Perfectly Lonely: (Let Me In, Book 2)

by Marin, Jessica

  “Hopefully not too late as I’m tired. Why?” she asks, suspicion laced in her voice.

  “It has been a trying day and I was hoping I could see your beautiful face to cheer me up. I can come to wherever you are for a drink. Will you have just one drink with me?” Silence is her answer back and I start to think we got disconnected.

  “Layla?”

  “Okay Chase, I will have one drink with you tonight. I’ll text you the address of the bar to meet me at once I’m done with my last appointment.”

  “See you soon, Angel.” I hang up and start to run, not wanting to be late for my very important date.

  14

  Layla

  I sent Chase the address to my last meeting for the night, which is at a posh rooftop bar on the top of a boutique hotel in downtown Chicago. For a Thursday night, the bar is crowded with young professionals starting the weekend off early. I sit at the end of the bar and sip on water, waiting for his arrival. I know exactly the moment he arrives as I see numerous females turn their attention toward the entrance. I watch in wonder as Chase ignores all of the beautiful women he passes in search of me. When his eyes find mine, I feel their spark and the heat of his smile radiates throughout my body. My heart starts to hammer harder in my chest as he makes his way to me and I realize that I’m actually excited to see him.

  And I’m one hundred percent completely sober.

  As Chase reaches the seat I saved for him, I push down my usual feelings of guilt for being interested in someone other than my husband. I take in his attire of a thin hunter green V-neck sweater, charcoal pants and black ankle boots. His hair is wavy from air drying and he has a day’s worth of stubble growing. My hunger for dinner has now changed to a different kind of hunger.

  You are doing nothing wrong, Layla.

  Charlie would want you to move on.

  It is just one drink with a friend.

  “Hello, Angel,” Chase says in his seductive voice and kisses me on the cheek, lingering longer than a friend normally would. I can’t stop from inhaling his scent, the smell of his cologne making me cross my legs from the tingling sensation that he evokes from me.

  Friends don’t react that way toward friends.

  “Hello yourself,” I respond back and smile fondly at him. He sits down next to me, moving his chair as close as it will allow him to be.

  “Is this place one of your clients?” he asks, his eyes taking in the speakeasy style decor that makes this bar so unique.

  “Yes, it is. The owner and manager are very nice. They are probably some of my favorite clients to work with.”

  “Very cool. I like this place.” His gaze is appreciative as he examines the light fixtures above our heads.

  “I thought you might,” I say, as I signal for the bartender to come take our drink order.

  “See, you know my tastes already,” he teases with a sexy smile.

  “No...” I say slowly as I take a look around. “This place just looks very masculine.” He chuckles at me and I grumble, “What, it’s true,” not wanting to state the obvious with the dark decor when the bartender arrives. I introduce Chase and we place our drink orders.

  “How was your day today?” Chase asks, when bartenders leaves to make our drinks.

  “Tiring, but really good,” I respond as I recall my meeting with Cal and how much better I feel about him.

  “What did Cal say to you in your meeting with him?” he asks as if reading my mind.

  “That is none of your damn business!” I retort, shocked at his audacity for asking.

  “Did he mention me?” A flirtatious smile plays on his lips. “He did, didn’t he?”

  “We had more important things to discuss than you,” I lie, hoping it sounds more convincing than how I feel. I need to steer this conversation in a different direction to avoid any more of his questions. “So, you mentioned today was a bad day. What happened?” I ask, as I twist my body to turn to face him and give him my attention.

  “Just an unpleasant conversation with my brother,” he smiles tightly at me. I raise my eyebrows at him, signaling that I’m waiting for more. He stares at me for a couple of seconds longer before sighing. “Things at home are not very warm and fuzzy right now.”

  “Why is that?” I ask, wanting to hear more.

  “Because when my father unexpectedly died, I should have taken over the family business. Instead, I ran away like a coward and left it all on my brother’s shoulders,” he says, his tone bitter.

  “So, go back and help him,” I suggest, not fully understanding why he is making this sound difficult.

  “I wish it was that simple,” he says, before taking a big gulp of his drink that the bartender put down in front of us.

  “Why can’t it be that simple?” I counter, wanting to hear what his excuse is.

  “My mother and brother hate me.”

  I look at him skeptically. “Why would they hate you?”

  “Because I killed my father.” He looks me straight in the eyes and downs the rest of his drink.

  I stare at him, not believing the words that just came out of his mouth. There is no way he would be sitting here with me if he truly killed his father in cold blood. I scan his face a little harder and see how tired he is, along with something else in those turbulent eyes.

  Pain.

  I shouldn’t care about what is going on in his personal life. I should be staying far away from him and concentrating on my own self-healing. But I can’t ignore the hurt that he can’t hide when talking about his family. I don’t like to see it. I don’t want to see it.

  “This isn’t an appropriate environment to have this conversation. C’mon, let’s go back to my place.” I reach for my purse to extract my wallet to pay the tab.

  “You’re inviting me back to your place already? But we just got here,” Chase says in mild shock as he places two twenty dollar bills down for the bartender before I could even get my credit card out.

