Chapter 2
Layla
Russell’s cash is burning a hole in my pocket throughout my drive to Berenson Trucking after finishing my second training shift. There’s so much I could do with this money. Now that I have a job and will be able to sign up for my employer’s health insurance plan, I could put this money toward seeing a new doctor. I know I have endometriosis, but it’s been like pulling teeth to get a doctor to take my pain seriously and give me an official diagnosis.
But it all comes back to my dad, who was devout in his belief that we should work hard for every cent, or else we’re taking advantage of other good people’s hard work. He equated it to a sin as bad as adultery or murder, which I always thought was taking it a little too far, but the spirit of his lesson stuck. So no matter how badly I could use the one hundred and fifty-two dollars Russell left me, it makes my stomach twist thinking of taking advantage of him instead of giving it back.
I crest a small hill on the two-lane road, sunshine poking through the clouds, then turn into the massive warehouse parking lot. To the right is the loading zone with a handful of red and white eighteen-wheelers backed up to the docks. Steven’s black sports car is parked farther away in an area with an EMPLOYEE PARKING ONLY sign.
My stomach twists again, knowing he’d think I’m foolish for what I’m about to do, so I hope to get in and out without Steven seeing me. I turn toward the left, with a small area sectioned off for visitor parking in front of what I’m assuming is the business office.
And I was right. Between two wide, tinted windows on the gray exterior is a plain glass door that opens into an overly warm, gray-carpeted lobby. A few empty red-padded chairs line the exterior wall opposite the beige counter that spans three-quarters of the room, with no one behind it. A printed paper taped to the back of the receptionist’s computer says they’re out to lunch and will be back in an hour.
Dangit . I can’t just drop the cash on the counter where anyone can walk in and take it. I turn to leave, figuring I can come back later, when one of the two doors behind the counter opens. Russell stops in the doorway on the right and stares. He’s taken off the flannel jacket he wore this morning at the diner, and his heather-blue T-shirt is molded to his broad chest, his biceps as big around as my thighs. He’s more muscular than I expected a man his age to be.
“Layla,” he breathes out in surprise, breaking my intense, laser-like focus on his T-shirt, wondering if he has abs beneath his extra-thick exterior or if he’s softer around the middle like a teddy bear. “What are you doing here?”
Ashamed of myself for even thinking about Russell’s body, much less staring at it, I hold the cash up in the air once I can bring my eyes up to meet his handsome— dangit —face. “I came to return this. ”
He looks at the money with his lips turned down, fine lines at the corners of his narrowed eyes. “No.” And then the man simply turns around, my eyes unintentionally dropping to his butt in his fitted blue jeans— double dang —and he closes the door behind him.
More frustrated with myself than him, I huff and cross behind the counter, pushing open the door without knocking. Russell is seated in a large, swiveling office chair behind a metal desk overflowing with paperwork burying his laptop.
“Take it,” I demand, holding the cash out. I’m aching after my five-hour shift and just want to go home and lay down with my heating pad.
Russell leans back, crossing his arms, and clicks his tongue. “No. Keep it.”
I round the desk, grip his wrist, which I can’t fully wrap my fingers around, and pull it away from his body, pressing the cash into his upturned palm, his skin warm and rough. “Thank you, but no thank you.”
Russell is about to argue again, I can tell, but through the large Plexiglass window that looks out into the cavernous warehouse, I spot Steven approaching, his head down and hands pushed into his front pockets.
“Crap!” I drop to the floor, hands braced on Russell’s hard thigh to stop myself from falling over.
Russell jerks upright in his chair, dropping the cash on the floor to steady me with his hand on the crook of my shoulder. I shouldn’t like the way his thumb feels caressing my bare neck, or how he looms over me in this position.
“What on earth are you doing?” Russell turns his head when there’s a knock on the door. The cut of his square jawline beneath his trimmed beard is something else I shouldn’t notice…or like.
I tap his thigh, which flexes beneath my hand. “Is that Steven?”
“Yes.” He doesn’t sound happy about it.
Noise from the busy warehouse spills into the office when the door opens, even though Russell didn’t give Steven permission to enter. I tap Russell’s knee until he widens his legs enough for me to crawl under his desk, halfway sitting on top of his enormous boots, which take up most of the space.
Russell shoots me big, bewildered blue eyes before snapping them up.
Steven’s pleasant tone sounds forced when he says, “Jared said I can take off early if you sign off on it.”
Russell shifts his feet beneath my weight. “Why? You have better things to do than work your full shift?”
