“A business proposition?” Tyler ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t seriously be having this conversation. What was this, 1825?
“Grant went through a messy divorce a few months ago, and his ex-wife can’t seem to move on. Mr. Davenport seems to think it’s negatively impacting car sales.”
Tyler snorted in surprise. When had he entered this crazy alternate reality?
“I know,” Layla said. “But he’s so sure about this that he agreed to invest in Cypress Grove—and save my family from bankruptcy—if Grant and I would date for the press.”
The words fell over Tyler like a blanket. He pressed a finger to his lips, trying to see the situation from her point of view. “Cypress Grove is doing that badly?”
Layla nodded, her head a faint outline in the dark. “I couldn’t say no, Tyler. And then when you showed up . . .” She shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t know what to think. If Mr. Davenport thinks I’m going back on the deal, he’ll go back on the deal, and my family will lose everything we’ve spent generations building.”
“But you found out who’s embezzling,” Tyler said. “That means the financial troubles are over, right?”
She raised a shoulder in a helpless shrug. “That’s what I thought. But Daddy says it’s too late, and we need Mr. Davenport.”
“How long is this supposed to go on for?”
“I don’t know. A few months, maybe.” Layla took a step closer, her eyes begging for understanding. “I love you, Tyler. I’ve waited five months for you to admit to your feelings. Can’t you wait for me, now?”
He pulled her close and closed his eyes. She melted into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He rested his chin on her head, inhaling the scent of her strawberry shampoo.
“I love you, too, Layla Anderson,” he whispered. “And you are definitely worth waiting for.”
She peered up at him, her eyes luminescent with tears. “Thank you.”
He wanted to kiss her so badly it ached. Her lips were open and inviting, and he knew this time, she wouldn’t push him away.
But fake or not, she was engaged to another man, and he wasn’t about to start their relationship off with secrecy and lies. So he settled for dropping a kiss on her forehead, his heart soaring with happiness tempered by a thread of fear.
“What now?” he asked.
Layla’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I’m going to keep investigating the books. Maybe I can find out where Stacia hid the money, and the police can help us recover the funds. I can’t ask for Cosette’s help anymore. Daddy will be furious if he finds out I’m still searching.”
“I don’t understand why he’s so upset about this.”
“Me either,” Layla said. “Something isn’t right, and I’m going to find out what.”
Tyler leaned back in his chair, his back cracking at the motion. He let out a groan of pleasure.
“Sorry.” Layla closed the screen of her work laptop with a grimace. “I didn’t mean to stay so late.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m glad we got through so much tonight.” Tyler rose, wandering into his kitchen and pulling out a glass. “Want some water?”
“Sure,” Layla said. “Then I’d better be going. I’m supposed to meet Grant in an hour.”
Tyler kept his face impassive, trying not to let jealousy shine through. For two weeks, Layla had come over to his apartment at seven o’clock each morning—after they’d stolen five hours of sleep, if they were lucky—and spent two hours going over past events from Cypress Grove. It was the only time of day she wasn’t missed at the mansion or at home. They’d made it back nearly a year, and discrepancies had shown up on at least one event each week.
Layla took the glass of water, leaning against his kitchen counter. His mouth grew dry as she placed the cup to her lips and took a long sip.
After two weeks, the physical tension between them had neared a breaking point. Every night, he dreamed about kissing Layla, then woke up and spent two hours trying to think about anything else.
He wouldn’t kiss her until she was officially his.
Layla had told him the entire story during their mornings spent pursing the accounts. She seemed convinced Grant still loved his ex-wife, and Tyler chose to believe she was right. It was the only way to stay sane in this crazy situation.
“An entire year,” Layla said, setting her glass on the counter. “No wonder Cypress Grove is doing so badly. Nearly half a million dollars has disappeared. Who knows how long this has been going on?”
“I don’t know.” Tyler longed to reach out a hand and smooth the stress lines from her face. He curled his fingers reflexively and took a step back.