  “Yes, but you are coming over as a friend with zero benefits,” I say firmly, making sure that he understands that there will be no sex in store for him tonight with me. “We are just going to talk.”

  “Looks like there was a silver lining to killing my father after all,” he jokes as we get up to leave.

  “That’s not funny and I don’t believe you!”

  “It’s true, Layla, so if you don’t want me to come over, say the words now.” I look at him before answering, the warning bells in my head going off at full blast, screaming that this is a bad idea. But, I can’t ignore that haunting look of despair and pain that I see in his eyes.

  The same exact look that stares back at me from my own mirror.

  Part of the healing process is forgiving. I forgave this man and now I want to help him.

  “Let’s go!” I command as I grab his hand to lead him out of the bar to my apartment.

  15

  Chase

  Talking about my family problems is the last thing I want to do. Especially with how fucking delectable Layla looks in her work attire. Her clothes seem simple enough of a black dress shirt with a red pencil skirt and black heels. It is perfectly tailored to her body and makes my imagination run wild with what kind of lingerie she might have underneath to match the sexy appeal of the overall outfit. She kicks off her shoes as we enter her apartment, giving me a glimpse of her painted red toenails while my eyes trail up to watch her sexy calf muscles work as she walks ahead of me.

  God bless this woman as I want to lick every inch of her.

  I need a distraction or else I won’t be able to refrain from taking her on the couch. Sex right now would be quick and rough as my mood is feral due to the roller coaster ride of emotions my family has me on. I haven’t had sex since Las Vegas and spending more and more time with her has made pleasuring myself insufficient. I start to look anywhere but at her, trying to focus my mind on the decor of her apartment and not the ache of my cock.

  “How long have you lived here?” I wonder, as
the apartment is modern with hard wood floors and an updated kitchen that has industrial type hardware and lighting. I’m quite surprised, as this seems to be opposite of her feminine style.

  “Ten years,” she says, as she busies herself with opening up a bottle of wine and pouring us each a glass. Ten years means this is the apartment that she shared with her husband. The thought quickly works its magic on deflating my hard-on. The walls are void of any décor, but as I take a closer look, I notice nail hooks with scuff marks from a frame. It seems what once were reminders of her husband have since been taken down.

  “It’s a nice place,” I say, walking to the balcony and admiring her view of the city. “How many bedrooms is it?”

  “Just one,” she replies as she comes around the kitchen island and hands me a glass of wine. “I think it’s time for a change though.”

  “Oh yeah? Why?” She swings her hair behind her shoulders and the action makes me picture my hand wrapping the golden silk in my fist and pulling her head back as I pound her from behind. I grip the wine glass harder and try to blink my carnal thoughts away.

  “Too many ghosts here,” she smiles sadly at me, which makes me regret even asking.

  I hold up my wine glass to her to make a toast. “To change,” I say and we clink our glasses together. I take a long pull of the delicious wine while my eyes stay locked onto hers. I savor the flavorful liquid as long as I can and make a loud gulp as I watch her tongue dart out to lick the remnants of wine off her lips.

  “Are you hungry? I’m starving!” I hastily say, hoping she didn’t notice my voice a higher octave than normal. She gives me a questioning look and I immediately head to the kitchen to distract myself. “I can cook us dinner if you have food.”

  “You know how to cook?” she asks skeptically, as she follows me into the kitchen. I open up her refrigerator and am relieved to see she has recently been grocery shopping. “Yes, my mother taught my brother and me how to cook our family meals every Sunday when growing up. Do you like to cook?”

  She wrinkles her cute nose in disgust. “No, I like to pay someone to cook for me.”

  “Then why do you have all these groceries?” I chuckle, getting the pans out from underneath the cabinets and taking the food out that I want to prep.

  “I bribe Robert with free food if he will come over and cook it for me. He’s actually a good cook.”

  I laugh at her resourcefulness and start cooking the chicken I found in the refrigerator. She watches me intently as I describe what I’m doing so she can see that this is easy enough for her to cook by herself. Thirty minutes later, we are sitting down at her dining room table, our plates filled with grilled chicken, asparagus and couscous.

  “Bon appétit!” I tell her and watch as she cuts a piece of chicken and places it in her mouth. Her eyes get wide as she chews, nodding her head in appreciation.

  “Wow, this is really good! I’m impressed,” she says, taking another bite of asparagus.

  “I’m happy you like it. Next time I’ll make you my specialty, beef stroganoff.”

  She doesn’t say anything about there not being a next time and I take that as a good sign. We eat in compatible silence for a few minutes, watching each other relish in the taste of the delicious food.

  “So, are we going to address the elephant in the room?” she asks, placings her fork down to indicate she’s done eating.

  “I don’t see any elephant in the room,” I jokingly look around before stuffing my mouth with the last piece of chicken on my plate. I mentally kick myself for not making more food to consume in order to not have to talk yet about my past. I’m just delaying the inevitable because if I want Layla in my life permanently, she needs to know everything.

  She rolls her eyes at my sarcasm and gets right to the point. “Why do you think you killed your father?”

