Chapter 2

Layla

Taylor’s hand stiffened against my back.

“Harvey.”

Only then did Harvey lift his eyes.

They settled on me for the first time.

No smile.

No welcome.

His gaze moved over me slowly, from my face to my dress, lower still, before returning to my eyes.

I fought the sudden urge to straighten my clothes.

Harvey gave a quiet scoff and lifted his glass to his lips.

Heat climbed my neck.

“Don’t start,” Taylor warned.

Harvey said nothing.

He took a slow sip of whiskey and looked away.

Like I wasn’t worth the effort.

My nervousness sharpened into irritation.

“Come on.” Taylor’s hand slipped into mine. “I’ll introduce you to my parents.”

I let him lead me farther into the room, but Harvey’s words followed me.

You brought another one?

Another what?

Another girlfriend?

Another woman he disapproved of?

I looked at Taylor, but he was already smiling at the elegant woman approaching us.

“Mom.”

She was beautiful. Not young, but impeccably put together, with blonde hair swept elegantly away from her face and a cream dress that probably cost more than everything I was wearing combined.

“Mom, this is Layla.”

Her eyes moved over me more discreetly than Harvey’s had.

“Layla Miller?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Evelyn.”

She offered her hand.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Finally.

I shook her hand. “You too.”

Her smile was polite.

Not warm.

Not cold either.

I could work with polite.

A man joined her a moment later.

Taylor straightened slightly.

“And this is my father.”

“Richard Whitmore.”

He shook my hand firmly.

“Welcome to our home, Layla.”

“Thank you.”

Some of the tension eased from my shoulders.

At least one Whitmore didn’t seem offended by my presence.

“Come sit,” Evelyn said.

Taylor led me toward one of the sofas.

I sat beside him.

Harvey remained where he was.

Across from me.

He wasn’t looking at me anymore.

I should have been relieved.

Instead, I was annoyingly aware of him.

“So,” Evelyn began, settling into the chair beside her husband. “Taylor has been surprisingly secretive about you.”

“Secretive?” I glanced at him.

Taylor smiled. “I told them about you.”

“Barely,” Evelyn said.

“I told you the important things.”

“Which were?”

“That she’s beautiful.”

I looked at him.

His grin widened.

“And smart.”

“And what about her education?” an older woman asked. “Girl, what university did you attend?”

I turned toward the woman from earlier—the one who had scanned me as if searching for a price tag.

“Westbridge University.”

She didn’t try particularly hard to hide her reaction.

Her lips tightened slightly.

“Westbridge.”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

Two words.

That was all.

Yet somehow, she managed to make my university sound like something I should have apologized for.

Evelyn sighed.

“I apologize on behalf of my sister, Layla. Vivienne holds educational background in very high regard.”

“Education matters, Evelyn,” Vivienne replied. “We come from a family that has always valued excellence and prestige. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to expect the same standards from someone Taylor is serious about.”

Heat crept higher beneath my skin.

Westbridge was a good university.

I had worked hard to get there.

Worked even harder to graduate.

Until that moment, it had never occurred to me that anyone might expect me to be embarrassed by it.

I wasn’t going to start now.

“And what do you do, Layla?” another woman asked.

I looked toward the woman sitting beside Vivienne.

She appeared around my age, perhaps a little older, dressed in a fitted black dress with a gold bracelet around one wrist.

“I’m a financial analyst.”

Her eyebrows rose.

“A financial analyst?”

“Yes.”

“Junior?”

“Yes.”

She gave a small nod.

“Well. Everyone has to start somewhere, I suppose.”

“Celeste,” an even younger woman whispered.

“What?” Celeste asked. “I’m only making conversation.”

The younger woman gave her a look that suggested she knew better.

Taylor’s expression tightened.

“Layla’s good at what she does.”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Celeste leaned back, seemingly unconcerned.

Taylor looked at me.

“She’s been with her firm for almost three years. Her work is good, she’s responsible, she works hard. She built everything she has herself.”

There was pride in his voice.

Genuine pride.

It should have made me feel better.

Instead, something twisted uncomfortably inside me.

He was defending me.

I knew that.

But the more he explained why I was good enough to sit in this room, the more it felt as though I had arrived needing to prove that I was.

Heat still burned beneath my skin, but I kept my back straight.

I wouldn’t give Celeste—or Vivienne—the satisfaction of seeing me shrink.

My eyes went back to Harvey before I could stop them.

