Page 16 of For the Love of Layla

Bitch.

I take a deep breath, knowing my only option is to walk out. He’s got to pass by here on his way to the new boss’s office, Mr. Campbell. Although he likes to be called Derek. It’s hard getting used to someone so laid back after working for the hellhound that was Danvers for so long. I constantly catch myself walking on eggshells in every conversation, waiting for the snap. A familiar feeling that has done great things for my mental health.

Stop stalling. It’s going to look weird if you hide in here. You are both adults, act like one.

I grip my coffee tightly, ignoring the uncomfortably hot walls of the cup against my palms as my heart thumps wildly in my chest. My ratcheting anxiety determined to make Xanax look like a little bitch.

“Of course not, Mr. Curran, I just-”

“Is Mr. Campbell in?”

Now or never, Layla, be a big girl.

“He actually just stepped out for lunch, sir.”

I take a deep breath as I step into the hall, keeping my eyes glued to my cup. I can feel his stare before I look up. My core heating at the prospect of having his full attention, I feel it as sure as the heat pressing into my palm. It’s all-encompassing, damming and fuck me, I’ve missed it. I peek up from under my lashes as I approach them, his intense blue eyes trained on me. Looking at me the way he always has, as if nothing changed. My cheeks flush bright red as his lips pull up into a smirk.

“Hello, Layla.”

I nod as I pass, “Mr. Curran.” I watch his firm hands clench into a fist, making the veins in them pop. My heart skips a beat as I slip into my chair, finally hidden from view. My hands are trembling as I sit down my coffee cup rougher than I mean to sloshing some of the drink onto the envelope. “Fuck.” I mutter under my breath as I scramble to open it. Jerking out the contents. In an instant, the building goes still, the hard plastic card feels heavy in my hands. Like I’m holding the weight of the world… or at least the weight of a body.

I stare down at James’s ID, the rush of seeing Liam long forgotten as my breath comes out in rough pants. The walls of my cubicle closing in as my throat tightens. I flip it over, more bile rising to my throat as I look at the half legible message penned onto the back in sharpie.

Patience & Prudence

I barely register Ryan’s hand on my shoulder or his concerned voice in my ears as I jerk out my phone, typing it in. My heart drops so far down I’m sure it travels all six floors to the parking garage as it pulls up a Spotify page. The song at the very top namedTonight you Belong to Me.I feel the blood drain from my face as I hit play. The song’s upbeat tune blares to life. Filling the otherwise quiet office and I think I’m going to be sick. I quickly exit the app, wishing I could erase that song from my mind. Wishing I could erase it all. The sight of his body crumpled and bloody,

“Are you okay?”

I push up from my desk, bumping into Ryan before clutching the ID tightly in my hand with my phone in the other as I hurry from my cubicle. The copper haired God was the last thing on my mind until I heard his voice, his self-assured footsteps quickly approaching me.

I can’t. I can’t deal with you and this right now it wasn’t a coincidence. It wasn’t…it wasn’t. God, I can’t fucking breathe.

I slam my fist into the elevator panel, willing it to open before he catches up to me. The concern in his deep velvet voice forces tears into my eyes.

I need to call the police.

“Layla! Wait.” He commands as the doors spring open. I ignore him, my whole body breaking out into tremors. I don’t even know where I’m going. All I know is that this building feels too small, that cubicle too cramped. I step into the elevator, slamming the close door button as if my life depends on it. It almost works.

Almost.

Liam wedges his foot in the sliding doors making them spring back open. I raise my head meeting the confused stares of Oliva and Ryan over his broad shoulder. I’m sure I’ll get shit for leaving like this.

Right now, I really don’t care.

“Layla, you’re shaking.” He says, his warm hand pushing my hair behind my ear. “Lay-”

I shove away from him more violently than I meant to as black spots dot my vision, “Don’t fucking touch me!” I shouldn’t lash out, I know that, but right now I can’t help it.

He steps closer, his musky clean scent washing over my fried nerves, “Panic attack?”

I nod as I start gasping, tears now pouring down my flushed cheeks, and I hate it. The ID still gripped tightly in my fist, bending the plastic. Only now, do I realize I could contaminate evidence, I shove it into my back pocket quickly. My own stupidity only adding to my panic.

Fuckfuckfuck.

“Look at me, Layla.” He says, stepping so close I can feel his warm breath on the top of my head. “Look at me.” I brace myself on the elevator wall, ignoring him.

I’m not okay. I’m not okay.

---