Layla sighed and dumped the rest of her water down the drain. “I don’t know what we’ll do when we get to the end of the trail, anyway. It’s not going to change anything.”
“Knowledge is power,” Tyler reminded her. It had become a mantra of sorts over the last two weeks.
Layla rose on her tiptoes and brushed a quick kiss across his cheek, sending a jolt of fire through Tyler’s entire being.
He couldn’t help it. His arms snaked around her waist, pulling her close. She rested her head on his chest with a sigh, and they held each other as time stood still.
“This will all be over soon, right?” Layla asked.
“I hope so,” Tyler said, kissing the top of her head.
“It will be,” Layla said. “Mr. Davenport can’t drag this on forever. Grant’s ex has chilled out a lot since the engagement was announced. That’s got to count for something.”
The fate of his future rested in the hands of a jealous ex. Awesome.
After Layla left, Tyler headed over to the Victorian and spent a few hours demolishing the kitchen and dragging the pieces to the dumpster. He’d spent every spare second at the property since getting the keys. Layla promised she’d join him soon, and he couldn’t wait to show her his progress.
At work that evening, everyone was on their best behavior. A state senator was celebrating his sixtieth birthday, and Mr. Anderson was in attendance. He wasn’t the only familiar face. Tyler saw Carlton Davis, the casino and bar owner from his first event at Cypress Grove, making his way through the crowd, as well as a few local celebrities Tyler had come to recognize as frequent fixtures at these types of parties.
He filled drinks and spoke with guests—a friendlier bunch than usual—as the night dragged on endlessly. His eyes followed Layla as she scurried around the party in a shimmery black dress with Grant on her arm, trying to play both event coordinator and guest. She’d been annoyed to no end when her father had asked her to attend tonight’s party, but finally relented.
Grant placed a hand at Layla’s back as she leaned into him, making Tyler’s blood boil. He handed a Manhattan to an elderly gentleman with a tight smile. Pretend relationship or not, he hated that someone else had a claim on Layla. They’d been engaged for nearly two months. How long did Mr. Davenport expect them to keep up the charade?
A deep voice said, “Two fingers of bourbon, please.”
Tyler glanced up at the guest and felt his blood run cold. Mr. Anderson sat on a barstool, his gold cuff links glinting in the chandelier light.
“Of course, sir,” Tyler said. He grabbed a glass, willing his hand not to shake. He poured the bourbon and set it on a napkin. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” Mr. Anderson took a sip, his eyes never leaving Tyler. “I’ve seen you watching my daughter a lot the past few weeks.”
Tyler blinked, struggling to control his breathing.
“She mentioned you helped her with the problem with the upstairs bathroom,” Mr. Anderson continued.
Tyler nodded. His mouth felt full of peanut butter.
“I expect all my employees to stick to the job functions they’re paid to perform. Looking into other matters won’t be tolerated.”
Tyler felt as though puzzle pieces were scattering all around, and if he could just piece them together, a vital picture would
come into focus.
“It won’t happen again, sir,” he said stiffly. Did Mr. Anderson know that he and Layla were still researching the false charges on the accounts?
“I’m not an idiot, boy. I know what’s going on between you and my daughter. I won’t let her latest crush destroy this family.” Mr. Anderson finished the rest of his bourbon and stood. “It would be a shame if Cypress Grove had to start laying off employees. The newest hires are usually the first to go. Have a good night.”
Tyler’s mouth fell open in shock. His hands shook with fury as he watched Mr. Anderson walk away.
He knew. Tyler didn’t know how, but he felt certain Mr. Anderson was aware of his early morning meetings with Layla and their purpose.
And there was only one reason he’d want to stop them from happening.
Layla scurried over, her eyes turned down in worry. “What was my father doing over here?”
Tyler shook his head, disbelief washing over him. “Threatening to fire me.”
Layla gasped.
“He knows,” Tyler breathed.
Her eyes widened. “Knows?”
