The Owner of His Heart

CHAPTER TWO





“I’LL have to call you back,” Nathan said to his brother.

“How will you call me back if you don’t know where I am?” his brother asked.

But Nathan just hung up. He dropped the receiver in its cradle without taking his eyes off of his unexpected guest.

“Come out of there, young lady,” Kate, his assistant, yelled from the other side of the door. “Security is on their way, and we’ll have you forcibly removed.”

Layla gave him an apologetic smile and held up a finger. “Hold on just a moment, please,” she said. Then she turned her attention to the door’s locking apparatus.

He stared at her, taking in everything from her springy black curls, barely held back by an overburdened scrunchie, to her large, almond-shaped brown eyes, which were crinkled with chagrin. Her mouth, though free of lipstick, remained as lush and inviting as ever. And her nose, which was a little large, made her dark face more striking than gorgeous.

Nathan tended to date gorgeous women, but at that moment he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Layla. He felt himself harden. Even after what she’d done, his desire for her couldn’t be regulated by logic.

After some fiddling, she managed to lock the door. She paused and took a moment to regain her composure before approaching his desk. Layla held her hand out towards him.

“Hi, I’m Layla Matthews,” she said.

He stood but made no move to shake her hand.

“Henry Matthews daughter,” she said, as if he needed another reminder of who she was.

“I know who you are,” he said. “My question is, what are you doing here?”

***



Layla didn’t know what she’d been expecting when she barged into Nathan Sinclair’s office, but it hadn’t been the man she found behind a large metal desk.

She had thought Nathan Sinclair would be like most CEOs—clean-cut, older, with gray hair, and wearing a black business suit. But the man behind the desk was not only exceedingly handsome, he looked to be just a little older than her own twenty-eight years. And though she could see a black jacket hanging on his hawkish executive chair, he wasn’t wearing a tie, and the top two buttons of his crisp, white button-up shirt were open, allowing it to stretch across his broad chest in a very unbusiness-like way. Also, unlike the CEO she had imagined, he wore his sable brown hair slightly too long with about three days worth of unchecked beard growth.

But what really made her uneasy were his grey eyes. They lasered in on her when she entered the room, and became downright cold when she approached his desk.

“I know who you are,” he said, ignoring her outstretched hand. “My question is what are you doing here?”

“Oh,” she said, scrambling to reset. “You know who I am? Do we—I mean, did we know each other?”

Something flashed in his cold grey eyes. “Are you attempting to make fun of me? Is this a joke?”

“No,” Layla said. She lowered her hand. “I had an accident. Maybe you knew or heard about it. I fell down some stairs and ended up in a two-day coma. But when I woke up, I’d lost a year.”

“A year,” he repeated, suspicion lacing his voice.

“Yes, my entire time in Pittsburgh—I don’t remember anything.” She rushed into an explanation. “All I know is I moved here from New Orleans to attend college before I had my accident. But when I woke up from the coma, I didn’t remember any of it. My dad moved me back to New Orleans, and after years of physical therapy, I ended up going to school in Dallas to become a physical therapist myself. But now I’m back, and I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you.”

She wrung her hands together. “In fact, I’m trying to figure out how we would have even come in contact. And why did you give my father money? Was it a loan?”

He leaned forward and stared at her so hard Layla felt like he was running an unseen lie detector scan over her. “You’re serious,” he said. “You don’t remember me or anything that happened while you were here?”

“I tried to ask my father, but he just kept saying it was better that I didn’t remember. He died a few months ago.”

Layla paused, waiting for him to extend his condolences but he said nothing. “I suppose you two weren’t friends, then.”

“No, we weren’t friends.”

Layla hated this, hated being at such a disadvantage. She kept asking questions, but his answers only confused her more. Plus, the way he was looking at her set something akin to terror off in her heart. Run! her primitive instincts screamed at her, but another part of her insisted she get her answers no matter how much he scared her.

“Did we know each other?” she asked again.

“What do you want?” he asked. “Why are you here?”

With trembling fingers she pulled the receipt out of her purse. “I found this,” she said, forcing herself to hand him the piece of paper.

He snatched it, looked at it, looked back at her, then tossed it on the desk. “Yes, and…?”

His officiousness began to annoy Layla and her fear ebbed away, replaced by anger. “You know, you don’t have to act so hostile,” she said. “I’m just trying to figure this all out.”

More fists pounded on the office door. This time a male voice called out, “Security! Open the door! Mr. Sinclair, are you all right?”

Nathan Sinclair stared at her for a few hard beats, then surprised her by calling back, “Yes, I’m fine. Go away!”

There came many seconds of confused silence, then the guard asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Now go away. I can handle her myself, and I don’t need your services.”

Layla cocked her head and gave him a censorious look. “You could be a little nicer. He’s only trying to help.” She called out to the security guard, “I’m so sorry for any trouble I caused you. Thank you for doing your job so well. Mr. Sinclair really appreciates it.”

“No problem. Let me know if you need anything,” the man on the other side of the door responded.

“We will. Thanks again,” Layla replied. She turned back to Nathan with a smile. “Pittsburghers are so friendly. I’m really loving it here.”

Nathan Sinclair narrowed his eyes at her, putting her in mind of Clint Eastwood in those westerns her father used to watch. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, Pittsburgh is great.”

“I mean about the security guard. I could have handled that situation without your interference.”

Layla couldn’t believe he was even arguing this point. “Thank you is the least we could say. He came all the way up here.”

“Yes, because protecting me is what he gets paid to do. You don’t have to thank people for doing their jobs.”

“No, you don’t have to,” Layla said. “But it’s a nice thing to do.”

