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“What?” I frown.
“Layla is pregnant, and I think it’s yours.”
Chapter thirty-one
Layla
“That’d be 16.45,” I say as I swipe the customer’s card.
She’s a blonde teen who won’t stop taking selfies on her phone. I pack her groceries into a white bag and hand it to her. She collects it without as much as a thank you and leaves, chattering on her phone like she’s angry with the person she’s sending the selfies to.
“You’re welcome,” I whisper as I pull out the cash register and start arranging the notes.
Once I sent proof of Luke’s betrayal to Tristan, I dumped my phone and bought plane tickets to Chicago. I used the little I had to get a small apartment in the slummy part of the city and spent my days job hunting.
I had a million bucks sitting in my account, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch it. I hadn’t earned it. I couldn’t, in good faith, spend it. I needed to make my way. So, working as a cashier was the next best thing. Just till I find something—
“You’ve been working here for two weeks now, and you still don’t know you should sign in when you show up?” Greg breaks my thought process in that condescending voice of his. “Johanna, if you weren’t so—” He looks down at my belly, “—so round, I’d fire your ass.”
“I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind. I promise I’ll do better.”
“I don’t want your excuses,” His raised voice draws the attention of some shoppers. “I want you to sign in when you come in. Shut up with the excuses.”
Pregnancy Brain is a thing. Usually, I’m not forgetful, but ever since the start of the second trimester, I’ve been—
“She said she was sorry.” I jump at the familiar voice, spilling the coins in the register. “So, what’s your problem?” The man continues.
Tristan.
“And who are you?” Greg’s overweight body shuffles forward. “I’m the manager, so I can afford to talk to my emp—”
“You’re fired, Greg.” Tristan reads his name off his nametag.
I stare at him, unable to believe he’s actually here. My heart skips many beats as I keep on staring at him. Did he cut his hair? It looks shorter. I clasp my hands around my belly as if my palms were enough to hide the bump from him.
“Fired?” Greg laughs, then looks confused. “Who the hell are you?”
“This is Smitty’s Mart, right?” Tristan cocks his head. “I’m in the right store?”
“Yes,” Greg glances at me, then looks back at Tristan. “You are, but I don’t understand how—”
“Yeah, I bought the store yesterday,” Tristan turns his phone to Greg. I see a headline with Tristan’s face about him purchasing the chain of stores. “So, as of right now, you work for me, Greg,” he says the name like an insult.
“Now, Mr. Jackson—” Greg starts, his voice way lower, “—wait a minute, we didn’t get off on the right foot, but I just—”
“Get out of here, or you’ll be carried out of here.” Tristan removes a lint from his brown sweatshirt. “It’s your choice.”
Greg says nothing more as he scampers away from us, muttering something about suing and injustice. I watch him leave, mostly because I can’t look at Tristan and can’t believe we’re in the same room again.
“Layla…”
I met his eyes as a thrill ran through me. No one had called me that in over a month. I didn’t know how much I missed him until he stood right in front of me, saying my name.
“What are you doing here?” I finally squeak the words out. “The last time we talked, you said you never wanted to see me again.” I shut the register with a bang that shocks even me.
“I’ve spent a lot of money and exhausted a lot of connections to find you, Layla.” Tristan sets his hand on the counter, his handsome face expressionless.
“I’m sorry you wasted so much money then,” I say dismissively.
