Beneath the Boss: Omnibus (The Complete Collection)

by Lydia Rowan

  Her snort returned his attention to her.

  “Layla said you were a surly fella. Don’t like being challenged, eh?”

  “You’re a mind reader and a baker?” he couldn’t help but say, not bothering to try to keep the annoyance out of his tone.

  That earned him a full-throated laugh.

  “Nope, just a mother, and you have a terrible poker face.”

  He released a half scoff, half chuckle.

  “I haven’t had much use for one. People usually see the benefit of giving me what I want.”

  Marla sobered. “Is she one of those people? Someone to give you what you want without regard to the cost to herself?”

  Leighton leaned back and looked at Marla thoughtfully.

  “No, not exactly. I’d never really considered it, but when she told me she was quitting and we, er”—he reconsidered his words—“the nature of our relationship changed, I realized there was something more.”

  “That you didn’t want to lose, couldn’t countenance her acting without your approval?” Marla pinned him with her gaze.

  “Maybe at first, but I know it’s more than that. I have feelings for her, and I need her back in my life.”

  “And you want me to help with that?”

  He nodded.

  “And why would I? I heard about your feelings, but, frankly, I don’t care about you. So how does helping you help Layla?”

  “Because I think you know she has feelings for me, too. You also know that she’s a wonderful, or trying, depending on the circumstances, mix of patience and stubbornness, and if I don’t take the first step, she never might.”

  Marla considered his words for a moment, and he could clearly see her internal struggle.

  “You don’t have much of a poker face either,” he said and smiled.

  “Indeed I don’t. I’m a big fan of directness too, but I won’t betray Layla’s confidence.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to.”

  Her lips curled slightly. “Smooth. I can see what she likes about you. Anyway, I can tell you know Layla, how hard she works. She never quits anything, ever, even when it’s long past time, part of that stubbornness, I suppose.” She shook her head.

  “I don’t know how helpful I can be, but I will say, without going into too much detail, it’s clear she has a special connection with your company and you, so if she left, there has to be a reason why. I’m assuming you have some insight into that.” She arched a brow in question.

  “Yeah, but it was a misunderstanding. I didn’t mean—” He paused, trying to come up with a good explanation, to make it clear that he wasn’t above most things, including a little deception, but that he’d never intended for Layla to get snared by his game with Smythe.

  Marla, though she still didn’t look convinced, seemingly decided to take pity on him and said, “All I can say is if you make it right, not I’m-sorry-please-take-me-back right, but really right, you have a shot.”

  “And how would you suggest I do that?”

  “You’re the billionaire, figure it out. Oh, and Mr. Means? You hurt Layla again, and I’ll be adding billionaire blintzes to the menu.”

  And with that, Marla escorted him out.

  Chapter Three

  Layla, not engaged by her television program and too antsy to surf for something else, stood up and looked around her immaculately tidy living room, fluffed the already fluffy pillows, and flopped back down on the couch when her visual inspection didn’t reveal a single speck of dust to be swept, mopped, or vacuumed. She’d cleaned the house—the entire house—about a million times in the last couple of months, not to mention arranging her bookshelf by genre, cover color, and author name—her DVDs too—organizing the closets, long coats to the right, shorter to the left so that she could clearly see her shoe collection, cleaning out the garage, cleaning and organizing the kitchen cabinets. This was in addition to helping out at the bakery and spending hours online reading her favorite forums. Today, though, she had to face facts. She was officially bored. And she missed her job.

  And she missed Leighton.

  She told herself it was only natural, that it would take time to readjust after more than a decade. True enough, but that didn’t account for the bone-deep loneliness that had become an increasingly frequent presence in her life. Nope, that was all him, and the more she tried to deny it, the worse her loneliness became. Despite the brave face she put on for the world, and tried to put on for herself, she wanted him back in her life. Desperately. Had questioned what she was doing, had almost broken down and gone to him more times than she could count. But she’d stayed strong, hoped she had proven to Leighton—and herself—that she really wouldn’t accept whatever scraps and treatment he saw fit to provide in whatever way he saw fit to provide them.

