Page 42 of Breaking Point
“Please, your body stopped you from lying and I suggest you take its warning. Now tell me”—she leans forward, lowering her voice—“is he as hot in person as he is in photos?”
“I haven’t seen any photos of him because I didn’t look him up.”
“But?”
Layla holds her breath, sitting on the edge of her seat as sheclings to her cocktail glass. God, she needs this distraction as much as I do.
My shoulders sag as I relent, “He’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.”
Layla squeals, drawing eyes to our table once more but she doesn’t pay them a lick of attention. “I knew it!”
Scoffing, I take a measured sip, thankful it goes down smoothly this time. “Of course I find him attractive. I have eyes. I’d be hard-pressed to find someone that didn’t.”
“Sooo…”
I give her a pointed look. “You read too many romance novels, sonothing. He’s my boss, Layla. I can’t go there—ever. Not even in my mind.”
Because if I do, I’ll never stop thinking about him in that towel.
She pouts. “Firstly, I do not read too many novels.Youdon’t read enough.”
I roll my eyes at that. She’s right—I’ll happily let her tell me all about her books and plot twists and book boyfriends—but I’m more of a movie and TV show kind of girl. If I have to sit down for long periods of time, I’d rather be drawing.
Though there hasn’t been much of that lately.
“And secondly…” Her voice pulls me away from my thoughts. “You won’t be his assistant forever.”
“Layla, trust me, he would never look at me like that.”
Her jaw drops before she animatedly shakes her head. “We’re not doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“You can tell yourself whatever you have to so you don’t look at him or think about him in that way, butthatis not going to be one of the reasons. You are stunning, literally gorgeous. I swear you were made from the heavens themselves, so don’t even say he wouldn’t go for you. He has eyes, too, B.”
I can’t stop the smile that blooms across my cheeks. Layla has a way of making you feel like the most special person alive. “Aw, thanks, Lil.”
I leave it at that, choosing not to divulge what the puckbunnies he had stay over looked like. He didn’t sleep with them, but was that a choice or the alcohol-induced sleep he fell into?
None of my business. I’m his assistant. Nothing else.
Assistant.
Assistant.
Assistant.
I will chant that word until it’s permanently etched into my mind. That, and the lovely reminder from my heart that all men eventually leave. Nothing makes your libido shrivel up and die more than a reminder of your most painful experiences.
Quickly changing the topic, I press, “Have you heard from Mike?”
Layla rolls her eyes. “God no, and I’m thankful for it.”
“He was a piece of work,” I mumble around another sip. Okay, a gulp.
She snorts. “They’re all a piece of work.”
My brows quirk at that. “I take it you deleted Hinge again?”
