Piece by Piece

by Kaylee Ryan

  When I approach, he lifts his head and watches me. “Did you save room for dessert?” I ask.

  “Just the check,” he says, tossing his napkin on his now empty plate.

  “Great, here you go. I can take it whenever you’re ready.”

  “Wait.” He stands, pulls his wallet out of his pocket, grabs a few bills, and hands it to me. “Keep the change, Layla,” he says. His fingers slide across mine as he hands me the money, and my hand tingles from his touch.

  “Thank you, uh, sir,” I say, fumbling with my words and once again making myself look like a fool in front of him. Unlike him, I’ve not badgered him with questions, including his name. He always pays in cash, so there is no credit card to tell me his name. Hence the nickname, Blue Eyes. It fits him.

  “Owen.” He holds his hand out for me. My fingers are still tingling, but my manners and blatant curiosity of the magic of his touch—and if it will happen a second time—have me placing my hand in his.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Owen. Thank you for your generosity.” I know I already thanked him for his gracious tips, but there are several bills now shoved in my apron, and I’m certain it more than covers his meal, just as before.

  “You work every night?” he asks.

  I can see how he would think that. I’ve been here every night this week. “Most weekends. I don’t mind the shifts that no one else wants to work,” I say with a shrug. Again, giving him more information than necessary for the conversation.

  “Do you ever get a night off?”

  “Yeah, usually not on the weekend. This week I picked up some extra shifts.” His eyes bore into mine, unnerving me. Shifting my weight from one leg to the other, I look over at the table. “Thank you again. Have a great night.”

  “Are you dismissing me, Layla?”

  “N-No.” I clear my throat. “No, just, uh, thank you. You don’t have to go.” I stumble over my words. I don’t know who this guy is, but from a look, you can tell he has money. Just my luck, he’s some big wig that could get me fired. I need this job.

  Reaching out, his thumb lightly brushes under my eye. “You look tired.”

  Who is this guy? He’s seen me a handful of times, and he thinks he knows I’m tired? What’s worse is I am. I haven’t been sleeping well. There is no reason for it, but the truth is apparently obvious in my eyes. “Just a long day,” I answer him.

  “Hmm. I’ll see you soon, Layla.” With that, he steps around me and walks out of the room.

  I stand frozen, my knees locked, and my mind racing. What just happened? My hand goes to my cheek. I can still feel his touch. That man is intoxicating and trouble. Nothing but trouble. Shaking myself out of my Owen trance, I get busy clearing his table.

  Owen.

  It’s not a name you hear often, and I have to say it suits him. Then again, so does Blue Eyes, but I can’t very well call him that to his face. Something tells me that I’ve not seen the last of him.

  “You ready to lock the doors?” Maria asks me.

  Turning my wrist to look at my watch, I see it’s past closing time. “Yeah, my last one just left.”

  “Oh, honey, I noticed. That was the hottie in VIP. Did you get his number?” she asks.

  “No.”

  “Why the hell not? How do you know him anyway? He asked for you by name.”

  “I don’t. He came in last weekend, and Oliver pawned his table off on me. He’s been here every night since.”

  “Has he asked for you every time?”

  “Yeah,” I say, thinking about how after that first night, I watch for him to come in. I’ve never been there waiting for him, though. He always has to ask for me.

  “He must like what he sees.” She hip checks me and goes to lock the doors.

  Reaching into my apron, I pull out his ticket to cash him out. I’m not surprised that he’s left the same generous tip as he has every day this week. It’s too much, and I should give it back to him. I think about how that extra money helped me. It’s wrong to keep taking it. I know that. Starting now, I’m going to give it back to him. I appreciate his generosity, and it’s helped me more than he will ever know, but I can’t keep taking it. I don’t know what he’s playing at, but I can’t keep accepting these huge tips. I can hear my bank account crying as I make plans to keep the tip on me in case I see him again so I can give it back.

  “You ladies ready to go?” Oliver asks. Ronnie was off tonight, so he’s tasked with taking us to our cars. He sees it as an inconvenience but does it anyway. Secretly, I think he’s afraid of Ronnie. Ronnie doesn’t take his shit, and that scares Mr. Spoiled and Privileged.