  Right now, though, it hardly seemed a worthwhile effort. She knew she was weak, and getting weaker by the day. That her mother would have been disappointed, had raised her to be independent and warned against the fool things some women did for love, was the only thing that had held her back.

  Restless and annoyed with herself, she picked up the phone to call Mary Alice, just about the only person she hadn’t pestered to death with offers of free labor.

  “You need an extra pair of hands at the center?” she asked before M.A. could even say hello.

  “Layla? Is that some kind of coded message? Have you had a slight stroke?”

  “What are you talking about?” Layla said through her laughter.

  “I can’t count how many times, hold on—Brady, put that down! Sorry, where was I? Yes, do you know how many times you said you’d rather wrestle alligators than work at a day-care center. Said you couldn’t see how I did it, that one kid is cute but twelve are more terrifying than a Cossack army. Is any of this ringing bell?”

  “Don’t use my words against me,” Layla said, still laughing at Mary Alice’s antics. “I’m just being neighborly, offering a helping hand to a friend.”

  “Ha! Well you’ll need to be certified to work with the kids, but if you want to come help with the laundry and dishes, you’re more than welcome.”

  “How generous,” Layla said drolly, though she was heartened by Mary Alice’s always warm demeanor.

  “I mean, it’s that or dropping the pretense that don’t miss your job and aren’t in L-O-V-E with L-E-I-G—”

  “I get it, M.A.,” she said.

  “Well, what’s the word? Squeak told me that Marla’s about to ban you from the bakery, and I somehow doubt you want to come clean up after toddlers, so what’s the plan? I know you, and you can’t sit still much longer. Heck, I can’t believe you’ve done it this long.”

  “‘Heck.’ Really?”

  “Come on, Layla, think of the children. And answer my question.”

  “I don’t know—” She stopped abruptly when she heard the doorbell ring.

  “I’ll call you back. Somebody’s at the door.”

  “Are you expecting someone? Stay on the line until you see who it is,” Mary Alice said.

  “Yes, Mama,” she said as she walked to the door and looked out of the peephole. “I have to go.”

  “Ohh, it’s him, isn’t it! Are you gonna...?”

  “Talk to you later, Mary,” she said and hung up.

  She touched the doorknob, let out a deep breath, and then opened the door. She was surprised, but strangely not, to see Leighton on the other side. As she stared at him, she again couldn’t fathom what had kept her away.

  “Are you lost?” she asked as she looked out of the door and into her driveway. “And where’s your car?”

  “I was out for a run and happened to be in the neighborhood.”

  She looked down, took in his casual-for-Leighton attire of a charcoal-colored cashmere sweater and light cotton slacks, and couldn’t help but smile.

  “Likely story. And seriously, where’s your car?”

  He returned her smile and shrugged.

  “I parked it a couple of blocks ov
er. Figured your wouldn’t turn away a man on foot.”

  Her smile flagged, her anger flared, and she shook her head.

  This was why.

  “There’s always an angle with you, some plan or scheme to get people to do what you want. You just can’t be honest.”

  Not entirely fair, she knew, but the tendrils of excitement that had sprung up when she’d looked through the peephole were extinguished. He simply couldn’t stop himself from pressing every advantage, even playing on her tendency for concern. This—they—couldn’t work.

  “Have a nice day, Leighton,” she said and started to close the door.

  “Wait, Layla!” he said, and she stopped. “How’s this? I miss you. Every minute of every day I miss you, and I couldn’t go a single second longer without seeing you, even if it meant ditching my car and showing up on your doorstep like a lost puppy.” He paused before he continued, “And I won’t apologize for that.”

