9. Layla
— ? —
Layla
I managed to avoid thinking about him for almost a day.
A day of burying myself in fabric samples and client calls.
His card was still in my purse. I hadn’t thrown it away. I hadn’t called him either.
I told myself I was being strategic. Taking time to think. Figuring out my next move before I made it.
The truth was simpler. I was terrified.
I spent the morning at a client site, measuring windows and discussing color palettes for a beach house renovation.
I spent the afternoon in my car, driving between suppliers, picking up tile samples and hardware catalogs.
I ate lunch at my desk, alone, scrolling through emails without reading them.
And then I walked through the front door of my office and my stomach dropped to my feet.
Stefan was standing at the reception desk.
He was wearing a suit that probably cost more than my first car, charcoal gray with a crisp white shirt underneath, no tie. His hair was pushed back from his face and he was talking to our receptionist, Jenny, who was nodding along with wide eyes and pink cheeks.
Of course she was blushing. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine.
I froze in the doorway. Every instinct screamed at me to turn around, to walk back out, to pretend I hadn’t seen him.
I took a step backward.
“I can see you in the reflection, Lay.” His voice carried across the room, calm and amused. “I think you’ve been running away enough.”
I stopped. My hand was still on the door handle.
I turned slowly.
He was watching me with those dark eyes, and the intensity of his gaze made my skin prickle.
Four years had sharpened him. His shoulders were broader now, filling out the suit jacket in a way that drew the eye.
His jaw was harder, more defined. And there were threads of silver at his temples that shouldn’t have been attractive but were.
I was still attracted to him.
The realization hit me like a slap. I was standing here, looking at the man who had destroyed my life, and my traitorous body was responding to him like no time had passed at all.
Infuriating. Confusing. Completely unacceptable.
He screwed you over. He called you unfit. He said you had no passion. Fuck him.
“What are you doing here?” I forced my voice to stay steady, forced my feet to carry me toward the reception desk instead of away from it.
“I have a meeting.” He picked up a folder from the desk and held it up, his expression maddeningly calm. “With you and someone named Nessa.”
“A meeting.” I stopped a few feet away from him, keeping the desk between us. “What meeting? I don’t have any meetings scheduled with you.”
“Check your calendar.” He tucked the folder under his arm. “Your partner set it up this morning. Something about a hotel renovation project.”
“Hotel renovation?” I shook my head, confusion cutting through the anger. “We don’t do hotel renovations. We’re a residential design firm.”
“You might want to expand your horizons.” He smiled, and it was the same smile that used to make my heart skip. “My father’s company is acquiring a property here in Savannah. The deal closes this weekend. We need a local firm to handle the interior redesign.”
“And you just happened to choose us.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Out of all the design firms in Savannah, you just happened to walk into mine.”
“I didn’t choose you.” He held my gaze without flinching. “My father’s people did. They researched local firms and yours came up as the best. I didn’t even know you were connected to it until I walked in and saw your name on the door.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s the truth.” He took a step closer and I fought the urge to step back. “I’m as surprised as you are, Layla. But I’m not going to pretend I’m not glad. This gives us a chance to talk.”
“We have nothing to talk about.”
“We have a daughter to talk about.”
Jenny’s eyes went wide and she suddenly became very interested in her computer screen.
“Not here.” I lowered my voice to a hiss. “This is my place of business. You don’t get to ambush me at work and throw that in my face.”
“Then where?” He matched my volume, leaning closer. “How else am I supposed to reach you?”
“Maybe that should tell you something.”
“It tells me you’re scared.” His eyes searched my face. “It tells me there’s something you’re not saying. And it tells me I’m not leaving this city until I find out what it is.”
“Hey Layla, glad you could join us.”
Nessa’s voice cut through the tension. I turned to find her standing in the doorway of the conference room, a professional smile plastered on her face.
“This way, Mr. Graham.” She gestured toward the room. “We have everything set up for your presentation.”
I shot Nessa a look that should have set her on fire. She winced, then mouthed sorry before pointing at her phone.
I pulled out my own phone as I followed them toward the conference room.
Nessa: SOS. HE IS FUCKING HERE. HE WANTS TO WORK WITH US.
Layla: And you couldn’t warn me?
Nessa: IT IS SO MUCH MONEY. WE CAN’T SAY NO TO THIS. IT CLEARS THE EXPANSION LOAN IN ONE JOB AND THEN SOME.
Layla: ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?
Nessa: I KNOW IT’S BAD TIMING BUT LOOK AT THE NUMBERS. PLEASE.
Layla: I HATE YOU.
Nessa: YOU LOVE ME. NOW GET IN HERE AND BE PROFESSIONAL.
I shoved my phone back in my pocket and walked into the conference room.
Stefan was already seated at the head of the table, spreading out folders and design concepts like he owned the place. Nessa sat across from him, her laptop open, her expression carefully neutral.
I took the seat farthest from Stefan and folded my hands on the table.
“Let’s get this over with.” I kept my voice flat, professional. “Show us what you’ve got.”
“With pleasure.” Stefan opened the first folder and slid it toward me. “The property is a historic building on Bay Street.”
I looked at the photos despite myself. The building was gorgeous. The bones were incredible.
“The previous owners let it fall into disrepair.” Stefan pulled out another set of photos. “But the structure is sound. We’ve had engineers assess it. What we need is someone who can restore the historic elements while modernizing the guest experience.”
“What’s your timeline?” Nessa was taking notes, her pen moving quickly across her pad.
“Six months for the initial design phase.” Stefan flipped to a page of numbers. “Another twelve for implementation. We want to open by the following spring.”
