Beneath the Boss: Omnibus (The Complete Collection) (2 page)

A bolt of irritation shot through him.

“I’m glad I amuse you.”

“Leighton, you’re a businessman not a person stylist. And do you ask all of your employees about their wardrobes? If so, tell me now so I can contact legal because that’s way out of bounds.”

“Psh. You’re not just an employee. I trust you with a variety of matters vital to this company, and it’s totally reasonable that I have—”

“Never mind,” she said, cutting him off, her laughter fading. “Not that it’s your business, but I wear what
I
want, so feel free to never mention this again, okay? I’ll welcome Smythe when he arrives.”

And with that, she left.

••••

A
s Leighton entered the main conference room, the sound of laughter and pleased voices met him. Layla sat with Anson Smythe, and from the look of things, they were having a ball getting acquainted. Anger twisted in his gut. He loathed that weasel Smythe and was looking forward to taking his business. He hadn’t told Layla, didn’t think she’d approve of what he had in mind, but maybe he should have warned her to stay away. He didn’t want her too attached because there wouldn’t be anything left when he was done.

He refocused on the scene playing out before him, Layla and Smythe standing close, her hands clasped in his, happiness apparent on her face. Another jolt of anger flashed through him. It wasn’t right. Smythe was old enough to be Layla’s grandfather. And her, acting so pleased and familiar with a competitor. He almost saw red, but didn’t say anything. Layla must have seen him from the corner of her eye because she turned and, with a smile on her face, started to say, “Leighton, Mr. Smythe is—”

She stopped short, and he imagined she saw the anger that surely covered his face.

After a moment, she forged on. “As I was saying, Mr. Smythe has arrived. We were just discussing the annual charity fund—”

“That will be all, Layla,” he said.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ll take it from here. Make sure we’re not disturbed and be in my office by two. I have other matters I’d like to discuss.” He looked at Smythe.

“Very well, Mr. Means,” she said, the formality of her words in no way masking the strain in her tone.

••••

L
ayla went to her office and seethed. He’d dismissed her! Hadn’t even bothered to pretend it was anything else. She’d put up with a lot from Leighton Means, but outright disrespect...
Ugh
. She could have a temper, but felt justified in this case. She did a damn good job, poured her heart and soul into his company, into him, and this was how he repaid her. Some of thoughts she’d tried to suppress started creeping up. Smythe had mentioned an opportunity for her, something he thought she’d be perfect for. She’d started to dismiss it out of hand, but Smythe had stopped her, telling her they’d discuss it later.

Layla had had offers before and had always turned them down, but lately, she’d started to wonder. She owed Leighton so much, but she had dreams, dreams it was increasingly clear she wouldn’t be able to fulfill with him. Leighton had always been gruff and maybe a little careless with the feelings of others but mix in the sexual attraction that was growing daily and then this latest dig, and she didn’t know if her position was sustainable.

She sat down, tried to focus, and managed to get a couple of hours of work in before the
ding
of her e-mail alert grabbed her attention. It was a note from Smythe, regretting that they couldn’t talk more and asking if she’d like to continue the conversation at dinner this evening.

Layla didn’t hesitate to reply yes.

L
eighton’s meeting with Smythe had been fruitful. The old man knew Leighton had him cornered, and now it was simply a matter of giving him time to come to grips with the inevitable. Leighton had wanted this for years, had spent more time, money, and energy chasing Smythe’s small, and ultimately inconsequential business, than was sane. But he’d made a promise, and he intended to keep it.

He wasn’t as happy as he’d expected, though. He’d been distracted during the meeting, the sound of Layla’s voice and the anger and hurt in her eyes haunting him.

“Enter,” he responded at the sound of a soft knock at his office door and was surprised when Layla walked in. She’d schooled her features to hide any trace of emotion and maintained the professional facade that made her such a valuable asset. As she settled into the chair across from his desk, Leighton was unable to get a sense of what she was feeling.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Means?” Her tone was saccharine-sweet, and she didn’t meet his eyes.

Ah, so they were here now, Layla playing the respectful, distant employee. He wouldn’t stand for it.

