by Jeannie Watt
“Get me out of here,” she muttered to Justin, without looking at him. “Please,” she added, just to make her humiliation total and complete.
LAYLA WAS TRYING HARD TO WALK without leaning on him. She was losing the battle. Justin didn’t know how many martinis she’d downed after receiving the happy news that her boyfriend was sleeping around, but he knew from experience that the bartenders at this particular hotel didn’t play coy with the booze. They charged a lot for a drink and they delivered.
What Justin wanted to know was whether Robert had abandoned her at the bar after she’d found out he was sleeping with the “trollop,” or if she’d stormed out of their room and taken refuge in the bar while waiting for Sam. Because if Robert had abandoned her, drunk as she was…well, Justin might have to do something about that.
They stepped out the front doors onto the freshly shoveled sidewalk. The snow had let up a little since he’d come into the hotel, but it wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. Just a lull.
Layla clamped a hand to her stomach, and Justin stopped walking. If she was going to be sick, he’d prefer it wasn’t in his car.
“I’m fine,” she said in a brittle voice as she took a resolute step forward. Justin moved with her, only to have her stop dead a few seconds later and look around wildly. He steered her off the sidewalk, through the snow and as far around the giant juniper bush flanking the walkway as he could before she heaved. She swung at him when he tried to get hold of her hair, so he let go of her and stepped aside, allowing her to commune with the bush. When she sat back on her heels and drew in a shaky breath, he held out a hand. She clutched his fingers, allowed him to help her up, but she didn’t look at him.
“I…feel a little better.”
Justin shook his head and, after brushing the wet snow off her knees and the front of her black wool coat, helped her back to the sidewalk. People had paused to watch the spectacle, but now moved on. Show’s over, folks. Nothing to see here.
He and Layla started for the car again, which was parked in the employee lot, even though Justin wasn’t an employee of this particular hotel. Layla was walking better now that she’d emptied her stomach, and Justin hoped she had no memory of puking in the bush in front of a crowd, because, tight-ass that she was, she wouldn’t be able to handle it.
“Layla!”
She stopped dead, her entire body going stiff at the sound of the man’s voice calling her name. Then she turned with what sounded like a growl to face the guy jogging lightly toward them through the snow. He stopped a few feet away, eyeing Justin suspiciously. “Who are you?”
“Old family friend. Here to help pick up the pieces. You must be the Robert I’ve heard so much about.”
“Is he?” Robert asked Layla. “A family friend?”
“Who he is…is none of your business,” she said with an air of dignity and only the slightest slur.
Robert grimaced. “How much have you had to drink?”
Justin’s jaw slid sideways and he took a step toward the guy. “Since you walked out on her, you mean?”
“I’m not talking to you.”
“But I can’t help hearing the conversation.”
“I’m not going to have her driving off this mountain in a snowstorm with someone I don’t know.” Robert fished in his pocket. “I hadn’t realized you didn’t have the room key,” he said to Layla, holding it out to her. “Take it. You can spend the night as planned. Your overnight bag is in the room.”
Layla stared down at the plastic card, then slowly raised her eyes to Robert’s face. He continued to hold the key, giving it a slight shake as if encouraging her to take it. She pulled in a breath that made her shoulders rise a good inch, then drew back her arm and punched him square in the jaw.
He stumbled backward as she lost her balance and went down. Justin made a grab for her, grunting when her elbow smacked into his cheekbone with a healthy crack.
“Oh, shit…” Tears sprang to his eyes as Layla slowly struggled to her hands and knees, and finally, her feet. She stared at Justin in horror as he stood with his hand over his eye. Five yards away, Robert held a hand to his nose.
“Oh, I’m sorry. So sorry.” She continued to stare at Justin, a dazed expression on her face.
“Get out of here,” he said to Robert, keeping his full attention on Layla, half-afraid of what she might do next. “Leave her bag in the room and I’ll take care of it.”
“I’m not—”
“I honestly am a family friend. I know her middle name and everything.”
“What is it?” Robert asked through his fingers, and Justin had to give him points for not abandoning her.
“Sunshine. Layla Sunshine Taylor.”
“Brothers?”
“Twins—Eric and Derek. Sister is Sam. Formerly Belle Blue, from the song ‘Bell Bottom Blues.’ She renamed herself when she was five because the kids called her Ding Dong.”
“Good enough.” Robert turned and walked away without another word, still holding his nose.
“You didn’t have to tell him all that,” Layla said as Justin put a hand under her arm and steered her the last few feet to the Challenger—an adequate car, but a poor substitute for his classic Firebird, destroyed in a wreck last year.
“I think he already knew.” Justin held the door open and she got into the passenger seat, then carefully arranged her coat over her knees. “Where do you live?”
She muttered an address on Bannock Drive. He made her repeat it, since it wouldn’t be cool to drag her up the sidewalk of someone else’s house. Then he asked for her keys.