“Yes. I don’t know how, but he knows that we’re still looking into things.”
She glanced around, then leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Did he say that?”
“Not in so many words, but the way he looked at me . . .” Tyler trailed off as the final piece clicked into place. “Layla, I think he’s the one taking the money.”
She took a step back, as though punched in the gut. “No.”
“Think about it.” He glanced around, keeping his voice low. “Who else has access to everything? Nothing else makes sense.”
“It’s Stacia,” Layla said, her face red with fury. “We just have to connect her to the bank account and prove it.”
Tyler longed to step from behind the bar and wrap her in his arms, but it was too risky with this many witnesses. “You know there are too many inconsistencies for it to be Stacia.”
“Then why was she fired?” Layla said, her voice rising in fury.
“Maybe she discovered what we’ve discovered.”
“No.” She shook her head furiously. “I can’t believe you’d even think to accuse him. He’s my father, Tyler. Don’t you think I know my own dad?”
“He’s using you,” Tyler hissed, the weeks of pent-up frustration bursting forth. “What kind of parent uses his child as a bargaining tool in business decisions? Has he asked you how this is affecting your life, even once?”
“What’s he supposed to do? Watch our legacy go up in flames?”
An elderly woman glanced over at them, clearly trying to listen in to the conversation. Tyler caught her eye, and she quickly busied herself with her champagne.
“This can’t be the only solution to your family’s problem,” Tyler said.
“He solved a problem,” Layla said. “If you would stop being jealous for one second—”
“This isn’t about Grant.” Tyler stepped around the counter, no longer caring if he created a scene. “Layla—”
“No.” She took three quick steps back. “You’re wrong, Tyler. I’m going to prove it.”
Then she disappeared into the crowd.
Layla stared at the ledger, disbelief making her body numb. Her office wall clock ticked loudly, and she could hear a lone bird chirping on the tree outside her window.
This wasn’t supposed to happen anymore. Layla glanced at the event date again, confirming it was last night’s party. She’d been going over the final tallies before submitting the file to accounting—a habit she’d gotten into since starting as event coordinator.
Item number thirty-two was a two thousand dollar charge for a candy bar Layla knew for a fact the couple had decided against. A receipt was conspicuously absent for the charge, but yesterday a withdrawal had been made to the same offshore bank account as all the others.
Tyler’s theory swirled into focus as the ledger swam before her eyes. It had been nearly a week since their argument. He’d called her the next day and begged her to accept his apology, but she told him she needed time. His accusations had torn through her soul and shattered her trust. She’d thought they were on the same side, but he’d turned on her family. Turned on her.
She sent her computer screen to lock and tried to breathe. Stacia couldn’t still be making the withdrawals, unless she had help from someone in accounting. Layla had changed all the passwords, and the company network was closed and secure.
But someone in accounting wouldn’t know what items had been discussed and ultimately decided against for specific events. They didn’t have access to the planning files and meeting notes. The only person with complete access was Layla.
And her father.
She gasped, the entire world tilting. Her face flushed with heat, and she clutched the edge of her desk as dark spots danced in front of her vision.
Cosette strode into the office, a bag from a nearby sandwich shop slung over one arm. “They were all out of honey wheat bread, so I got you artesian white. Hope that’s okay.”
“Fine,” Layla wheezed.
Cosette quickly set down the bag. “Are you okay?”
Layla shook her head. She hadn’t wanted to see it, but the signs had been there all along. His lack of surprise when she told him about the embezzling. His insistence she stop investigating. The way sometimes what he said didn’t quite match up with the details. And Stacia . . .
Layla gagged and reached for a trashcan. She heaved into it, expelling what little was left of her breakfast.
“Sorry,” she gasped, wiping her mouth with a tissue. “I don’t think I’m hungry.”
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. Being sick is no fun.” Cosette reached into the sandwich bag and pulled out a bottled water. “Here.”
Layla took the water gratefully, gulping it down. Her entire body was clammy with sweat.
