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

by Lindzee Armstrong

  But the text was from Layla.

  Tyler’s heart pounded in his chest, and he started sweating despite the A/C pumping from his vents. Their last fight still hung over him like a dark cloud.

  The text was only two lines and all business. Can you come into work a little early tonight? There’s something I want you to look at.

  He re-read the text, trying to pull out any possible subtext. Was she looking for an excuse to apologize? Hoping he’d apologize? Every time he thought of doing just that, he remembered that she was engaged to another man.

  Maybe her text was just that—a text from his new boss. Cosette had told him she was the new event coordinator, and he’d seen her running around at the party last night, obviously still avoiding him.

  Sure, he typed back. See you about four-thirty.

  The response came almost immediately, the beep of the notification sending a shot of adrenaline through his body. Thanks.

  He dropped the phone back into the side pocket of his cargo shorts. Worry curved around his heart and under his ribcage as he drove away from the house.

  He missed everything about Layla—their late-night strolls, easy conversations, and making her laugh. What he’d give to take her by the hand, lead her through the property, and share his vision for the space.

  But that was ridiculous. She’d probably laugh in his face if he called to tell her that, especially after their fight.

  As he drove toward Cypress Grove, something else curled around his heart—hope. He’d given up on Layla too easily. Today, he would apologize.

  And then he would win her back.

  Tyler pulled up to Cypress Grove and got out of the car, his palm sweaty with anticipation. What was it about Layla that turned him into a total idiot?

  He found her in her office, stick-straight hair obscuring half her face as she leaned close to a computer monitor. He knocked gently on the door frame. She looked up, a tight smile stretching across those kissable lips.

  She’d given him so many opportunities to kiss her. Why hadn’t he taken even one of them? If he had, maybe she wouldn’t have agreed to marry Grant.

  “Hey,” she said, rising from her desk. “Thanks so much for coming.”

  “No problem.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. An apology froze on his lips. Apologizing would mean reminding her he’d admitted his feelings, and she’d rejected him.

  Layla had every right to be upset. She’d given him signals all summer, and he’d been too scared to act.

  His eyes landed on the ring on her left hand, and frustration tightened his vocal chords. He wasn’t the one who’d ran off and gotten engaged.

  I’m sorry. Two little words. Why were they so impossible to say? “What can I help you with?” he asked instead.

  “Come with me.” She rose gracefully and motioned for him to follow her from the room. Her hips swayed with every step, those heels making her legs look amazing.

  He shook his head, forcing himself to look away. Winning her back sounded so much easier in theory.

  As they climbed the staircase to the second floor, his curiosity grew. He’d expected her to ask his opinion on a new wine or maybe ask him to bartend an additional event. They passed by a dark room, and he imagined pushing her inside and kissing her senseless in the dark.

  Maybe that was the best way to overcome this argument and make her forget Grant.

  “How much do you know about plumbing?” Layla asked.

  Abruptly, he snapped back to the present. “Enough to get by. I helped my parents remodel their bathroom last summer. What’s going on?”

  Layla glanced around then took a step toward him. The scent of her strawberry shampoo made his knees grow weak.

  “I’ll tell you in a minute,” she said, her voice low and husky.

  His eyes drifted to her lips. She inhaled sharply as he took a step closer.

  “I need you to look at these bathrooms,” Layla whispered.

  Wait. What?

  Layla stepped away, and his heart constricted.

  “The bathrooms,” Layla said. “Just look, okay?”

  “Okay . . .” He drew out the word, not sure where she was going with this. Didn’t Cypress Grove have maintenance staff on hand?

  Layla opened one of the ten-foot tall, solid-wood doors. A light flickered on automatically, and Tyler took in the small space. Pretty roomy for a half-bath, perhaps ten feet by ten feet. The porcelain on the pedestal sink gleamed, like someone had recently wiped it down. He’d never seen chrome so shiny. How did they manage to get all the water spots off the spout?

  Focus, he reminded himself. Layla obviously wanted him to find something wrong with the bathroom.

