by Jeannie Watt
AFTER HOURS OF TOSSING sleeplessly, Layla finally drifted off, only to wake suddenly to the disturbing thought that everything she knew, everything she’d believed in and had built on, was wrong.
Why else would she be in this position after trying so hard to do everything right?
She lay in bed staring at the ceiling instead of leaping into action as usual, but the renegade thoughts didn’t evaporate. They continued playing in her head as she got out of bed and showered, brushed her teeth, put on her makeup. As she prepared for her meeting with Ella.
Predictable. By the book. Rule follower. That was her. She wasn’t a wimp, but she did tend to avoid controversy. Someone in her family had to. And that was probably what Ella was banking on. She figured Layla would give in, take the transfer to Life Skills out of a sense of professionalism. What her boss didn’t know was that, when push came to shove, Layla had a backbone.
That trollop was not getting her advanced class without a fight.
Kissing Justin seemed to have jarred something loose in her brain. She felt positively rebellious, and realized with a start that perhaps there was more Taylor in her than she’d realized. Perhaps she wasn’t the image of stick-in-the-mud Grandmother Bonnie.
Maybe she wasn’t going to take it anymore—not even to keep her job.
Layla was loading the coffee filter with fresh grounds when she heard the distinctive squeak of her front steps. Doorbell ditchers and surprise visitors never had much luck at Layla’s house because of that squeak.
Who on earth would be here at this time of the morning?
Justin again? Her heart did a small pitter-pat.
Robert.
He was halfway down the steps when she opened the door and nearly tripped over the box he’d left there.
“Hey!”
His head jerked around, his guilty gaze meeting hers. “Layla,” he said. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
“You certainly haven’t wasted time cutting all ties,” she said with clenched teeth. He’d probably counted on her being asleep. Coward.
The coward straightened up, shoved his hands into his overcoat pockets, and she felt a deep need to make him suffer. “Will you carry it inside for me?”
“Yeah, sure.” He eyed her cautiously as he headed back up the steps and hefted the box she could have picked up herself, trailing snow behind him as he walked into the house.
“On the coffee table there.”
“It’s heavy. There’re a lot of books in it.” Books she’d shared with him, though she suspected he hadn’t read any of them, since he’d put her off whenever she tried to discuss them.
“It’s a sturdy table.” Layla swung the door shut and stood in front of it, barring escape—for a few minutes, anyway. Less than a week ago she’d fancied herself in love with this snake. “How long have you been sleeping with Melinda?”
“Layla…there’s nothing to gain by dissecting this situation.”
“Closure, Robert. I need closure.” He shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Shortly after the Christmas party, I’m guessing.”
He shrugged, giving her the answer she needed through omission. Two months. Two months she’d been sleeping with him while he’d been sleeping with Melinda. It made her feel sick.
“Did she initially call you or…?”
Robert straightened his back, rolled his shoulders slightly. “I called her.”
“Why?” Layla’s lips were dry, but she didn’t moisten them, didn’t want to give one sign of the pain coursing through her. Not pain at losing Robert, but pain at being such a trusting fool.
“She was interesting.”
“And I wasn’t?”
“I didn’t say that, Layla.” He focused on a spot somewhere over her left shoulder. “But she doesn’t have so many…parameters.”
Layla frowned. Forced herself not to become defensive, because that wouldn’t help her obtain her objective. “Parameters.”
“Rules. Regulations.”
Robert was an anal engineer, and he was put off by her parameters? She’d thought he’d lived for parameters, and she said so.
He took a couple nervous paces over to the nearest basket wicker chair, his hands still shoved deep into his pockets. “But not in every aspect of life. Damn it, Layla, you have many fine qualities.”
Fine qualities? She clenched her fists. It sounded as if she were a prize heifer.
“But they’re overshadowed by your…” He pulled a hand out of his pocket and gestured in a way that expressed frustration. “Being such a tight ass.”
Despite her anger, Layla felt a wash of old insecurities sweep over her. Insecurities from her adolescent years that she was old enough to have moved past, but somehow hadn’t. Not totally, anyway.
“In all arenas?” she asked softly.
“The sex was good,” he said.
“Thank you for that.”
“But it could have been better…if you had been able to cut loose.” He may as well have slapped her. The-man-is-always-on-the-top Robert wanted her to cut loose. She had done that quite nicely in the parking lot at Lake Tahoe. His nose was still red and slightly swollen.
“That works both ways,” she said without missing a beat, but inwardly she was curling up, dying. She’d never been all that secure in the personal relationship area, and now Robert was standing there, confirming her fears. “Why the hell didn’t you just break up with me?” He didn’t answer, and Layla had a sudden flash of insight. “You liked the danger.”
