Page 10 of Layla

Her eyes narrow and I can tell she’s getting more pissed by the second. That’s fine—I’m feeling pretty pissed myself. When she speaks, her teeth are clenched so tightly she can barely get the words out.

“I thought I would take advantage of my last night of freedom—”

“I don’t remember saying anything about the new protocol starting tomorrow.”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“No. Not in the slightest.”

She glares up at me for a long moment. “What are you even doing here?”

I gesture back at her door. “You remember that meeting we had? An hour ago?”

She takes a step back, her mouth opening and closing a few times, and I get the sense she’s trying not to slap me. That shouldn’t make me smile, but it does.

“Do you always talk to your clients this way?”

I shrug. “When they don’t listen to me, yes.” I pull out my cell phone and hold up the screen so she can see that there are no new calls. “And since you’ve left your room, alone, at night, without calling me, it’s pretty clear you aren’t listening to me.”

She throws up her arms. “I didn’t think you were starting work tonight. I figured you’d be back home packing or something.”

“I apologize for any misunderstanding,” I say, and this time it’s my teeth that are clenched. “Let’s clear it up—I started work the moment I left Louis’s office earlier this evening. If you need to leave your room, for any reason, I am at your disposal.” I wave the phone around. “You have my number.” I gesture at the door behind me. “And I’m right next door.”

Her eyes widen. “You’re sleeping in the next room?”

“I’ll be in the room next to you in every hotel we visit. That’s protocol.”

“That’s ridiculous! I’m entitled to a minimum of privacy—”

“Do you know how that last letter was delivered?” I ask, my voice low. I take a step towards her, wanting to make sure she understands this. “It wasn’t mailed to the label, like the others. It was put under Louis’s door in Kansas City.”

Her eyes go wide. “It…what?”

I nod. “We got lucky—it looks like the suspect thought it was your room. But the fact is, he was able to get up onto your floor, Miss Perry. A floor which is supposed to be strictly restricted. He was mere feet away from you when he left that letter.”

Her eyes are popping out of her head now and when she responds, her voice is barely a whisper. “Why didn’t Louis tell me that?”

Looking down at her face, I realize that for all her earlier anger, she’s scared now. No, not scared. She’sterrified. “Because he didn’t want to scare you,” I mutter, feeling like an absolute asshole. I’d done a fantastic job of doing that myself.

I try to gentle my stance and my expression. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.” Her breath is coming in sharp gasps, her eyes darting around the corridor like she’s afraid the asshole is lurking somewhere, and my guilt intensifies. “Miss Perry.” I touch her arm. “Let’s go get that drink.”

She stares up at me with those wide, scared eyes for a long moment. Finally, she nods. “I could use one,” she mutters.

Our elevator ride is silent. Layla is still looking freaked out and I can’t believe I was such a shit to her. I had let her get under my skin and I lashed out, wanting to break that rebellious expression on her face. Instead I terrified her.Good move, ass.

The bar downstairs is practically empty as close as we are to last call. Layla walks straight to the counter and I avert my eyes from her long legs in those tight jeans as she pulls herself up on one of the leather stools.

I can see the moment the bartender catches sight of her. His eyebrows go up in interest, a predatory grin spreading across his face. I have to clench my hands under the counter to keep myself from grabbing him by the collar and shaking the hell out of him. “What are you having, darling?” he asks, his eyes flickering up and down Layla’s body in a way that sets my teeth on edge.

“Gin and tonic,” she says, not returning his flirty glance. I clear my throat and the guy looks over at me, the smile dropping off his face as I slide just an inch closer to her stool. “Diet Coke.”

The guy nods and heads off to get the drinks and Layla looks up at me. “You’re going to make me drink on my own?”

“I try not to drink when I’m working.” And I obviously need to do a better job of keeping my wits about me with this girl. I don’t know what it is about Layla, but she gets to me. And I can’t let my reaction to her get in the way of me doing my job.

The bartender returns with our drinks and I give him my room number for the charge. “I can get—”

“You’re not to give out your room number,” I mutter. “Even to staff. Remember that, please.”