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

by Lindzee Armstrong

  Reluctantly, Layla deleted the message and set the phone down without responding. Better to explain after she’d cleared things up with her daddy and Grant.

  Layla flipped through her closet, finally settling on a spring green sleeveless sundress that was perhaps a little out of season for late September, but it hugged the curves of her body perfectly. If Tyler had any feelings for her, he’d be unable to hide them once he saw her today.

  Layla’s phone buzzed again. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Paige had texted. I’m just surprised. I thought you still liked Tyler? And when did you start dating someone new? You’ve only been back in town a few days!

  Oh, Paige. She’d come out of her shell a lot while in Europe, but still struggled with anxiety. If Layla ignored her text, Paige would obsess.

  I can’t believe Nick didn’t look me up! Layla texted. I would’ve met him for drinks, too. As for the engagement . . . well, it’s complicated. Can you believe Tyler moved to South Carolina?

  He’s head over heels for you, Paige said. Love finally gave him the courage to take a risk.

  Love is a strong word, Layla said, trying to ignore the way her stomach had flipped at the mere suggestion.

  I know about this kind of stuff. ;) Someone like Tyler doesn’t move for a girl he merely likes.

  Paige knew a thing or two about love, Layla supposed. She’d showed up in Europe, only to find out that Nick, the ex-boyfriend who’d broken her heart, was part of the tour. Oh yeah . . . and he was also a secret government spy. Paige was like Tyler in a lot of ways. Both were guarded, shy, and hated to venture outside their comfort zones.

  But Tyler had moved to South Carolina. It had to mean something.

  Going to talk to Tyler today, Layla texted, fingers flying over the keyboard. I’ll call you soon with details. Need to take care of a few things first. Like breaking off her almost-engagement.

  She slipped her phone into her bra then bounded down the stairs to find her dad. He wasn’t on the veranda, sipping his morning coffee, or in the study, staring pensively at a computer screen. The door to her parents’ bedroom was still firmly shut, but usually only Mom slept in. Layla wandered into the kitchen, frowning.

  Gloria stood at the counter, her apron dusted with flour as she kneaded bread dough.

  “Morning, Miss Layla,” she said. “Cinnamon rolls should be ready soon. There’s fresh fruit in the fridge if you’re peckish, or I can make you an omelet.”

  Layla pinched off a corner of dough and plopped it in her mouth, the yeasty sweetness making her smile. “I’ll wait for the cinnamon rolls. Have you seen Daddy yet? I thought for sure he’d be up by now.”

  Tiny crow’s feet appeared at the corners of Gloria’s eyes as she frowned.“He went over to the mansion ‘bout an hour ago. Said he was meeting with a real estate agent or something.”

  Layla’s mouth dropped open in horror, her hand poised to snatch another bite of dough. “A real estate agent?”

  “I think that’s what he said.”

  Her spine tensed until it ached, and she scooted toward the door. “I’ll be back.”

  Remnants of morning fog still clung to the surface of the pond as Layla skirted around it, heading toward the mansion. Adrenaline propelled her forward, and she ripped open the heavy wood door, entering the ballroom.

  The staff had cleared away all signs of last night’s party and was already at work setting up for what looked like a wedding. A college-aged man rolled a white satin runway between rows of chairs as two women arranged flowers at strategic intervals.

  Layla glanced around the room, quickly ascertaining that Daddy wasn’t there. She nearly ran down the hallway, heading straight for the biggest office with the best view. The door was slightly ajar, and Layla peered inside. Daddy stood behind the desk, his hand extended toward a portly man with thinning, dirty blond hair.

  “I think you’ll be pleased with what you see today,” Daddy said.

  Layla jumped back as the two men headed toward the door. It swung open, barely avoiding her nose.

  “Layla,” Daddy said in surprise.

  She folded her arms, looking back and forth between the two men. “I didn’t realize you had appointments today.”

  “This was last minute.”

  Layla shot her dad a cold stare then extended a hand toward the man. “I am so sorry. Daddy must’ve forgotten his manners. I’m Layla Anderson.”

