the window, willing to concede that he’d been soundly on the losing side of that exchange, but more distracted with tossing Smythe’s words around in his head. He’d said nothing revelatory, and yet, the words had hit hard. Though she’d been gone just over two months, Leighton still thought of her absence as a temporary thing, was certain that one day things would go back to normal.
But what did “normal” even mean? She’d work for him and sleep with him? And what about when she wanted to move on, have a stable relationship or even a family? He scrubbed his hands down his face, an ineffective attempt to loosen the knots of dread in his stomach at the thought of Layla bearing someone else’s children.
That wasn’t an option.
He had to get her back, and when he did, he planned to keep her forever.
Chapter Two
Leighton pulled into the bakery parking lot, uncertain about what he planned to do, but committed to whatever it was. After his conversation with Smythe, Leighton knew he needed to get her back, but he was at a loss. He’d considered just going to her and spilling his guts, but something about that didn’t feel quite right, like he was missing some critical piece of information, so he’d hesitated and decided to focus on figuring out the best approach.
He knew her mother had died and recalled well the pain and turmoil of that period of her life. He also remembered an old family friend that Layla had talked about on occasion. She ran a bakery that had supplied pastries for a couple of the company’s events. He’d racked his brain trying to recall the name, but had come up blank. He’d even tried to enlist Dawn’s help, but the normally terrified woman had shown her inner pit bull and refused to give him any information. He’d cajoled, bribed, and even been a shade intimidating, but she’d said nothing. He respected that and had given her a well-earned twenty-percent raise.
In the end, he’d done it the old-fashioned way: printed out a list of bakeries in the Dallas-Fort Worth area and looked for something that sounded familiar. He could imagine Layla teasing him, but desperate times and all. It had been tedious, inefficient work that he could have pawned off any number of people, but it had given him something to focus on, and time to consider what he hoped for with Layla, the best way to get it, and more solemnly, how he’d go on if things didn’t work out. After about a week of searching, he’d found Marla’s, and now he was preparing to take what he hoped was the first step into the rest of his life.
He got out of the car and walked past a patio, several people busily typing, reading a book, or leisurely sipping coffee. He entered the bright, airy space and was hit with the delicious sent of baked goods greeting him. The place was relatively crowded for the afternoon, and the murmur of conversation gave it a lively, vibrant, relaxed feel. Leighton looked down at his suit and noted how no one seemed to notice or care how out of place he was. An older woman stood behind the register and, from his research, he recognized her as Marla. He approached, and she looked over, the welcome-customer smile plastered on her face dropping into a much more reserved expression when she saw it was him. Despite his wealth and brushes with the tabloids, Leighton was fairly anonymous on a day-to-day basis, but Marla’s expression left no doubt that she recognized, and took issue, with him.
“May I help you?” she a
sked, her even tone at odds with the icicles in her eyes.
“Yes, I’m Leighton Means,” he begin his introduction out of habit and felt a little silly when she slitted her eyes as if to say Duh, “uh, I was hoping I could speak with you for a moment.” He finished and waited, amused by how wholly unimpressed and disinterested she seemed.
“What, or should I say, who would you need to talk to me about?” Her emphasis and insinuation was clear.
“Layla.”
“And why would I talk to about Layla with you?”
He felt the weight of the question and decided to tackle it with his favorite approach: directness.
“Because I love her, and I think she loves me, and I need your help to get her back.”
She nodded, seemingly satisfied with his response.
“Cindy, come mind the register,” she called as she wiped her hands on her apron and walked around the counter.
“Follow me,” she said.
Leighton obediently followed her down the hall and through a door marked Employees Only. It looked to be a small break room and had the same cozy feel as the rest of place. She settled at a round table and indicated that he sit down next to her. He sat and prepared to speak, but she beat him to the punch.
“You’re here, so I assume you know how much I care about Layla.”
“I wouldn’t waste your time or mine otherwise,” he said.
“Well then you also know that I would do anything for her and anything to avoid causing her pain. And from what I’ve seen, Mr. Means, you have a very bad habit of causing Layla pain.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Well you’re doing a terrible job. And just so you know, though not that it matters, from my perspective you’re just some rich brat who thinks the world is your oyster and the people in it exist only to serve you. You say you love her, but I haven’t seen anything to suggest you even know what that is.”
Leighton tried to keep his cool, but could feel his frustration rising. Marla didn’t know anything about him, his feelings, or his relationship with Layla, and he didn’t appreciate her questioning him.