Chapter 26
I pulled up outside Layla’s apartment building at exactly 8:25. Right on time, I wasn’t trying to look desperate even though I definitely was. Killing the engine, I stepped out, taking a slow glance around.
I didn’t like this neighborhood. Not one bit.
Dim streetlights, cracked sidewalks, a couple of guys loitering too close to the entrance. The whole place felt like the kind of area where crime reports didn’t make it past the first page of a newspaper, I clenched my jaw, making a mental note to look into the crime levels here later.
She shouldn’t be living here,
time.
I shut the car door and headed inside, taking the stairs two at a time. Her apartment was on the third floor, and I made it there just in ti
8:30 on the dot. I knocked, waited. Nothing. I knocked again, sharper this time. Footsteps. Then the door cracked open just a sliver, just enough for me to see her narrowed eyes peeking through. She opened it further, looking up at me with a mix of surprise and suspicion.
Crest? How do you know my apartment?” she asked, crossing her arms. “I mean, the building is one thing, but the exact house? That’s stalker behavior.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
My brain short–circuited the moment I took her in.
That dress. Fuck.
Deep red, hugging every single curve, stopping just above her knees, sleek and tempting. Silver heels that made her legs look longer, more sinful. Her makeup was subtle, soft emphasis on those sharp blue eyes, lips painted the perfect shade to make a man think about kissing her, which I was. And her hair… Shiny, blonde waves that framed her face and cascaded over her shoulders like something out of a goddamn fantasy.
I’d forgotten how to speak
She noticed and frowned, shifting slightly, eyes locking with mine. It hit me then, she could see it. The look in my eyes, the thoughts in my head. My stare was blatant, filthy.
She exhaled, exasperated. “What?”
My voice came out lower, rougher than I intended. “I thought we agreed, no fucking tonight. So why the hell are you making things harder for me?
She scoffed and turned, walking back into the apartment, leaving the door open.
I followed, slower, my eyes taking in everything.
I was in her space.
And it was exactly what I’d imagined.. bold, edgy, unpredictable. Dark walls, mismatched but carefully curated furniture, shelves packed with books and little artistic pieces that looked bath vintage and personal. No sterile, magazine–perfect aesthetic, no meaningless decor just to fill space. It was lived in. It was her.
The opposite of my place.
My home wasn’t really a home. It was a penthouse with minimalist decor, white walls, gray furniture. Designed to impress, not to comfort.
I pulled my gaze from the room and saw her standing by a small hallway. “I’m grabbing my purse, then we can go,” she said over her shoulder before disappearing. I glanced around again, then spotted a framed photo sitting on a shell.
I walked over and picked it up. And I smiled.
There she was.
The Layla I first met, teenage version, full of wild energy, dressed in ripped jeans and a tank top, grinning wide on a bench. Next to her was a man recognized instantly, Jacob Ziggler. Older, bigger, his tattooed arm draped lazily around her shoulders as they laughed at something.
Footsteps.
I turned, watching as Layla walked back into the room. She glanced at the photo in my hands and stiffened slightly.
“My boss,” she said quickly.
Chapter 26
1 arched a brow. “I’m awa
She narrowed her eyes, shaking her head and saying something about me starting to really scare her, but I also caught the way she swallowed.
I smirked, placing the photo hack in its spot.
“Let’s go,” she said, exhaling like she was ready to be anywhere but here. I let her take the lead, watching as she reached for the door. Watching the way that dress moved against her body
