Page 137 of The Tryst

He wraps his arms around me then kisses my cheek. “Good. Your love is all I want.”

Then I show him how much I love him. I take off my jeans and panties, then I undo his zipper, and sink down onto him.

“Yessss,” he groans, leaning his head back against the couch cushion.

I don’t rush. I just indulge in the feel of him and our intimacy. The way we grow closer in everything we do, in and out of bed.

For a while, I dodged any kind of connection. I was terrified of it.

I’m still scared of losing him. I’m sure I always will be. But I’d rather live with that worry than live without love.

48

THE COUNTER OFFER

Layla

I ask my mother to meet me at Neon Diner that weekend. I like it better than the club. I have a feeling she does too. No one whispers things aboutthat Layla Mayweatheror aboutAnna.

Only this isn’t a typical mother-daughter outing. And I sincerely hope I’m not about to wallop my mother with a one-two punch. But a businesswoman has to do what a businesswoman has to do.

With the confidence of someone who finally knows what she wants, I yank open the door to my favorite diner. A Monkees tune blares overhead and servers scurry by in mint-green uniforms.

I smooth a hand down my shirt. It’s new. I went shopping yesterday and Jules and Harlow helped me pick it out. “It’ll be perfect for your first day on the job,” Harlow had said.

That made me a little giddy, thinking about my first day at work. But today feels like my first day on the job, so I’m wearing it now. The top is a light blue peasant blouse from Champagne Taste, and I paired it with a short black skirt that Jules picked out for me.

It’s not my mother’s pink pantsuit, thank you very much.

When I find Mom at the table, she’s dictating an email on her phone. She’s like Jules.

Only Jules isn’t always on. She turns it off. Maybe my mom needs someone to help her turn it off.

After we say hi and order, I begin. No deep breaths. No preamble. I’m direct and clear as I tell her about Mia’s offer. “And it sounds like an incredible opportunity,” I finish.

She’s quiet and honestly a little terrifying as she sits so tall, so poised. So very Anna “Take No Prisoners” Mayweather.

“Interesting,” she says at last, cool and professional. But then she’s silent again.

I gulp, but I don’t say anything. I don’t try to fill the quiet by backpedaling or reassuring her.

“And are you going to take it?” she asks after a pause.

I hold my ground. “I am. It’s what I want. And I want to thank you for offering me a job at Beautique. But this, it turns out, is my dream.”

She purses her lips, and I brace myself for a retort like “Is this what your father would have wanted?”

But it doesn’t come. Instead, she stares intensely at me with cool blue eyes. Hers are lighter than mine. Some would say icier. But I’ve seen her other sides. I know she can be warm and loving, motherly, and kind.

“I can see this matters to you,” she says, and my shoulders lose some of the tension I didn’t realize I was holding.

She’s understanding me more than I expected her to.

“Truly, I can,” she adds with a resigned smile. That’s a good sign. “But I’d be a terrible businesswoman if I didn’t make a counteroffer.”

I blink. “What?” Is this for real?

“I’ll pay double to integrate The Makeover into Beautique. And to have you run it inside my company.”

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