“Why?”
“So that you have them when we get to your place.”
With a deep sigh she spilled the contents of her purse onto her lap, then pulled the keys out of the jumble. She slapped them into his outstretched hand before haphazardly shoving stuff back into her bag.
Justin closed the door and walked around to his side of the car. By the time he got the beast started, Layla was leaning against the leather headrest and her eyes were closed. Good. He hoped she stayed that way during the entire trip.
It wasn’t to be. She got sick again at the top of the grade leading down to Carson City, where, thankfully, it wasn’t snowing. She was still a bit green when she collapsed back into the passenger seat and fell asleep.
Justin couldn’t say he was unhappy about that because he wanted to focus on the road, not on his passenger. Nearly a year ago, he’d had a close call on this road, when fellow employees at his hotel who were involved in the drug trade erroneously deduced that he was a narc, due to his association with his current brother-in-law, a drug task force member. About a mile past the summit, Justin had been hit from behind, and his beloved classic Firebird sent plummeting down the ravine. He was so damned lucky to be alive, and he’d never felt the same driving this road. What’s more, he missed his car.
Forty-five minutes after passing the spot where his car had been wrecked, Justin pulled into Layla’s drive. He roused her and helped her out, then put an arm around her as they made their way through the slushy spring snow to the front door. Not a bad place. In fact, it was very much what he’d expected from Layla. An efficient box of a house, with neat little shutters, a sturdy fence in front, a no-nonsense white-and-navy-blue color scheme. The bushes were all trimmed into submission, even though it was barely spring.
There were only three keys on the ring, so he had her inside within a matter of seconds. Once the door was closed, she attempted to focus on him. The way her forehead wrinkled, it must have hurt.
She started to say something, but got only as far as opening her mouth before she shrugged out of her coat, letting it fall behind her in a heap. Then she headed down the hall.
Justin hesitated, then followed. By the time he reached her bedroom, she was sprawled on her stomach over the purple duvet on her bed. It looked like something that would need an expensive dry-cleaning if she were ill again, so Justin carefully peeled it back and rolled her onto he
r side on the sheets.
He stood for a moment then, his thumbs hooked in his pockets, staring down at her. He hadn’t seen her in several years—not since her father had sold the house down the street from his family’s, shortly after Justin graduated high school. She’d put on some weight. In a good way. And her straight dark hair was longer. But she was still Layla. Only not so perfect now. He hoped she could deal with it.
With a slight shrug of his shoulders, he set her keys on the dresser and headed out the bedroom door.
LAYLA DIDN’T WANT TO wake up.
Her head was pounding. Her mouth was dry. So dry! And why was she drowning in a sense of impending doom?
The memories started to drift in, each more cringe-worthy than the one before. Had she thrown up outside the hotel?
Worse than that, had Justin been there?
And then the biggie hit her. Robert. Robert and Melinda. Layla’s insides roiled as a wave of depression mixed with pain, betrayal and disgust washed over her.
“You need anything?”
Layla shrieked at the unexpected masculine voice, and scrambled to her knees, ready to defend herself with the pillow she’d grabbed. “Justin!”
“Yeah. Me.”
She lowered the pillow and sat back on her heels as a surge of nausea welled up. But her stomach was too empty to do anything about it.
“Let me get you some aspirin. Where do you keep it?”
She simply stared at him. “Why are you here?”
“You can’t leave a drunk person unattended. Remember what happened to all those rock stars that drowned in their own—”
Layla held up a hand. “Stop. No more.” She dropped her head on the pillow she held in her lap. It made sense, really. Justin had been part of so many of the humiliating moments of her life that perhaps he was on call. He sensed “Layla devastation” and showed up to add to the misery.
“It was too late for Sam to come and stay with you.”
Layla nodded, her head bobbing into the pillow. He had a point. He’d done the safe and logical thing.
“Thank you for bringing me home.” She vaguely recalled trying to stay in the hotel until she sobered up. And students. She remembered seeing her students. Her stomach flip-flopped at the thought. Hopefully, she hadn’t appeared too out of it. Private schools were not very keen on their staff being seen drunk in public.
“Aspirin?”
Layla lifted her head. “I’ll get it.” She steeled herself for the trauma of going vertical. “What happened to your eye?” Another dim recollection was taking form in her brain.
“You punched Robert when he tried to give you the room key.”
“Did I…punch you, too?” Had all her pent-up frustrations burst forth? Culminating in a brawl?
“No. You accidentally hit me when you fell.”
Layla swallowed hard and looked down at her hands. Well, now she knew why her knuckles were bruised and her knees felt skinned.
“You can go home now, Justin.” She was certain he probably couldn’t wait to get out of there, even though seeing her like this was probably entertaining as could be. “Thanks for everything.”
