Layla
The day passes quickly. I’ve always loved working with kids, and when you add all the tasks I need to
do to make sure Isla’s birthday happens, I’m so busy I can hardly think.
Between the time I drop Isla off at school and pick her up again, I have precious few hours to make
phone calls and start ticking things off my very long to-do list.
Firstly, catering. Rachael was thrilled when I asked her about catering yesterday. She came through
with a menu that looked delicious and sophisticated. Leif never answered the email I sent, which is fine.
He wants to talk tonight—we’ll go over it then.
Secondly, furniture. There are rental companies that can provide tables and chairs, but I’ll have to put
together tablecloths, napkins, dishes, centerpieces, glassware—all the things that will make the rental
furniture look appropriate.
Thirdly, decorations. Swan Lake is the theme, and we need ethereal, beautiful decorations. Fairy
lights, gauzy fabric, elegant touches.
Finally, entertainment. Great-Aunt Hilda made it clear that this event had to impress, and that means
making sure the adults are as entertained as the children.
By the time I pick Isla up, give her a snack, and go with Elton to her swimming lessons, I’m in a mire
of tasks and details and to-dos.
And I love it. I haven’t felt this energized in years. I’ve never been afraid of working hard, but this is
different. It doesn’t feel like work, because it’s fun. All the thousands of Pinterest boards I’ve crafted over
the years, the ideas I’ve had for events, the things I’ve imagined when I have a few minutes to myself...
I’ll finally see it all coming together.
I’m actually doing something. I’m not running drinks from a bar to a table and listening to the same
old jokes I’ve heard a hundred times. I’m not working in a daycare with a dozen kids, running after them
from dawn till dusk. I’m not making coffees and scrimping together all the dollars from the tip jar to make
it all worth it.
There are a thousand things to do, but I feel ready to take them all on. I feel capable.
By the time Leif gets home from work, Isla has finished her swimming lessons, been picked up,
bathed, and fed, and she’s sitting quietly in her bedroom with a book. I hear the door open when I’m
brushing out her hair, and my heart thumps.
“Your father’s home,” I note, making sure to ke ep my voice level.
“He wanted to talk to you,” Isla answers, turning a page in her book. “Don’t you remember?”
Soft footst eps sound in the hallway, and I know it’s Leif. I can feel the air in the room change, turn
heavier. Harder to breathe. Harder to think.
Turning my head, I see him lean against the doorframe and cross his arms over his broad chest. The
top two buttons of his shirt are undone, and his hair looks like he’s run his hands through it a few times.
Tousled. Ruffled. He looks like how I imagine he’d be in the morning, waking up after a long sle ep-in.
My eyes drift down his strong arms,
his trim waist, his long, strong legs... all the way down to his feet. He’s only wearing a pair of black
socks, I note, and I can see the outline of each toe.
It feels wrong to see his feet. Intimate, somehow. Clearing my throat, I run the brush once more
through Isla’s hair and give Leif my best professional smile. “Hi, Mr. Sorensen.”
“Did you have a good day?” His eyes are on me, but I know the question is aimed at Isla.
His gaze—his gaze does something to my insides. Everything feels warm and cold and sharp and
fuzzy all at once. It’s hard to think when he looks at me like that.
“Yes,” Isla answers. “I passed my swimming test.” She beams at her father, who pushes himself off
the door and comes closer.
Inhaling sharply when he bends down near me, I catch a hint of his tantalizing scent as he brushes his
lips over Isla’s freshly washed hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I need to talk to Layla. Is that
okay?”
“It’s fine,” Isla says, turning back to her book. “I’m reading.”
Lips twitching, Leif shifts his gaze to me. He jerks his head and I follow him out and back down the
stairs to the home office. I enter in front of him and see him hesitate at the door. After a moment, he
closes it completely, then turns to me.
The full force of his masculinity hits me like a high-speed train. I inhale sharply, bracing myself
against his desk, unsure how to react.
I’m at work. This is work. Leif Sorensen is my boss. He’s an heir. He’s a businessman and a player,
and he would break my heart without a second thought—then forget it ever happened.
“You look... tired.” There’s a note in his voice. Something unfamiliar. Concern?
I blink, straightening. “I’m fine.”
He studies me for another moment, then shakes his head slightly. He rounds the desk and sits down,
opening the laptop there and turning it for me to see. “I have some notes about the menu.”
Squaring my shoulders, I nod and pull out my extensive notes for the party. For the next hour, we go
over details of the menu, of the furniture I’ve secured, and the plan I have for where to store his expensive
couches in the meantime. I’ve gotten quotes for short-term storage, but Leif suggests the TV room off the
main living space. Storing the furniture on-site is even better.
“The rental company said they could do the setup of tables, chairs, and bar furniture. They’ll set
everything up in three hours or less, which should give us enough time while Isla is at school on Friday.”
“You did all this in one day,” Leif says, voice neutral. I can’t read his expression. No wonder he’s
good at business—he gives nothing away. I can’t tell if he’s impressed or disappointed. “Well, a day and
a half, technically. And a bit on Saturday night when I got home from work. I know there’s a lot left to do.
I’m waiting on confirmation from the ballet school. Miss Oliver said she’d talk to some former students of
hers who can provide entertainment throughout the night. With the menu finalized, I can confirm it with
Rach—with the caterer—and then we can move forward. That will allow me to also procure all the linens
and dishes and bits and pieces needed for that.” My gaze moves down the list in my hands. “I’m waiting
on quotes for gas-powered heat lamps for the courtyard as well as fairy lights, which we can rent for the
day. Then there’s the cake. I found a bakery that can make it in the shape of a ballerina, but I need to
know what flavor Isla likes. They’ll charge extra for a rush order, of course, but the reviews are all really
good.”
I’m babbling, but I can’t stop. When I lift my eyes from my long list of notes, Leif is studying me like
I’m a strange
bug he’s never seen before. He leans back in his chair, tenting his fingers in front of his chest. He
ke eps his eyes on me for another moment, then spreads his hands. “I didn’t think this was going to come
together, but I have to say, I’m impressed.”
Warmth spreads through my chest as I fight to ke ep the smile off my lips. I’ve always been a good
worker. Exc ept for the little hiccup at the nightclub where I first met Leif— not that he remembers—I’ve
always left jobs with solid references.
Still, this feels different. I’ve always known I’d be good at event management, but this is the very first
time I’ve gotten to really test myself.
“I also got the invitations printed,” I say, getting up to go to the bag I’d brought in with me. I pull out
a small cardboard box, opening up to reveal the gilded, gold filigree-edged birthday invitations. Handing
one over to Leif, I finally let my smile spread across my face. “They turned out really well, I think.”
He looks at it, face blank, and turns it over briefly before returning it to me. When he meets my gaze
again, a strange stuttering fills my chest.
I shift my weight. “Say something, Leif.” Something flares in his eyes. His gaze drops to my lips for
such a short moment that if I’d blinked, I would’ve missed it—but even that brief look makes fire flood
my belly, turns my knees to jelly.
“Have a drink with me,” he commands, his voice smooth and de ep and irresistible.
“Sure,” I hear myself say before my brain can begin to function. What I should have said was, No
thanks, I have to go, because getting any closer to Leif Sorensen is a bad idea.
I know this. My brain is aware. Logic and reason scream at me that I need to ke ep my distance.
But Leif’s big, tall body is rounding the desk and he’s placing a hand on the small of my back. All
thoughts flee from my head. He leads me to the kitchen with nothing more than a slight pressure from his
hand, and a small voice in my head screeches at me to Run!
But one little drink won’t hurt, will it?