Page 17 of Starving for Her
Layla
I’ma little shaken as I walk down the hall in one of James’ bathrobes that’s so big on me that I have to hold the sides up like Cinderella as I go downstairs. What’s going on, I wonder as I look around. What could be so important that James would interrupt what we were doing and leave?
I don’t want to be conceited and act like I’m the most important thing in his world or anything. After all, he is an ultra-wealthy businessman. I’m sure he has all kinds of important things to attend to. The voice on the intercom, which sounded like Al’s, said it was about business, but I’m not buying it. I heard the pause—the hesitation. Whatever this is about, it’s not business.
But I can’t even focus right now; I’m still in a daze from what just happened, not just in the kitchen, but upstairs in the shower. I’m bare down there, and I can feel the difference as I walk across the foyer. With the robe on, there’s a breeze against my tender skin where there never was before, and I’m tingling still after being taken to such a high, only to come crashing back down again.
I thought the water from the shower would have done something to wash away my wetness, but my arousal seems to have only gotten worse since James left. I’m practically dripping, and I squeeze some of the robe between my legs in an attempt to deal with it.
What a job interview,I think as I push open a door to a library. No Gina.
It’s hard to believe I almost didn’t even show up today; it was only because of her that I did. The pulled pork, in retrospect, was a pretty poor dish to bring to something like this, but it seemed to have won him over. Or maybe that was just me…
After all, he did force me to wear that tiny little chef’s apron. Imagine that—a girl like me, never having even gone to third base with a guy, putting on an outfit that you’d see on Pornhub, or that a wife buys for her husband of twenty years to spice up their marriage.
Where is Gina, I think as I push open another door to a living room that looks out to the enormous back yard. James’ house is so huge that if she’s looking for me right now, we could easily never find each other.
“Your friend went home,” Al says behind me, causing me to almost jump out of my robe and my skin. I whirl to see him at the door. “She said she was sure you’d be more than all right with Mr. Russell.”
“Did she really?” I say, shaking my head. “That bitch. I hope you know that’s not why I am here.”
“Why you are here?” he asks. He’s playing dumb; he knows exactly what I mean.
“For his money. I’m not here for his money.”
“Of course not,” he replies with a slight bow of his head. He turns and leaves the room, but I follow quickly after him.
“I’m not! I almost didn’t come back tonight, but I needed the job—”
“Ah, so it is about the money?” Al replies.
“Well I—no, that’s not what I mean!” I stammer, struggling to keep up with him. “I came for the job. I’m not going to turn down money for a job. But…that’s not why I’m here now.”
“You don’t want the job?” he asks.
“I mean I…” My voice trails off. He’s cunning. I’m sure he’s seen plenty of girls come and go from James’ life, all of them saying the same thing. He’s probably more suspicious of gold-diggers than James is. But if he could see into my head, he’d know that I’m not one of those girls.
“I’m sorry,” he replies, stopping in the middle of the foyer. “You can understand if I don’t trust you.”
“I can.”
“But many a girl has tried to steal his heart, and his money along with it.”
“Do you trust James?” I ask him. He looks perplexed by my question.
“With my life.”
“Well then trust him on this,” I say. “James trusts me. I’m not here for his money; I’m here for him.”
“But how can you know?” Al counters. “You just met him tonight?”
“I know I did!” I protest. “But I just…know…”
A strange realization comes over me as I say the words. I just know…
I said it so quickly and automatically that I’m suddenly gripped by fear. How am I already saying something like that about a man I just met?
But it felt so natural, like I was telling Gina what the weather was going to be like tomorrow. Al’s looking at me in a way that I can’t quite figure out. It’s either complete distrust, or the look a parent gives their daughter when she admits to her first crush. James may not be my first crush, but it looks like he’s going to be my first.