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“I’ve been his executive assistant for over a year. We fell into it, I suppose.”
“Mm. I was his PA for two years.” Layla leans in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Be careful because West will do anything to get what he wants.”
I shrug, avoiding her gaze.
“We’re happy.”
“Until he gets what he wants. You’ll have a big public wedding, sign a prenup that gives you nothing. NeuroPort Dynamics shares will recover and West...”
“Did you come here to upset me?” I interrupt her.
“No, I came to help you.” She raises an eyebrow, along with her voice, but still probes deeper. “He’s ten years older than you. He probably thinks you’re too stupid and young to realize he is using you.”
I clench my jaw. My mind races back to Felix’s betrayal and the deal West offered.
She shrugs. “The flip-side is you’re with billionaire West Davenport now.” Layla smirks. “I’d have sex with him for nothing.”
“Me too.” I lift an eyebrow.
She chuckles. “But honestly, Ames, be careful. I don’t like how much chatter there is around the office about you two.”
“Chatter?” I echo, unease creeping in.
“Yeah,” she says, her tone shifting to serious. “Is it true what people say about you meeting at Club Elysium?”
“It’s a lie,” I whisper. “Sian is lying to you.”
“But why, Ames?” she leans back, crossing her arms defensively. “You have to be careful. The Davenports have enemies—real ones.”
The gravity of her words weighs on me as I sit back in my chair. Is this lie worth it when I have enough enemies of my own?
The door swings open and my breath catches in my throat as West strides out of his office. His eyes scan the room before landing on me.
“Amelia,” he says sharply, pulling my attention away from Layla’s anxious face.
I straighten up, as unease swirls inside me like a storm ready to break loose.
“Yes,” I manage.
“Can you come into my office, please? And Layla, get back to work.”
“Yes, Mr. Davenport.” Layla rushes off, her heels clicking against the polished floor as she heads down the hallway.
I know she is racing to share whatever gossip she thinks she has on me.
West stands in the doorway, a storm brewing in his gaze.
“Amelia,” he calls, his voice low but firm. “We need to talk.”
I nod and follow him inside. With my heart pounding, he gestures for me to take a seat.
He takes one on the other side of the desk as the two men stand behind him, their expressions unreadable.
“Amelia,” he begins, leaning against his desk, “these men are private investigators.”
The men nod at me, serious and unwavering. One of them slides a photo across the desk toward me. The image catches the light, revealing a familiar face.
My stomach drops.