Why would Daddy steal money from his own company? Why would he keep stealing it, even after trying so hard to secure Mr. Davenport as an investor?
“I’m fine,” Layla said. “Will you be okay alone for the rest of the day?”
“Absolutely. You go home and get some rest. I’ll call you if I have any questions.”
Layla nodded, mechanically picking up her purse. “Thanks, Cosette.”
“Get feeling better.”
She hurried from the room. The November chill settled in her bones as she trekked around the pond to her home. She opened the front door woodenly, dropping her purse onto the small table in the entryway.
“Layla?” Mom called from the kitchen. “Is that you, baby?”
Layla blinked back tears. Did Mom know Daddy’s little secret? Had she helped him cover his tracks for who knew how long? “It’s me,” Layla called, fighting to keep her voice steady. “I wasn’t feeling well, so I thought I’d lie down for a while. Grant’s picking me up in a couple of hours.”
Mom appeared in the entryway, frowning. “What’s wrong?”
“Just a headache. I don’t think I’ve been sleeping enough lately.”
Layla had found at least five hundred thousand dollars that had been stolen from the mansion in the past year. What was Daddy using the money for? She wracked her brain for something that made sense. He hadn’t bought a new car. No renovations had been made to any of their homes other than what she’d done while in Italy.
“You’re working too hard at Cypress Grove,” Mom said. “You need to make that assistant do more. She’s getting a paycheck. You aren’t.”
“It’s fine, Mom.” Layla stumbled up the steps, desperate to escape before she lost it.
“Can I get you anything?” Mom called.
“No, thank you. I’m going to bed.”
Layla shut her bedroom door and collapsed to the floor. Sobs shook her shoulders, and she fought to keep them silent.
How could he do this to her? To their family? And why?
Shadows disappeared from the crevices of her room as the sun r
ose high in the sky. Tyler had been right all along. Why hadn’t she trusted him? New tears fell, and she flipped open her phone to read the texts he’d sent her every day that week. I’m sorry. I love you. Don’t shut me out.
She crawled to her bed and buried herself in the covers. She should text Grant and cancel their weekly planning meeting. Coordinating calendars was the last thing on her mind at the moment, but if she missed, Mr. Davenport would get upset. He might call her father, and Layla wasn’t ready to face him. What would she say?
Five minutes before Grant was due to arrive, Layla forced herself to brush her hair and freshen her makeup.
Grant seemed to sense her need for silence during the twenty minutes to Davenport Estate. She followed Grant through the now-familiar home to Mr. Davenport’s office. She expected to see him seated behind his heavy mahogany desk, as he had been every other week, but the room was empty.
“Huh,” Grant said. “He must be running a little late.”
“That’s okay.” Layla sank into a leather wingback chair, setting her purse beside it. “I don’t mind waiting.”
Grant sat down beside her. “Is everything okay? You seem quiet today.”
Tears pricked at her eyes, and she quickly blinked them back. Nothing would ever be okay again. “No. But thank you for asking.”
What was the jail sentence for embezzling from your own company? Five years? Twenty-five?
Grant gently squeezed her hand. “You know I’m here if you need anything, right? I know we’re just” —he motioned through the air, as though trying to come up with the correct word— “friends thrown together by circumstances. But I want to help.”
More tears threatened, and she gave him a watery smile. She hoped he’d be able to get over his ex-wife soon and find happiness. Grant was a good man. “Thank you.”
His phone rang, and he glanced at the screen. “There’s Dad now. Will you excuse me?”
Layla nodded. Grant stepped into the hallway, his voice muffled by the heavy wood door.
Her lips felt chapped, and her eyes dry from too many hours spent crying. Layla set her purse on the desk and rifled through it for a tube of lip gloss. She dug deeper, feeling along the bottom. Why couldn’t someone invent a bag that didn’t turn into a black hole?
Kiss Me in the Rain (Destined for Love: Mansions) Page 12
