17
It is safe for me to become a millionaire now that I claim to have pepper spray.
Despite her behavior, I thought if I invited Layla to lunch, it might prompt her into explaining more about the business proposition for Wesley. When I asked Wesley what Layla was helping him with; he said she hadn't given him any real details because she was still hashing out things on her end to see if it will work out. Neither of us has a clue about what “it" is, but I know Layla all too well.
“I'm surprised you asked me to join you on your post-sex lunch date. I would have called this awkward, but I find little to be awkward these days," she laments. Layla could entertain herself for hours without a care for who is listening or who isn't listening. She has been walking in front of us for at least two blocks, talking for the sake of talking, and without intention. Layla likes to hear her voice.
“I don't think this is awkward," I reply to her last statement. “Do you?" I nudge Wesley with my elbow and give him a quick wink when he glances at me through the corner of his eyes.
“Not even a little," he says, monotone, apparently disagreeing with what he's agreeing to.
Layla opens the glass door to the sandwich shop, and the bells ring above our heads as we walk through the door. At least we're going casual today. It will eliminate the oddness from Layla being the third wheel—since she would consider herself a bonus wheel.
We place our orders at the counter and take a number before choosing a booth. Less than a minute after we're seated, Layla glances back and forth between Wesley and me, then grins. “I still can't tell you what the job is."
I toss my head back, hitting it against the wooden wall paneling behind me. “Layla, you can't just tell someone you have a job proposition for them and not give any hints on what it might be."
Wesley places his hand on my knee, and I realize I'm speaking for him, which I know isn't something men appreciate, but he doesn't understand the inner workings of Layla’s brain.
“She asked me if I was looking for a job, and I am,” Wesley says in defense toward Layla. “Although, now I have some concerns.”
“Don’t listen to Mads. She just doesn’t like the way I make money, but to each their own, right?” Layla argues against my reasoning.
Wesley scratches his fingers against his eyebrow. “So, I'm just getting out of a crappy situation, and I do need to watch my step for a while. This gig can't have anything to do with modeling or anything that comes with a risk to my career.”
“I know," Layla says. “You already told me this earlier." It’s good to know he’s considering the risks of agreeing to an unknown job a little bit.
“How long before you'll be able to offer information on this new venture?" I ask her.
Layla tilts her head from one side to the other, her head full of unruly curls bounces along with her. “A day, possibly two," she says.
How in the world can it take just a day to create a company? It can't. “This is ridiculous."
“I'll give you a day," Wesley agrees. “No modeling and I need a source of steady income or this won't work out."
“You have already told me this, both facts. I'm not dumb. I got it, Milk-Dud."
“Funny," he sighs.
“Tomorrow, I need to borrow you in the morning. Will you be up for a little shopping?" she asks him.
“See this already sounds like something to do with modeling," he argues. Wesley places his hands down on the tabletop and stands up. For a minute, I think he's angry and leaving, but he heads up to the counter to grab our food that was just set out.
“What are you doing?" I ask Layla, under my breath, but with a snap, to my words, so she knows to stop screwing around.
“It's nothing bad. I need to make sure I can find what I need before committing."
“Tell me," I demand.
“No, shut up and let me do what I'm a pro at," she argues.
“Does this have something to do with dating?" Wesley asks when he places our tray down.
“Nope," Layla responds, grinning with a look I don't like.
“Stripping?" I didn't even think to ask her that one. It's almost like the topic has come up before.Interesting.
“No, no stripping," Layla says. “Why, do you have experience?"
