She closed her eyes. Shame coupled with a growing knot of anger threatened to suffocate her. This whole night was an illusion.
Layla needed to leave.Now. She couldn’t risk Brant seeing her. Surely her emotions were written all over her face.
Cheery holiday music taunted her as she left the bathroom and cut through the kitchen, following the long hallway to the coatroom. She retrieved her coat, not chancing a look behind her as she hurried to the side door and pushed it open.
Outside, the frigid air seared her lungs. She gathered up a fistful of her dress and hurried down the brick walkway to her cottage on the back lawn. What a fool she was. Layla had read him right the first time they’d met. So untrustworthy. And now that she’d let her guard down, look what happened. Those dimples and sweet words were like poison, and she’d willingly gobbled it up. Obligation was the only reason Brant had brought her tonight. To think she imagined he might feel something for her was naive. Silly.
Layla unlocked the door and slammed it behind her. She paced the room like a caged animal, hurt and confusion flowing through her. She’d never be able to sleep tonight. Outside, the moon was full. It was a clear night too. She could pack her things and be in her car in ten minutes.
Wait—no. She didn’t have a car.
She’d come withhim.
Layla sat on the bed and buried her face in her hands. She was too angry to cry. Brant wasn’t worth the tears anyway. She looked down at the tight shoes pinching her feet and kicked them off. One landed a few feet away. The other whirled across the room and hit the wall with a satisfying thud.
She stiffened when a faint vibration caught her attention. Her phone. She’d dumped her clutch on the floor by the door. It lay partially hidden underneath the armoire. Layla crossed the room, unzipped it, and found her phone.
It was Brant.
She stared at his name as it scrolled across her screen.
Talking to him now was out of the question. She just…couldn’t.
A minute later, her phone dinged with a voicemail. Brant asking where she’d disappeared to, no doubt.
Maybe it was cowardly to not answer his call, but what did she owe him after what she’d overheard?
Her fingers flew as she typed a text message.Not feeling well. I’m in for the night.
She waited on the blinking dots that told her he was replying.
I’m sorry. Too many lobster hush puppies?He ended it with a sad face emoji.
She stuffed the phone into her bag without replying. It was all a big joke to him. Since she was his mistake date anyway, he wouldn’t miss her at the party. Let him network to his heart’s desire. Their kiss was just a bonus for him. He probably congratulated himself on finally winning her over.
Her phone dinged again inside the bag. She scowled at it before stuffing the bag into her suitcase, wrapping it inside her sweater. Then she zipped the suitcase and hid it in the closet.
Layla slipped under the covers, still dressed in her party clothes, and stared at the moon through the window. She dreaded the ride home tomorrow. It would be a miserable two hours. But she’d have to suffer through it if it meant she was two hours closer to a permanent goodbye.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Brant stared at the empty voicemail icon on his phone. Puzzled, he pushed the phone to the corner of his desk and tried to focus on the document in front of him. After two minutes of staring at his computer screen, he sighed. Outside flurries skittered across the street.
“That’s the fifth time I’ve heard you sigh in five minutes. Troubles?”
He turned in his swivel chair, kicking up his feet onto the desk. Across the room, Joan rested her chin in her hand, waiting.
“Maybe it’s the working-from-home thing. I can’t concentrate.”
The makeshift office was actually his second bedroom. The window above his desk looked out onto Waterford Boulevard, and the comings and goings of his neighbors were a tiresome distraction. Since deciding to wait until after the holidays to find a permanent place for his company, he’d reluctantly settled into running the business from home. Joan kept him busy looking at links to commercial properties around the Twin Cities. He wasn’t sold on staying in the city, but he’d definitely ditched the impractical notion of taking his business to Chicago or anywhere else. It didn’t have anything to do with Joan threatening to sabotage his financial records before he moved away. It was Joan’s way of letting him know how much she appreciated working for him by giving him these worst-case scenarios every so often with a twinkle in her eye.
“Now tell me the truth,” she said.
When he glanced at her, she cocked her eyebrow.
“It’s nothing.”
“Oh, it’s not nothing,” she said. “Unless nothing also goes by the name of Layla.”
