Tangled with my ex's boss

Layla's POV

I scoffed. “Do I look like I need a chaperone?”

Who the hell was he to question my decision?

Before he could say another word, I turned to the man beside me, grabbed his half-finished whiskey without asking, and knocked it back. It burned more than the sugary crap I’d been drinking, still I welcomed the fire. Anything to smother the ache in my chest.

The man beside me just stared. But he didn’t say a word.

I tried to take another gulp, though the glass was already empty. I tilted it again, squinting like the drink might magically refill itself.

“What the hell is wrong with this cup?” I slurred. “Why’s the drink not coming out?”

The man gently took the glass from my hand. His touch sent an electric jolt up my spine.

“Hold on,” he said, his voice smooth and low. Then he turned to the bartender. “One shot of whiskey. For her.”

The bartender looked like he wanted to protest, however one scowl from the man shut him up. He poured the drink.

The bartender gave me a look, one eyebrow arched like he wasn’t sure what to do with me. I knew he’d seen worse in this place.

I looked like I didn’t belong there but who cares?

The drink was placed in front of me. I downed it without hesitation, the fire searing through me.

“Thanks,” I muttered, wiping my lips with the back of my hand. My lipstick smeared across the back of my hand even so I didn’t give a shit.

The loud music throbbed through my chest as I sat at the counter and kept an open tab for my drink, my eyes squinting against the neon lights and swirling haze.

I didn’t even remember the name of the place—just that it was the closest pub still open and loud enough to drown my thoughts.

I'd stopped at my apartment first, ripping off my work clothes and pulling on the skimpiest dress I owned. It clung to every inch of me, barely covering anything. It was the kind of dress that made men turn their heads to look at you except I didn’t care. I was done with the whole ‘modest in relationship’ thing.

The man beside me studied my face, his eyes fleeting to my tits occasionally. “Rough night?”

I gave a short, humorless laugh. “You could say that.”

I turned fully toward him. My eyes were glassy. “You know what’s funny?” I slurred. “I lost everything today. My job, my relationship, my sense of fucking dignity. And now… I’m here. In a goddamn public pub. Trying to forget.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Is it working?”

“Not yet,” I muttered bitterly.

He didn’t push further. Instead, he kept refilling my glass. “Then keep drinking,” he said calmly. “However pace yourself.”

I stared at him. He looked like someone I'd seen before. He had a face I would’ve remembered in another life. Late thirties? Maybe early forties. He was calm, composed, and too damn attractive for this place. His blue eyes lingered on my face a little too long.

His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of a tattoo on his chiseled abs. My eyes wandered on his body. He had the kind of confidence you couldn’t fake.

God, I will kill to have a man with this body.

His hand brushed my arm as he leaned in a little closer. His voice was low and unreadable. “You want to get out of here?”

I blinked at him, my vision swimming slightly from the whiskey.

My gaze drifted past him to the stage where two women danced around a pole, teasing some rich guy in a suit who looked half-drunk and fully obsessed.

The room spun a little. So did my heart.

“Yes,” I said suddenly, pushing off the stool, swaying as I stood.

“You sure you’re steady enough to walk?” he asked, grabbing my arm gently.

“Nope,” I grinned, my voice slurring. “Yet I’m still standing, aren’t I?”

“I could carry you.”

“And ruin the full drunk-girl experience?” I laughed, twirling a finger. “I want to feel the room spin.”

He chuckled softly. I didn’t care where we were going. I just wanted to feel something else different from the pain I've felt today.

I walked ahead of him staggering a little as I jumbled my way among the crowd. I turned around suddenly, almost hitting my head on his chest.

“Shit! I forgot my purse,” I muttered, turning back.

He was already two steps ahead of me, heading back to the bar. While I waited, some creep leaned in close. “You lost, baby?”

I took a quick glance at his overall look. He looked rough and drunk.

“Back off.” I kicked off a heel and pointed it at him like a knife.

He grumbled something and disappeared.

How could he mistake me for a cheap fuck? I wasn't dressed that badly. I pushed myself to a random seat, feeling the room swaying a little.

I don't know what was keeping that ‘hot’ man from retrieving my purse. Tying my heels strap, I heard the man's voice.

“Here. I’ve been looking for you.” He said, stretching my purse to me. I collected it from him and stood up from the chair.

As we walked, he kept glancing at me. There was something familiar in his eyes, like he was trying to place me. Maybe I reminded him of someone. Or maybe I just looked like a mess.

I could tell he liked what he saw, though. His gaze lingered on my face then dropped to my lips and exposed tits.

My hair was messy. My makeup was probably a disaster. Yet he was staring at me like I was the only thing worth looking at.

The downtown lights blurred in the distance as the cool night air bit at my skin immediately I stepped outside the pub. My foot caught the edge of a loose stone making me stumble slightly.

He caught me around the waist before I could fall, his hand firm and warm through the fabric of my thin dress.

The heat of his touch sent something sharp up my spine. The scent of sandalwood and citrus clung to his skin. It made my head swim in a different way.

My mind should’ve been screaming what are you doing?, but it wasn’t. Instead, Ryan and Brielle's fucking scene flashed in my mind.

Fucking hell! I should feel something other than this.

I looked up at him.

“You’re very hand…some, you know,” I said with a sloppy grin. I reached up, locked my arms around his neck, and yanked him down. My lips crushed against his like I needed him to erase Ryan’s name from my memory.