Kiss Me in the Rain (Destined for Love: Mansions)

by Lindzee Armstrong

  “I know,” Daddy said. “But it’s also the only way.”

  She braced her arms on the porch railing, staring across the pond at the mansion. Tiny figures moved across the window panes as they rushed to get ready for the evening’s event.

  Her parents had given her that pond, with its etched concrete pier and stone lion statues guarding the entrance, as a twelfth birthday present. A year-long obsession with Gothic romances had made it the perfect gift. She’d had a cotillion in the mansion’s ballroom on her sixteenth birthday, and danced the night away with “it” boy, Danny James. When the main floor needed redecorating, Layla had spent hours with her mother and the designer making selections.

  Date Grant and keep the mansion. Could it really be so simple?

  Was she willing to roll the dice and call Mr. Davenport’s bluff?

  She turned away from the mansion and faced her parents. “Okay.”

  Daddy’s shoulders sagged in relief, but Mom let out an unhappy sigh.

  “We’re having a party at the mansion tonight,” Daddy said. “Charlie just opened a new dealership, and as a sign of goodwill, I’m holding a get-together to congratulate him. Grant will be there. You can be his date.”

  Layla nodded. She could do this. It was just a date, and it wasn’t like she and Tyler were . . . well, anything.

  “Fine,” she said. “Let’s do this.”

  Tyler drove a full ten miles under the speed limit as he listened to the tinny voice of the GPS chirp directions to Cypress Grove. Dim sunlight filtered through the gnarled trees, creating a breathtaking landscape. The air was heavy with a recent rainstorm, and the A/C in his ten-year-old Toyota did little to combat it. After a lifetime living in Kentucky, he hadn’t thought the humidity would bother him, but the air was so thick that breathing felt like drinking water.

  He couldn’t believe he’d moved more than five hundred miles away for a girl, especially one as out of his league as Layla. What would she say when he finally worked up the courage to give her a call?

  Nerves made his stomach tighten as the sign for Cypress Grove appeared up ahead. Layla had described her home so many times, he felt as though he recognized the landmarks.

  He’d never planned on working as a chaperone for high school summer tours of Europe. But when he’d stood on stage last April and accepted his diploma, he’d felt nothing but defeat. He wanted to restore old properties to their former glory, not spend a lifetime building spec homes for whatever company offered him work.

  Taking that summer job had been the first impulsive thing he’d done in his life, and it had turned into a life changing experience. It had brought him Layla, and he’d foolishly let her go. The last four weeks without her had been torturous, but an eternity of listening to his parents argue had paralyzed him when faced with dating Layla.

  His mom had come from a wealthy family, and Dad hadn’t been able to adequately provide for her. The social and financial gulf between them had ultimately been too much to overcome, and the divorce had been as messy as the marriage.

  Tyler rolled down his window, letting the smell of tobacco mingled with damp earth fill the car and chase away thoughts of his parents. He and Layla had only been in Europe a few days when the first major rainstorm hit. Paige and Nick, the other chaperones on the tour, had scurried beneath the eves of a nearby building, along with most of the teens. But Layla had stood in the rain, arms open wide and face lifted to the sky as the drops splattered on the cobblestone.

  That was the moment he’d fallen for her.

  Another scene flashed into his mind, this one of Layla standing beside him at the Trevi Fountain. The sunlight made her freckles stand out, despite the makeup she tried to cover them with, and her black hair tousled gently in the breeze. He’d taken a deep breath, and confessed something not even his parents knew—he wanted to withdraw from the master’s program he was supposed to start in the fall, take his student loans, and buy a house to flip.

  Tyler let an arm hang out his window as he pictured the way Layla’s face had lit up at the idea. He couldn’t believe he was actually executing his crazy plan. He’d withdrawn from school, found a cheap one-bedroom apartment for a steal, and secured a job as a bartender at Cypress Grove. His parents had been furious, united on an issue for the first time in years, but Tyler was finally excited about the future.

