“Could you bury the phrase ‘school-break sexcapade’?”
Aster grinned and headed back to her room. She had a big day ahead, an important interview with Trena Moretti to prepare for. While she wasn’t sure she was ready, it was important to move quickly. It was just a matter of time before the press learned she was out on bail, and once that happened she’d be hounded worse than any A-list celebrity.
“Order me a kale salad,” she called over her shoulder, desperate to eat something healthy after all the starchy food she’d choked down in jail. Then, thinking if there ever was a time to indulge in a treat it was now, she added, “Oh, and make sure to get some truffle fries on the side. I’m going to take a quick shower, a very quick shower. So don’t get too comfortable while I’m away.”
ELEVEN
RUDE BOY
“Oh, Layla, you’re back. Tell me, did you enjoy your day off?”
Layla stared at the coffeepot, waiting for it to finish brewing so she could get away from Emerson and back to her cubicle. She should’ve stopped by Intelligentsia to secure her caffeine fix on the way over like she usually did, but she’d woken up late and this was the price for hitting the snooze button multiple times. As if bitter break-room coffee wasn’t punishment enough, she was now forced to deal with Emerson and whatever patronizing point he insisted on making.
“You do realize we work full days around here?”
She pressed her lips together, grasped the mug by its handle, and turned to leave.
“Since you didn’t return yesterday, I thought maybe you were in need of some guidance, someone to explain all the rules.”
He stood just before her, blocking the doorway. Short of plowing through him and knocking him flat to the ground, there was no way out. And his formidable six-foot-four-inch frame with its considerable muscle mass pretty much rendered that impossible. With looks like his, she was surprised he’d settled for a job in marketing when he could’ve just as easily been starring in some cheesy prime-time soap that required him to film most of his scenes shirtless with his pants unbuttoned just so . . .
The thought was enough to make a flush rise to her cheeks, and she fought to recover by narrowing her gaze on his and speaking through gritted teeth. “Unless you plan on reciting the Unrivaled Employee Handbook, I really need to get back to my desk. We have a party to plan, in case you’ve forgotten.”
He leaned against the door frame, regarding her with his deep-topaz stare. “Do you have the final list of confirmed vendors?”
The urge to roll her eyes was strong, but she somehow resisted. Of course she had the list. She’d stayed up half the night working on the event to make up for blowing off the better part of the workday to hang with Tommy. She nodded curtly, sipped from her coffee, and waited for him to move out of her way.
“Good. Then that means you can sort through the boxes of gift suite contenders I placed on your desk.”
Layla fought to keep her face neutral. She hadn’t bothered to stop by her desk, since her first priority was to secure a large mug of coffee. She could only imagine the mess she’d find once she got there.
“It should take you the better part of the day, so no cutting out early, I’m afraid.” Emerson grinned in a way that highlighted just how good-looking he was, which only served to annoy Layla more. Before Mateo, Layla had made it a point to avoid the overly pretty types, determining that they were too vain, too narcissistic, and took themselves far too seriously to be any fun. But Mateo was different. Even though he was stop-and-stare gorgeous, most of the time he seemed entirely unaware of the fuss that surrounded him.
Just thinking about Mateo left Layla glum. Mateo was practically perfect, and yet he still hadn’t been enough for her. Maybe Layla didn’t know how to be happy. Maybe she was one of those people, like her mom, living a bottomless life—always seeking, always consuming, but never filling up or seeing the value in what they’d left behind. Not that she was currently speaking to her mom, but the description certainly fit, and from what she’d heard, there was trouble in paradise. Husband number two was still wealthy as ever (which was what attracted her mom in the first place), but apparently he had a wandering eye. Which came as no surprise, seeing as how he was married when the two of them met. If they’ll do it with you, they’ll do it to you was the thought that first sprang to mind. But when Layla applied it to her own life, she was no longer feeling so smug.
“Anything else?” She forced her face into an expression she hoped could be read as both amenable and dismissive.
“Just so we’re clear, you’re accountable here. There’s a hundred other people—people who are far more qualified than you—who would kill to have your job, and who also, I’m not gonna lie, are far more deserving of the position.”
Layla blinked and sipped, sipped and blinked. She wouldn’t give him the benefit of a reply.
“What I’m wondering is how exactly you ended up here when you’re so clearly out of your league.”
“I slept with Ira,” she said without irony.
When Emerson rolled his eyes, Layla didn’t know whether to be relieved or offended by how easily he’d dismissed the idea. “Just know that I’m watching you,” he snapped.
“Then I’ll try to be at my most entertaining.” Layla smirked.
Though he let her have the last word, his gaze held hers for so long Layla struggled not to fidget or be the first to look away. It was a play for dominance if she’d ever seen one. Emerson was determined to prove himself as the office alpha. As far as she was concerned, he could have it. Layla wasn’t looking to climb the Unrivaled corporate ladder. It was her first week on the job, and she could honestly say she pretty much hated marketing and all it entailed.
Emerson was right: she was unqualified, inexperienced, and she probably didn’t deserve to be taking up space and collecting a paycheck. But for whatever reason, Ira had hired her and she had accepted, and now that she was there, her goal was the same as it ever was—to save enough money to move to New York and enroll in journalism school. She was one year away from her dream, and with the way things were going, that day would not come soon enough.
She returned to a desk that was practically sagging under the weight of so many boxes of gift suite hopefuls she stared in dismay, wondering how she could possibly get through it all in the course of a single workday. Like any good capitalist, Ira had decided to exploit all the drama and attention surrounding Madison’s disappearance and the connection to his clubs to promote his latest venture into top-shelf tequila by moving the launch date up several months. Which essentially meant that Layla had arrived in the marketing department at the very worst, most frenzied time.
It also went a long way toward explaining how Ira had come to hire her in the first place. Ira was always working an angle. There were no accidents where he was concerned. Not only did he need all the help he could get to make the party a success, but Layla also had to admit, however reluctantly, that Tommy had been right all along—the popularity of her blog played a big part in Ira’s decision to keep her around long after he should’ve fired her.
Resigned, she sank onto her chair, grabbed a pair of scissors, and started opening boxes stuffed with generous offerings of expensive designer fragrances, scented candles, wireless headphones, gift certificates offering sessions with personal trainers and house calls from nutritionists. It was her job to determine if the celebrity guests who were allowed access to the gift suite would be more excited over the offer for free laser skin resurfacing or the exclusive, all-expenses-paid Mexican Riviera getaway. It was ridiculous how much free stuff was showered on the very people who could most afford it, while their legions of fans went into crippling credit card debt in an effort to emulate them.