What His Money Can’t Hide Read Free

potent woody notes had hit her straight in the solar plexus when she’d returned to take his order, making her feel ever so slightly light-headed.
    The other thing that had unsettled her was the vaguely amused glance from his curiously light grey eyes when she’d delivered his coffee. Why do that? she thought crossly.
Did he think she was some easily impressed featherbrain who would fall at his feet simply because he smiled at her?
It bothered her that she’d wasted even a second mulling it over—especially when she ought to know better. Her experience of men like him—confident, handsome,
rich
men, who took it as their God-given right to say what they wanted to women like her—had not helped Layla feel remotely easy in their company, and neither did she trust them.
    Unfortunately she’d reached that conclusion the hard way
. It was why she had given up her prestigious job as PA to an ambitious but unscrupulous broker in the City and returned home to work for her brother Marc in his café instead. Her income had plunged dramatically, but it was worth it to live the much more pared-down and uncomplicated life she lived now. No more paying rent on a London studio apartment that was not much bigger than a utility closet, and no more extortionate dry cleaning bills for the suits, skirts and jackets that her ambitious boss had required her to wear to present the efficient corporate image that he insisted best represented him.
    Her change of job and income had also meant the end of expensive lunches in fashionable restaurants withcolleagues eager to be seen in all the right places and hopefully headhunted by rival prestigious firms so that they could step up a rung or two on the career ladder. But for Layla the best thing of all about leaving her London life behind was that at least now she was working for someone she trusted. And in return her brother Marc respected and valued
her
—unlike her lying boss, who had fleeced her of all her savings with the promise of a money-making opportunity that would set her up for life.
It hadn’t
.
    Instead the supposedly failsafe deal had cost her every penny of her hard-earned cash. Although she took full responsibility for allowing her desperation to quit a job she’d grown to hate to make her take such a risky gamble with her savings, she didn’t intend to allow herself ever to act so desperately again.
    Releasing a long, heartfelt sigh, she let her glance settle on the still preoccupied Drake Ashton. His dark head was bent over the drawings and he was chewing the end of a pencil as he studied them. The picture he made called to mind a small boy mulling over his homework. The wave of compassion that swept through Layla at the idea took her by surprise. The polished handsome architect was surely the last man on earth who needed anyone’s compassion!
    Her thoughts ran on. She wondered if by visiting her brother’s simple little café he had some idea of presenting a much more down to earth image than he was usually purported to have?
    The local newspaper stated that he had a tough reputation and took no prisoners. It also said that he lived in a house worth millions in Mayfair, as well as owningproperty in the South of France and Milan, and that he had made his fortune by designing luxurious homes for the rich and famous. No doubt he was used to taking his morning coffee in locations far more affluent and glamorous than here.
    Layla swept her hand irritably down over her ponytail. Why should she care where the man usually drank his coffee? What
did
concern her was that he might report back to the council and his other sponsors that their little café was dreary and rundown and, judging by the woeful lack of customers, would it matter if it had to be closed down to make way for a much more viable business?
    The idea stirred white-hot fury in her belly, quickly followed by sickening fear. The café meant everything to her brother Marc. If he got wind that Layla had been less than