Layla The seconds that pass between Leif’s words and the moment I buzz him up last an eternity. In that moment, I feel a thousand different emotions. I feel elation that all he had to say was, “It’s me,” as if we share that kind of bond already. Sheer terror that he’s going to see my tiny, rundown apartment. Horror that I still haven’t showered. Excitement that I’ll see him again so soon. “Uh, Layla?” Emma calls out. She’s standing on the balcony, staring down. “There’s a freaking Rolls-Royce outside the building. It’s the shiniest car I’ve ever seen.” That whole mess of emotions boils down to a hard ball of sheer panic that sits like dead weight in my gut. I spring away from the door and sprint to the bathroom, yelping when I see my own reflection. Attacking my rat’s nest with a brush, I tame my locks into a messy bun, then run my fingers under my eyes to wipe away most of the mascara smudges. This is even worse than last night, which I didn’t know was even possible. Raccoons would shudder at the sight of me. No time to get changed, but I don’t want Leif to see me in the same clothes as I was wearing last night. Hyperventilating, I grab a robe off the back of the bathroom door and toss it on just in time to hear the hard knock of a fist against our apartment door. I tear the bathroom door open only to see Emma standing at the front door, st epping aside to let a literal billionaire who drives around town in a half-million-dollar car into our apartment. Leif’s eyes cut straight to me and he raises his hand, my old, stained wallet held between his thumb and forefinger. “You left this at my place.” Emma is standing behind Leif, and her eyes grow wide. She mouths the words, You left it at his place? and I pretty much die inside. “You didn’t have to bring it over,” I say, gripping the robe closed with my fist as I force my lips into a smile. “But thank you.” Leif shrugs. “Maybe I wanted an excuse to see you again.” Emma puts the back of her hand to her forehead and pretends to faint. I’m going to kill her. Moving quickly, I shuffle across the room and acc ept the wallet that Leif extends toward me. My fingers brush his as I take it from him, and a jolt of pure, white-hot desire travels through my core. Leif’s eyes flick to our hands and he holds on to the wallet for a moment before letting go. Emma, still hiding behind him, fans herself. “Well, thanks,” I say, giving him a polite smile. Operation: Kick Leif Out of my Dingy Apartment Before I Die of Embarrassment is officially underway. “You left before I could talk to you,” Leif says. “I’ll give you some privacy!” Emma finally speaks, hopping toward the stack of papers strewn over the floor.
“That’s okay, Em—” “I’m going to my room!” My sister vaults over the couch and starts running away. The daggers I shoot at her with my eyes bounce right off and clatter onto the floor. Leif’s lush lips—lips that were all over my body approximately eight hours ago—slide into a smile. “There’s no need. Emma, right?” He lets the word hang. My sister pauses near her room. “Yeah.” A bright-red blush washes over her cheeks, which I think might just be karma for her little performance a minute ago. “Layla’s sister.” “I’m Leif,” he r eplies. Leif walks further into our apartment and picks up a heavy textbook. “Organic chemistry?” He mock-shudders. “I think I still have scars from when I took it. I did one year of science in undergrad and immediately switched to business. I don’t know how you do it.” He smiles at my sister, whose blush de epens. “Layla tells me you’re at NYU.” My sister, usually snarky and self-assured, looks positively flustered. She flicks her hair over her shoulder and shrugs. “Studying Prehealth. I just started this year.” Leif arches his brows and nods, his eyes flicking to mine. “Impressive.” “She got all the brains in the family,” I say, throat tight. “Well, anyway, it was nice of you to stop by—” “Love the apartment,” Leif interrupts. He glances around at the shabby secondhand furniture I’ve collected over the years with an assessing eye. His gaze travels to the far wall which has a gallery of punchy, colorful photos I’ve found in various thrift stores. Then he glances at the corner of the room, where mold has once again started to bloom. I’ve called my landlord about it, but he’s been as proactive as the super with the icy st eps outside. As in, not proactive at all. This apartment building is falling apart around us, but what can I do? Leif’s gaze travels from the mold to the peeling paint around the window frame to the de ep, jagged crack on the front wall, then thankfully back to the photos. Emma helped me arrange the frames on the wall. It took us hours to set them up in a random-yet-elegant arrangement, each photo in its own black frame. Now, looking at it through the lens of the apartment I just left this morning, the whole apartment looks cheap, tacky, and on the verge of falling apart. I cringe. Leif walks over to the wall and inspects the photos one by one. His gaze shifts to a selfie of Emma and me sitting at the top of the Ferris wheel at the Jersey Shore. Curling my fingers into my palms, I resist the urge to grab him by the arm and toss him out the door. Or the window. This feels... intimate. Like he’s seeing some part of me I don’t want him to see. The photo he’s looking at is a vivid memory. I scraped together all my money and took her to the Shore for her ninth birthday. Those years were hard. I’d just graduated and had even less money than I do now. Grandpa’s heart was bad, and they couldn’t afford to support us. I was sle eping on my grandparents’ guest room floor so Emma could have the bed, trying to scrape together enough money to get our own place. When I told Emma I was taking her out for her birthday, her eyes lit up like nothing else. We ate ice cream and laughed and rode the Ferris wheel until I ran out of money. It was one of the best days I can remember from my teenage years.