  “I don’t think, I know I did,” I get up to take our plates away to put in the sink and she follows me.

  “Chase, stop with the dishes and talk to me.” She shuts the faucet off that I had turned on to start washing the dishes, grabs my hand, and pulls me toward the couch. We sit down and I can’t help but smile at her as she sits at the opposite end of the couch.

  “There’s no way you intentionally killed your father. You would be in prison instead of sitting here with me.”

  “My family is very wealthy, we could’ve paid the cops off.” This is not a far-fetched notion as my father made very sizable donations to the local police department.

  “Alright Chase, since I invited you over for a serious conversation that you don’t seem to want to have, then you are free to leave. I’m tired and I have nothing more to say to you.” She stands up and is about to leave when I grab her hand and pull her back down to the couch, purposely closer to me.

  “I’m sorry, you’re right. I apologize, but I need to hold your hand in order for me to talk seriously.” She gives me that sexy smirk that makes my groin tighten and appeases me by letting me hold her hand while we talk.

  “My father was never the kind of dad that was going to win the Father of the Year award, much less even be nominated,” I begin, taking a deep breath and exhaling out for this is going to be a long, hard story to tell. “I think he only agreed to have kids to pacify my mother and keep her quiet since he brought her over from Germany to Canada, where she had no family or friends. He met my mother at a party in Germany while backpacking across Europe. Once he found out that she was heir to a prestigious winery, he quickly charmed her, stayed in Germany to court her, and got her to agree to marry him within a short amount of time. I don’t believe he was truly on vacation or that meeting her was a coincidence. I think he was in Europe on a mission to meet someone to change his life and identity.”

  “Why would he feel the need to change his identity?” she asks in confusion.

  “When they got married, my father took on my mother’s maiden name instead of her taking on his name. He led people to believe that it was a romantic gesture on his part since he claims to have been so in love with her, but I now know that it was all a facade to change his identity,” I say with bitterness. “We didn’t grow up knowing our paternal grandparents as he said they were dead, but we found out that was a lie.” My father’s death made international news and his parents contacted us, seeking money.

  “Why would he lie about that?” Layla looks at me in confusion.

  “Apparently, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree as they were deadbeat parents. My father knew he was smart and good looking, so he left to form a new life. Once he married my mother, he made it known to her father that he wanted to help him with running Wilson Vineyards.”

  “For a while, my father’s true colors didn’t come out. He worked hard and made a nice living for my mother and generated more revenue than my grandfather could have dreamed of. When my father suggested they open a winery in his homeland of Canada, my grandfather was on board with it. He purchased the land for the vineyard and my parents moved to Canada. I was born a year after their move and my brother came two years later.”

  “Unlike in the United States, ice wine is very popular in Canada, so it was a smart business decision on my father and grandfather’s part to open a winery there. Profits were made within the first year and my father built a successful brand with the Wilson name. But as the years went on, he slowly pushed my grandfather out of the business in Canada. My father wanted complete control over the finances and decision-making. My grandfather wanted to make the company public and have a Board of Investors, but my father disagreed and wanted the company to stay private. So he re-paid my grandfather the money he paid for the land and took full control of running the Canadian winery. I always wondered why when my grandfather would come to visit he would ignore my father. Now I know.”

  “Is your grandfather still alive?”

  “No, he died five years ago. My father made it a big public relations campaign about the death of the founder of Wilson Vineyards and how he loved his father-in-
law for giving him the opportunity to run the company. When we went to Germany for the funeral and the reading of the Will, my father was furious to learn that he left all assets of the German winery to my aunt and cousins, who weren’t involved in the family business. My father filed to make Wilson Vineyards Canada a subdivision of his new company, Wilson Enterprises, with him as the sole owner so that my aunt and cousins couldn’t have any control over what my father was doing. They hated my father and wanted nothing to do with him or have him involved in the business in Germany, so they had no problems with his actions.”

  “As the years went on, we saw my father less as he worked more. He would only show interest in being a father when he decided he needed to mold our future for us. He made it clear that I was going to be the heir of the family business since I’m the oldest. My brother had shown interest in hockey and our father discovered that Rhys was a very talented hockey player, so his goal was to be in the NHL. My brother and I went along with the paths our father created for us because we actually wanted them as well. I was more interested in the branding and marketing side of Wilson Enterprises than the actual winery, much to my father’s chagrin. But when he saw my ideas were making him money, he accepted where I wanted to be.”

  “So what went wrong? Sounds like everything was perfect.”

  “My father loved the attention he received from being the face of Wilson Enterprises. He wasn’t happy with my growing popularity as the new face of the company, nor did he like it when people preferred me over him. Instead of being proud, he was jealous. So he started cutting me out of important decisions that I should have been part of, slashing my budgets, and passing on me for promotions that I deserved. I started becoming suspicious, so I did some searching into the company’s finances one day while working late. Things started to not make sense and one night, my father left his private laptop unlocked at work. My search through it found bank transfers of large amounts of money to an off shore account. He was embezzling money from the company.”