  He flicked on the water, but the pressure was good and the flow normal, with no sputters in the line or leaks around the seals.

  “What am I looking for?” he asked as he turned his attention to the toilet.

  “I don’t want to color your opinion,” Layla said. “I’ll tell you in a minute.”

  “Fair enough.” He turned his attention to the toilet. Some cutesy little basket stood beside it with rolls of toilet paper. He lifted the tank lid and flushed. The float bobbed down, and the basin began filling once more with water. Everything seemed normal there.

  He replaced the lid and glanced over at Layla for a sign. Was he getting hot or cold? The pinched expression on her face gave no indication.

  It felt like a challenge to try harder. He knelt beside the toilet and flushed it again. This time, he examined the seal around the base. No water leaked out, and the bead of caulk was intact.

  “Toilet’s working fine,” he said. “And the sink seems to be doing okay, too.”

  Layla’s scowl deepened. It looked out of place on her usually sunny countenance. She pushed her bangs out of her eyes, a nervous gesture he’d come to recognize in Europe. “Keep looking.”

  Something was going on here, and he didn’t think it had anything to do with their fight. “Okay.”

  Not the sink or the toilet. In a half bath, those were usually the major issues. Unless it was electrical.

  He walked over to the wall sensor and examined it for any signs of burns. Nothing. Tyler motioned Layla outside with his hands and followed her into the hallway. Two seconds later, the lights flicked off. When he reentered the room, the lights flicked on again.

  So it probably wasn’t electrical. Water damage, perhaps? Unlikely with no leaks around the sink or toilet, but worth a shot. He craned his neck back and examined the ceiling, looking for cracks, bubbles, or discoloration. Nope.

  The floor maybe. With careful, deliberate steps, he paced the length of the room. No tiles shifted beneath his feet. In desperation, he opened the doors on the corner cabinet, but not even the hinges squeaked.

  Great. Had he failed some weird test by finding nothing wrong with this bathroom? It was in perfect condition, near as he could tell—a standard to aim for when renovating his own home.

  He raised a shoulder, looking at Layla with a stomach full of dread. “I give up. What am I supposed to be looking for?”

  Her arms dropped, and she pursed her lips into a tight line. “You didn’t find anything?”

  Tyler scratched the back of his neck, the accusation ripping through him. What had he missed? He looked around the space again, desperately trying to find something out of place. “Uh, no. I’m really sorry.”

  Breath whooshed out of her. She was coiled tighter than a spring, her spine stiff and shoulders tense.

  “I got a work order for this bathroom yesterday,” Layla said.

  Tyler blinked, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “This bathroom?”

  “Yes. For three thousand dollars.”

  Whoa. That would almost be enough to remodel an entire full bathroom, much less a half bath. He looked around again, taking in the pristine paint, shining porcelain, and sparkling chrome. “For what?”

  “Water damage.”

  He choked out a laugh. �
��They can’t be serious.”

  “Yeah, I thought it sounded wrong. Apparently Stacia trusted the maintenance crew and signed work orders blind.” Her eyes narrowed, a clear sign of disapproval. He’d seen it in Europe when she was upset with the customer service at a restaurant or hotel.

  “Three thousand dollars is a lot for water damage,” Tyler said. “That’s almost how much I’ve budgeted to remodel an entire bathroom, with a tub and shower, in the home I want to flip. There should be signs of the damage.” He ran a hand over the wall as he took it in with a more critical eye, searching for specific evidence of the problem.

  “What kinds of signs?”

  “If the wall pipes are leaking, there should be discoloration on the wall. Soft spots.” He tapped his knuckles against the Sheetrock. “If it’s really bad, we’d find mold.”

  Layla nodded, her intense eyes missing nothing. “And if it’s not the pipes?”

  Tyler slipped into contractor mode, liking that Layla had come to him for an opinion. “If there was a problem with either the sink or toilet, the caulk around the base of each would erode. You’d see a rust-colored stain, and it might spread to the tile.”