  “Of course.” The man gave her a firm shake. “Reed Whitney of Whitney Real Estate. Pleased to meet you.”

  So Gloria hadn’t been mistaken. Layla could almost feel her blood slowing and turning cold as she shook his hand. “You as well.”

  “Congratulations on the engagement.”

  Layla’s eyebrows shot up, and she struggled to maintain her composure. “Has that made the gossip rounds already?”

  Mr. Whitney chuckled. “News travels fast in these parts.”

  “You don’t say.” Layla turned to her father. “May I have a word with you?”

  Daddy’s eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid I’m busy with Mr. Whitney at the moment.”

  “I can wait in your office.” Layla gave Mr. Whitney a syrupy smile. “You have a fine day now.”

  “You as well, Miss Anderson.”

  Layla stood in the doorway and watched the two men walk away, struggling to breathe. She’d never thought Daddy would actually consider selling Cypress Grove.

  Inside the office, she dropped into Daddy’s chair, spinning around so she faced the picture window that overlooked the pond. The whole point of dating Grant was so they wouldn’t have to sell Cypress Grove, but at the first hint of Layla not following through on the deal, Daddy had called a real estate agent.

  He hadn’t been bluffing. If Mr. Davenport didn’t invest in Cypress Grove—if Layla didn’t date Grant—they really would lose everything.

  The minutes ticked by at an agonizing pace. Layla straightened all the pens on her father’s desk and smoothed out the sand in his desktop zen garden. She glanced at the diamond encrusted watch on her arm—would she have to sell it if Cypress Grove went under?—and wondered how only ten minutes had passed.

  She focused on alphabetizing the few business books on a small bookcase. The cleaning crew kept them free of dust, but she doubted her father had touched any of them in years.

  Thirty minutes. Did Mr. Whitney really need such an extensive tour?

  Layla moved to the wet bar in one corner. A half-empty decanter of bourbon stood next to a messy array of glass tumblers. She sighed, straightening the glasses into two lines. Five of them were etched glass, but a sixth held a logo from a new casino that had opened last weekend. Layla had seen a few of her friends post photos of the grand opening. Perhaps Daddy had attended the event as well. He hadn’t gambled in years, but he liked to support local businesses, and Carlton Davis was the kind of businessman people wanted to cozy up to.

  The door swung open, and Daddy entered the room, Mom close behind him.

  “Thank you for waiting,” he said. “I thought it best if your mother were here for this conversation.”

  Layla folded her arms. “Did Mr. Whitney leave, then?”

  Daddy met her icy stare for icy stare. “Yes. We should be able to sell Cypress Grove for a hefty sum. The accountants say it’s better if we choose to liquidate instead of being forced to. We have a little bit more time this way and can wait for the right offer.”

  Layla clutched at her chest, head swiveling back and forth between her parents. Mom’s eyes were luminescent with sorrow, but Daddy’s gaze was steely. “You can’t seriously mean to sell the mansion.”

  “We don’t have a choice. If you won’t go through with the engagement . . .” Daddy crossed the room and sank into his desk chair. “Charlie will never invest in Cypress Grove.”

  Mom wrapped an arm around Layla’s shoulder, pulling her close. It felt like a manacle. “It’s not fair to put this all on her.”

  “It might not be fair, but
that’s where we’re at.” Daddy pinned Layla with a stare. “You’re the only one who can save us. And since you’re unwilling—”

  “There’s got to be another way.” Layla collapsed into a chair, her throat burning with unshed tears.

  “If there was, don’t you think I’d be trying it?” Daddy snapped. “Do you think I want my only child to date a social pariah? This is our option. Mr. Whitney said he can have Cypress Grove listed by the end of the month. Properties in this price range can have a harder time selling, but I’m confident with our name recognition, someone will snap it up fast.”

  “This is our home.” Tears pressed against her eyelids, but Layla refused to let them fall.

  “Not for long,” Daddy said.

