Piece by Piece Read online

  By the time I make it to work, I’m a sweaty hot mess. Thankfully, I brought my uniform rather than wore it, and some deodorant to freshen up. My first stop is the staff restroom and I do just that, before rushing to the break room to call the repair shop.

  * * *

  Tying my apron around my waist, I make sure I have a pen and my notepad. I’m surprised when I look up into the vibrant blue eyes of Owen.

  “Hey.” I give him an awkward wave. “I’m, uh… not used to you being here this early.”

  “What time do you get off?”

  Okay, no small talk. Got it. “Closing.”

  “You closed last night. It’s eleven now. That’s a twelve-hour shift.”

  “Can you honestly tell me you’ve never worked a twelve-hour shift?” I ask, my hands on my hips.

  “That’s different?”

  “Right,” I scoff. “Look, Owen, like I said last night, I’m a big girl. I can handle it. Maria needed the day off, and I offered to work for her. I can use the extra money,” I say, groaning internally. That last part slipped out. I didn’t mean to say it, but as with every time I’m around him, I tend to open my mouth and word vomit just happens.

  “Have you heard anything about your car?” he asks, ignoring everything I said.

  “No.” I sigh. “I had to wait until I got here to call.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t have a home phone or a cell phone.”

  “What? You can’t stay there alone without a phone.”

  “I’ve been fine the past seven years without one.”

  He inhales loudly. “Layla,” he says, exasperated.

  “Owen, table for one?” I ask him.

  “Fine,” he says through his teeth. I have to fight back my grin. Owen pissed off is kind of comical, especially since he has no merit. This is my life, and he has no say so. We’re not even friends, simply acquaintances. “Same table?” I ask.

  “No. Here is fine.” He walks to a table not far from the main entrance, that just so happens to be in my section.

  “What can I get for you?” I ask, pulling my order pad out of my pocket.

  “Grilled chicken sandwich and fries, sweet tea.” He hands me the menu. “Where did you have your car towed?”

  “Parker’s. I’ll be right out with your tea.” I don’t stick around for his reply. “Sexy, infuriating man,” I grumble, standing at the computer to enter his order.

  “Hey now, what did I do this time?” Oliver asks.

  “Not you.”

  “Come on, Layla. You know you want me.” He holds his arms open as if showing off his body.

  I will admit he’s easy on the eyes. He has shaggy blond hair, big brown eyes, and you can tell he takes care of his body. However, when he opens his mouth, it all goes to hell. He’s as conceited as they come, and spoiled. I like my men to have a little more depth. Not that there have been many men in my life. I’ve dated here and there, but nothing serious. I work all the time to survive, and that’s not conducive to a social life. I’m better off. There are some crazy people out there. I’ve dated a few and luckily dodge further dates.

  “Uh-huh.” I laugh at his antics. “You keep telling yourself that, buddy.”

  “Hey.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders. “We’d make a good team, you and me.”

  We’ve done this dance many times before. “Yep. Just like oil and water,” I say, and he throws his head back and laughs.

  “I’ll wear you down. Just you wait.” He grins and strolls toward the kitchen.

  Shaking my head, I grab the glass of tea I just made for Owen and head to his table. “Here you go.” I set the drink in front of him with a straw. “Your food will be right out.”

  “He your boyfriend?” he asks.

  “Who?”

  “Surfer boy.” He motions toward the kitchen.

  “Definitely not.” I laugh.

  “He know that?”

  “He’s very much aware that there is nothing between us other than being coworkers and there never will be. Not that it’s any of your business.” Turning on my heel, I walk away. I’m half tempted to let Oliver take over his table, but who knows what he would say to him. The lunch rush is slow today, and I’m grateful since I’ll be here until closing. Peering through the kitchen door, I see Linda, Ronnie’s wife, plating up his meal. They work opposite shifts most days, but it works for them. I grab another glass of tea, a few napkins, and a bottle of ketchup and place them on a tray. When Linda slides the plate through the window, I’m ready for her.

  “Thanks, Linda.”

  “You’re welcome, dear.” She smiles kindly and goes back to work.

  “Can I get you anything else?” I ask, setting everything from my tray on the table in front of him.

  “No.”

  That’s it, one word, short and to the point. I don’t bother to say anything else, already sensing he’s in a bad mood. I walk away and check on my other table. I ignore the fact that I can feel his eyes on me. It’s with extreme effort that I don’t look in his direction. When I drop off my other table’s meal, I walk toward him. “Leave any room for dessert?”

  “When is your next day off?” he asks, not bothering to answer my question.

  “What day is it?” I ask him.

  His brow furrows. “Thursday.”

  Mentally I pretend to go through my schedule in my head. “Tomorrow,” I say, trying to hide my relief. Today is a nine-day stretch for me, and my third double during that time.

  “Have dinner with me.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  He sits back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Explain.”

  “Why do I need to give you an explanation? I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Layla.”

  My name almost sounds like a warning rolling off his lips. “Owen,” I counter. I see the corner of his lip twitch.

  “I’ll be at your place around two.”

  “Why so early?” I ask, and he grins. Damn it.

