Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Traffic was light, so when we arrived at Layla’s, it was just about nine o’clock.
“Give me about ten minutes, and I’ll let you know what I’m doing.”
“You got it,” Al said.
I looked up at Layla’s window when I got out of the car. It was dark and showed no sign of anyone being home.
Her building had a vestibule with a locked door. A tenant had to buzz you in to unlock it. I pressed the bell and waited for her voice to come over the intercom.
But it never came. Three buzzes and one last-ditch attempt to get her on the phone were all fruitless. I ran my fingers through my hair, the knot in my stomach pulling tighter.
“1275 Broadway, Al.” I slammed the car door shut. “Layla’s office.”
Al glanced back again. “Everything okay?”
“I hope so.”
***
Archibald Pittman walked out the front door with another man just as my car pulled to the curb. The smart thing to do would have been wait until he was gone, but the ride from Layla’s apartment had elevated my anxiety to a whole new level. There was no fucking way I was wasting thirty seconds just to avoid her boss.
Striding to the door, I looked down at my phone to avoid making eye contact. It didn’t stop Pittman from noticing me.
“Grayson?” He stopped his conversation and called to me while I tried to pass.
I looked up. “Archie. Good to see you.”
“Are you heading upstairs at this late hour?”
I pulled an excuse out of my ass. “Time-sensitive contract, has to be sent back to the west coast tonight.”
“Glad to see my staff is looking after your needs.”
“Yes.” I offered a curt nod, anxious to get inside the building. “Well…time’s ticking. You have a good night.”
I was already four steps closer to the building before he could finish reciprocating his goodbye.
The elevator opened to Layla’s floor, and I was relieved to find the double glass doors still open. Of course, the reception desk was empty at 10PM, so I weaved my way into the inner offices. The hallways were lit, but most of the office doors were closed. I made the final turn, a left, and saw that the fourth door down—Layla’s office—was still open, although the lights were off.
I didn’t expect to see anyone, and since it was dark, I almost missed her when I first entered her office. But the lights suddenly flickered on. They must’ve been on a motion sensor that I’d activated by stepping inside. I found Layla sitting at her desk looking right at me.
My brows drew down. “Were you sleeping?”
“No.”
“What’s the matter?” Papers were scattered all over her desk, which was normally neat and organized. A few were even on the floor.
I took a few steps closer and got a better look at her face. The skin around her eyes was puffy and red. She’d been crying.
“Layla, answer me. Did someone hurt you?” My blood started to pump at what might’ve happened. All the worst thoughts started to run through my mind. She was alone in the office at night sitting in the dark…her desk was a disheveled mess…she’d been crying… Did someone attack her?
She stared, saying nothing. I walked behind her desk and turned her chair to face me. Crouching down, I tried to remain calm and keep my voice steady. “Layla. Talk to me. What happened, sweetheart?”
A page on the edge of her desk caught my eye, and I turned my head, sure I was seeing things. But I wasn’t.
I picked up the paper. The picture was a few years old, but there was no doubt it was Max. I remembered the article well. Kiplinger’s had done a story on the rise of women traders, and Max had been featured, along with a few other industry up-and-comers. The piece had come out a few months before we opened our firm.
My eyes traveled over the rest of her desk.
What the fuck?
I picked up another paper—an article about our partnership.
Another paper—the UCC filing on our partnership.
Another—copies of my criminal court sentencing documents.
The entire desk was covered in papers about me, Max, or our now-defunct firm.
Layla was looking at me when I turned my attention back to her.
“What happened. Why are you researching Max?”
She looked away, staring out her office window into the darkness outside for a minute before turning back. “I met her today.”
I searched her eyes, trying to hold back firing off a million questions because I saw there was more she needed to say.
She closed her eyes for a while, taking a deep breath before reopening them and then looked directly into my eyes. “She came to my office...with your daughter.”
***
“Start from the beginning, Layla.”
I’d had to take a seat after I made her repeat what she’d said three times and told her I had no idea Max had a child, much less one who could be mine.