  He rounded a corner, and the mansion came into view. Tyler whistled in appreciation. Ionic columns reached toward the mansard roof as the three-story structure towered in the sky. Wrought iron banisters framed the stairs and balconies, and the windows were at least eight feet high. Stunning.

  Layla could be in the mansion, or perhaps her family home down the lane, at this very moment. His stomach clenched.

  Showing up for his first day of work without calling was an awful, stupid idea. What if they ran into each other? Sure, she’d relentlessly flirted in Europe, but her offer to find him a job at Cypress Grove might not have been sincere, like when someone wrote “let’s hang out this summer” in a yearbook.

  Tyler’s phone buzzed with a text from his real estate agent as he pulled into an employee parking space. She’d found a few properties for him to look at online. He took a deep breath. Was he really going to buy a house to flip? He ran a hand through his shaggy blond hair. He’d lost his mind.

  Layla had made him brave . . . or maybe just stupid.

  His feet crunched against the gravel of the employee parking lot. The building stretched above him, a far cry from the dingy college bar he’d worked at. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. The idea was still the same—mix drinks, check IDs, listen to the problems of the depressed.

  The door felt solid in his hand. A long, narrow hallway revealed an open room at the end, with dark wood moldings and elegant chandeliers. The hallway stood empty, but Tyler caught sight of a few employees in the room up ahead. The atmosphere inside the mansion settled over him, thick with tension.

  Tyler carefully shut the door, his anxiety skyrocketing. Layla had always spoken of Cypress Grove with a twinkle in her eye and caress in her voice. Was he imagining a gloom that didn’t exist?

  A metal doorplate read Stacia Greenlie, Event Coordinator on the door nearest the end of the hallway. Tyler gave a tentative knock; he’d been told to report to her upon his arrival.

  “Come in.” The voice was high-pitched and younger sounding than Tyler remembered from their phone interview.

  The office was tidy, if somewhat small. The dented metal filing cabinets lined up along one wall were practically a criminal offense in a home as elegant as this one.

  A slender woman sat behind a desk, her mousy brown hair falling out of a loose braid that hung over one shoulder. Chic, wide-framed glasses covered most of her face, and her thick brows were pulled down in a scowl as she stared intently at a computer screen.

  Tyler stood there silently, not sure if he should speak. The woman glanced up from the screen. Her eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with panic.

  “Hi,” she said, not making a move to rise.

  “Uh, hi.” Tyler extended a hand.

  Her face blushed crimson, and she lunged for his hand. The heavy necklace around her neck swung forward, knocking over a cup filled with pens. They scattered across the desk, the clatter noisy in the silent office. She let out a squeak and grabbed for the pens as they tumbled toward the floor.

  Tyler knelt and gathered the pens on his side of the desk. He righted the cup and set them back inside. Was this woman seriously in charge of events? She looked even younger than him—perhaps nineteen or twenty—and seemed overwhelmed by the job.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, her eyes luminescent. Oh, geez. Was she going to start crying? “It’s been a really stressful day. Who are you again?”

  “Tyler Keeton. I’m the new bartender.”

  “Oh . . .Oh!” She held out her hand again, and this time no mishaps occurred. “You have no idea how glad I am that you’re here. I didn’t realize Stacia had h
ired someone, and when our former bartender said he was already in Tennessee . . .”

  “You’re not Stacia?” Honestly, he was a little relieved at the revelation.

  The woman let out a laugh that bordered on hysterical. “Heavens, no. I’m Cosette, her assistant. Stacia was fired this morning. Security escorted her out about an hour ago.”

  Tyler’s mouth fell open. He quickly closed it, shifting his weight from foot to foot as his chest tightened.

  “Yeah,” she said, running a shaking hand along her hair, causing more strands to fall from the braid. “It came as a total shock to us, too. Security wouldn’t allow anyone to speak to her, so I’m left trying to decipher her notes. At least she was organized. I’m going to miss her.”

  Tyler stayed silent, not sure how to respond. What had happened to cause the event coordinator to be fired mere hours before a big event?

  “I guess I should show you around.” Cosette rounded the desk, and he followed her out of the room. “Do you have experience bartending?”

