Page 5 of The Naughty Or Nice Clause

“You have no shoes on,” he pointed out. “How irresponsible of you.”

Lyla stared at her feet, annoyed at herself. She could ask Sam to bring them to her, but then he’d see Mr Klaus, and her assistant loved to gossip more than anyone.

“And you’re drunk off two glasses of whiskey – who’s more of an embarrassment?” she rebutted.

He leaned against the side of the lift. “I wish it was only two. I have to go home.”

“It might be nice to spend Christmas with your family. With a loss, they would miss you otherwise.”

“Stop talking! I meant I have to get back to my house.”

Lyla zipped her lips about his Christmas plans. Suddenly, he was leaning less against the wall and more on her shoulder. She was relieved she wasn’t wearing her heels, or she would have toppled over. They staggered out, and she was too busy trying to get him to walk across the car park in a straight line to listen to him mumbling something about fate catching up with him.

“Tell the nice man your address,” she said, opening the waiting taxi door and shoving him less-than-gently inside. Despite what society thought of her slightly-too-curvy-to-be-acceptable figure, she was pretty strong, but she still couldn’t support him. Much to her relief, Mr Klaus snapped to attention as he hit the leather back seat and called out the address in a burst.

“Sorry, Miss, but you can’t leave him in this state,” the taxi driver told Lyla.

“What? You can’t be serious!”

The driver looked unbothered by her distress. “If he gets sick, I ain’t cleaning it. He’s in no state to pay a fine or give his details if he does.”

Mason was already half-asleep in the backseat. Lyla bit her lip. She knew the driver was right, but she was barefoot, freezing cold, and only had her phone. “I need to pop back upstairs to grab my shoes—”

“Sorry, love, can’t be waiting this close to Christmas. I already have two fares lined up after this.”

This late and so close to Christmas, it would be nearly impossible to find another taxi at this time.Maybe I should go with him and head home from there. He might need help getting inside.The taxi driver certainly wasn’t going to help – not that she could blame him. It wasn’t his job to look after drunk people, but it didn’t mean she wanted to either. She told herself to lord this event over Klaus for the foreseeable future, only to be reminded by the letter sticking out of his pocket that his father had just died. Guilt forced her into the back of the car.

To her disgust, Klaus rested his head on her shoulder. The only bright spot was that her feet were now off the ice-cold cement.

“Fine. Two stops. His first,” Lyla said. “Embassy Avenue, number 96.” Luckily, she could pay for this with her phone, but she wished she hadn’t left her shoes and bag upstairs. She had a hideaway key so she could get into her house, but she didn’t like being barefoot.

“She has no shoes,” Mason told the driver, who frowned in the mirror.

“Ignore him,” Lyla said, giving the driver a reassuring nod. The last thing she needed was Klaus causing trouble with his rambling during the drive.

The security guard opened the gate, letting them out.

Chapter Three

WHILE LYLA LIVED in the townhouse her mother had left her, which had once been her art studio, Mason lived in a restored Victorian building that had once been an embassy. The immaculately kept street was rife with embassies; you couldn’t step outside the door without seeing a Range Rover and a security detail. Lyla wondered if Klaus was worried about his personal safety, since he’d apparently chosen the safest street in the country to live on. The taxi pulled up to the curb, and she opened the door.

“How long are you going to be?” the taxi driver grumbled. “I have places to get to.”

“If you wait, I’ll cover your next two fares,” she told him, and he looked to the meter.

“Next four,” he bargained.

Lyla looked at her bare feet, unsure another taxi would take her without shoes. She didn’t want to wait on the street in the middle of the night, no matter how safe the street.

“Deal.” She helped Klaus out of the car. “Mind the step,” she scolded, struggling to open the front gate, which stupidly had a ledge. By the time they reached the front door she was exhausted, and he was trying to catch the falling snow in his hand. He might be enjoying the snow, but she was freezing without a jacket or shoes.

“Keys?” she half-begged, only to receive a shrug. Giving up, she reached inside his jacket and took them. Klaus leant against the door while she twisted the key in the lock. Lights turned on automatically, revealing a home she would envy for the rest of her days. The carpeted hallway was a warm welcome to her feet, but he was still lingering in the doorway, watching her.

“Want to sleep on the stoop?” she demanded. He was letting the warm air escape.

“Can’t you be a little gentler?” he grumbled. “I thought a drink would remove some of your thorns!”

Ignoring that, Lyla led him through the house. A sitting area shared the open plan space with a library full of more books than she could count. Out the back was a kitchen she never wanted to have to figure out how to use. A winding staircase by the library wall seemed to be the only way up to the second floor. She eyed it suspiciously. Klaus took a step towards it, but she could already picture the headlines:Smurfit partner found dead after drunken tumble down stairs.Everyone in the office knew how much they loathed each other; she’d be convicted of his murder. There was no way she was getting him up those.

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