Page 20 of Broken Brothers

But at that moment, Craig’s phone rang three times in a row. He ignored it the first time, made a smartass remark on the second, but he could not dismiss it the third. He was quick and hung up in less than ten seconds.

“I must get going,” Craig said. “Business calls, as it often does when you run a company looking to expand. Layla, please pay the bill for Chance Hunt when it comes. I will reimburse you later. Chance, thank you for coming out.”

“My pleasure,” I said, able to only briefly shake his hand before he departed so quickly it almost felt like the classic movie trope where he was in a spot, I looked away, and then I looked back only for him to have completely vanished.

I took a sip of my wine, allowed myself to process what had just happened, and then turned to the wonderful opportunity before me.

Only to find Layla looking down at her phone.

I knew she wasn’t actually looking at her phone. I could tell by how mortified and nervous she looked. She looked like she had not anticipated this move and was frequently gulping.

“Boy, your father is a busy man, huh?” I said with a chuckle.

Layla looked at me, looked like she wanted to say something, but couldn’t bring herself to speak. It was an utter contrast to the girl who had practically promised to fuck me in the lobby of Burnson Investments. If this was a body swap moment, I would have believed it fully.

“Layla, are you good?” I asked again, my tone a little more serious.

She paused, looked down, and then did something I never expected.

She abruptly got up, placed five one hundred dollar bills down, and left without a word.

Just like that… what the fuck had just happened?

8

The waiter came by with all three desserts.

“Is your party coming back?” he said.

I had no idea. I barely even heard him. I just watched as Layla stood up and walked out, her heels clacking on the wooden floor, as if I had just called her the world’s sluttiest whore. I had no idea what the hell I had said or done—not today, not a week ago, not ever. If things were so awkward, why couldn’t she at least say as much in the moment? Why did she have to stand up at a business dinner like this?

Surely, it wasn’t something she had read on her phone. If it was, if an emergency had popped up, she would have said something. She wouldn’t have just left me out to dry like this.

There was really only one way to interpret this—she didn’t want me around anymore. She didn’t want me to continue what we had done. She was doing what Sarah Hill had done ten years ago.

Except ten years ago, I had gotten ruined not by my actions, but by my adopted status. Sarah Hill had not misunderstood me—she had understood me too much. Layla probably just felt flustered by what had happened and the sudden situation shefound herself in; there was nothing about what we had done that would prevent us from seeing each other again.

Well, the whole investment and business aspects part aside. But that had been present since day one.

I thought for more than a few seconds about how to respond to the waiter.

“Sir?” he asked.

“We had an emergency, I’m sorry,” I said. I really wasn’t even that conscious of the words as I said them. I felt that my subconscious had forced them up, and I was grateful for that—I had an excuse to move forward. “I… I have to go. I’m sorry. That should cover it, right?”

I pointed to the five hundred dollars. The waiter’s eyes went wide. I had the answer I needed. They weren’t wide eyes of disappointment or anger.

I quickly hurried out, apologizing over my shoulder for the abrupt exit. I looked to my right. I didn’t see Layla. I looked to my left. I didn’t see Layla.

But to the left was the nearest subway station, and I’d be damned if Layla had just taken a cab away. If she was going home, she wasn’t going to do so in a cab.

I ran as fast as I could, my tie fluttering in the air and my suit blowing back, looking like a cape.

“Layla!” I shouted.

I debated if I should have done that, considering Mr. Taylor might still be in the premises, but then I decided I had a good enough cover story. I could say that it looked like someone had messaged Layla something terrible and I wanted to catch up to make sure she wasn’t distraught and broken up over what she read. That, of course, was not what had actually happened, almost certainly, but it was plausible and possible.

I saw someone stop, but with the sea of New Yorkers between us, I could not see enough to see if they were Layla. Likeobserving an invisible object by seeing what moved around it, I could only see that people had to adjust for someone who had stopped walking, but I couldn’t see who.