“No…” He made another gesture, negating her theory, but his face said it all. Robert was so easy to read—good thing, too, or she would still be with him. Clueless. Playing the chump.
“Well,” she said, wishing she hadn’t invited him in, but thankful for hearing his interpretation of the truth. “Thank you for bringing my stuff back. I wish you and Melinda every happiness.” She opened the door and all but pushed him outside.
A second later, after closing the door with a quiet, definite click instead of slamming it as she wanted to, she heard the distinctive creak, creak, creak.
Robert creaking out of her life, and all she felt was cold, mind-numbing anger.
JUSTIN WOKE WITH THE HEADACHE he deserved.
After Layla had left last night, he’d settled back on the sofa with his beer and started thinking and drinking instead of watching the game, which remained on mute. He reflected on how he’d hid from thoughts of his kid over the years. Protected himself. Refused to allow the child to be real. Because then he’d have to deal with feelings he didn’t know how to categorize or manage.
Would he have been able to remain in denial if Reggie hadn’t made him an uncle to the world’s cutest baby girl? He didn’t know. It was very possible that the worry, the concern and the guilt would have come anyway.
A few years back he’d suddenly realized that his son was about to start first grade. The thought had startled him. Hell, Justin could remember starting first grade himself, going to school hanging on to Reggie’s hand. But he’d been able to tamp down the feelings, excuse himself from the memories, step back into denial.
Tell himself this was all for the best.
It was getting harder to do that—mainly because he had questions that wouldn’t go away. Was his kid all right? Were the child’s parents taking good care of him? Did they love him the way Reggie and Tom loved Rosemary?
And then he’d tell himself that his kid was fine. He was the one with the problem, he was the one who’d signed the papers for a closed adoption, thus ensuring he’d never be able to get answers to any questions he might have, and he’d simply have to carry on.
What more could he do?
Finish drinking his six-pack and toss in a shot of Jack for good measure.
Cindy had come and gone while he was sleeping, taking her box of stuff and leaving her key on the coffee table. So much for goodbyes. Justin wasn’t much for goodbyes, anyway—although he should be with the practice he’d had lately.
&nbs
p; He showered, letting the spray beat on his back until the water started to grow cold. Had Layla felt this rough after her binge the other night?
Layla.
He smacked a hand on top of his wet hair, the water channeling through his fingers and over his face. He’d kissed Layla. Two or three beers in, when she’d stopped by to get her bag.
And not only had he kissed her, he’d offered her a job?
The water was getting really cold, but still Justin stood under it, torturing himself as the memories continued to surface. He’d kissed Layla. How stupid could he get?
He cranked off the shower control. He’d been stupid because she’d caught him in a weak moment. A time when his guard was down and he’d needed…human contact. Something. And there she’d been.
He grabbed a towel, sniffed it to make sure it was relatively clean. He really had to get a housekeeper or something. The towel passed muster and he rubbed it over his head.
So he’d kissed her. No big deal. She’d demanded an apology, too.
Very Layla.
And then she’d left, come back and kissed him. With a vengeance.
Not at all like Layla.
That could quite possibly represent a big deal. He shook his head as he toweled off.
Or not.
Regardless, he did owe her an apology…and he also needed to withdraw that job offer.
Justin skipped breakfast, buying a cup of coffee on the way to the kitchen, and pulled into the front lot of Tremont Catering a few minutes later than scheduled.
Eden was already at the stove when he walked in through the reception area. Reggie, who was once again pregnant and ultracareful after losing the last child, wasn’t supposed to arrive until after noon, due to a doctor’s appointment, leaving them short a cook. It was going to be rough with both Reggie and Patty out.
“You’re hungover,” Eden said.
“Maybe a little,” he agreed, taking a look at the calendar. The kitchen was slow during late March, just prior to wedding season, so maybe they would be all right. But he still had a steady stream of cake orders for various occasions. Eden was awful with icing, so she wasn’t getting near the stuff. Besides, she had a job and a half to do, plus planning her own small May wedding to Nick Duncan, the detective who’d mistakenly thought Tremont Catering was involved in money laundering. He’d also believed his job was the center of his world after losing his wife, but Eden had taught him a thing or two.
“Because of Cindy?”
“Maybe,” he said, hoping she’d drop the matter.
“Why do you only date people that are obviously wrong for you?” his sister asked, lowering her spoon to her side.
“Self-preservation,” Justin replied easily.
“From what?”
“Look,” he said patiently, “I know that people engaged to be married, such as yourself, want everyone else to be as happy as they are, but some of us are thrilled to be single. I can leave my socks wherever I want, eat what I want, go to bed when I want—”
“Are you talking about having a mother?”