Leif stares at the photo for a long while, our ruddy cheeks and wide smiles, before straightening up. His eyes meet mine and he gives me a soft smile, then he shifts his gaze to contents of my purse still strewn across the countertop, receipts and tampons and candy wrappers and all. Why do I ke ep literal trash in my purse? What is wrong with me? I close my eyes. Not only is there a billionaire inspecting my home with a magnifying glass, but he happens to be the billionaire I nearly sl ept with last night... Exc ept I fell asle ep when he was on top of me. Kill me now. Seriously. If a sinkhole appeared beneath my feet, I’d thank my lucky stars. “Have you eaten?” Leif blurts. “There’s a hole-in-the- wall brunch place not far from here that used to have the best potatoes I’ve ever eaten.” I shift my weight from foot to foot. Operation: Kick Leif Out of my Dingy Apartment Before I Die of Embarrassment has just turned into Operation: Get Rid of Leif Before I Do Something Stupid. Again. “Nope,” Emma interjects. “Layla hasn’t eaten a thing. I’m worried about her, actually. She’s definitely low on micronutrients. You should make sure she has something healthy.” My sister gives me an angelic smile, and I mentally slap duct tape over her mouth as I send more eye- daggers her way. My mind whirls as I try to come up with an appropriate excuse as to why I can’t have morning-after brunch with Leif. It’s not that I don’t want to. Of course I want to! The man is sex on legs. Six-foot-four, broad shoulders, a mess of blond hair begging to be stroked. He was basically plucked from my wildest fantasies—and that was before he kissed me like the world was ending. And did... everything else. If I have brunch with him, one of two things will happen. Either it’ll be awkward as hell and I’ll die of embarrassment all over again, or it’ll be magic and it’ll leave me wanting more. So, no. I can’t go to brunch with Leif. Or breakfast, or lunch, or dinner, or drinks. I can’t have him standing in my apartment in his custom-tailored clothing and expensive- smelling cologne. I can’t feel the heat of those de ep blue eyes swe eping over my body, and I can’t listen to him asking my sister polite questions about her studies. Leif needs to leave. And I need to get back to the reality of my life. I’ll help him clean up the party, I’ll go to the hospital to visit Dani, meet his mother’s assistant, and that will be the end of it. Bye-bye, fantasy man. “I’m sorry, Leif, I can’t go to brunch with you.” Leif needs to walk away, and I’ll ke ep the memories of last night frozen in amber, preserved for the rest of time. Then a buzz starts in his pocket, and I motion to it. “You can take that.” He pulls out his phone and glances at it. “Shit. It’s my daughter. I hadn’t realized the time. Her ballet class is almost over. I don’t have time for brunch, I have to get back to Manhattan.” Those beautiful blue eyes flick up to mine. “Want a ride into town? I was going to visit Dani and Emil later. Raincheck on brunch?”
