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contractually yours 16
Layla was sprawled out on her bed late in the morning, her phone dangling in her hand, when the notification buzzed. She thought it would be Ethan again, probably teasing her the way he’d been since their lunch together. Her lips curved at the thought. Ethan’s texts had started becoming the kind she actually looked forward to. Silly one-liners. The occasional photo of his coffee mug with a sarcastic caption like, "Fuel for another day of pretending I’m a functioning adult."But when she unlocked her phone, the name flashing at the top of the screen wasn’t Ethan’s.It was Jay.Her chest gave a small, uncomfortable squeeze. She hadn’t seen him in a week. That was unusual — usually, he was the kind of guy who thrived on being in and out of her life just enough to keep her hooked. Her rebound. She knew that’s what he was—the guy she ran to after her breakup with Derek when she needed something, someone, to fill the emptiness. He was safe in the sense that he wasn’t Ethan… wasn’t Derek… wa
contractually yours 15
Layla stood in front of her closet, arms crossed, glaring at her clothes like they were her worst enemies. Ethan’s words had been annoyingly vague—wear something comfortable but not your anti-social sweatshirt. That left her with an ocean of possibilities, and each one seemed either too plain or too much.She picked up a navy-blue dress, frowned, and tossed it onto her bed. “Too formal.” She tried on a pair of jeans with a silky blouse. “Too casual.” She slipped into a black skirt, stared at her reflection, and groaned. “Too… not me.”Finally, she settled on a soft cream sweater tucked loosely into high-waisted jeans with ankle boots. It was simple, but it felt like her. Comfortable, just like he asked.Still, when the knock came at her door, her pulse skipped. She gave herself one last once-over in the mirror, muttered a quiet, “Don’t act like a lovesick teenager,” and pulled it open.Ethan leaned against the doorframe, hands shoved in his pockets, looking unfairly good in a crisp bu
contractually yours 14
Layla woke up the next morning with the sunlight streaming through her curtains. She blinked against the brightness, groaned, and pulled the blanket over her head. But it was no use. Sleep had already slipped away, leaving her with the memory of the conversation with her best friend.She could still hear Nora's teasing voice— “You like him more than you admit.”And Layla’s own flustered response— “It’s not like that. He’s just… Ethan.”But of course, Ethan wasn’t just Ethan anymore. He was showing up in her mornings, in her texts, in her thoughts when she was supposed to be focused on work. And that was dangerous. Because she knew this was supposed to be fake. Pretend. Temporary.Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, startling her. She reached for it, her heart skipping before she even saw the name."Morning. You up?" The text read. From Ethan. She smiled without meaning to. Then she typed back quickly. "Barely. Why?"The three dots appeared, disappeared, then appeared again. "Because
contractually yours 13
Layla pushed open the café door and immediately spotted her best friend, Nora, tucked into a corner booth with her hair pulled up in a messy bun and a notebook sprawled in front of her. Nora was already waving at her with the kind of energy only coffee and sugar could fuel. “You’re late,” Nora teased as Layla slid into the booth across from her. “I’m five minutes late,” Layla protested, shrugging off her jacket. “That doesn’t count.” Nora arched a brow. “Five minutes is five minutes. What if I had been kidnapped in those five minutes? Huh? You’d feel terrible.” Layla rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop herself from laughing. This was why she always came to Nora when she needed to breathe. “If you got kidnapped, you’d probably talk their ear off until they begged me to come take you back.” “Probably true.” Nora grinned and leaned forward conspiratorially. “Now—spill. Don’t think I didn’t notice the look on your face when you texted me yesterday about lunch with your so-called boyfri
contractually yours 12
Ethan had been staring at the last line of the email on his screen for the better part of five minutes, but none of the words were sinking in. He’d already sent the text to Layla—“Any chance you’re free for lunch today? I promise I won’t bring blueprints to the table."—but she hadn’t replied yet. He told himself she was probably busy, maybe at a meeting, maybe caught up with her friends again. Still, a part of him was waiting, restless in a way he hadn’t been in years. His coworkers were buzzing around the office—phones ringing, printers whirring, chairs scraping across the floor—but all he could think about was Layla. Specifically, Layla sitting across from him at lunch. He’d been around women before, plenty of them, but Layla was different. Too different. “Earth to Ethan.” He blinked and looked up. His coworker, Mason, was leaning against the edge of his desk, grinning like he’d just caught Ethan doing something he shouldn’t. “You’ve been staring at the same email for, like, fo
contractually yours 11
The office smelled faintly of coffee and printer ink, a mix Ethan had gotten used to after three years at the firm. It was late morning, sunlight beaming through the big windows of the open-floor space, dust drifting lazily in the beam of light that fell across his desk. His computer screen glowed with floor plans he had been working on since last week, and the soft hum of conversation and keyboards made a kind of steady background noise. He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head until his back cracked. A yawn slipped out before he could stop it. “You look like you pulled an all-nighter,” a voice teased. Ethan turned to see Maya, one of the junior designers, leaning against his desk with her coffee cup. She had her dark hair tied back and wore a mustard-yellow sweater that clashed with the seriousness of the office but somehow fit her perfectly. “I didn’t,” Ethan said, rubbing his eyes. “Just stayed up too late working on revisions.” “Working or overthinking
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