  “Four years,” Tyler said.

  “Good. I’d have no idea how to train you. Stacia always took care of new hires. I just did what I was told.” She let out another hysterical laugh. “How I’m going to run an entire event . . .” Her words disappeared into a series of mutters.

  In the ballroom, Tyler took in the careful attention to detail with awe. Layla hadn’t exaggerated the magnificence of this place. He soaked in the subtle wallpaper designs, coffered ceilings, and chandeliers that caught the light and brightened the entire space. Four women arranged centerpieces in the middle of circular tables, and a large dark wood bar ran along one wall. It was easy to see why this was such a popular wedding destination.

  “I’m really sorry you’re arriving to such a mess. Mr. Anderson assures me he’ll have a new event coordinator hired as soon as possible.” Cosette motioned to the bar. “It was stocked with fresh alcohol and glasses just this morning. If you run low on anything, alert a waiter. Tonight is an open bar until one a.m. Feel free to accept any tips you’re offered, just don’t forget to check IDs. State officials love to check up on these events, and we can’t afford to lose our liquor license.”

  “Noted.” Of course he’d check IDs. He was a professional, after all.

  Cosette inched toward the door. “Guests should start arriving in about an hour. Do you need anything else?”

  Tyler stepped behind the bar and started opening cupboards, familiarizing himself with the setup. “I think I’m good.” He motioned his head toward the door. “Go deal with everything else. I’m sure you’re stressed to the max.”

  She gave him a grateful smile. “I’ll be okay once Mr. Anderson hires someone else. You know where to find me if you need anything.” She motioned to a phone on the wall. “Stacia’s office is extension one. It’s all listed on the phone.”

  “Go,” Tyler said. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Thank you.” She gave a little wave then disappeared from the room.

  He spent a while familiarizing himself with the setup, and his nerves subsided. He could do this job in his sleep. Sure, the liquor was more expensive, and the setup a lot more elegant, but the concept was the same.

  Tyler chewed on his lip as he wiped down the counter. He didn’t know much about Layla’s parents, but the few times she’d mentioned them, there’d been an obvious affection behind her words. What would’ve made Mr. Anderson fire his event coordinator right before a major party? It would’ve been a lot more practical to wait until after the event was over.

  It made him worry for his own job.

  Employees finished arranging the centerpieces, and soon guests arrived in expensive tuxedos and elegant dresses. His stomach clenched as he wondered whether Layla would be one of them. Every slender woman with dark hair and a dusting of freckles made his breath catch, but none of them were her. He did catch a glimpse of Mr. Anderson—Layla had shown him a picture of her parents—speaking to a man with a goatee near the doors leading to the pond.

  Tyler mixed drinks and checked IDs as the tips poured in. He almost forgot his anxiety as he mentally tallied up the cash. If every night was as profitable as this one, he’d have a nice chunk of change for the remodel in no time.

  The crowd picked up, and he lost himself in the methodical familiarity of bartending. His smiles at guests were all but ignored, and he soon realized that to these people, he was nothing but furniture. So he stayed silent, handing over glasses and checking IDs.

  An almost forgotten argument between his parents tugged at Tyler’s memory. They’d attended a Christmas party at his grandparents’ luxurious home in Lexington. Tyler had been nine or ten. His dad had been furious about some veiled insult a guest had directed his way. His mom had gone to the Christmas party alone the next year.

  He had to stop dwelling on the negative memories. His parents’ story didn’t have to be his.

  A well-dressed gentleman asked for a whiskey, not bothering to look up from his phone. Tyler slid the drink across the counter. He kind of missed the hole-in-the-wall he’d bartended at through college. Sometimes being the shoulder to cry on for dejected souls was exhausting, but at least he’d felt useful.

  The night dragged on, and the ballroom grew hot and stuffy with the crush of bodies. With each disinterested patron, Tyler’s spirits sank another inch. Maybe his parents were right. Suddenly, moving to South Carolina felt like an extremely bad idea.

  He couldn’t get the solemn disappointment in his dad’s eyes out of his head. “I love you, Tyler, but this girl wants some rich pretty boy in a tux. You mark my words.”