“I’m talking about being single and liking it. Living life the way I want to. And I date women I enjoy. Who enjoy me. We’re just not the committing type.”
“Cindy was.”
“How do you know?”
“We talked.”
“Saints preserve us,” Justin muttered, heading into his pastry room. Eden, of course, followed him, to finish a conversation he didn’t want to finish. He took her by the shoulders, turned her around and gave her a gentle push toward the door.
“You are going to live out your years a lonely man,” she called before the door shut.
Yes, he probably was, because he couldn’t let his relationships move past a certain point.
He and Cindy had hit that point.
And he shouldn’t have kissed Layla.
LAYLA USUALLY WALKED INTO the school with a sense of purpose, rapidly ticking off items on a mental agenda, but today she had only one item on her list—take back her English classes. Before the disastrous evening at the lake, she’d been a huge proponent of the stiff upper lip. Today she was operating on more of a what-the-hell Taylor attitude and it felt good. Empowering.
Seeing Melinda’s little blue sports car parked close to the rear entrance only increased her resolve. She was not going to be in a position where she had to listen to Melinda brag about the class that Layla had created, and she would never again suffer the sleepless nights and chronic headaches induced by Life Skills. Okay, so she was a horrible person and teacher. She wouldn’t do it.
Francine, the school secretary, pointed at Ella’s half-open office door as soon as Layla walked in. Layla smiled as if this was just an everyday kind of meeting, and Francine smiled back. Weakly. They weren’t fooling one another. This was not an ordinary meeting.
The principal sat behind her broad oak desk, hands folded in front of her, her expression cool to the point of frigid, causing Layla’s steps to slow as she entered the room. She’d never seen her boss this way and it was more than a little unnerving.
“Good morning,” she said in a voice that sounded confident and professional and just a wee bit brittle, as she came to stand in front of the desk. “Please sit down.”
Layla sat, her back perfectly straight, taking slow, calming breaths. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“Have you made a decision?” Ella asked point-blank. For a moment the blunt question hung there as Layla formed her answer. She’d expected more preliminaries.
“I want to continue in English,” she said. Her fingers twisted the lowest button on her cardigan and she abruptly stopped the movement.
“That is not an option.” It was a proclamation.
“No?”
Ella gave her silvery head one firm shake. “No.”
“Then why the meeting?” Layla asked, acting on instinct and sounding far less deferential than usual. “And why should I lose a class I’ve built from the ground up because of one unfortunate incident?”
“The parents, Layla,” Ella reminded her in a tone of exaggerated patience.
Yes, the parents had something to do with it. Private schools were just that—private entities. She could be tossed out on her ear on a whim. High price to pay for the privilege of teaching a more exclusive group of students. However, the decision was based on more than parental pressure. Layla was certain of it.
“It’s Melinda,” she said in a low voice.
“Melinda?” Ella rested her forearms on the desk with a mystified scowl.
“Has she ever spoken to you about taking over my classes?”
“Not recently.” Perhaps not, but Melinda was excellent at planting seeds. She couldn’t have foreseen the fallout from the photo, but she would have set the stage to get what she wanted, just in case Layla had reason to leave the school.
“You don’t believe she posted the photo?” Ella asked, sounding shocked.
“I don’t know about that.” To Layla it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. “But I wouldn’t put it past her to have stirred up the parents over this issue. She’s competitive—” i.e., a sweet-faced barracuda “—and willing to take advantage of a situation.”
The shocked look remained on Ella’s face, a testimony to Melinda’s abilities in subterfuge and ass-kissing. “She’s an excellent teacher. The students love her.”
“True.” Layla hated to admit it, but the kids did love her. “But she’s wanted my classes since she got here.”
“This sounds very paranoid, Layla.”
It did. But she wasn’t paranoid. She was closer to the situation than Ella and had a few more facts....
“Will you take the transfer to Life Skills?” the principal asked.
“No,” she said firmly.
“Layla…”
“Melinda is sleeping with my boyfriend.” She blurted out the words, even though she hadn’t intended to say them at all. But what the hell? She was beginning to hear the fat lady sin
g. “She sneaked around with Robert and now she’s trying to steal my classes. No. I will not go to Life Skills.”
Ella’s expression was now one of extreme distaste. Because of Layla blurting out the truth about her private life? Or because Melinda’s actions had been sleazy and unforgivable?
“That is a private matter,” the older woman decreed, answering the question. “Will you take the transfer?”
Layla stood, gathering the strap of her purse in both hands. “I will not go to Life Skills.”