“Drop the act. We have business to discuss, and I need you on your game.”

“Act, Mr. Means?” She pinned him with a wide-eyed, innocent look that he didn’t buy for a second. “I don’t understand.”

“Jesus, Layla. Don’t be such a baby.”

That hit landed. He saw the spark in her eyes, the first hint of the real Layla he’d seen. But she quickly covered it, slammed that blank mask back into place.

“Mr. Means,” she said, her tone that same sickly sweet, totally not Layla sound that he was beginning to hate, “I think we’re having a misunderstanding. I’m not quite clear what you’re referring to, but I have a number of tasks I need to complete this afternoon, so if we could proceed?”

A stab of irritation shot through him, and the slight tilt of her furrowed brow made it clear she knew exactly what she was doing. He considered telling her his plan, even, God forbid, explaining why he’d been so terse earlier, but he decided against it. She was his employee, and ultimately, his choices, including who did and did not attend a given meeting, weren’t her concern. She’d get over this little upset. But maybe he could placate her a bit.

“Make reservations for La Vie tonight,” he said. He knew how much she loved the filet at the quaint bistro.

“For how many?”

“Just the two of us. We can go over some numbers while we eat.”

“Sorry. Can’t make it. I have plans this evening.”

He huffed. “Reschedule.”

“That’s not possible. Now what did you want to see me about, sir?”

The subject was closed.

She hadn’t ever done anything like this before, denied him anything.

Leighton wondered if he should be worried.

“I
have to admit, my dear, I was surprised when you agreed to join me,” Smythe said.

“Me, too,” Layla admitted.

That earned her a smile.

“So why did you?” he asked, his curiosity clear in his cerulean-blue eyes.

“Why not? It never hurts to listen.”

He didn’t look convinced. “I’d thought it was something else, that you’d finally seen what’s apparent to everyone in the business community.”

“And what’s that?” she asked, feeling a bit on edge at Smythe’s insinuations, but intrigued nonetheless.

“You’ve reached your peak with Means, and if you don’t make a move, you’ll never get anywhere. And time is running out.”

“A frank answer, Mr. Smythe.”

“Call me Anson, and I prefer to be direct. I’m too old for anything else.”

“So, be direct. Why am I here?”

“I want you to work for me.”

Layla had known what was coming, but she still found herself surprised.

“Why?”

“You’re amazing at what you do, and unlike the rest of us heartless bastards, you’re a good person.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Since when has that mattered in finance?”

“My point exactly. It doesn’t, never has, and I accept my responsibility for contributing to that, but I want do something different, and I think you can help.”

Layla’s interest was sparked, and rising excitement began to thrum through her. Smythe didn’t miss her response and gave her slight nod.

“Yes, Layla, I want to do it. I want to invest in a microfinance fund, and I want you to manage it.”

She couldn’t believe it. She’d kicked around the idea in her head, put out some tentative feelers, but the response had been tepid at best. While micro-financing helped small businesses and communities, it wasn’t sexy, and most importantly, didn’t produce gaudy profits, so big-time investors weren’t interested. Which raised a question.

“And why are you interested, Anson? There’s not really any money to be made and no prestige at all.”

“I’ve made enough money to last a thousand lifetimes, and whatever’s left of me when Means is done will be enough to support a nice-sized fund. I want you to run it.”

“What do you mean ‘when Means is done’?”

Awareness buzzed through her, and she knew he was there before he spoke.

“Yes, Smythe, what do you mean?” Leighton asked.

L
eighton looked back and forth between them, Layla looking like a kid caught with her hand in a cookie jar and Smythe as stiff, smug, and proper as ever.

“Won’t you join us, Leighton? Your colleague and I were just discussing the most interesting subject.”

“Which is?”

“I’ve offered Ms. Grayson a job.”

Leighton felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He looked at Layla, but she glanced around, nervously wiped her hands on her skirt—Layla was wearing a skirt?—and wouldn’t look at him.

He kept his eyes on Layla. “Smythe, lying is beneath you. Layla is my most-trusted employee. She knows how much I value loyalty, and she would never, ever, betray me by meeting with a competitor in a restaurant frequented by the city’s business elite to discuss another job.” His voice was a low growl by the time he finished.

