31. Chapter 30
Chapter 30
Keaton
I threw myself into work the following two weeks, avoiding Layne like the plague. The desire to hang out with her—maybe pick up where we’d left off—nearly killed me. I kept finding myself spacing out during meetings, my mind wandering to her. But I stood my ground; left early in the morning and worked out in LGD’s gym instead of at home, and at night, Layne was asleep by the time I came back. Same with Alfie. He was pretty mad at me for not visiting, but staying away from him was the only way I could keep him safe. At least I hoped it would take the target off him.
Footage of my security cameras had shown a small drone hovering over the property—the Psycho’s way to spy on us. I’d done some research and found a jamming device. Didn’t care that it was illegal as long as Layne was safe.
Tonight I couldn’t avoid her any longer. I had an important dinner with a potential client that Regina had arranged, and Layne had to accompany me.
Freshly showered and shaved, I stepped from my bedroom into the living room. Layne was stretched out on the couch in a navy silk evening gown. I had to grin to myself. Only my wife could wear something so feminine yet lie there like a dude.
“You ready?” I asked, fingering the stainless steel cufflinks on my Tom Tailor shirt. They were my favorite, and I needed the luck tonight.
“Yup.” She fished for a clutch and a pair of heels lying on the wool rug and stood.
We headed to the front door, and I opened it for her. “Wanna drive?”
Layne stopped in her tracks. Her mouth popped open, then closed, then opened again. “Are you serious?”
When I extended the Elysium’s key fob, she took it like it was made of porcelain. Of course this wasn’t an adequate apology for the cold shoulder I’d given her over the past two weeks, but still some mitigation.
I rounded the vehicle to get the driver’s door. Layne lifted her dress and settled behind the wheel. Barefoot.
Chuckling, I shut the door, then jogged to the passenger side and made myself comfortable.
Layne gripped the steering wheel, her eyes glowing. Even more when the engine roared to life. A huge smile lighting up her face, she turned to me. “Can I take her for a drift?”
Her excitement was contagious, and I smirked. “A drift, huh? All right, Mrs. Vin Diesel. There’s a deserted airfield with lots of space about a mile from here.” We weren’t in a hurry, so why not.
“Cool.” Layne pulled out of our property onto the road, grinning like the Joker. “Angelique, play WALK by Hulvy and Lecrae.”
“Playing WALK by Hulvy and Lecrae.”
A rap song came on, and Layne turned up the volume. That grin widened even more when she floored the accelerator, then operated the clutch and seamlessly shifted up. Dang, she could drive.
We bombed down the road, only slowing once traffic got heavier. The real fun began when we arrived at the airfield. Two long runways stretched before us, a patch of grass and the ocean to our left, a row of trees and bushes to our right.
Layne activated Sport mode and gunned it. Gravity pressed me into the seat, my fingers digging into the leather. She shifted higher and higher until she was in the sixth gear.
“Whoa, easy,” I shouted over the visceral roar of the engine and booming music.
Ahead, the tarmac split, one part curving to the right. Adrenaline punched through me. Please don’t tell me she’s going to—
Layne geared down, then flung the steering wheel around. We drifted into the curve at a speed way too high for my taste. Counter steering and playing with the throttle, she perfectly slid the length of the curve, bringing us onto the other runway paralleling the one we’d just been on. There she straightened the Elysium and slowed.
I turned down the music, my heart rapid-firing. “Take it easy, would you? We don’t have time to go back home to change my pants.”
Layne laughed. “Are you a bourbon drinker?”
“You know I’m not.”
“But you said bourbon drinkers are sissies.” She flashed me a brazen grin.
I just gaped at her. That woman. I was trying to keep my distance, I really was.
But she was making it cursed hard.
With every unpredictable move she made, the unpredictable happened in me. And it freaking unsettled me. Since when was I not the one in control of the moment?
“One more minute, then we can leave.” She turned the wheel and pushed down the gas pedal, spinning the Elysium into a donut. After drifting in a circle for several rounds, she stopped and looked at me. Her eyes were sparkling. “Okay, I’m done. Do you wanna drive? I’m too exhausted.”
Chuckling, I reached over and lightly squeezed the back of her neck. With her hair cut short and the thin shoulder straps of that silk dress, it was deliciously exposed. Forget about her looking like a boy. She was a woman through and through. My woman. “You’re a wild one. Where did you learn how to drive like that?”
She shivered under my touch, her shoulders coming up to her ears and jamming my fingers. “Tripp taught me.”
“Bet he did,” I said, registering through the fog obfuscating my brain how deep my voice sounded.
Layne dropped her shoulders, freeing me, but I left my fingers where they were. My mind was consumed by the feel of her warm skin. The desire burning in her dark eyes that mirrored my own. I just had to lean in to claim her mouth with mine . . .
Clearing my throat, I pulled my hand away. “All right, I’ll drive, you rest.”
We swapped seats, and after I did some donuts of my own to get my head back on straight, I drove us to the meeting location. Neither of us talked, which was fine with me—it was time to focus on business. If I screwed this up, Regina would most definitely sack me.
The Giardino, a Grady favorite, was located on the outskirts of Glam City with a breathtaking view of the glittering skyline. An arm around Layne’s waist, I guided her inside. The smell of Italian spices and freshly baked bread enveloped us, the soft light and white table cloths making for a cozy atmosphere.
“Keaton!” Cliff Wilson’s voice boomed over the hum of voices coming from the other patrons.
I guided Layne toward the table where he was sitting with his wife. “Good to see you, Cliff.” I extended a hand, and he rose from his chair to grasp it.
“You, too, Keaton. You, too.” No idea why, but the guy liked me.
Not that I was complaining. He owned half of the nightclubs in Glam City. If I managed to close this deal, I’d be able to make good for the mess with Laurent.
Plainly put, my entire future hinged on tonight’s outcome. Failing was not an option.
“And who is this stunning lady?” Cliff asked.
“My wife, Layne.”
She greeted him with her sweet smile. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Wilson.”
Something akin to pride swelled my chest. The circles I ran in could be intimidating for someone who wasn’t used to moving in them, but Layne crushed it. People appreciated her calm and polite manners.
I greeted Isobelle, and after pulling out Layne’s chair, sat next to her.
Our conversation gained instant momentum, and Cliff was more focused on eating out of the palm of my hand than his pasta. I shamelessly laid on the charm, milking every opportunity I got to create a sense of connection. Build trust, win a new customer—that’s how simple it was.
A group entering through the main door caught my attention—Kimball, Delilah, Wentworth, and one of his teammates.
I took a swig of the Family Reserve we’d ordered for Cliff and Isobelle to sample, watching the foursome over the glass as they were escorted to a table. Only now it tasted bitter rather than spicy. What on earth were they doing here?