  “But it’s perfect,” Layla said, her tone flat.

  “Yes. Flooring issues would cause the ceiling underneath this room to bubble.” He squinted, imagining the layout of the home. What he wouldn’t give to examine the blueprints of this place, just for fun. “There’s another bathroom directly below here, right?”

  “I think so. I don’t know if this is good news or not.” Layla pushed back her bangs again. “Cosette and I couldn’t see anything wrong with this bathroom, either. There’s another bathroom on this floor, and we thought maybe maintenance wrote the wrong one down. Will you look at that one, and the ceilings beneath both rooms?”

  “Sure,” Tyler said, a new kind of dread filling him—dread for Layla, and the mansion she loved.

  A faulty work order might be a sign of negligence, or it could be a sign of something more sinister. Tyler had heard of contractors who ordered parts on the company dime, then sold them on the side.

  The second bathroom was in pristine condition as well. So was the bathroom and sitting room on the first floor, which sat directly below the two bathrooms upstairs.

  “Everything looks fine,” Tyler said grimly. “There’s no way three thousand dollars worth of repairs need to happen in either room.”

  Layla let out a gusty sigh. “This makes no sense. Why would maintenance submit a work order for something that doesn’t need to be done?”

  He frowned, folding his arms. “I don’t know if you want my answer.”

  Layla looked around, searching the hallway where they stood. She took a step closer, lowering her voice. “I’ve been going over the accounting records with Cosette, trying to see if there’s any way we can cut corners.”

  Her breath tickled against his cheek, a gentle caress that had him struggle to focus.

  “I keep finding items Cosette says weren’t really purchased or used at the events.”

  He took a step away from Layla, struggling to clear his head. Unnecessary work orders. Account books that lied. His mind whirled as he tried to put together what she was saying. “You mean someone’s falsifying the books?”

  Layla closed her eyes and sighed. “I think someone’s embezzling money.”

  Layla folded her arms, the spacious mansion sitting room suddenly feeling chilly. Embezzling. How unreal that she’d just said the word aloud.

  Tyler’s eyebrows shot up at the word, and his lips parted in surprise. Neither of them had apologized, but much of the tension of the last three weeks had disappeared over the past half hour. Layla was so glad. She needed her friend.

  “Are you serious?” Tyler said.

  Layla lifted a shoulder. “What other conclusion can I possibly draw?”

  Tyler glanced up at the ceiling, as though seeing the perfect bathroom that most definitely didn’t need three thousand dollars in repairs directly above them. “My first guess was a contractor submitting faulty work orders. Sometimes that happens. They buy the materials needed for the fake order then sell them on the side.”

  Now it was Layla’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Does that sort of thing happen a lot?”

  “Often enough that it’s a concern.”

  Layla mulled the idea over. Oddly, that was a more comforting thought than embezzlement. It seemed less sinister somehow.

  Too bad it didn’t add up.

  “How does that explain the incorrect expenses in the event ledgers?” Layla asked.

  “It doesn’t.”

  Layla swallowed and nodded. She knew he was right.

  A door slammed, and Layla jumped away from Tyler. How had they ended up standing so closely together? She brushed her bangs back from her forehead, suddenly very aware they were talking openly in a fully staffed mansion. “We shouldn’t discuss this here. I don’t want to tip off whoever’s stealing money that we’re onto him or her.”

  Tyler nodded. “That’s probably for the best. I need to start my shift, anyway.”

  Layla fidgeted with the hem of her blouse. “Can we talk somewhere private? Tomorrow, maybe? I haven’t told anyone else my suspicions, and I could use some insight.”

  Tyler scratched the back of his neck. “What about Grant?”

  Layla rested an arm on Tyler’s bare forearm, heat traveling through her fingers and straight to her heart. “Please, Tyler. There’s no one else I trust.”

  Something sparked in his eyes before disappearing. His Adam’s apple bobbed, but he nodded. “I know someplace we can go. Want me to pick you up?”

