Page 25 of The Layover

Raul took Eloise to get her ready for bed.

Their décor was a combination of modern and classic—steel and glass and stone, except for the sofa in the living room that looked worn and loved and like a family regularly used it to sit together and watch movies.

Exactly the way a living room couch should look, in my opinion.

At the top of a winding staircase was their office, overlooking the rest of the house and stealing the best part of the sky view. I could easily picture Diego sitting at the drafting table, working through a design.

On the main floor, the kitchen was clean. Sleek. And as obviously Raul’s domain as upstairs had been Diego’s.

Eloise’s room was on one side of the apartment, and the men’s was on the other, by a guest room.

“She used to sleep next to us, but she announced about six months ago that she was too old to live in the room next to ours,” Diego said.

That was precocious, and fell in line perfectly with the little girl I had dinner with. “She’s only six. Wait until she’s sixteen.”

“Never.” Diego laughed. “I’m never letting her grow up.”

Raul joined us again, Eloise in his arms. Her hair was brushed into a braid, and she was wearing a purple nightgown. “I’m a forest fairy,” she said.

Harmony—Daria’s youngest girl—would love her. “Forest fairies have to sleep at night, so they can help visitors during the day, right?” Not what I wanted to say, but I was trying hard not to scar her.

Eloise scrunched up her nose. “No. Forest fairies sprinkle dust so everyone can fly.”

And never grow old and be lost boys forever. “That sounds like fun.”

“It is.” She hopped from Raul’s arms, grabbed my hand, and tugged. “Tuck me in.”

We moved to her room. Fortunately, I’d watched Daria’s kids a few times and had a good idea of how this should work. The stuffed bunny on Eloise’s bed was well-loved, so I picked it up. “Who’s this?”

“Tweety.”

Ah—what? “That’s such a good name for a bunny. How did you come up with it?”

“It’s a stupid name for a bunny.” Eloise stuck her tongue out at me. “And I tried to tell her that, but she said she’s yellow, and she sounds just like Tweety Bird, and she said that’s her name.”

Oh. I couldn’t argue with that logic, so instead I pulled back her blankets and patted the mattress for her to climb in.

She scrambled into bed, took Tweety from me when I handed it—her—over, and let me pull the covers up. “Thank you for coming to dinner with us,” she said.

“You’re welcome. Have sweet dreams.” With a little luck, she wouldn’t ask me to tell her a story. She obviously had a broader imagination than I did.

Raul and Diego each gave her kisses and hugs and goodnight wishes, and we left her to sleep.

“Do you want to stay a little longer?” Raul asked. “We can open a bottle of red and chat.”

That was a bad idea. Wait, scratch that. Accepting their dinner invitation was a bad idea, but technically it could be called a business meal. Coming back here at all was a bad idea, but how was I supposed to tell Eloise no?

Sticking around longer, and drinking, was a horrible, no good, very bad idea. But I didn’t want to leave yet. “I shouldn’t drink anymore. We have work to do in the morning.”

“But you’ll stay.” Diego rested a hand at the small of my back, and nudged me toward the living room.

“I don’t think it’ll hurt for me to stick around for a little longer.” It could hurt a lot—my career, my libido when it didn’t get what it wanted… But I was sticking by my answer.

I settled into a chair, and they sat on a sofa across from me.

“I’ve been thinking…” Raul was so much a part of this place. It was clear this was his domain and he knew he was one of the kings. “None of this would have happened—all the things between us—if we’d met you when we were at the Raphael Group in Salt Lake City.”

I knew what he meant, but at the same time, “Some of it would’ve happened. The storm. The flight delay. I definitely would’ve invited you back to my room.” Or gotten them another one. Their business plan was well thought out, well researched, and would make our partners millions as it went global. The kind of money restaurants didn’t normally make.

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