Page 14 of Breaking Point (IceHawks #1)

Bella

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“ H e ran out?” Layla asks, her face mirroring my confusion as we sit at Totti’s, our favorite bar downtown, sipping pink cocktails.

Grayson’s face, full of anger and a hint of despair, flashes across my mind. “Slammed the front door and didn’t come back for the rest of the day.”

“What did you end up doing?”

Twirling my finger along the rim of my cocktail, I shrug. “Organized his schedule. He ended up emailing me everything I needed. ”

Layla holds up a hand. “He emailed you after he left?”

I dip my chin before taking a large gulp of my drink. The sweet flavors explode along my tongue, mingling with the burn of vodka. “At first, I was worried but then I became annoyed if I’m honest. It was my first day and my boss just ran out on me, but?—”

“It’s sweet he emailed you everything you needed,” Layla finishes for me.

“Yes.” I peer around the bar, the lengthy NDA weighing over my head as I whisper, “I found out he fired his cook. Not just one but six . I spent the afternoon getting in touch with the team’s nutritionist and finding out what to prepare because based on what was in the fridge, I have no idea if this man has even been eating. ”

“Why would he continue to hire cooks if he’s just going to end up firing them?”

“I think Lucy, his agent, hires for him. I have a feeling if she knew there hasn’t been a cook in weeks, she’d be livid.” I give Layla a look over the rim of my cocktail. “She is a woman to be reckoned with.”

“Should you maybe tell her and just hire another cook? It’s not in your job duties to cook for him, right?” she asks before taking the tiniest sip of her drink.

We always have to be careful with the cocktails. They’re as good as fruit juices that you can’t stop guzzling. One minute we can be laughing and the next I’m on the ground as the room spins. You can always tell who is a regular and who’s new here just by their wobble.

I cock my head. “I could but something tells me he let them go for a reason. Besides, he’s paying me a salary large enough to be his assistant, maid, chauffeur, and private chef. When he isn’t there, I don’t have much to do.”

“No wonder the job pays so much. He sounds like a hot mess, B.”

“You have no idea,” I mutter under my breath.

I might have sent a cryptic meme about bunnies but that was the only thing I alluded to about what occurred at the house this morning.

It’s not even about the NDA because I know Layla would never sell anything to the press; she’d rather cut off her arm than hurt another person’s feelings.

It has more to do with the look that clouded Grayson’s eyes as I told him what happened.

Not only embarrassment but also a hint of shame and dare I say failure.

I have no idea what’s going on with him, nor do I think it’s any of my business, but Grayson doesn’t need his assistant gossiping behind his back about the ramifications of what he’s dealing with. While this man is paying me to make his life easier, I should do just that.

He needs someone to take some of the weight off his shoulders.

“I’m his assistant. It’s my job to make his life easier and it seems like he could use the help right now.”

Layla reaches across the high bar table and squeezes my hand. “But who’s taking care of you, Bella?”

My lips flatten into a line before I put on a sickly-sweet smile. “Me.”

Always me.

Waving off whatever she’s about to say, I jump in. “Have you heard from Berlin?”

Her shoulders tighten ever so slightly. “Not yet, no. I think I need to stop hoping.”

“I’m not going to tell you what to hope for because you’ve been through enough disappointment, but I won’t stop hoping for you.”

Emotion fills her blue eyes. “Thanks, B,” she says thickly.

“Well, I guess this girls’ night has turned into an emotional shit fest anyways, so…

” Throwing caution to the wind, I pick up my cocktail and dump the rest of its contents into my mouth.

“My mom’s cancer is too aggressive for chemotherapy.

I’m giving up my apartment and moving in to spend time with her. ”

The candlelight dancing across Layla’s face illuminates the horror that spreads across it. I’m thankful for its low lighting and no doubt Layla is as well as her eyes spring with tears.

“I don’t know what to say. ”

“Neither do I.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t think anyone can help anymore, not even modern medicine.”

Layla throws back her own drink, shocking me. “Life is fucking cruel.”

“That it is.”

She shakes her head, a deep flush staining her cheeks that matches her fiery hair.