  She looked at him, his gray eyes flashing with the haughtiness—there was no other word for it really—that was so much a part of him, but also full of that softer, more-open emotion that she’d just begun to recognize before things had fallen apart. She’d said he couldn’t be honest, the statement an implicit request for evidence to the contrary, and to his credit, he’d delivered. She stepped back, fearing she was making a mistake, but unwilling to turn him away, especially since he was so clearly trying, and opened the door fully.

  “Come in.”

  ••••

  Leighton entered, and the warmth and comfort that he always felt in Layla’s home, in her presence, enveloped him. Strange really because even though his time at her home had been limited, all things considered, he still felt a strong sense of pride, ownership, belonging when he was here. Which was probably why he’d ruined things. He’d tried to see things from her perspective, realized that she probably saw his pride as arrogant self-regard, his ownership as possession, his comfort as callousness. And he only had himself to blame.

  He’d never told Layla what she meant to him, never tried to explain why he was the way he was, so all she saw was an arrogant, entitled, controlling jerk, when in reality, he was a desperate man trying to hold on. Well, he’d fix that today. Lay everything out there and then let Layla decide. He internally recoiled at the thought of being vulnerable again, but for her, he’d do it. He’d be crushed if she still wanted to stay apart, but at least he’d know he’d been honest, essentially the only thing she demanded.

  He stood in the foyer and looked around, the surroundings familiar and calm, the serenity of Layla’s home making him more nervous than he’d been before. A long time ago, back before he knew better, he’d occasionally imagine a home, a life, like this. A partner he loved and trusted above all, maybe even a couple of kids. Boring, sure, but as unattainable as landing on Mars, something that he, with all his fortune and power would never have. Or so he’d believed. But Layla had changed all that in a few short weeks. She’d given him glimpse of what could be.

  She’d made him hope.

  “Have a seat.”

  Layla’s words brought him back, and he gave a slight smile and moved toward the sofa. Layla sat on the love seat opposite him and well out of touching range. He glanced over at the television and raised a brow, and Layla followed his gaze and smiled before she quickly cut the television off.

  “Reality television is a window into our post post-modern society, and by watching it, I bear witness to societal evolution in real time. I’m only doing my duty as person concerned with the human condition, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “You’re right. No doubt the continuing misadventures of divorcées as they navigate petty arguments at staged cocktail parties will one day reveal the mysteries of life.”

  She titled her head in imitation of highest dudgeon and uttered, “Don’t judge,” before dissolving into giggles.

  He joined her, and it felt good to share a light moment. They gradually calmed, and Layla leaned back and tucked her foot under her thigh, which brought his attention to her attire for the first time. She wore some kind of tank-top-dress thing, which hit just above her knee and was far shorter than almost anything he’d ever seen her in. Her long legs were bare and looked silky smooth, the deep yellow of her dress only heightening the effect and giving her skin an almost ethereal glow. The fabric of the dress was fluid and ran over her curves, molding the here and there and more a display of what lay underneath than a cover. He felt that familiar stir in his pants, imagined himself spreading her over the couch and taking her from behind while he traced her curves through the soft-looking fabric. He hardened at the thought and fought to regain control over his body. He’d accepted his powerful attraction to Layla, had doubts about whether it would ever cool, but for now, he needed to stay focused on his goal, or he risked losing her forever.

  That thought left an icy, sick feeling in his gut and was more than sufficient to cool his arbor. He exhaled and looked into Layla’s eyes. She sat quietly, her face impassive, a clear message that the ball was in his court.

  “Dropping by unannounced like this is not ideal, but I wasn’t sure if you’d see me, and I wasn’t willing to take the risk, especially after I talked to your friend Marla.”

  “Wait, you talked to Marla? When? What did you say to her? She didn’t mention this conversation to me.”

  Layla’s voice rose after each question, and he could see she her hackles beginning to rise.

  “Don’t be mad at her. I asked her not to.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I was desperate, Layla, and I had to do some something, and she was my best option.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Oh, she very gently ripped me a new asshole, basically told me I was a rotten, entitled brat, and threatened to turn me into ‘billionaire blintzes’ if I didn’t make this right and stop hurting you.”

