Or, the part of her life that Leyla knew about, anyway. The one where her mom came to America with an infant, not knowing a soul, and worked and persevered until she’d built a good life for her tiny family.
“What time do you want Sharkie let out?” Leyla asked, eager to change the topic.
“Between two and five. I’m easy.”
“He’s not.” Leyla grinned.
“I spoil him, huh?”
“If you didn’t have him to spoil, who else would you give all that attention to?” Leyla zipped up the makeup bag.
“Exactly. I like your mindset. It’s not like I have a boyfriend to spoil.”
Boyfriends.
Yet another topic Leyla didn’t want to get into.
Her last relationship had ended over two years ago, and though there had been dates and flings here and there, nothing had stuck. Once her mom got sick, men went onto the back burner entirely.
At this point, a hot date to make Leyla forget about everything else for even one night sounded perfect. But that begged the question: where on earth were all the good guys?
Not on dating apps, for sure. Been there, done that.
“I need to get ready for work, hon.” London opened the door and blew a kiss. “Break a leg.”
“Thanks.”
Left alone in the empty apartment, Leyla took a deep breath and looked around. She was ready to go, and with fifteen minutes to spare, but a deep unease made her want to be anywhere else but home.
When her mom became sick about a year before, Leyla ended up staying most nights at her house. She’d cook dinner and they’d watch movies together, and after her mom fell asleep, she would work out the final draft of her screenplay or brainstorm new crowdfunding angles.
Life hadn’t stopped, because her mom had convinced her it wouldn’t. Everything would go on as it always had, and the cancer would go away.
Reaching up to her throat, she touched the heart necklace there. It had been her mother’s, engraved with her initials, the one piece of jewelry she had worn every day. And now, it was Leyla’s, and she was the one who never took it off.
Leyla couldn’t blame her mother for protecting her from the truth for as long as possible. It’s the kind of parent she was.
Shouldering her bag and grabbing her keys, she paused at the framed photo on the end table by the front door. At first glance, it looked like a picture of Leyla there, but it wasn’t.
It was her mom in her thirties, an infant Leyla in her arms. It had been taken by a family friend.
For not the first time, Leyla thought about how hard it must have been for her mother, coming to a land full of strangers. Though she’d asked for stories before, Maira had always been pretty tight-lipped.
And so, Leyla had taken it upon herself to write a fictionalized version of events.
She’d been nervous the first time her mom had read the script, but the tears the older woman had cried were happy ones. She’d loved it.
“Bye, Mom. Have a good day.” Leyla pressed two fingers to her lips then transferred the touch to the frame’s glass. “Miss you.”
Three months.
Ninety-two days.
Would she ever get used to life without her biggest cheerleader?
Leyla wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she had to try.
Chapter 2
Kane
Under the polished conference room table, Kane Clayton’s hand curled into an angry fist. His face, however, remained perfectly pleasant.
Even though it took all of his strength.
“I am sorry, Mr. Clayton,” Omar Almasi, Kane’s contact with the Sharraini Department of Commerce, said. “There is little else I can do for you.”
Kane cleared his throat, using the moment to calm himself down. He wasn’t usually quick to anger, but the last twenty minutes of this video call had tested him.
“Mr. Almasi.” Kane smiled wide. “Surely, you understand what a partnership with ClayFuel would do for your country. The jobs it would create. The attention it would draw. Did you take a look at the predictions my office sent you? Twenty thousand jobs, Mr. Almasi. That’s what we predict ClayFuel can do for you.”
On the screen, the man’s face tightened. “Unfortunately, the decision is not entirely up to me to make. King Mabrouk is the one who chooses what areas Sharrain will expand into.”
King Mabrouk. It wasn’t the first time he’d been brought up in Kane’s calls with Sharraini officials.
“I hear what you’re saying.” Kane nodded seriously. “Now, may I ask you this: what can I do in order to get a meeting with the king?”
Something akin to pity wafted across Mr. Almasi’s face. “The king does not accept requests, Mr. Clayton. He makes them. I assure you, he is well aware of your desire to drill in Sharrain. Should he choose to speak with you, someone will be in touch.”
“You’re sitting on a gold mine.” Kane leaned forward. “Except it’s better than gold. It’s oil. Does he understand that?”
A couple seats down, Nick Gomez, ClayFuel’s Chief Operating Officer, cringed. Kane knew he’d regret his words later, but right then, he almost didn’t care.
“Have a good day, Mr. Clayton,” the man who sat half a world away said.
The screen went black.
Biting back a curse, Kane covered his eyes with his palm. “I messed that up.”
“Not too badly,” Nick said.
Dropping his hand, Kane gave him a skeptical look. With a couple decades on Kane and five years as ClayFuel’s COO, Nick’s opinion was something Kane valued.
Kane understood how inheriting his father’s company and rising straight to the top looked. It was why he worked extra hard. Not only did he need to prove himself, but he also couldn’t let anyone down. The first in and the last to leave. That had become his motto over his year as CEO.
“I saw that cringe,” Kane said.
Nick shrugged. “You might have shown a bit too much emotion.”
“They’re playing hardball.”
“I don’t think so,” Nick quickly responded. “You know what Sharrain is like.”
“I’ve never been.” Kane leaned back into his leather seat, suddenly feeling extraordinarily tired even though it wasn’t yet noon.
Every day on this job gave him a new appreciation for his father, who’d helmed the company for four decades. Kane had used to think it was probably easy, sitting on top of a company’s throne while everyone else worked their butts off below.
“You’ve never been,” Nick said, “but you know about their reputation. They don’t easily let in foreign companies.”
“That’s an archaic policy.”
Nick spread his hands. “You say that to me like I can change it.”
Kane smirked. “I’m not used to not getting what I want.”
As soon as he said the words, he wanted to take them back. The last thing he wanted was to come across as a spoiled brat.
Nick, however, didn’t even bat an eyelash. “We’ll find a way.”
“How?”
“Beats me, but you’re Doug Clayton’s son. His drive is in your veins.”
Kane’s face warmed, and he looked down. Even the slightest mention of his father still got him choked-up.