Did he not hear the part where I told him I couldn’t go to brunch? Not now, not ever? “Y ep, she’ll take a raincheck,” Emma says, giving me a very meaningful stare. “And she’d love a ride. She said she needed to help you clean up after your daughter’s party too, so you can just go ahead and drive her to your place.” Honestly, I think my sister is the devil incarnate. There’s no other explanation for the way she acts. “Good.” Leif nods. He strides to the door and opens it. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.” I’m still standing on the same spot on the floor when the door closes behind him, wondering what the hell just happened. He’ll wait for me downstairs? He’ll give me a ride? Oh, no. No, no, no. I don’t want to see his face when he realizes I’m not as special as he thinks I am. I don’t want to feel the heartbreak when I wait for him to call after he’s moved on from me. My life is hard enough as it is; I can’t take any more heartbreak. Emma needs me to provide for her. I need to get a job, ke ep my head down, and make sure the two of us make it through the next few years. After that, I can date. Once I’m not responsible for my little sister’s future, then I can think about finding love. What am I even talking about? Love? Last night wasn’t love. Last night was hot, messy sex—or it would have been if I hadn’t lost my chance and fallen asle ep. No, I need to nip this in the bud. Priority number one is getting another job, hiring a lawyer for my grandparents, and making sure Emma and I can ke ep ahead of our rent and bills. The fastest way to do that is to call Leif’s mother and make sure she hires me. Anything beyond that is on the back burner. Ergo, spending time with Leif is a Bad Idea. Groaning, I slump against the wall and drop my head into my hands. I don’t lift my gaze until I hear Emma approach. She stands in front of me and clears her throat. I peek through my fingers at her. “What?” “‘Out with friends?’ Isn’t that what you said?” She crosses her arms. “I may be seventeen, but I’m not an idiot, Layla.” “Leif is a friend, and we were out.” “Uh-huh.” She scoffs. “Where can I get a friend like him?” “Nowhere until you’re at least eighteen. Or eighty.” Emma rolls her eyes. “Right.” “You should be studying. I need to shower. Then, thanks to you, Leif is giving me a ride back into the city. I could have had a nice, quiet subway ride. But no. My little sister wanted to stir things up.” She grins a devilish grin. “Yes. It is thanks to me, isn’t it?” “You’re evil.” “I’m a genius.” “An evil genius.” Emma laughs. “Go shower. But be careful—the showerhead is loose again. I used duct tape on it this morning, but I’m not sure it’ll hold.” “Wonderful. I’ll add that to the ever-growing list of problems. What I wouldn’t give for an apartment where the landlord actually fixes things that are broken.” “You can pretend you’re mad all you want, Layla, but I know you’re excited on the inside.”
I scowl. She’s right—and that’s the problem. “While you shower, I’ll choose your outfit,” she calls out, heading for my room. “I’m thinking sophisticated but sexy. You want to look like you’re trying but not too hard, you get me?” I roll my eyes and finally relent. “Nothing too risqué. He’s still my boss. Sort of.” “Don’t worry, Layla. I’m an evil genius, remember?” Throwing her a halfhearted glare, I pull out my phone to dial Mrs. Sorensen’s assistant’s number, then pause. “Hey, is my black lace bodysuit clean? You borrowed it last week, right?” I call out to my sister. “I’m going out with Joe tonight.” Silence answers back. After a beat, Emma appears in my bedroom doorway. “Joe? Did I hear that right? You said Joe? Not Leif?” I roll my eyes. “Leif was my boss up until yesterday, Layla.” “Which means today you could totally date him.” She arches both brows as if to say, duh! “I’m not discussing this with you.” “Joe is nice and all, but... Layla, come on. You talk about him like he’s a weird cousin you have to endure at family reunions.” I blink at my sister, then huff a laugh. “Where do you come up with this shit, Emma?” “Me? You’re the one who’s going on a date with a man you feel precisely zero sexual attraction to. But sure, I’m the one who’s talking crazy.” “Is the bodysuit clean or not?” “Yes, it’s clean and hung up in your closet.” She crosses her arms. “I’m probably going to spend the night in the library tonight, so feel free to bring Joe back here after your date.” Despite my best efforts at ke eping my face steady, I rear back as my lips curl. The thought of me and Joe... here... in my bed... “See?” Emma’s sass is bone de ep as she purses her lips. “Weird cousin vibes. You’re not into him at all.” Yeah, because he’s not Leif. “I’m not talking about this. I have to call Mrs. Sorensen’s assistant back.” “Whatever.” Emma disappears in my room again. I push the thought of Joe and me getting intimate to a corner of my mind labeled Destroy ASAP and dial the number for Mrs. Sorensen’s assistant, Patty. She answers on the first ring. “Layla,” Patty says without preamble. “Thank you for returning my text.” “Of course. What can I do for you? You mentioned an event for Mrs. Sorensen?” “She and Mr. Sorensen are celebrating their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary next month. She’d like to meet to discuss hiring you to plan the event. Are you free later today?” I stand up straighter. “I—yes—of course—I’m not”—I take a de ep breath—“I have the final party cleanup to do at her son’s place, but I’ll be free any time after two o’clock.” “Perfect. I’ll send a car to Mr. Sorensen’s house to pick you up at a quarter past two.” She hangs up, and I just stare at my phone.
Emma pokes her head out from my bedroom. “Twenty percent of expenses, Layla,” she says. “Trust me.” I let out a huffing laugh, shake my head, and walk to the bathroom to get ready. Looks like my crazy week isn’t about to slow down anytime soon.