  “I’ll be there at two, Layla.” He stands and tosses a few bills on the table.

  I don’t break eye contact when I say, “That’s too much.”

  He leans in close. So close I can smell his spicy cologne, feel his hot breath as it hits my ear. “My money, Layla.”

  Goose bumps break out on my skin. He’s lethal, with those eyes, and that deep voice, and his… commanding attitude. I should hate it. Hate him, but it has the opposite effect on me. It turns me on, and I hate that. I hate that my body betrays me, and I can’t seem to resist him. I want to tell him not to bother showing up, that I won’t be there, but we both know that would be a lie. I’ll be there, and I’ll be ready. Call it curiosity.

  I watch him until I can no longer see him. He’s like a tornado that has stormed into my life. He’s stubborn as hell, and his eyes give all new meaning to the phrase panty dropper. My gut tells me he’s trouble, but I’m still going to be ready to go with him tomorrow—wherever it is that he’s taking me. My life has zero fun, zero excitement. I work too much to have time for much of anything else. But I’m living on my own, have food on the table and a roof over my head. I do that all on my own. I never want to have to depend on anyone else to take care of me. That was how my mother lived her life and me by association. I never want to live that way again.

  The rest of my day drags on. I go through the motions, but my mind is on Owen and why he would want to have dinner with me. He’s seen where I live, where I work. He’s out of my league financially. And he’s being cryptic about being at my place at two. Dinner is not until five, at least. I know he’s not one to eat early. What could he possibly have planned?

  “Hey, Layla. I got a customer at the bar asking for you,” Mark, the bartender, tells me.

  “What?” What is going on in my life? I went from hiding in the shadows to being requested all the time. Surely, it’s not Owen. He’s already been here today.

&nbs
p; “Some guy asked me to have you stop and see him when you got time.”

  “Thanks, Mark. Let me get drinks for my table that just got seated, and I’ll be over.” The restaurant is pretty big. We have the VIP section in the back, our normal tables, and then another bar section. That consists of a long bar and several high-top tables. I never work the bar. I prefer to not deal with the drunk assholes. Give me the families and crying babies any day.

  I see him as soon as I turn the corner. He’s sitting at the bar, eyes glued to the television watching some sort of fight. Slowly, my feet carry me toward him. “Hey.” I place my hand on his shoulder to get his attention.

  He turns slightly in his seat, glancing over his shoulder. If I’m not mistaken, his eyes light up when he sees that it’s me. “Hey.” He sits up straight and turns fully to face me.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m your ride home.”

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “I had planned on splurging for an Uber. Some crazy guy keeps leaving me these outrageous tips.”

  He grins. “Yeah, sounds like a good one.”

  “Meh, the jury’s still out,” I say, barely containing my own smile.

  “I’ll be here,” he says. “Let me know when you’re ready to go.”

  “Owen,” I start, but the look on his face stops me. “Thank you,” I say, instead of the arguing. He nods and turns back around, eyes on the television.

  “Can I get you anything?” I ask, leaning in close so he can hear me.

  He turns his head, which puts us close, too close. Instinct tells me to pull away, but my body craves the way he’s looking at me—the way he makes me feel, yearning for his attention. “Just to get you home safe,” he says huskily.

  Swallowing hard, I nod and back away. Turning on my heel, I get back to work. Thankful that my tables are on the other side of the restaurant tonight. Just his presence alone is distracting; being able to see him as I serve my tables would be an even greater challenge.

  Chapter 5

  Owen

  I rented a car for today. I could have used the driver from the hotel, but something about spending the day, just the two of us appealed to me more. She appeals to me. There’s just something about her that pulls me in, makes me want to take care of her. She’s so open with her past, with her struggles, yet she has yet to throw herself at me.

  She has no idea who I am, and that just makes me want to get to know her even more. She knows I have money. I’ve been leaving her substantial tips since that first night. Sure, it’s a little over the top, but when I saw her limping and the state of her worn-out shoes, I knew she needed it. Then the next night, she was still wearing those tired shoes, but the sincerity in her thank you was profound.

  So, here I am, pulling into the parking lot of her rundown apartment building. As promised, the thugs I paid off the second night in a row are nowhere to be seen. I paid them a visit before going back to the hotel restaurant, waiting for her to get off work. My gut twisted as the car pulled away. This place really isn’t safe.

  “Hey,” she says, opening the door before I have a chance to knock.

  “Layla,” I greet her. “You ready for our day together?”

  “Do I look okay?” She looks down at her pink sundress and flip-flops. “I didn’t know what we were doing, you said dinner, but you’re here now, and I didn’t know what to wear, so is this okay?” she asks in a rush.

  Placing my index finger under her chin, I lift her gaze to mine. “You look beautiful. You have what you need?” I ask her, dropping my hand. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I don’t do this. I don’t date, not really. Sure, I have a beautiful woman on my arm for charity events and have been known to bring a companion home with me at the end of the night, but this… dinner dates, that’s not me.

  “Thank you,” she says shyly, a blush coating her cheeks. “Where are we going?”

  Placing my hand on the small of her back, I guide her to my rental. “We’re going shopping.”

