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FOURTEEN
GABRIEL
Minutes crept by at a snail’s pace while my heart hammered at twice the rate it should. From my doorstep, I stared down the dark driveway, waiting.
Once again, Layana was late.
The success of my company was effectively in the hands of an unfiltered free spirit who did whatever she wanted no matter the consequences. This was the biggest gamble of my professional career, and it left a sour taste in my mouth. It left my stomach twisted in knots and my need for order unsatisfied. Yet I had no other choice but to follow through.
Under any other circumstances, I would have gone back inside and written off the person who clearly did not respect my time. Under any other circumstances, I would never have set up this second meeting.
I hated that my hands were tied. I hated that I had no choice and no control.
Seven twelve.
The sound of thumping bass preceded a familiar sedan.
She was here. I wanted to feel relief. Instead, tension rippled across my shoulders.
Layana parked her car, twisted around, and crawled through the space between the seats. Her legs flailed a bit on the way. Once her legs disappeared, her head bobbed up. Then she threw open the back door and stepped out with all the confidence of a person who felt no shame.
Her tattered black jeans clung tightly to her legs. The v-neck of her long-sleeved white t-shirt cut down an inch too low. Peeks of skin were visible everywhere—distracting and inappropriate for a business meeting, which is what this was supposed to be.
With one arm filled with equipment and a blanket wrapped around her neck like a scarf, she shot a friendly wave in my direction with the other. The look in her icy blue eyes was anything but friendly.
I clenched my jaw.
She walked closer, swaying her hips with every step. I could feel my every muscle tightening.
“So glad you could finally make time in your busy schedule for me to do you this favor,” she said, the lilt of her voice jovial even though her words were sharp as vinegar.
“It’s not a favor when both parties benefit.”
“Of course it is. I’m providing you a service.”
“And I’m compensating you for it. Generously.” I pretended there was something on my sleeve and brushed it off, just to break free from that harsh glare. “Given the nature of our arrangement?—”
“And what nature is that exactly?”
“Business,” I said, meeting her gaze once more. What had been cold was now so hot it burned through my throat. “I expect you to arrive at the agreed-upon time.”
“I never agreed to any particular time.”
That caught me by surprise.
“You shot me a text out of the blue afterghosting me for two days,”she said. “You should be glad I showed up at all.”
She was right of course. I’d let our conversation drop without responding. Then she’d sent me another graphic picture the next morning and nothing more. I supposed I should be grateful she hadn’t sent one this morning as well.
Unable to help myself, I corrected, “It was closer to thirty-six hours than forty-eight.”
She flinched as if I’d slapped her.
“This way,” I said, without waiting for her retort.
I could feel her stalking after me as I headed toward the gardens.
“Given the nature of our arrangement,”she said in a mocking tone, “you must agree that ignoring business correspondence is unprofessional. A breach of contract even.”