  Layla pushed back her bangs, despair clawing at her insides. “The original agreement was to date. What happened to that?”

  Mom perched on the arm of Layla’s chair, her hands combing through Layla’s hair. “Charlie approached your father shortly after the party began. There wasn’t time to warn you.”

  “Elizabeth tripped the alarm at Grant’s home and was arrested,” Daddy broke in. “Charlie panicked. It’ll be all over the papers by Monday. He hoped an engagement would steal the spotlight.”

  Some psycho ex got booked into jail, and suddenly Layla was expected to get married? It wasn’t fair. She couldn’t repair things with Tyler while engaged to Grant.

  “I still don’t see what any of this has to do with me,” Layla said. “Mr. Davenport is overreacting. Some other scandal will overtake the gossip columns in a month or two.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” Daddy shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. What does matter is that Charlie thinks Elizabeth is tarnishing the entire Davenport family’s reputation, and he thinks his business is on the line. He’s so worried about the situation that he’s willing to become a partner in our business just to try and save face.”

  Layla’s chest tightened, and her palms grew clammy and cold. If she didn’t go through with this, she really would lose Cypress Grove.

  “So what’ll it be?” Daddy leaned back in his chair. “If you want to keep Cypress Grove, that’s the price.”

  She was going to be sick. Her mother’s fingers continued to comb through the hair Layla had so meticulously straightened. Her fantasy of running to Tyler and spending an afternoon in his arms faded away.

  “If I agree to this plan, what would a fake engagement look like?” Layla asked, keeping her voice even.

  Daddy’s eyes sparked with victory, but he kept his voice neutral. “Wear the ring. Go out in public. Occasionally mention how stressful planning a wedding is to a journalist.”

  Layla rolled her eyes. “Yes, because I run into them so often.”

  Daddy ignored her. “With any luck, Elizabeth will find someone new to obsess over, and you can call the whole thing off in six months.”

  Six months. Layla stared out the picture window at the pond. A duck landed on the surface, causing the lily pads to sway with the current. Her heart ached at the thought of leaving this place. Every room, every acre, held a memory.

  But Tyler held her heart, and agreeing to this crazy plan might mean losing her chance with him.

  “What if I say no?” Layla asked.

  Mom’s hands stilled in Layla’s hair, and Daddy frowned.

  “Mr. Whitney will have Cypress Grove listed by the end of the month,” Daddy said. “We’ll lose everything—the company, the money, the house. Even if we sell, bankruptcy is a real possibility.”

  An unacceptable outcome.

  Layla closed her eyes, picturing Tyler’s laughing eyes and lopsided grin. He’d made her wait four months for so much as a hint of his true feelings. With any luck, he’d wait for her.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

  Mom clasped her hands together and exhaled slowly. Daddy’s shoulders relaxed, and the lines around his eyes smoothed. Relief poured off them in waves.

  They didn’t know she was in love with Tyler. They didn’t know he’d moved to South Carolina.

  “You’re making the right choice,” Daddy said.

  “Thank you.” Mom brushed a kiss across Layla’s forehead. “Leaving this place would break my heart.”

  “Mine too,” Layla whispered, leaning into her mom.

  She could be strong for a few months. Set aside her personal feelings for the greater good.

  “Grant will pick you up in an hour,” Daddy said. “You two have a lot to discuss.”

  “And if I hadn’t agreed?” Layla said.

  “I knew you would.”

  Anger flared in Layla’s chest, but she pushed it back and nodded. “I’d better go get ready, then.” She had to get away from her parents before she snapped.

  Layla shut the heavy wood door behind her and slumped against it. She could just make out the gentle murmur of her parents’ voices.

  She pulled her phone from her dress and started at the blinking text icon. Layla opened it and found another one from Paige.

  So glad you two are going to work things out, Paige said. You were made for each other.

  A tear dripped down Layla’s cheek, and she quickly brushed it away.

  Tyler had left her hanging for months. She wouldn’t give up Cypress Grove for a maybe.