  “Shopping?” she asks when I open the passenger door for her.

  “Yep.” I don’t give her any more information than that. Once she’s strapped in, I shut the door and rush around to the driver’s side.

  “Shopping for what?” she asks.

  “I need a few things. My stay has been extended.” I have what I need from the resort. However, I have yet to see the numbers. I called my brother Royce and let him know I was extending my stay. He’s so blissfully happy with his fiancée, Sawyer, he simply told me to have a good time. She’s good for him. It’s nice to see him happy again. He deserves it after what his ex did to him. I could have left yesterday like I was scheduled to do, but then I would have been leaving her, and I’m not ready for that just yet. I don’t know what this pull is, but I’m sticking around to find out. Besides, another week here on the white sandy beach isn’t exactly a hardship.

  “You’re here on business?” she asks. “I mean, I assumed since I’ve not seen you around before, but I wasn’t sure.”

  “Yes.”

  “What is it that you do?”

  “I’m a CFO. Chief Financial Officer,” I explain. “A friend of mine is looking to buy the hotel, and he asked me to come and check it out.”

  “Is the Emerald in trouble?” she asks, surprised.

  I nod. “They are. That’s why I’m here as a guest. Trying to see the flow of things, get an idea for the occupancy and amenities.”

  “It’s always full. We stay busy year-round. I mean, I know I’m in the restaurant, but the hotel is always busy.”

  “I can see that. What I’m not sure of is the reason for the financial hardship.”

  “What does that mean, will we be losing our jobs?” she asks hesitantly.

  “No. If my friend buys the hotel, it’s for an investment, not to shut it down.”

  “Will you tell me if it gets to that? I’ve been here for seven years, and it’s all I’ve ever really known.”

  “Your job is safe.” I reach over and give her knee a gentle squeeze, and it’s a mistake. The silky softness of her skin against my fingertips is not something I was prepared for. I know I should remove my hand, but I can’t seem to find the power to do so. Instead, I leave it there and stroke her soft skin with my thumb.

  “Okay,” she says softly.

  Glancing over, I see her eyes on my hand, and that her breathing is accelerated. She doesn’t ask me to move, nor does she try to move me herself. That’s all the invitation I need. The rest of the drive is quiet, and I’m thankful since all I can think about is getting her under me, wondering if she’s this soft everywhere. My money is on yes.

  “I’ve never been here,” she confesses as we pull into the local mall.

  “No? Where do you shop?” I ask her.

  “Walmart,” she says, her cheeks pinking.

  I don’t reply to that. How can I? Her struggles have me choked up. This beautiful, thoughtful woman deserves so much more than the life she’s been given. She meets me at the front of the car, and unable to help myself, I reach out and entwine her fingers with mine. It’s as if now that I’ve touched her soft skin, I need to be in physical contact with her all the time.

  “Where to first?” she asks. I can hear the nervousness in her voice. To my surprise, she doesn’t pull away.

  “We’ve got all day. You lead the way.”

  Her eyes light up. “What do you need?”

  “Shorts, shirts, shoes, the basics,” I tell her. In all honesty, I don’t need anything. The hotel has an excellent laundry service, and I’ve taken full advantage of it. I need to check out those services, so why not?

  “Here.” She pulls me into American Eagle, and straight to a rack of cargo shorts. She starts sifting through the racks.

  “I’ll grab a couple of pairs. Why don’t you go browse?” She hesitates but nods and walks away. I grab two pairs of khaki shorts in my size and stealthily watch her. She picks up a shirt and smiles, holds it to her, and t
hen she looks at the price tag, and the joy that was once present is now diminished. Little does she know this trip is more for her than me. Originally, it was to just buy her a pair of new shoes, but now… now I want to give her everything.

  She walks away, a few racks over. I move quickly, grabbing the shirt and placing it under the shorts in my arms. I watch her closely as she does the same thing with a pair of shorts. She digs through the pile to find her size, holds them up, and then shakes her head when she sees the price tag. Those too end up in my arms and under my shorts.

  “Hey, are you following me?” she asks, teasing.

  “Busted,” I say. No use in denying it. She’s going to find out soon enough.

  “Get what you needed?” she asks.

  “I did. Ready to check out?” She gives me a silent nod. “Why don’t you go scope out our next store while I hit this line?”

  “Sure,” she agrees quickly and walks toward the door.

  That was easier than I thought it would be, but I just wonder how long I can keep up the same spiel without her catching on?

  By the time we reach the shoe store, I’ve managed to buy her two pair of shorts, three shirts, a dress, and a necklace. In doing so, I also bought two pair of shorts, five shirts, and two pair of swim trunks for myself—all things I don’t need.

  “What kind of shoes do you need?” she asks.

  “Gym shoes, maybe some flip-flops. I didn’t pack any.”

  She throws her head back and laughs, the sound washing over me, making my body yearn for hers. “How do you travel to Florida and not pack swim trunks or flip-flops?” she asks.

  As the day goes on, she has grown more comfortable with me. “It’s a work trip,” I remind her.

  “It’s the beach,” she counters. “Besides, you’re doing this as a favor, right? Are you even getting paid?”