I hook an arm behind his calves to keep from toppling against the backside of the desk, whispering, “Sorry.”
Russell reaches under to pat my shoulder in an it’s ok gesture, I think, while he and Steven go back and forth, but he accidentally taps my head, his fingers lingering on the front pieces of my hair before he jerks his hand away—yet another thing I shouldn’t like.
“Listen, you have two choices,” Russell barks, cutting off Steven in the middle of his sentence. “You can get your a—self back to work.” Warmth pools in my belly at the fact that he curbed the impulse to curse in my presence. “Or you can take the rest of the day off.”
Steven raps his knuckles twice on the desk, his signal that he’s about to leave. “Cool. Thanks.”
“But if you do,” Russell says in a threatening manner, “it’ll be your third strike, and you can kiss your job goodbye. ”
Steven grunts low with irritation but doesn’t argue. A second later, the side door leading to the warehouse opens and closes with a petulant bang. I had no idea he acted in such a childish manner toward his boss, his livelihood depending on staying on his employer’s good side.
I drop my forehead against Russell’s right knee, thinking of how many times Steven has switched jobs. I couldn’t fault him for it since I did as well, but I believed him when he said his bosses or coworkers were insufferable and he felt stifled at work. Now I’m left wondering if that was because he was the one who was insufferable.
“Please tell me that was a one-off. That he doesn’t always talk like that at work.”
Russell pushes away from the desk, a dark look on his face when I tip my chin up. “Sorry to break it to you, but that’s usually how it goes with him.”
“What were his first two strikes?”
“Smoking on the job inside the warehouse instead of outside on his breaks.”
“Steven doesn’t smoke.”
“Yes, he does. You didn’t know?”
I chalked up the scent of smoke on Steven’s clothes from hanging out with his friends at the bars or around fire pits and bonfires at parties. He’s always been meticulous about his dental hygiene, so I never thought anything of the fact that he usually has minty-fresh breath, no matter the time of day. He must have been brushing his teeth and swishing mouthwash before coming home.
Feeling even more foolish, more so that I’m still carrying on this conversation from beneath Russell’s desk, I tap his knee so he’ll back up further .
More serious than I’ve heard him sound in the forty-eight hours I’ve known him, he asks, “Why did you hide? Are you scared of him? Because if you are…” He trails off, leaving his unspoken threat lingering between us.
Nervous, I shake my head as I crawl out from the cramped space, taking Russell’s hand when he puts it out to help me up to my feet. “No.” I might flinch at some of the words and tones of voice my fiancé uses, but I’ve never been scared for my physical safety. “But I know what he’d say if he knew I was giving you your money back.” Dental hygiene doesn’t come cheap, after all.
“All the more reason to keep it.” Russell suddenly seems to remember that we’re holding hands, and he squeezes mine once before letting go.
“I told you I can’t since I didn’t earn it,” I say firmly. My dad would be proud. “And you can’t make me.”
Russell pinches his lips together, bends forward in his chair, and picks up the cash that had fallen on the floor. He folds the cash in half and sticks it in my apron pocket.
I slide it out, grab the collar of his T-shirt in an uncharacteristically aggressive move, and drop the money. Chest hair . So much dark, masculine chest hair. Dangit, dangit, dangit! Why do I care if he has chest hair? Or that I can’t stop looking at it? I’ve never thought or cared about it before.
“Fine,” Russell says, standing up and walking around the desk to close the thin aluminum blinds over the Plexiglass window so no one can see inside, then locks the side door. He yanks the hem of his shirt out of his waistband, flashing a thin strip of hair between the subtle ridges of his lower abdominal muscles. He’s thick and fit, which I didn’t know was possible. “You want to earn it? I’ve got something you can do. ”
My survival instincts kick in, my heart sprinting as my adrenaline spikes. It doesn’t matter how unbelievably handsome he is—he’s a virtual stranger twice my size who could easily overpower me. I back up against his tall metal filing cabinet, feeling trapped. I can hardly get the words out through a tight throat suddenly gone dry when I whisper, “What do you want me to do?”
Russell drops the wad of cash on his desk, then goes to the door that leads to the lobby, presumably to lock it, too. Gripping the doorknob, he says, “If you can get my desk organized, you’ll have earned every bit of that money.” He gives me a weird little salute, then leaves me alone in the office.
I collapse on his chair, an elbow on the desk with my hand pressed over my heart, breathing deeply as my blood pressure returns to normal. I laugh quietly at myself and how ridiculous I was for being a scaredy cat and thinking Russell wanted something sexual. A man his age, who’s been nothing but respectful in our interactions, wouldn’t look twice at me, especially since he knows I’m engaged.