I didn’t know why his reaction mattered.

Maybe because he had been the first person to judge me.

Maybe because, somehow, everyone else seemed conscious of his presence even when he wasn’t speaking.

But Harvey said nothing.

He simply took another slow sip of whiskey.

Watching.

Listening.

Letting everyone else do the talking for him.

A soft voice interrupted the silence before anyone could ask me another question.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Whitmore.”

A maid stood near the entrance to the living room, hands folded neatly in front of her.

“Lunch is ready.”

“Thank you, Marie,” Evelyn said. “We’ll be right in.”

Relief loosened something in my chest.

Lunch.

Good.

Maybe food would finally give everyone something else to focus on besides me.

Evelyn rose first, and the others began following her toward the dining room.

Taylor leaned closer.

“You okay?”

I looked at him.

“Your aunt hates my university.”

“Don’t let Vivienne get to you. She’s like this with everyone.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“I know.” His thumb brushed mine. “I’m sorry.”

I gave him a small nod.

It wasn’t his fault his family had apparently decided Westbridge University was one step above a high school diploma.

At least, I hoped that was the worst of it.

Taylor stood and held out his hand.

I took it.

We followed the others from the living room, passing through another wide hallway before entering the dining room.

I slowed.

The room was almost as intimidating as the people who occupied it.

Tall windows stretched along one wall, spilling daylight across a long polished table already set for lunch. Fresh flowers filled the center beneath a chandelier, and every place had been arranged with enough silverware and glassware to make me suddenly conscious of where I put my hands.

Two members of staff stood quietly near the wall.

This wasn’t a special occasion.

That was what struck me.

This was simply lunch at the Whitmores’.

Everyone seemed to know where they belonged.

Richard took the chair at one end of the table while Evelyn sat to his right.

Harvey crossed the room without a word and took a seat farther down.

No one directed him.

No one needed to.

Taylor pulled out a chair for me.

“Here.”

“Thank you.”

I sat, smoothing my dress beneath me.

He took the chair beside mine.

Celeste settled across from us.

Of course she did.

Vivienne sat nearby, and the younger woman who had admonished Celeste earlier took a seat a little farther down.

For a moment, nobody paid much attention to me.

It was wonderful.

A member of staff poured water into my glass while another began serving the first course.

Conversation moved around the table.

Normal conversation.

Richard asked Harvey something about a meeting scheduled for Monday.

Harvey answered with a few clipped words.

Evelyn mentioned an upcoming Saint Marie Foundation benefit and reminded someone that invitations needed to be confirmed by the end of the week.

Celeste complained about having to change plans for it.

Vivienne informed her that supporting the foundation was more important than whatever she’d planned instead.

For those few minutes, I was allowed to simply listen.

The knot in my stomach slowly loosened.

This was better.

This was something I could manage.

I reached for my water.

“So, Layla.”

My fingers stopped around the glass.

Of course.

I looked toward Vivienne.

She had barely touched her food.

“Yes?”

“Miller.”

I waited.

She tilted her head slightly.

“Which Millers?”

I stared at her.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your family.”

There was no mockery in her expression.

If anything, she seemed genuinely curious.

“What do they do?”

I understood then.

She wasn’t asking about my parents individually.

She was asking what the name Miller meant.

What company it belonged to.

What buildings carried it.

What doors it opened.

Nothing.

“My family doesn’t own a business, if that’s what you mean.”

Vivienne’s brows lifted slightly.

“I see.”

There were those words again.

I tightened my fingers around my fork.

“My father works in administration.”

“For whom?” she asked.

I told her.

Richard looked up from his plate.

“That’s a respectable company.”

Relief came quickly.

“Yes. He likes it there.”

“How long has he been with them?”

“A few months.”

Richard nodded.

“He was with another company before?”

“No. He’d been looking for something more stable for a while.”

Taylor shifted beside me.

I felt it.

I turned slightly toward him.

He didn’t say anything.

But Celeste noticed too.

“Didn’t you help with that?”

Taylor looked across the table at her.

“With what?”

“Her father’s job.”

My stomach dropped.

Celeste glanced at me before returning her attention to Taylor.

“I remember you mentioning something about helping someone get an interview.”

Taylor’s expression cooled.

“I made an introduction.”

Vivienne looked between us.

“For Layla’s father?”

“Yes.”

The silence around the table was immediate.

I didn’t have to look up to know that every eye had turned to me.