He folded his arms, his face becoming a work of stone. “You’re still doing that, I see.”

“Doing what?” she asked.

“Pretending to be nice. You’re still keeping up with the good girl act.”

“It’s not an act as far as I know…” Layla took a tentative step toward the desk. “…but was I mean to you? Is that why you don’t like me?”

“No, I dislike you for other reasons,” he said. He picked up the receipt again. “This is money my father, the late Nathan Sinclair Sr., paid your father because he was threatening to sue our family.”


“Threatening to sue you for what?” Layla asked.

“Those stairs you fell down were at our house. He said you would go to the press and say you were pushed if we didn’t pay him.”

Layla clutched a hand to her heart, hearing this. She wished she could say she was surprised. But her father had always had loose moral codes when it came to feeding his gambling habit. She could easily see him blackmailing Nathan Sinclair Sr. for a large amount of money, then gambling it all away on the New Orleans riverboats. She’d managed to eventually move out and make a fresh start in Dallas after her accident. But even after she moved, her father’s many debts continued to haunt her. And three months after his funeral, she was still cleaning up his messes.

“I’ll pay you back,” she told him.

“What?” he said. His hard expression shifted from anger to curiosity. “How?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “In installments?”

Now he laughed, but it was a mean, dark sound, steeped in frank disbelief, which pissed Layla off. “I will pay you back. It might take a while, but I will. I’m sorry my father blackmailed yours.”

He just shook his head, his eyes laced with disgust. “Like I said, still pretending. You’re such a sweet girl, so good. That’s what you’ve always wanted everyone to believe, isn’t it?”

She stepped closer to his desk, her chin going up. “Listen,” she said. “I told you I don’t remember you.”

“Convenient,” he said, snarled really.

“It’s the truth,” she said, voice raised. “So either tell me how we know each other and why you’re so angry at me or zip it.”

Layla couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. To a certain extent, he was right about her. She tried her best to be nice, to be polite, to be all the things her father hadn’t been. She had even gone into a helping profession. But there was something about Nathan Sinclair that upset her equilibrium. She didn’t want to be nice to him. In fact, he irked her so bad, her palms itched to slap him.

Seconds ticked by as they took each other’s measure. Him challenging her with his stare, her refusing to back down by lowering her eyes.

She thought she’d won the stare-off when he turned away from her. But then he grabbed a file folder out of one of his desk drawers, dropped the receipt into it, and said, “Fine, I’ll expect you the second Friday of next month with the first installment.”

She blinked. “You want me to deliver the check here?”

He held out his hand. “Right into my palm.”

“I mean, couldn’t I just deposit it into a bank account or something? Or maybe mail you the check?” The same instinct that had told her to run was now telling her she did not want to confront this man again. That she should do whatever it took to keep her distance.

He sat back down and steepled his hands in front of him.

“I like to look into my enemy’s eyes when it comes to payback—even if in this case, my enemy is literally paying my family back. You’ll come here, to this office, and hand me each check directly until you’re done paying back every cent. Those are my terms. Either take them or you can—how did you put it? Zip it.”

His tone was soft, but his eyes brooked no argument, and Layla knew he wouldn’t be convinced to modify his so-called terms. His face was beautiful, but she could now see there was something very cruel inside of him. For some reason, he wanted to watch her suffer under the burden of repaying her father’s debt.

“Fine,” she said. She schooled her face into a emotionless stare. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing the anxiety now churning in her stomach as she tried to figure out how to pay him back as quickly as possible. “I’ll see you in June.”

“Fine,” he said. “You may go now.”

With that, he took his laser gaze off of her and turned it to his computer.

“Thank you for meeting with me and for not handing me over to security,” she said, because it was the polite thing to say. And she was determined to remain polite even if Nathan Sinclair couldn’t appreciate such niceties.

He didn’t answer, just typed on his keyboard, signaling he had already dismissed her before she was even out the door.

“Bye,” she said, feeling silly now, but unable to stop herself from issuing one more small courtesy.

Again, he didn’t answer. So she left, already piecing together a plan to get more hours at her physical therapy center. She’d work double shifts every day if it meant paying back that blackmail money sooner rather than later. Even though she still had a lot more questions, she had never wanted to be done with anything the way she wanted to be done with Nathan Sinclair.

***



Nathan waited ten minutes after the door clicked behind Layla to pick up the phone and buzz Kate.

“Yes, Mr. Sinclair?” she said, picking up immediately.

“That investigator we used for the Columbus lawsuit…”

“Spencer Greeley?” she said.

“Yes, contract his services. I want him to get everything he can find on Layla Matthews. And I especially want access to her medical records.”

She paused, obviously wondering what this was all about, but she was too professional to ask outright. In the end, she simply said, “Yes, Mr. Sinclair. I’ll get right on that.”

Nathan usually hung up after issuing his orders, but this time he stopped himself and said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” his assistant replied, sounding rather startled.

He gritted his teeth and hung up. Layla Matthews had only been back in his life for a few minutes, but she was already disrupting it in ways he didn’t like. Again. With her innocent doe eyes and the luscious curves hidden underneath those hideous scrubs… he couldn’t help but want to pull them off, just to see how much that body of hers had changed in the nine years since they’d seen each other last.

He didn’t know what her game was, or why she had come back to Pittsburgh, but he planned to find out and neutralize her before his brother returned. Just a few minutes ago, he had been furious with Andrew for skipping town, but now he could see what a stroke of luck that had been. If he played the situation right, he could get Layla Matthews to leave Pittsburgh before the ball, before Andrew came back, and before she figured out she and his brother used to be in love.