“That’s aggressive.” I heard myself say it before I could stop. “A building this old will have surprises. Hidden damage, outdated wiring, plumbing issues. You can’t rush historic renovation.”
“We’re not rushing.” Stefan met my eyes across the table. “We’re being ambitious.”
“Ambitious gets expensive when you hit unexpected problems.”
“Then we adjust the budget.” He leaned back in his chair, completely at ease. “Money isn’t the issue here, Layla. Quality is. That’s why we want your firm.”
“Our firm has never done a commercial project this size.” I flipped through the folder, looking for flaws, looking for reasons to say no. “We specialize in residential design. High-end homes, vacation properties. Not hotels.”
“Your portfolio says otherwise.” Stefan pulled out another folder and opened it. “The Lavelle beach house. The Jelse estate. These are complex projects with historical elements and high-end finishes. The skills translate.”
He’d done his research. He’d looked at our work, studied our projects, come prepared with examples. This wasn’t an ambush. This was a calculated move.
“Why us?” I pushed the folder back toward him. “There are dozens of firms that specialize in hospitality design. Firms with hotel experience, with bigger teams, with more resources. Why come to a two-person operation in Savannah?”
“Because you’re the best.” He said it simply, without flattery. “Your work speaks for itself. And because I trust your vision.”
“You don’t know anything about my vision.”
“I know more than you think.” His eyes held mine and I couldn’t look away. “I remember the house you designed for us in Chicago. The way you transformed that space into something that felt like home. I still think about it sometimes.”
“That was a lifetime ago.”
“It was four years.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping. “Four years isn’t that long, Layla. Not long enough to forget.”
My phone buzzed. Another text from Nessa.
Nessa: SAY YES. PLEASE. I’M BEGGING YOU.
I looked at the numbers in front of me. The budget was obscene. More money than we’d made in the last two years combined. Enough to pay off the business loan, upgrade our equipment, hire additional staff. Enough to secure Cece’s future for years.
I hated that I was considering it. I hated that his ideas were smart, that his vision for the building aligned with mine, that some part of my brain was already designing the lobby.
“We need to discuss this privately.” I stood up abruptly. “Nessa and I will review your proposal and get back to you by the end of the week.”
“Take all the time you need.” Stefan gathered his folders and stood. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Nessa’s phone rang and she glanced at the screen. “I have to take this. Layla, can you show Mr. Graham out?”
She was gone before I could protest, leaving me alone with him in the conference room.
The silence stretched between us.
“I’m proud of you.” Stefan’s voice was soft now, all the professional polish stripped away. “I mean it, Layla. This place, what you’ve built here. It’s incredible.”
I scoffed, the sound harsh in the quiet room. “Proud of me?”
“Yes.” He took a step toward me. “You started over from nothing. You built a successful business. You raised a child on your own. That takes strength.”
“Right.” I backed toward the door, keeping distance between us. “Because what, this shows enough passion for you? This proves I’m not just existing anymore?”
His brow furrowed, genuine confusion flickering across his face. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Stefan.” The anger was rising now, hot and bitter. “I know exactly what you think of me.”
“I think you’re incredible.” He spread his hands, palms up. “I think you’ve always been incredible. Layla, I don’t understand where this is coming from.”
He was good. He was so good at this, at pretending he didn’t know, at making me feel crazy for remembering.
“Forget it.” I turned toward the door. “Just forget it.”
“Wait.” His hand caught my arm before I could leave.
The touch sent electricity through my skin. Heat and memory and something I didn’t want to name. I yanked my arm free and spun to face him.
“Don’t touch me.” My voice came out shaking. “Don’t ever touch me.”
“Layla, please.” He held up his hands, backing off. “I’m not trying to upset you. I just want to see her. That’s all I’m asking. One hour with my daughter.”
“Your daughter.” I laughed, and it sounded broken. “You think you can just show up after four years and call her your daughter?”
“She is my daughter.” His voice cracked on the word. “I know she is. I saw her face. I saw my face looking back at me. Please, Layla. I’m begging you. Just let me meet her properly. Let me know her.”
“And why would I do that?” I backed up until my shoulders hit the door. “Why would I let you anywhere near her?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do.” He stepped closer, his eyes desperate. “She deserves to know her father. I’ve already missed three years and I can’t stand to miss another day.”
“Please, Layla.” His voice broke on my name. “She’s my daughter. I have the right to see her.”
“Seriously?” The words exploded out of me before I could stop them. “You think you have the right to see her? Why? Is it because you think I’m an unfit mother?”
His face went white.
The color drained from his cheeks so fast I thought he might pass out. His hands fell away from the air between us and he staggered back a step, staring at me like I’d just slapped him.
“What the fuck, Lay.” His voice was barely a whisper. “Why would I ever think that?”
I opened my mouth to respond. To throw his own words back at him. To remind him what he’d said about me.
But the look on his face stopped me cold.
He wasn’t faking. He wasn’t putting on an act. He looked genuinely horrified. Like the accusation had come from nowhere.
This wasn’t the man from the recording.
The man on that recording had been cold. Dismissive. Cruel. He’d talked about me like I was nothing. Like I was a mistake he needed to correct.
But the man standing in front of me looked like I’d just ripped his heart out of his chest.
I stared at him, my breath caught in my throat, and for the first time in four years, a hairline crack appeared in everything I thought I knew.
Something didn’t add up.
And the doubt that took root in my chest was more terrifying than anything I’d felt since the day I ran.
But right now I had to get out of here.
“Jenny can see you out, I need to go.”
And then I left.