Chapter 76 Name Your Price
"I—I'm not good with alcohol." Layla couldn't help glancing at the room where the tall man stood by the door, almost as if he wanted Jennie to catch a glimpse. Frantic, Layla waved him off behind her back.
"Just a little won't hurt. I need you to cover for me. And when the boss and I are well into our drinks, you can slip out. But, I haven't seen him all day, not sure where he went."
"Maybe he's networking, won't be back soon. You should get some rest."
"It's only eight, way too early. I can wait until midnight. Just wanted to give you a heads-up. Once the boss is back, I'll call you, okay? We're friends after all, you have to help me."
Were they even friends? Layla wondered, given how recently they’d met—it hardly felt like familiarity.
"Alright, that's settled, babe." Jennie left for her room.
Layla exhaled deeply, feeling a cold sweat on her forehead.
For someone adept at lying, every second was like a high-stakes spy movie.
"Care for a drink?" The man's voice suddenly broke the silence, not even a foot away.
Layla clutched at her heart and turned around, glaring at him irritably, " Drink? Not on your life!"
"No booze? Then let's make some sandwich."
"I don't want to."
"Fine, I'm out of here." With that, Samuel reached for the door.
"I got it, I'm on it!" Layla cried out in urgency, swiftly closing the door. Jennie was probably on high alert for any movement in the hall. Was he supposed to just walk out and get caught red-handed? How would she explain herself then?
Only then did Samuel ease himself back onto the couch with a polite smile, saying, "Thank you for the trouble."
After the meal, it was only nine o'clock.
"Jennie's likely still on the lookout. You better leave later," Layla suggested.
Samuel lounged elegantly on the sofa, his long legs crossed, his eyes sparkling with interest even though he complained of boredom. "Wouldn't it be dreadfully dull? How about we find something fun to do?"
Quick as a flash, Layla grabbed a pillow and smacked it against his arm. "You're as subtle as a freight train."
"I've got work to do. Do whatever you like."
With that, she took out her laptop and started to work on her designs at the dining table.
Time flies when you're absorbed in work. By the time Layla looked up, feeling a crick in her neck, it was eleven o'clock.
During that time, Samuel had been so quiet that she'd hardly been aware of his presence.
When she turned to look at him, he had fallen asleep.
His tall frame, an imposing 6'2", stretched beyond the confines of the sofa, with his legs hanging off the edge. His sleeping posture was immaculate—a pair of hands resting crossed over his chest, a classic pose that hinted at a disciplined mind.
Layla tiptoed over, with the mischievous thought to startle him awake. But seeing him so peaceful softened her resolve. He really did look more agreeable while asleep.
His gaze was usually sharp, piercing, so with his eyes closed, even his features seemed to soften.
"Ridiculous eyelashes," Layla mumbled, almost enviously.
It had to be said, he wore his handsome exterior with ease. Clearly, some divine attention to detail had gone into crafting his visage; his skin appeared utterly poreless.
But that was scientifically impossible.
Drawn by curiosity, Layla leaned in closer, her eyes inspecting him as if they were magnifying glasses, "Really no pores? Can an older guy seriously have such great skin?"
Unsatisfied, she moved even closer, until her lips were nearly brushing against his face. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open.
"Ah!" The shock made Layla cry out, only to find herself pinned beneath him a second later, her hair fanning out around her.
The unique scent of tobacco from Samuel enveloped her, his lips claiming hers, his kisses demanding her breath.
At first, the kiss was domineering, impatient to brand her with his signature mark, just like before. But as he felt her resistance wane, the kiss slowed, deepened.
One of his hands cradled her face, fingertips dancing over her smooth skin, threading through her hair and behind her ear.
His other hand intertwined with hers, gripping tightly, both of them sinking further into the softness of the couch.
Layla felt her strength draining away, her body turning pliant, devoid of any energy to resist. The only sound beside her ear was the heavy breathing of the man above her.
Her heart was racing, on the verge of bursting free.
The feeling was indescribable, a flush of heat spreading through her entire body.
Samuel's kisses deepened, tracing a path from her cheek to her neck, finally lingering on her collarbone. His large hands, at some point, had managed to pull her blouse free from her skirt.
It wasn't until he began to undo a button and a sliver of coolness pricked her skin that Layla snapped out of the haze, shoving him away in a panic.
"Holland, Samuel...please, just stop..."
In his agitation, Samuel fumbled with her blouse.
"Samuel..." Layla's voice cracked with a barely-contained sob.
Only then did he pause, his eyes—so starkly dark against his pale skin—now filled with a chaotic plea and the shimmer of tears.
Her vulnerability was so enticing, it made him ache to claim her, and yet, his heart couldn't bear to act on it. Samuel was gripped by frustration.
Lately, he'd been tormented by dreams of that night's bone-deep pleasures. Waking brought nothing but a sense of loss. Her touch was like a poison to him, enchantingly lethal and yet too precious to indulge in further. If this continued, he'd be driven to ruin.
"You can't do this to me," Layla whimpered, her voice revealing a hint of grievance.
"You have a fiancée. We shouldn't be doing this."
The image of Nora Eilish's face had flashed before her, triggering an intense wave of shame.
"Damn it, how many times do I have to say it—we're not engaged." Samuel gritted his teeth. "Does it mean if there's no her, that we could be together?"
"That's not the point," Layla hurriedly protested. "We're just not possible."
People from different worlds didn't mix well. He could walk away freely, while she might never recover.
"Then let's make the impossible possible!" Samuel declared with domineering certainty.
Layla closed her eyes, forcing a bitter smile. If only it were that easy.
As a child, she had dreamt of Cinderella and Prince Charming, but by the time she was twelve, fairytales had lost their allure. In reality, marriage was about matching social status, and the expectations in an elite union were even more stringent.
The Holland family would never accept someone of her background, and to Samuel, she was merely a fleeting fascination. She didn't believe in love.
"Enough with the foolish talk, Mr. Holland," Layla said, pushing down her tears as her smile sharpened.
"I'm a realist. Men's sweet nothings? I take them for the jokes they are. And let's be real—I have no desire to waste my prime years raising children. My career means more to me than kids."
So, she was still set on terminating the pregnancy? Was she that cold-hearted?
An edge of scorn tinged Samuel's voice. "Your career? Sounds noble, but isn't it just about the money? How much do you need? Name your price."
Layla felt a sting in her heart, but with a roll of her eyes and a coquettish chuckle, she retorted, "How much is a scion of the Holland family worth? Why don't you, Mr. Holland, name your price. If it's right, I'll have the baby. Who knows, it might even be a son, and that's gonna cost extra."
Samuel frowned.
Throughout his life, he had made many deals, including some that were downright dirty, but none had ever repulsed him like this.
What kind of person haggles over the price of their unborn child?
Samuel felt like he'd swallowed a fly, his expression chilling to ice. "Rest assured, once the child is born, I'll pay a price that'll satisfy you," he said, pulling away without a shred of compassion.
Layla sat up quickly, barely catching her breath before Samuel stormed out the door.
"Wait a second..." Layla rushed after him, wanting to assess the situation, but as soon as she stepped out, she collided with Jennie.
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