  But Layla hadn’t been like that in Europe. She’d laughed when ice cream dripped on her shirt and eaten crêpes from street carts.

  Tyler handed a forty-something woman a glass of wine.

  “I’m telling you, it’s impossible to find a good Latin tutor anymore,” she said to her friend as she accepted the glass.

  “It’s hard to find good help in general,” her friend replied. “I had to fire another maid not an hour before we came tonight. How hard is it to not bleach the towels?”

  This world was so far from his, Tyler wasn’t even sure they were in the same universe.

  “I’ll give you a lead on a maid if you’ll give me a lead on a tutor.” The woman emptied her glass of wine and casually dropped a hundred dollar bill in the tip jar, never acknowledging him. Tyler stared at the money. These people were dropping hundreds like he dropped ones.

  Layla had done that once, now that he thought about it. They’d gone to a restaurant in Colmar one of their first nights in Europe. Nick had disappeared for a while—probably for some secret spy mission, now that Tyler thought about it—and Layla had played footsies with Tyler under the table. He’d tried snails for her, gagging down four of the slimy creatures. When they’d left the restaurant, Layla had dropped a hundred euro note on the table like it was nothing.

  He shook his head, banishing the traitorous thought. She’d also joked with the waiter in French all evening. He hadn’t been an inanimate object to her.

  A shimmery navy-blue dress caught his attention. It hugged the woman’s hips in a familiar way and flowed around her legs. Layla. The fringe of dark bangs brushed her forehead, and her hair was pulled up in some sort of twist that showcased her delicate neck and collar bones. She held a flute of champagne between her long fingers, and her pale skin glowed underneath the chandelier light.

  He tugged at his bow tie, mesmerized by her fluid grace. What an idiot he’d been not to kiss her when he’d had the chance. She’d given him a dozen different opportunities, but he’d shied away from all of them like a fool.

  Layla shifted, revealing a tall man with wavy, dark brown hair and the kind of face women swooned over. He laughed at something Layla said, placing a hand gently on her back. Tyler’s heart dropped.

  “I love you, Tyler, but this girl wants some rich pretty boy in a tux. You mark my words.”

  Was she dating someone else
? He’d been an idiot not to consider the possibility. Layla was smart. Funny. Gorgeous.

  Unavailable.

  “Sir?” a middle-aged woman said, bringing him back to the present.

  “Sorry.” Tyler focused on the woman’s dirty martini, embarrassment making his cheeks hot.

  He’d uprooted his entire life to try and win over the woman of his dreams, but she’d already found someone else.

  Layla leaned toward the man, and he dipped his head as she whispered in his ear. He nodded, and Layla strode across the ballroom, making a bee-line for the bar.

  Tyler fumbled, nearly dropping the glass he held. Layla slid onto a barstool, still not looking at him.

  “I’ll have a mint julep,” she said in her high, musical voice.

  Tingles washed over his entire body at the sound. He could almost feel her small hand cocooned in his as they explored the streets of Europe after dusk.

  He slowly looked up. She’d nearly hidden the freckles dusted across her nose and cheekbones with makeup. Her full lips were an enticing rose color, and he longed to reach out and pull her against him.

  Layla’s mouth dropped into a perfect o as her eyes lifted and widened, the long eyelashes nearly touching her brow.

  “Hey,” he said. Nausea had his stomach rolling, but he forced himself to smile. Yeah, he definitely should’ve called her first.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. Not exactly the warm welcome he’d hoped for but not exactly cold, either. Somehow, she even made bewildered look adorable.

  Tyler shrugged and started mixing her drink. Layla’s eyes turned liquid in the chandelier light, and her hand inched forward, as though reaching toward his.

  He took a deep breath. “I decided to take you up on your suggestion and see what South Carolina has to offer.”

  “Are you serious?”

  He shrugged, the incredulity in her voice a little painful to hear. Maybe he should’ve given her his secondary reason—flipping houses. He scanned the ballroom for the man she’d been with, but he’d disappeared into the crowd.