escort diary® of Layla Lily: Conflict of interest
I was supposed to be listening to the quarterly projections.
Instead, I was replaying the way his hands had gripped my hips the night before.
The boardroom lights were too bright, the air too cold, the numbers on the screen meaningless compared to the heat that curled low in my stomach as flashes of memory slipped in uninvited. The taste of expensive whiskey on his mouth. The weight of his watch against my skin. The way he had said my name like it was something confidential, something dangerous.
“Layla?”
My head snapped up.
Right. Corporate life. Day job. Sensible heels. Silk blouse buttoned high enough to pretend I was just another executive assistant with colour-coded spreadsheets and a respectable bedtime.
If only they knew, I smirked
I shifted in my chair, crossing my legs slowly, willing myself back into the present. Outside the glass walls of the meeting room, the city shimmered in the midday heat. Inside, everything smelled like coffee, leather chairs, and ambition.
But beneath it all, I still smelled his cologne on my skin.
I pressed my lips together, steadying myself.
“Focus” I tell myself
Because in five minutes I had to be in the main boardroom to greet the international shareholders.
And I was late.
⸻
I rushed down the corridor, heels striking marble in sharp, urgent clicks, heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with punctuality.
When I pushed open the heavy boardroom doors, the conversation inside dipped for half a second.
That subtle shift when a room registers a new presence.
All eyes turned.
And then I saw him.
Tall. Impeccably dressed. Dark suit cut so perfectly it might as well have been tailored onto him. The kind of presence that didn’t need to speak to command attention.
Our eyes locked.
Time didn’t slow.
It stopped.
It was him. The man who had booked me the night before - the same man who, only hours earlier, had me naked in his hotel suite, the man id been smiling about all morning.
For the briefest moment I saw it, recognition flashing across his face just as it must have across mine.
But it disappeared instantly.
By the time he stepped forward, his expression was composed again. Professional.
“Pleasure to meet you,” he said, extending his hand.
I placed mine in his as if we were strangers.
“Likewise.”
His grip was firm. Controlled. Neutral.
Anyone watching would have thought it was just another introduction between colleagues who had never met before.
Only we knew the truth.
We took our seats on opposite sides of the long boardroom table, pretending we had never laid eyes (or hands) on each other before that moment.
The meeting began.
I didn’t absorb a single word.
Every time I looked up, I caught him watching me briefly before returning his attention to the discussion. Careful. Controlled. As if nothing about the situation was unusual.
But the tension between us was unmistakable.
⸻
The message came through late that afternoon.
It was him!
Can I see you again tonight? Same place. Wear something sexy.
A rush shot straight through my body when I read it.
I had wanted to speak to him all day.
“Of course,” I replied. “See you soon”
⸻
That night I walked into the same hotel bar as the evening before.
He was already there.
Same seat. Same quiet confidence. Fresh suit.
When he saw me, he stood immediately.
“Well,” he said with a faint smile, “today was unexpected.”
“Hmmm yes, very,” I replied, sliding onto the stool beside him. “What are the chances.”
He shook his head slightly, still amused by the absurdity of it.
“Unexpected,” he said. “But amazing.”
His eyes moved slowly over me.
“I was thinking about you all morning… and then you walked into the boardroom in that tight little pencil skirt.”
A small smile tugged at my lips.
“You hid it well.”
“If I’d looked at you,” he said calmly, “I wouldn’t have been able to stop.”
The bartender placed my drink down in front of me.
Neither of us touched it.
“I wanted to speak to you all day,” he admitted. “But I had to pretend I’d never seen you before.”
I leaned slightly closer.
“And now?”
His gaze darkened.
“Now I don’t have to pretend.”
⸻
Upstairs, the familiarity made everything feel more intense.
The cautious distance from the night before was gone.
This time there was recognition. Chemistry already ignited. Anticipation built from an entire day of stolen glances and unspoken thoughts.
“You have no idea how distracting you were today,” he said as he loosened his tie. “Sitting across from me like nothing had happened.”
“I’m very good at compartmentalising,” I replied.
He gave a quiet laugh.
“I’m not.”
The city lights glowed through the windows as the night unfolded around us again, slower and deeper than the night before, like we both understood this situation was far more dangerous than a simple coincidence.
Later, lying together in the quiet glow of the room, he traced his fingers lightly along my arm.
“This,” he said quietly, “is a serious conflict of interest.”
I turned toward him.
“Then maybe you should stop booking me.” I replied
He smiled calmly.
“Not a chance.”
