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“She’s been such a good influence. I mean, I have bedtime now. Just ask Luke; he’s so mad that I rarely go out anymore.” I laugh, and they join me. “Home is where she is; man, I can’t lie. I feel like a different man.” I shrug as they take turns clasping my shoulder.
“I knew that hit piece was bullshit,” Berkowitz says to Smitty. “I told you. Our man’s on the straight and narrow.”
“How long have you guys been together?” Wight’s brown eyes narrow. He’s always suspicious that everything's a game.
“Long enough,” I say with a tight smile.
Wight looks like he wants to ask more questions, so I shut him up. The drink must have given Layla some liquid courage because her facial features were relaxed, and she had a slight smile.
It’s now or never.
“Long enough to do this,” I say loud enough for them to hear.
I get on one knee and fetch the crystal red box from my pocket.
“Oh, my!” Layla gasps as her hand flies to her mouth. “Oh, my God!”
“Ugh!” I hear and ignore Suzy.
The board members gasp and smile ear to ear as I open the box, and a diamond ring emerges. Layla’s eyes are on me; her shock is real—but not for the reasons the board members think. I wonder how she’ll attack me later when we’re alone.
“You make me want to be better—for you and Ruby, and I want that to last forever.”
“Go, man!” Berkowitz cheers as he finishes his drink and grabs another from a passing server.
The camerapersons for the event gather around us, snapping away. The opulent ballroom is at a standstill as everyone watches us. Layla sets her purse on the bar’s countertop, her other hand remaining on her mouth.
“Tristan—”
“Layla, will you make me the happiest man on earth and marry me?” I hold out the diamond ring in my fingers. It catches the light, and I can feel everyone's eyes on it.
There is a pause before Layla shoots her hand forward with a smile and a resounding yes. Applause and cheers fill the room as I slide the ring on her finger and stand up to kiss her. My hand rests on the small of her back as I taste the champagne on her tongue.
Her taste and the taste of the champagne intoxicate me as I kiss her longer, exploring her mouth as the cheers increase.
I see Luke in the distance when we finally pull apart amidst the cheers. He’s wearing a tuxedo similar to mine but with a black shirt instead of my white one. I smile at him, but he doesn’t return it.
Then I notice he isn’t looking at me. He’s looking at Layla, and his face turns sour.
Chapter thirteen
Layla
The ring feels weird around my finger. It’s all I can think about as Tristan and I ride the elevator to the penthouse suite of the Blanco Hotel, where he lives in New York. I look subtly at Tristan, whose back is against one of the elevator's mirrored walls.
Okay, maybe the ring isn’t the only thing I think about. It must be the wine I drank at the party, but I’m still buzzing from the proposal and how real it felt at the moment. Tristan isn’t looking at me. He’s on his phone, fingers flying across the screen, texting God knows who.
The silence in the elevator is too loud for me, so I think of what to say to get my mind off the fact that we’re going to be spending the night alone together.
“So, we’ll return to New Brooks in the morning, right?” I clutch my purse, the wedding band rocking against the fabric. “The storm should’ve passed by then, right?”
Tristan looks up from his phone just as the elevator dings. His eyes narrow as a small smile plays on his lips. “I control a lot of things, Layla. The weather isn’t one of them. The storm grounded my jet, so all we can do is wait, okay?”
I nod, my ankles aching from the heels I’d worn all night. Tristan steps out of the elevator, and I follow behind him. We cross the small, opulent lounge, and he opens a door with a keycard as I wait impatiently for him. I need to get out of these heels.
The door opens, and we step in, and my breath catches in my lungs as we enter his apartment. I thought the mansion in New Brooks was a bit much, but this… this is something else.
“Make yourself at home,” Tristan says, dropping his keys onto a marble tray by the door.