  The merry sound of Layla’s laughter rang in his ears.

  “She wouldn’t tell me how you were doing or feeling, though. Said it wasn’t her place but that if I cared so much, I’d figure it out myself. So here I am.”

  He leaned back and waited.

  “That sounds like Marla. She’s kinda been mama bear for me since... She can go overboard sometime, but her heart’s always in the right place.”

  “I can tell. And, truthfully, I’m jealous.”

  Layla raised her head, the unspoken question clear in her eyes.

  “I’ve never had anyone, well, except you maybe, care that much about me.”

  “That’s not true, Leighton. You had your parents, more friends than I can name.”

  “Those aren’t friends. They’re party guests who like to be around me because of what I can do for them. Nothing more. And as for parents”—he shook his head—“it is, sadly, the same story. You’ve met my mother. She, she does the best she can, but...” He trailed off. “My father—”

  “Leighton, it’s okay. You don’t have to talk about this,” she said.

  “I do. Marla did say one other thing. She told me that if I loved you,” he caught her gaze and held it, trying to convey the seriousness of his next words, “and I do love you, Layla, very much, that I wouldn’t be afraid to show you all of me, that I’d stop hiding. And she was right.”

  Leighton stood and began pacing the cozy space.

  “You knew my father.”

  “Yes, Leighton Senior hired me, but you knew that. Seemed a nice enough guy, always jovial and kind. Wait, did he...?”

  “Oh, no, nothing like that,” Leighton said quickly after he caught her train of thought. “He was a nice enough guy, jovial, fun, but he was also weak, vain, inattentive, obsessed with the family name, and a truly awful businessman. He used to parade me in front of his friends, talk about the ‘the next generation,’ but I’d go weeks without seeming him, and when I turned twelve, it was off to boarding school. It’s stupid really. Even then I could see him for what he was, but I still loved him, craved his attention.”


  “Leighton, there’s nothing stupid about a boy loving his father.”

  “Maybe not, but as I got older, that love curdled and became disdain. I despised him and wasn’t at all afraid to tell him so. I’d skip trips home, and when I did visit, I made sure to let him know that he was a failure, that his business was a failure, that he was single-handedly destroying whatever shadow of respectability was left in the Means name. I used to tell him I planned to take Mother’s name, let Means die with him. I didn’t know it at the time, but I hit pretty close to home. Once he stated focusing the business on financial services—a smart move, I’ll grant him that—he got in way over his head and was on the brink of ruin. Smythe had him over a barrel and was threatening to take over the business.”

  “So that’s why you hate him so much.”

  He nodded.

  “This was toward the end, right? I remember how hectic things were then. I knew the outlook was bad, but I never knew any specifics. I wish I could have helped.”

  “You were a kid.”

  “So were you, Leighton.”

  “Maybe, but he was my father, and as much as I hated him, I should I have done something.”

  “But what could you have done? You were fresh out of business school, and besides, you couldn’t have prevented his heart attack.”

  Leighton stopped pacing and looked over at her.

  “He didn’t have a heart attack.”

  “Wait, the news said—”

  “I used what last bit of influence and money the family had let to make it that way. Mother was a wreck, and I was—am—responsible. It was too little, too late, but I could give him that.”

  “What happened, Leighton?” Layla asked in the soothing way of hers.

  “He killed himself. Found his biggest bottle of bourbon and an even bigger bottle of pills and had a party. Left a note that said he had a son who hated him and business he’d destroyed so there was nothing left to live for. Said he hoped I’d do a better job with him out of the way.”

  For the first time in a long time, tears clogged his throat and burned at the back of his eyes. He turned away, didn’t want her to see him like this, but he found the strength to continue when he felt her head on his shoulder, her hands smoothing over his biceps in a slow, circular motion.