Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
“You’re insane. And kissing me goodbye in front of a client would have been completely unprofessional—although it’s not surprising you wouldn’t realize that.”
“I think the insane one is your boyfriend, who just drove off and left his woman with a man who clearly expressed an interest in her. And, by the way, I wouldn’t give a shit if it was professional or not, I’d be marking my territory.”
Layla’s hands went to her hips. “He trusts me. And what are you? A dog? Marking your territory. Do you piss on fire hydrants, too?”
“He trusts you? That must be why he didn’t see your lie when you told him we’d never met before.”
I took a step closer, right into her personal space. Instead of backing up, she tilted her head to look up at me. I fucking loved that she refused to back down.
“There is no reason for him to know about us. You know why? Because there was never an us.”
“Tell yourself whatever you need to.”
“God, you are so arrogant.”
I stroked her hair. “You changed your hair. I like it wavy like this. It’s sexy. But you’re covering up those beautiful freckles on your nose again.”
She slapped my hand away. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Yes. He trusts you. No us. I’m an arrogant asshole.”
She growled at me. It was fucking adorable.
“Your keys, Miss.”
Neither of us had noticed her car pulling up or the valet dangling the keys while standing next to us.
Grabbing the keys from his hand, she strutted toward her car. The valet ran back to open the door. Layla began to get in and then stopped and spoke over the hood of her car. “Hire another firm, Gray. Whatever you think is going to happen between us, isn’t.”
Chapter 3
* * *
Layla
“These are gorgeous.”
Becca, the receptionist who was also my friend and frequent lunch partner, walked into my office carrying a huge bouquet of yellow roses. There had to be two dozen. She set them down on the desk and sighed. “I wish I could find a guy like Oliver. That man is crazy about you.”
I smiled. Although I had a nagging feeling they might not be from him. I hoped I was wrong.
“Lunch today?” she asked.
“Definitely. Around one?”
“I’ll buzz you then. If I don’t, you won’t come up for air until it’s dark outside.”
She was right. I had a tendency to jump into a project and lose track of time.
Becca was just walking out of my office as Oliver walked in.
“Why don’t you have a brother, Oliver?” she teased.
He smiled. Then his eyes landed on the enormous delivery on my desk, and his playful smile wilted.
Shit. He didn’t send them.
“Secret admirer I need to be worried about?”
“Uh... Becca just brought them in. I thought you sent them.”
He shook his head. “Wish I had.”
While Oliver and I had been dating for almost a month, we’d never had the talk—more because it was unnecessary than anything else. Neither one of us had time to date someone else. Hell, we grabbed lunches when we could, but in four weeks, we’d only been on a couple official dates together. We both worked ten-hour days, six days a week. So I’d never bothered to consider that Oliver might be dating other women, and it looked like he hadn’t thought that a possibility for me either, until now.
He didn’t ask, but he also stood there waiting, his eyes occasionally flickering to the unopened card stapled to the outside of the clear cellophane wrap. Things grew awkward.
I silently willed the phone to ring, but of course it didn’t. Eventually, I detached the card while my brain deliberated on how to handle this if the flowers were indeed from Gray. Oliver watched as I slipped the tiny card from its pink envelope.
Reading it, I forced my perfected courtroom fake smile. “My friend. I helped her with some legal work, and she sent them to say thank you.”
Oliver looked relieved. I folded the card into the palm of my hand, which had already started to sweat.
“So what brings you slumming down to my floor?” I asked him. “Come to see how the other half lives?”
Oliver’s office was two floors above mine. It had been recently renovated, and even though my floor was nice by law firm standards, his was luxurious.
“Thought I’d say good morning and tell you about a little chat I had with our prospective client last night.”
Shit. I was digging a big hole of lies, and they all had to do with Gray Westbrook. I wasn’t even entirely sure why I had started this mess by pretending I didn’t know him. But the lies just kept coming.
“Oh?” Technically, this wasn’t a lie—it was an omission to pretend I didn’t know Gray had tried to chase him off in the men’s room. Although omission or lie—whatever I called it—it still felt wrong.