  “Yes,” Maria and I say at the same time.

  Grabbing our bags, we head out to the lot, following behind Oliver. “Have a good night, ladies,” he calls out, throwing his hand in the air for a wave. He doesn’t bother to make sure we’re in our cars, but he never does.

  “You on tomorrow?” Maria asks.

  “Yes, I’m on the next two days.”

  “Bummer. I’ll see you next week.” She climbs in her car and drives away.

  Unlocking my car door, I climb inside, tossing my bag into the passenger seat and locking the doors—something Ronnie insisted I do as soon as I get inside. Key in the ignition, I turn it, and nothing happens. I try again and still nothing.

  “Shit.” I slam my hands against the steering wheel. “Come on, don’t fail me now. Not tonight of all nights.” I try yet again and nothing but a clicking sound, no sign that the engine is going to start up and drive my tired ass home. Peering through the front windshield, I watch as Maria’s taillights disappear. Oliver is long since gone, which leaves me all alone. I don’t have a cell phone—that’s an expense that I can’t afford. I’m barely keeping a roof over my head and food on the table. Exhaling a deep breath, I grab my bag, the keys, and climb out of the car. I lock the door, even though no one would want to steal it. Ronnie has beat it in my head to keep it locked to keep others from hiding in the back seat. I think he watches too many murder mysteries, but I don’t tell him that. I just lock my doors. It’s easy enough, and it makes him smile when he sees that I’ve listened. Linda said she does the same. “Pick your battles,” she once told me. I’m lucky to have them both.

  The back parking lot where the employees park is dimly lit, so I keep my hand on my bag, keeping it close, and rush around the front of the building and the main entrance of the hotel. Once we shut the door, we’re locked out for the night, so I’m going to have to ask the front desk to use their phone.

  Chapter 3

  Owen

  I’ve been staying at the Emerald Seaside Resort for a week now. They’re struggling financially, which is why I’m here. That’s what I do. Jase called in a personal favor, and to be honest, getting out of Nashville for a few days sounded like a damn good plan. A few days has turned into a week. I don’t understand where the financial bleed is coming from, but my gut tells me it’s someone, not something that’s causing them to lose money hand over fist. I called Jase last night to give him my thoughts. He asked me to stick around until he can find out why they’re dragging their feet giving me access to the books. It’s been seven days. Their time is up.

  So far, nothing glaring has jumped out at me. The hotel is clean, with plenty of staff, and filled with guests. The amenities are on point, and I’m struggling to find out why the owner is requesting a buyout. He claims that he can barely keep the place in the red. That just doesn’t make sense.

  Not interested in being holed up in my suite staring at the four walls, I head down to the lobby. The hotel has a nightclub, and by the brochure provided in my suite, last call is not until two in the morning. That gives me two hours to take in the atmosphere, something I’ve yet to do during my stay this past week.

  The elevator doors slide open, and I step out, taking a look around. There are guests milling around, and again there should be no reason that this place is losing money. My eyes scan again, and that’s when I see her. />
  Layla.

  Stunning.

  Long blonde hair, tight little body, and striking blue eyes. She’s a tiny thing, several inches shorter than my six foot three. She’s sitting alone on a bench, her elbows resting on her knees, and her hands buried in her hair. I can’t see her face, but I know it’s her. It’s the golden blonde hair. I can almost guarantee that it’s her by her hair alone. I could easily pick her out of a crowd.

  “Layla,” I say when I reach her. She sucks in a breath and looks up at me. Her eyes are red, and her cheeks wet from tears. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She hastily wipes her eyes. Standing, she reaches into her purse and pulls out some cash and holds it out for me. “Thank you for your generosity, but it’s too much.”

  I stare at her hand. “It’s yours.”

  “I can’t keep accepting these kinds of tips, Owen,” her sweet lips say my name.

  “You can.” The tips I’ve given her are nothing for a man like me.