Once I’ve calmed, I survey the mountain of papers with all kinds of notes scribbled across them, an endless number of invoices, some dating back to two years ago, and manila folders spilling half their contents. I roll up my metaphorical sleeves, tap play on the Hot Country playlist in my phone’s music app, and get to work.
Singing along to the music, it’s easy to ignore all the questions I have about what else Steven has been lying about. And also why I feel more trapped by the engagement ring on my finger than I did by being locked in the office with Russell.
* * *
Russell
I’m so wrapped up in wondering why Layla stopped singing, slightly off-key but beautiful nonetheless, with my eyes closed and my ear pressed to the office door that I don’t hear my receptionist, Yamuna, walk in after her lunch break.
I take a jerky step back from the door, hiking my jeans up by my belt loops for something to do when she asks, “Mr. Russell?” Her deep brown eyes dart from the door to me and back again.
Yamuna has been working for me for just over ten years and has seen me at my sickest, concerned for my health, sending me straight home when I still try to come into work. But this is the first time she’s looked at me like I’m mentally unstable instead of physically unhealthy.
“Is everything ok?”
“Yup.” I pop the P , rocking back and forth on my heels and toes, apparently unable to play it cool enough to ease her worry.
Yamuna looks to the doorway again but accepts my answer for now, though I know she’ll be keeping an eye on me, which means I need to get out of here before she figures me out. Jared pokes his short-cropped dark head in and tells me I’m needed in the warehouse, providing me a way to escape her scrutiny.
By the time I can get away from the warehouse, the sun has set, most of the day crew have left, including shit-stain Steven, and I missed my chance to see Layla, who would have been done organizing my desk hours ago. I’m not sure how Layla would have explained her presence in my office in her waitressing uniform to Yamuna, but I hope Yamuna didn’t give her the third degree. It’s silly to be disappointed since I’m going to see Layla the next morning when I go to the diner for breakfast. And also because she’s engaged, which leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
I wave goodbye to Yamuna as she’s leaving the lobby, and I book it into my office, locking the door in case Yamuna decides to corner and interrogate me.
“Layla!” I cross the office in two strides, finding her with her head down, cheek flat on the mostly clean desk, tears leaking from her closed eyes even while she’s asleep. “Hey, hey.” I tap her cheek, scared witless by how pale her skin is.
Layla sits up straight with a gasp and an alarmed expression.
I press a hand to my chest, my heart pounding. “Are you ok, darlin’?”
“I’m sorry. I just had to rest for a minute.” She winces as if in pain and wraps an arm around her lower belly. “What time is it?”
I check my wristwatch, panicking. “Just after six-thirty.”
Layla hunches over when she stands, sucking in a breath, still hugging her torso. More tears spill from the corners of her eyes, and she covers her mouth with her hand.
“What? What’s wrong?” My hands are all over her, trying to get her to look up.
She shoves me away and trips over her feet to land on her knees in front of the little trash can in the corner of my office, retching.
In an instant, my stomach sinks, though god knows I shouldn’t be upset that she’s in the family way. I rush out of the office and into the employee bathroom to wet a paper towel and grab a bottle of water from Yamuna’s mini fridge beneath the front counter. When I return, Layla’s done heaving, sitting on her heels. I kneel beside her, press the paper towel to her forehead, then blot her cheeks and chin.
She meets my eye for half a second before looking away. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t gotta be sorry about that. My ex-wife had hyperemesis gravidarum when she was pregnant. Didn’t go a day without throwing up.”
Layla’s shoulders shake when fat tears roll down her cheeks, and I turn her chin up to swipe them gently away. “I wish,” she says brokenly.
I want so badly to pick her up and sit her on my knee so I can comfort her. “Wish what, darlin’?”
“I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
I’ve never experienced so many differing emotions at once. Unreasonably relieved that she’s not pregnant with Steven’s kid, concerned about what could be making her throw up so violently, distressed by the heartbreak in her voice.
I help Layla stand, though she doesn’t fully straighten her back, and she moves around me. Something I hadn’t noticed before but do now is the blood on the back of her uniform when she bends to pick up her tote bag.
“Layla, my god.” I already have my keys in hand when I loop her tote bag over my shoulder and pick her up with one arm under her knees and the other around her back. I’m out the door fast, crossing the parking lot toward my truck while the night shift employees pulling into the lot slow their vehicles to watch me. It’s not until I open the passenger side door that I finally make sense of what Layla is saying.