“How is there no cure? Why does it feel like we’re not progressing?

Why is the medical system so fucked, and why on God’s green earth is it 2025 and they’re still saying that allegedly only ten percent of women have endometriosis when every woman I meet either has endo or PCOS? ”

“You know my thoughts on the matter.”

The day I got my first period was when my uterus declared war against me and when the repeated cycle of doctors shoving birth control pills and acetaminophen at me began. Spoiler alert, neither worked for me.

Her lips flatten into a tight line. “I’m beginning to think you’re right. I mean, how have I been sick for nearly ten years, been thrown pill after pill after pill, gone through nearly a hundred different opinions on how to ‘cure’ me, and yet each medication makes me worse?”

“Careful, Lil, you’re starting to sound like a conspiracy theorist.”

“No, I’m serious. And why do I keep seeing videos on the internet of cancer researchers mysteriously dying? Genuinely, if someone could give me a believable answer, I’d choose ignorance but now it just feels like pharmaceutical companies are laughing in our faces.”

As a waiter walks past, I order another round.

“Preaching to the choir,” I mumble.

Layla isn’t wrong and I have no idea how she has remained so positive over the years through her chronic illness.

Anytime a doctor disappointed her, gave her medication that had horrible side effects, and had flare-ups that ruined special occasions she had been looking forward to for weeks, I always waited patiently, ready to catch her if she broke.

Yet every time, she’d paste on a smile and find a positive in the situation.

If I were her, I would have spiraled into a depressive state years ago.

Grateful for the waiter and his perfect timing, I sip on the fresh fruity cocktail he places down at our table.

Layla squares her shoulders. “I can’t handle any more depressing conversations. Let’s talk about your sexy new boss.”

“Um, he was a part of the depressing conversation,” I remind her.

She waves me off. “No, we’re going to talk about a tiny fact that you conveniently left out.”

“Please enlighten me.”

She jabs her finger into my arm. “How Grayson Crawford is your type to a T.”

The cocktail I was sipping goes down the wrong hole and I choke. A full-on coughing fit that makes Layla’s eyes widen and patrons rise out of their seats. I hold out my hand, stopping them all, trying to wave them off as tears form in my eyes.

“So, you do find him attractive,” she sings, smug as fuck once I get myself under control.

I snort. “And what gave you that impression? My life flashing before my eyes or the fact I waved off the man who’s been staring at us all night, probably dying at the chance to resuscitate me?”

She grimaces. “Is it Slimy Stan?”

“Yep,” I say, popping the p as I avoid his eye. Slimy Stan is also a regular at the bar, who hits on anything that moves.

“Stop changing the subject.”

“Oh, I’m fine by the way. Not like I didn’t just nearly die.”

“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 she clings 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, so nothing . 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. You don’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, but that is 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 puck bunnies 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?”

“Yes,” she mumbles into her drink.

My heart pinches painfully for her. A hopeless romantic trapped in a romance-less world.

Layla has always said she wants a love that’s written in the stars. One that’s organic and fun and all-consuming, and all she’s ever experienced in her life so far is bluh .

“Maybe we should try?—”

She holds up a hand. “I love you, Bella, and I appreciate the lengths you go to for my nonexistent dating life, but I need a break from it. I’m tired…

so extremely tired of going on dates with mediocre men that either don’t take the time to research lupus, tell me to take Tylenol, or worse yet, invalidate my health experience and say I’m dramatic.

” The weight upon her shoulders is evident as her voice grows hoarse.

“I’m mentally tapped out and I can’t deal with that at the moment. ”

Leaning across the table, I clutch her hand in mine, squeezing lightly.

“I’m hoping for you, Layla. I’m wishing upon every star I see that you get into the Berlin program and are surrounded by doctors that give a shit about you and your health.

” A grin spreads across my cheeks. “And fuck mediocre men. Some don’t even know how to wipe their ass. Their opinions aren’t worth shit.”

Layla bursts out laughing and it’s the most gorgeous sound in the world. I’ll do anything to make my best friend laugh so carefree.