  “I-I’m not for sale.” She glances at her feet, and I want those blue eyes on me.

  “Layla.” My voice is strong, causing her head to slowly rise, and those blue eyes to go wide. “I’m not trying to buy you.”

  “I don’t understand.” She looks at her hand that’s now clutching the cash as if it were her lifeline.

  “You provided a service, and I tipped you. End of story.”

  Her eyes well with more tears. “Thank you,” she whispers.

  “Now, tell me what’s wrong. Who hurt you?”

  She shakes her head. “No one. My car won’t start, and I couldn’t get ahold of Ronnie, and the tow truck said it’s going to be a hundred dollars to tow it two miles to the repair shop. My feet hurt, and I’m dreading walking the eight blocks to my apartment, but I don’t want to spend the money on an Uber, and I’m tired,” she adds. “So, damn tired.”

  “Who’s Ronnie?” Sounds like a real prick for not picking up for her. He’s obviously not concerned for her safety. It pisses me off. If you’re going to be in a relationship, then you need to be in it. You make the choice. He needs to man the fuck up.

  “He works with me. He and his wife, Linda. They helped me when I got to town, and now they’re family.”

  I feel my shoulders relax. “Come with me.” I hold my hand out for her. No way can I leave her here like this.

  Surprisingly, she doesn’t question me. Instead, she places her small hand in my larger one and allows me to guide her to stand from the bench. With her hand in mine, I lead us to the front of the hotel, and motion for a car. That’s another perk this place offers, a car service. Sure, they bill it to your room, but it beats having a rental and to pay for parking. Layla is still and quiet beside me. “Climb in,” I say when the car pulls up. She bites down on her bottom lip, a few seconds of hesitation before she pulls her hand from mine and slides into the back seat.

  “Address?” I ask her.

  She rattles it off to the driver. “Thank you, Owen,” she says softly.

  Giving her a nod, I turn to look out the window, pretending that seeing her upset doesn’t affect me. I watch as each block passes, the more rundown the homes look. When we pull up to a rundown apartment complex, I stare at the thugs that are hanging around. “You live here?”

  “Yeah, I was lucky to find this place when I moved here seven years ago. It’s not much, but it’s home.”

  “Where is your family?”

  “Ronnie and Linda,” she starts, but I hold my hand up, stopping her.

  “Your blood family.”

  She shrugs. “It’s really not that interesting,” she tells me.

  “Try me.”

  Taking a deep breath, she slowly exhales. “I never knew my father. Anytime I asked about him, my mom would tell me that he didn’t want me and left us. My mom, well, she’s only a mom in name. I was cooking and cleaning up after her when I was a kid. My earliest memory is when I was about five. It’s fuzzy, but I can remember the bus dropping me off at our apartment of whatever rundown dump we were living in. She’d be passed out on the couch; alcohol, drugs, not really sure. Anyway, I made a peanut butter sandwich, she woke up and swiped it off the counter, stumbling back to the couch. That started our routine. I took care of her.”

  Jesus. “Where is she now?”

  “I’m not sure. I left Indiana the day they handed me my high school diploma. I never looked back.”

  “Aunts, uncles, grandparents?” Surely, she’s not all alone.

  “None that I ever met. Mom didn’t know her dad, and from what she tells me, her mom wasn’t much better.” She sits up a little taller in the seat. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I just laid all that on you. Thank you for the ride.” She holds out her hand, and the cash is still there.

  “I’m not taking that,” I tell her. My voice is commanding. I’m expecting an argument, but she surprises me when she leans in and kisses my cheek.

  “Thank you, Owen. I’m not sure who sent you to me when I needed you, but I’m grateful. Thank you for your generosity and for the ride.” She reaches for the handle and climbs out of the car.

  I hear catcalls as she shuts the door, and I’m shouting at the driver to stop, and to wait for me. My door flies open, and I jog around the car to catch up with her. I glare at the men who are calling out to her, placing my hand on the small of her back. She visibly relaxes and allows me to lead her to the main entrance of the apartment building.

