Layla had no business that day.
She had finished early for once — a rare, Damian-free afternoon. He had cancelled meetings for "personal reasons," something he never did. She hadn't asked why. Didn't want to.
The sun was going down, the August heat still wrapped around the streets like a blanket. She stopped at a café on Broome, bought herself an iced coffee, and stood at the crosswalk, waiting.
That's when a voice said behind her—
"Twice in one week. I'm beginning to think fate's got a thing for us."
She didn't need to turn to recognize it.
Luke Rashford.
She did turn, though — slowly — because it would be rude not to. He was dressed casual this time: dark jeans, white shirt, sleeves rolled. Sunglasses hanging from the collar. He looked… annoyingly effortless.
"Didn't know CEOs walked around like regular people," she said.
He smirked. "Only when we're hoping to run into someone specific."
She rolled her eyes, but it tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"I'm off duty," she said.
"So am I."
"You sure about that?"
Luke stepped beside her, matching her stance. "You didn't call."
"I wasn't going to."
"I figured. But I'm still glad I ran into you."
The walk sign lit up. They crossed.
"I'm not available," she said, eyes forward.
"I didn't ask if you were."
They stopped outside a bookstore. He held the door open.
"Five minutes," he said. "For a man who listened to you talk and didn't expect anything after."
She hesitated.
Then walked in.
Across the Street…
Damian stood beside his car, therapist's folder in one hand, keys in the other.
He hadn't meant to look across the street.
Hadn't meant to see her there.
Smiling — actually smiling. Standing with him.
Rashford.
Again.
The fact that Luke was in casual clothes made it worse. Like this was personal. Familiar. Easy.
Damian's jaw tensed. He stood there for ten full seconds, doing absolutely nothing — but every muscle in his body was bracing for war.
He didn't confront them. Didn't call.
Didn't text her.
He just turned, entered his car, and drove home.
The next morning would fix everything.
Layla came in earlier than usual, as if anticipating something.
Damian didn't acknowledge her. Didn't say "good morning." Didn't even glance her way when she brought in his coffee.
Instead, five minutes later, he buzzed her.
"Come in."
She stepped inside, tablet in hand.
He was already typing. Didn't look up.
"There's a launch update happening at our upstate facility. You'll be going."
She blinked. "Alone?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Your car leaves at noon. You'll spend the weekend there."
Layla's lips parted slightly. "I wasn't informed—"
"I'm informing you now."
Still no emotion. Still no eye contact.
She nodded tightly. "Understood."
As she turned to leave—
"One more thing."
He looked up finally.
"When you speak to Rashford next, remind him you're under contract."
Layla froze.
Then turned around fully, voice calm. "That won't be necessary."
"Good," he said. "Close the door."
Chapter 10 – The Listening Game
She was just returning from printing the briefing papers when she heard Maya's voice.
Maya.
Doesn't she like have something else to do? Or somewhere to be?
Layla stopped outside his office as Maya's voice drifted through the slightly cracked door.
"You've been looking good lately, Damian. I keep telling you, therapy suits you. It makes you… softer."
A pause.
"Not soft. Just… touchable."
Layla's spine went stiff.
She didn't mean to eavesdrop — but she didn't move either.
Then—
"Why don't you ever look at me like you look at her?"
That silenced the room for a second.
Then Damian's voice, even colder than usual:
"Because she's not trying so hard."
Layla's heart kicked.
A pause. Then Maya's voice again — lower, seductive.
"Well… I'm not above trying."
Layla had heard enough.
Just as she turned to leave—
"Come in, Layla."
She froze. He knew she was there.
She stepped inside, pulse quickening.
Maya turned to look at her with a tight smirk and smug lipstick.
Damian sat behind his desk, calm, ice in human form.
"What is it?" he asked
"I thought I'd bring the launch files."
He nodded. "Good. Maya was just leaving."
Maya lingered for a second too long. Then rose, brushing her hand along the edge of his desk as she walked out — tossing Layla one last look.
Layla didn't meet her eyes.
Damian said nothing. Just watched Layla quietly as she placed the file on the desk. As if waiting for something.
A reaction. A question. A flash of jealousy.
She gave him none.
"Let me know if you need anything else before I leave for the weekend."
He nodded once.
As she turned to go, he called out softly—
"Layla."
She paused. Looked over her shoulder.
His voice was unreadable.
"You looked beautiful last night."
Then, just like that, he returned to his computer as if he hadn't said anything at all.