  She definitely did, but thoughts of Grant had her shaking her head no. What if a reporter caught a photo of her climbing into some other man’s car? Mr. Davenport would be furious. “If you give me the address, I can meet you there. Maybe about ten o’clock?”

  Tyler nodded. “I’ll text it to you now.”

  Moments later, her phone buzzed.

  “Thank you.” Layla fought back the lump in her throat and took a step back. “I should go. Cosette’s probably wondering where I am.”

  “Wait.” Tyler’s fingers threaded through Layla’s, tugging her to a stop.

  Layla inhaled sharply, staring at their clasped hands as longing nearly overwhelmed her. It took everything in her not to throw herself into his arms.

  Tyler glanced at their hands and quickly dropped hers. His eyes flicked up, then to the floor, then back to her.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He blew out a breath and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

  Tears pricked at her eyes, and she quickly blinked them back. “Me, too.”

  His shoulders visible relaxed. “Tomorrow at ten, then.”

  “Tomorrow,” Layla agreed.

  Tyler stared up at the house, bubbles of excitement punctuated by rocks of fear in his stomach. He’d imagined Layla here so many times, and now she was actually coming.

  He walked up the cracked sidewalk, which buckled in the middle from the roots of the willow tree he couldn’t wait to chop down. Weeds had overtaken the yard, erasing any order that might’ve once prevailed. The roof of the veranda sagged on one side. The pole holding it up had buckled from dry rot and would need to be replaced.

  Catrina’s silver SUV pulled up to the curb. She stepped out of the vehicle and gave a little wave. “Hey, Tyler.”

  “Hey.” Tyler carefully walked down the rotting steps and shook Catrina’s hand. “Thank you so much for coming today.”

  “I’m more than happy to do it.” She smiled widely. “Another week, and you’ll own the place and can come over whenever you want.”

  Tyler wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. “That’s a bit terrifying.”

  Catrina laughed. “This is a great property, and it’s going to look spectacular when you’re done. Who’s the friend you’re showing the house to?”

  “Someone I worked wit
h in Europe this summer.”

  An engine revved down the quiet street. A cherry red convertible with the top down pulled to a stop right behind his ancient green Toyota, the music blaring. It cut off mid-lyric when Layla cut the engine.

  She emerged from the car, her long hair pulled back in a high ponytail and cascading down her back. She picked up a creamy white leather purse and tossed her sunglasses on the passenger seat.

  Tyler stuck his hands in his pockets, forcing himself to stroll casually instead of run toward her. It’d been less than twelve hours since he’d seen her last, but it felt like twelve days.

  “Hey,” she said, giving him a tentative smile. She shaded her eyes, staring up at the house. “So this is where we’re meeting?”

  “This is it.” Tyler tried to see the old Victorian through Layla’s eyes. Was she noticing the peeling paint, collapsing porch, and buckling wood? Or did she see the possibility of something amazing?

  “It’s beautiful.” Layla pointed to the turrets on either side. “How charming is that?”

  He exhaled in relief. “They don’t make them like this anymore.”

  Layla turned toward him, purse swinging in the crook of her arm. “Is this one of the houses you’re thinking of flipping?”

  “It’s the house. I close on it next week.”

  Layla let out a happy squeal and threw her arms around his neck. His arms wrapped around her instinctively. He buried his face in her hair and pulled her closer, craving the physical contact.

  He hated the distance between them since leaving Europe. He wanted this Layla—the warm, bubbly girl who wasn’t afraid to show her affection—forever.

  A throat cleared loudly, and Layla pushed him away. Her cheeks glowed pink as she faced Catrina.

  “I’m so sorry,” Layla said. “I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”

  Catrina smiled, a teasing glint in her eye. “I’m Catrina, Tyler’s real estate agent.”

  “Layla Anderson,” she said, giving Catrina a handshake.

  Catrina glanced quickly at Tyler, and his anxiety spiked. Catrina recognized the name and connected it with Cypress Grove. Why hadn’t Tyler thought of that possibility?