  “I’m right here.” She points to the first door on the left.” Her hand trembles as she places the key into the lock and turns the knob. Turning to face me, she says, “Thank you again. For everything.”

  “Do they bother you?” I ask her.

  She shrugs. “They’re harmless.”

  “Until they’re not.”

  “I’ve lived here on my own for seven years. I can handle myself. Tonight, I had a momentary moment of weakness. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  “Pack a bag,” I tell her, looking at the flimsy handle and lock on her door.

  “What?” She takes a step back and into her apartment.

  “Pack a bag. You can’t stay here.”

  “That’s not up to you,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Layla, it’s not safe.”

  “This is my home, Owen. And who do you think you are? Telling me where I can and can’t stay. You don’t know me.”

  My jaw ticks. “I can’t let you stay here. Look at this lock.” I reach for the door handle and wiggle it, showing her it’s loose.

  “Thank you for your generosity.” She steps back, reaching for the door, and I place my hand on it to stop her.

  “Please.”

  More tears coat her cheeks, and I hate that I’m upsetting her, but damnit, I can’t let her stay here. This place is a dump, and those guys are sitting right outside her window.

  “I don’t have anywhere to go,” she murmurs.

  Fuck me. “I’ll take care of it. Please, go pack a bag.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Get you a room. Hell, I have a suite. You can stay with me.”

  “Then what, Owen? That’s fine for tonight, or even until you go back to wherever you came from, but then what? That still leaves me here, in this ratty old apartment. Look, I appreciate your concern, but this is my life. I’ve worked hard to keep this shitty roof over my head.”

  “I’ll stay,” I say, taking a step forward, putting us toe-to-toe.

  “No.” Her hands land flat against my chest, holding off my advances to enter her apartment. “I don’t even know you. Hell, you just told me your name tonight. This is not happening.” She huffs out a breath, blowing the errant hair out of her eyes. “I’m a big girl. I’ve got this. Thank you again for the ride, and the generous tips. I’ll see you around, Owen.”

  She gives me a shove, and I stumble back, surprised. This gives her enough time to slam the door in my face. “Layla.” I pound my fist on the door. Nothing but silen
ce greets me. “Shit.” Making my way outside, I take in the five guys who are sitting around drinking and smoking. “Gentlemen,” I greet them. “How about a little business proposition?” I ask them.

  “What ya got in mind?” one of them asks.

  “Hundred bucks for each of you to leave this building and not come back for at least twenty-four hours.” They stumble to their feet. Hands held out. I slap a crisp hundred in each of their hands and watch as they blindly walk away from the building. It’s not much, but I’ll feel better about leaving her here on her own. I bought myself some time, but now I need a plan. I can’t let her stay here. I know that. What I don’t know is why it bothers me so much.

  Chapter 4

  Layla

  If I thought I was tired last night, that’s nothing compared to today. I didn’t sleep at all. I couldn’t seem to shut my mind off. One minute I’m worrying about my car and how much it’s going to cost to fix it, and the next, my mind is consumed with Owen.

  While I appreciate his concern, I barely know the guy. No way am I letting him put me up in a room, or even stay with him. No way. I’ve served him a week’s worth of meals, and we’ve exchanged small talk. That does not translate to a sleepover, or a hey, let me put you up for the night. Granted, the over-the-top tips he’s been leaving are going to go a long way in helping me repair my car. Just when I thought I might be able to get ahead, have a little extra in the bank for an emergency, said emergency rears its ugly head.

  Such is my life.

  Glancing at the clock, I see I have to be at work in an hour. I need to get my ass in gear. Grabbing my purse and making sure I have my keys to the car that doesn’t run, I head out after double-checking that the door is locked. Speaking of, I’m surprised “the gang” as I call them are missing from the front stoop. They’re not really a gang; at least, I don’t think they are. It’s weird that their catcalls don’t greet me, as well as the cloud of smoke and fumes of the alcohol on their breath. I shake out of my thoughts with a small smile. I’m worried about a group of men who have more times than not scared the hell out of me, if only Owen could hear my thoughts. I’m sure he would have something to say about missing them.