Beneath the Boss: Omnibus (The Complete Collection) by Lydia Rowan

tendrils of excitement that had sprung up when she’d looked through the peephole were extinguished. He simply couldn’t stop himself from pressing every advantage, even playing on her tendency for concern. This—they—couldn’t work.
    “Have a nice day, Leighton,” she said and started to close the door.
    “Wait, Layla!” he said, and she stopped. “How’s this? I miss you. Every minute of every day I miss you, and I couldn’t go a single second longer without seeing you, even if it meant ditching my car and showing up on your doorstep like a lost puppy.” He paused before he continued, “And I won’t apologize for that.”
    She looked at him, his gray eyes flashing with the haughtiness—there was no other word for it really—that was so much a part of him, but also full of that softer, more-open emotion that she’d just begun to recognize before things had fallen apart. She’d said he couldn’t be honest, the statement an implicit request for evidence to the contrary, and to his credit, he’d delivered. She stepped back, fearing she was making a mistake, but unwilling to turn him away, especially since he was so clearly trying, and opened the door fully.
    “Come in.”
    ••••
    L eighton entered, and the warmth and comfort that he always felt in Layla’s home, in her presence, enveloped him. Strange really because even though his time at her home had been limited, all things considered, he still felt a strong sense of pride, ownership, belonging when he was here. Which was probably why he’d ruined things. He’d tried to see things from her perspective, realized that she probably saw his pride as arrogant self-regard, his ownership as possession, his comfort as callousness. And he only had himself to blame.
    He’d never told Layla what she meant to him, never tried to explain why he was the way he was, so all she saw was an arrogant, entitled, controlling jerk, when in reality, he was a desperate man trying to hold on. Well, he’d fix that today. Lay everything out there and then let Layla decide. He internally recoiled at the thought of being vulnerable again, but for her, he’d do it. He’d be crushed if she still wanted to stay apart, but at least he’d know he’d been honest, essentially the only thing she demanded.
    He stood in the foyer and looked around, the surroundings familiar and calm, the serenity of Layla’s home making him more nervous than he’d been before. A long time ago, back before he knew better, he’d occasionally imagine a home, a life, like this. A partner he loved and trusted above all, maybe even a couple of kids. Boring, sure, but as unattainable as landing on Mars, something that he, with all his fortune and power would never have. Or so he’d believed. But Layla had changed all that in a few short weeks. She’d given him glimpse of what could be.
    She’d made him hope.
    “Have a seat.”
    Layla’s words brought him back, and he gave a slight smile and moved toward the sofa. Layla sat on the love seat opposite him and well out of touching range. He glanced over at the television and raised a brow, and Layla followed his gaze and smiled before she quickly cut the television off.
    “Reality television is a window into our post post-modern society, and by watching it, I bear witness to societal evolution in real time. I’m only doing my duty as person concerned with the human condition, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
    “You’re right. No doubt the continuing misadventures of divorcées as they navigate petty arguments at staged cocktail parties will one day reveal the mysteries of life.”
    She titled her head in imitation of highest dudgeon and uttered, “Don’t judge,” before dissolving into giggles.
    He joined her, and it felt good to share a light moment. They gradually calmed, and Layla leaned back and tucked her foot under her thigh, which brought his attention to her attire for the first time. She wore some kind of tank-top-dress