“Stop, stop! What are you doing?”
I set her on the seat, slam the door closed, then hop in on the driver’s side. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”
Just when I’ve pulled out of my parking spot, she yells, “I don’t need to go to the hospital!”
“Yes, you do, darlin’. You’re bleeding like crazy.”
Layla thumps her head on the headrest, then clutches the back of it, wincing when she pulls her hair clip out, her beautiful, loose brown curls falling around her face. “Oh god, this is so embarrassing. It’s just my period.”
I hit the brakes. “Oh.” Well, now I’m the one embarrassed. I clear my throat, tugging at my collar. “Throwing up on your period…is that normal?”
Layla leans forward, dropping her forehead in her hands. “For me, it is when it gets really bad.” She shifts her head to peek at me. “I’m sorry, I know it’s gross. Can you just…drive me to my car.” She points across the lot toward the visitor’s parking area.
I nod. “What’s gross?” I about lose my mind when I notice the only car left is a hunk of junk, the bumper duct taped to the back of the car.
Layla pinches her brows. “Talking about my period.”
“Why is that gross?” I park next to the car, scowling at it. Steven drives a fancy sports car, yet she’s driving this tin can. Unbelievable.
“It just is?”
“Says who?”
Layla bites the inside of her cheek.
I grit my teeth. “Let me guess—Steven thinks it’s gross.” Immature fucker . “Why are you with him when he acts like that?”
She picks at her cuticles, saying in a low voice, “You don’t give up on your partner just because you’ve hit a rough patch.”
“All the lies, feeling like you have to hide from him, his immaturity…I’d say that’s more than a rough patch. ”
“Stop it,” she bites out.
Though I’m approaching dangerous territory that’s none of my business and I should quit while I’m ahead, I have to know. “Seriously, darlin’. Why stay with a man like that? He’s not good enough for you.”
“You don’t know him or me.” Now she’s all fire, more honest than I think she intended to be when she says, “Steven has certain parts of me that you’re only supposed to give to one man, ok? Even if we weren’t married first, like we should have been, I chose him, and I’m going to keep choosing him. My dad raised me to do the right thing.” Her cheeks flare bright pink, either angry or upset with herself for all but explicitly confessing to giving Steven her virginity and thinking she has to stay with him.
Layla jumps out of the truck without waiting for me to respond, maybe sensing the lecture about outdated views brewing in the back of my mind. Groaning when she looks at the seat, the black leather wet with her blood, she takes a pair of shorts out of her bag and wipes the blood up before I can tell her not to worry about it.
Holding the door, ready to shut it, Layla says, “Thank you for caring. It…it means a lot. I’ll see you around.” And then she gets into her car, backs up faster than I’d like, and drives out of the lot, the tin can squealing.
Though I know I’m overstepping once again, I follow her home at a distance, worried the bumper will fall off, if not something else. When she turns into the driveway of a tiny blue house, I pull to the side of the road. A rock lodges itself in my gut when the front screen door opens, and there is Steven ready to greet her, cupping her cheek and swiping his thumb across her bottom lip. Neither of them notices me before they go inside the house together.
Feeling like nothing but a dirty old creep, I drive home and beat the shit out of the punching bag in my garage gym. I tell myself I’m going to squash this weird, inappropriate crush I’ve developed all of a sudden. Layla has a man she loves that she doesn’t plan on ever leaving. A man she’s engaged to marry and have children with—even if I don’t think he’s good enough for her. She doesn’t need a stranger old enough to be her father lusting after her.
I’ll stop going to the diner …but if I can’t do that, then I’ll keep my head down. Won’t make eye contact. I won’t think of the way she looked, so pretty and innocent, yet so tempting, sitting between my legs while I tried my damnedest not to look at the valley of her breasts since she didn’t have time to sew the buttons back on her uniform. Won’t think of how small or warm her hands were on my thigh, or what it felt like when she pressed her forehead to my knee, or how soft her hair was, slipping between my fingertips.
I’ll stop thinking about brushing my thumb along her bare neck again, of the comfortable weight of her in my arms, the maple and vanilla scent of her in my truck. I’ll stop imagining there was a flash of desire in her eyes when she pulled my collar away from my chest or when I lifted my shirt to get the cash because, clearly, I’m delusional.
Give it a week , I think, sweat pouring off of me when I’ve exhausted myself, and the temporary whirlwind I’m caught up in will pass. I’ll forget all about the little darlin’ .