  Layla sat on the edge of the concrete pier, staring down at the cloudy green water. Her thoughts were as sluggish as the almost nonexistent current.

  “Miss Layla?” Gloria stood at the veranda and beckoned with one arm.

  Grant must be here. Great. Layla wasn’t sure what to think of her sort-of fiancé. What kind of grown man let his father dictate his life? Not that she had any room to talk.

  Inside the house, Grant waited in typical aristocratic casual—tan slacks and a blue button-down shirt, sans tie. Those baby blue eyes had doubtlessly brought dozens of women to their knees. Part of Layla wished she could feel even a twinge of attraction toward him. That might be the best answer yet to their problems—to really fall in love.

  But she knew it would never happen. Stupid Tyler with his adorable smile and blue-collar work ethic.

  “Hey,” Grant said, his smile unsure. “Ready to go?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Layla said. “Thanks for picking me up.”

  “Of course.”

  His hand hovered above the small of her back as he led her to his white Mercedes. She let him open her door, feeling more uncomfortable than she ever had on a first date. The gray leather stuck to the backs of her legs where her sundress didn’t quite cover. Layla tried to relax as the engine purred to life, but the silence was louder than any conversation.

  Grant focused on the tree-lined road as though traversing a NASCAR track. “I’m so sorry about last night,” he said, his voice soft. “You must think I’m some sort of creep.”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure what to think,” Layla said.

  “Yeah, me either.”

  “Why are you going along with this?”

  Grant shrugged, the movement as fluid as water, even while driving. “Because my father asked me to.”

  She sank against the leather, her heavy sigh making her bangs puff upward. “Yeah. I understand that all too well.”

  “Sales started declining when Elizabeth and I separated.” Grant’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel, and the dimple in his chin became more prominent as he clenched his jaw. “I don’t know if the two are directly connected, but my father’s spent his entire life building an empire. I can’t let my poor choices jeopardize that.”

  “And an engagement will fix things?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m willing to try.” He flicked his eyes to hers. “Thank you for going along with this.”

  She gave a tight smile. It wasn’t like she’d had much of a choice. She shifted, and the leather made a squelching sound as her legs stuck to the upholstery. “So where do we go from here?”

  “My dad has a jeweler at the house with a dozen ring selections in yo
ur size. We need to get how we met and the proposal story straight.” He glanced at her, eyebrows raised. “You think fast on your feet. I was really impressed with how easily you answered questions last night.”

  “Thank you.” If she took each puzzle piece in their engagement lie one at a time, she could get through this. Ring shopping? No problem. She’d bought diamonds before. Just because she’d wear this one on her left ring finger didn’t mean she had to freak out. “We should probably keep the story simple and say it’s been a whirlwind courtship. It’ll explain why we haven’t been seen in public before now, and will also make sense why we want such a long engagement.”

  “Good call.” Grant glanced at Layla. “I’m . . . not sure how to say this without coming off like a jerk.”

  She could feel her heartbeat at the base of her neck, a sure sign of a building headache. “Just say it.”

  “Okay.” The cleft in his chin popped out again. Was he always so tense? “For me, this can never be more than a fake engagement. I’m not really capable of giving my heart to someone else right now.”

  Layla blinked then started laughing. She put a hand to her chest, the hysteria of the past twenty-four hours finally breaking free.

  “What?” Grant said.

  “I’m so glad you said that.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” She glanced out the window, suddenly sober again. “I met someone in Europe, and I can’t get him out of my head.”

  “I’m sorry,” Grant said, his voice full of compassion.

  “Me too,” Layla said.

  The Davenport Estate was nearly as grand as Cypress Grove but lacked one essential element—history. Grant entered the security code, and the front gate swung open. Layla had heard a lot about Davenport Estate when in middle school. The entire neighborhood had buzzed with the million-dollar mansion being built. It was positively gauche to sink so much money into new construction when there were so many historical properties in need of restoration. The gossips titter that it was just another example of how the Davenports would never quite fit in.