She still refused to meet his gaze, and as the moment stretched, a wave of emotions, rage first among equals, washed over him.

Smythe broke the silence. “I can see you two have things to discuss, so I’ll leave you to it. Ms. Grayson, please consider what I’ve said.”

She looked up, then gave Smythe a nod and smile, still warm toward him despite the circumstances. “I’ll be in touch, Anson. Thank you.”

Anson
.

Her use of his first name and the friendly tone ripped through him like a stab. Smythe walked away, and Leighton calmed a bit. He was overreacting. Smythe was playing at something and using Layla to get to him. Yes, that was it. He sat down in Smythe’s vacated seat, relief filling him. Once he got Layla up to speed, she’d see Smythe’s ploy for what it was. And he’d keep a better eye out for poachers. Smythe was smart; his ability to stay afloat for as long as he had was a testament to that. But he’d crossed the line with Layla, and for that he would pay dearly.

Settled now, he decided there was no point in wasting a good reservation. He was famished and had intended to grab a quick bite, when he’d noticed Layla and Smythe.

“Might as well have dinner since we’re here. And I need to talk—”

“Leighton, I’m taking the job.”

T
he tension radiated off him in waves. To the untrained eye, he seem as he always did, cool, controlled, but Layla knew different. The years had given her insight, and she could see the way he gripped his phone a little tighter than usual, the slightly harsher set of his mouth, the flinty-steel color of his eyes the biggest clue that he was barely holding on to his control, and somewhere, deep under the anger, a flash of betrayal and hurt that cut her to her core.

After her pronouncement, he’d cut dinner short, and once he’d ordered her to ride back to the office in his limo, hadn’t said another word. Silence reigned through the excruciating ride, and Layla’s nerves were on edge. Her announcement had been...inelegant, but the day’s events had only proven the necessity of the move. She’d always be grateful, but she simply couldn’t do this anymore.

She looked away from Leighton and at the city streets as the limo wove through downtown Dallas, trying to grasp how they’d ended up here. When he’d taken over the company, Leighton had seen promise in her and had given her more and more opportunities, trusted her to do a good a job. When he’d found out she wanted to go to college, he’d worked around her schedule and insisted she put school first.

And then, when the worst had happened, he’d shown her compassion that had made her see him in a new light.

She still remembered how devastated she’d been when her mother had gotten the diagnosis. Pancreatic cancer. Grave prognosis.
“We should be thinking weeks and months, not months and years,”
the oncologist had said. She’d been stunned, numb. Her mother had been her world, her rock, and the idea of her dying was totally inconceivable.

She’d gone to work the next day, her mother had insisted, and Leighton had known something was wrong. She’d tried to keep it in, hadn’t wanted to be a burden, but the words, and the tears, had come tumbling out. He’d sat next to her in his office and listened to her story.

“Go be with her,” he’d said when she’d finished.

“Um, okay. But we have Rodgers today and—”

“No, Layla. Go be with her for as long as it takes. I’ll take care of everything.”

And he had.

He’d hired specialists, made available every cutting-edge treatment imaginable. Her mother always had been a fighter, and with Leighton’s help, she’d made it eighteen months. The hardest and best eighteen months of Layla’s life. Layla had thought she was prepared, but the end had still crushed her, the one light in that devastating pain the fact that she’d gotten the extra time, had had a chance to show her mother how much she loved her.

And now she was going to turn her back on the man who had made it possible.

The limo eased to a stop, and she grabbed her bag and jumped out of the car, intending to head straight home.

“Come to my office in fifteen minuets, Layla.” He spoke the words without looking at her and walked off, his intent that she follow clear.

••••

L
eighton hoped fifteen minutes would be enough. Rage thrummed through his body, seemingly in time with the beat of his heart, and he needed to compose himself or he might say—or do—something he’d regret. He was enraged that Layla sought to betray him, but even still, she was a useful asset, and he’d play nice if it would change her mind. This was a new circumstance for Leighton. He never played nice, but he’d do it for her, no matter how irritating.