“All right.” He stayed where he was, though, and for once he wasn’t smirking. He looked tired.
“Where’d you sleep?” she finally asked, after a few beats of silence. For some reason, he wasn’t leaving.
“In one of those baskets you call a chair.” He leaned his shoulder against the door frame. “How many drinks did you have?”
“Three.” Layla closed her eyes for a second, hugging the pillow to her chest, fighting the urge to topple over. “And a half,” she added, for the sake of honesty.
“How many after Robert dropped the bomb?”
“I told you about that?” Had she no pride when intoxicated? Heat rose in her face, scalding her cheeks.
“I’m not a mind reader.”
Layla felt like melting into a puddle on the bed. “He told me in the room when we were getting ready to go down to dinner.” Actually, that wasn’t quite true. She’d guessed and then he’d confessed. “I hid out in the lounge and called Sam.”
“Just wondering if I need to hook up with this Robert guy for leaving you drunk and alone in a hotel lounge.”
The last thing she wanted was for Justin, of all people, to defend her honor. That would be so wrong.
“Justin…I’d really like to be alone now.”
“If you’re sure you’re okay.”
“I’m okay.” He cocked his head, and she added, “Physically.” Obviously, she had some other nonphysical issues to deal with.
That seemed to satisfy him, and a few seconds later the front door closed. She heard the purr of a powerful engine coming to life.
What had they driven home in?
She couldn’t for the life of her remember. Perhaps because her memory was so jumbled with other more humiliating images. The bush outside the hotel came to mind. And…oh, yeah. She’d tossed her cookies once again along a road somewhere.
What did they put in those drinks?
Lots and lots of alcohol. And she was a lightweight.
She gingerly crawled off the bed, realizing only then that she still had on her slightly damp T-strap high heels. Justin hadn’t taken off her shoes, although he had removed the duvet cover. Well, they were buckle shoes, perhaps too complicated for him.
She’d started for the bathroom when the doorbell rang. What on earth had Justin forgotten? She glanced at the domed mantel clock on her way to the door. Ten-thirty? Criminy. She’d lost twelve hours of her life.
The doorbell rang again, the sound reverberating through her skull. Must disconnect that thing. She pulled the door open, about to ask, “What did you forget?” and then almost slammed it shut again as she found herself facing the sweet, round face of Kristy Mendoza, the girl who lived next door.
CHAPTER TWO
KRISTY’S MOUTH DROPPED OPEN, as did her mother’s. But Mrs. Mendoza, who stood a few feet behind the girl, managed a polite, if wary, smile.
“I have the cookies you ordered,” Kristy said abruptly, shoving the box forward.
Layla took them. Smiled. Resisted the urge to look down and see what her very expensive black silk cocktail dress, perfect for a night out in Tahoe, looked like after being slept in. “Thank you, Kristy.”
“Are you all right?” the girl blurted out before her mother clamped a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Hard, judging from the way she winced.
“I’ll get my wallet,” Layla said, hoping she had five bucks. “Just a sec.” She left the door open in spite of the cold and turned to find her purse in one of the living-room chairs. She dug through the contents. Frowned. Dug again, then dumped everything out.
“Uh, that’s all right,” Mrs. Mendoza called.
“No, really. I have the money.”
“You can run it over when you find it. We have more deliveries to make. Come on, Kristy…Kristy!”
“No, wait…” Layla called. She really didn’t want to face these two later today.
But it was too late. Mrs. Mendoza was already guiding her daughter firmly down the sidewalk toward safety. Layla sighed and shut the door, the click of the lock making her head throb.
After another futile search for the wallet in her coat pockets, she headed for the bathroom and faced her reflection with a sick feeling growing inside her stomach.
She was a raccoon. A punk raccoon with ratted hair, and wearing morning-after clothes.
What? What had she ever done to deserve all this?
Dated Robert Baldwin?
Her stomach twisted and she was afraid she was going to be sick again.
JUSTIN PARKED IN THE ALLEY behind Tremont Catering and sat in his car for a minute before turning off the engine. Hell of a night. Well, the next two days weren’t going to be any kind of a picnic, either, so maybe it was just as well to tune up on an unrelated event. Tomorrow marked the tenth anniversary of the day he’d signed the papers that had cha
nged his life, and even though he’d been happy at the time, now he wondered if he’d made the right choice. If he should have pursued other options....
Not that there was anything he could do about it now.
Justin let himself in the back door of the kitchen, where the smell of tomato sauce instantly hit him. It was Sunday and his sister Eden, who moonlighted as a personal chef in addition to her duties with Tremont Catering, would thankfully be busy making a week’s worth of meals for her client families—one of which she’d cooked for since beginning the business and the other brand-new, replacing the family she’d lost after her fiancé discovered they were involved in the drug trade. A tough chapter in both Eden and Justin’s lives.
