His little sister wasn’t little anymore. Despite her injuries, she had managed to overcome the anger and bitterness that had been holding Sam back from embracing his life.

Nisha looked over as the door opened. “Who’s that?”

Sam followed her gaze, his gut clenching when he saw John in the doorway waving a hand in front of his nose.

“What is that smell?”

“Rotting caviar.” Sam’s throat tightened when his friend walked toward them. “We came to clean up. What are you doing here?”

“I heard voices and was hoping Layla was back with some snacks from the restaurant, but it’s just you.” His gaze fell on Nisha and he smiled. “John Lee of Lee, Lee, Lee & Hershkowitz, at your service.”

Sam made the introductions. John kept staring at his sister like he’d never seen a woman before. He stuttered through a conversation about the weather with such a lack of language skills it was hard to believe he could even say his own name in court.

“Seriously, dude.” Sam stepped in front of Nisha, blocking John’s view. “She’s my sister.”

“Yes, she is.” Nisha rolled around him. “And your sister is talking to your friend and doesn’t want to be interrupted.”

“He interrupted us,” Sam protested.

Nisha sniffed. “We were having a conversation about how you need to let people handle things on their own. Weren’t you paying attention?”

“If you’re worried that her wheelchair is an issue,” John said, “I’ll just remind you that your personality handicap hasn’t stopped us from being friends.”

Puzzled, Sam frowned. “What personality handicap?”

“Your inability to see things that are staring you in the face.”

Nisha laughed out loud, and the look she shared with John suggested an interest in more than just a friendship.

“The only thing that is staring me in the face right now is this mess,” Sam said in an attempt to change the uncomfortable conversation.

“Well, let’s get busy.” John grabbed a garbage bag.

“You’re going to help?”

John swept a pile of empty cans into the bag. “I said what I had to say at the gym, and I admit I felt a bit bad knocking you out, although I’m never letting you live that one down. But now it looks like you’re starting to pick up the pieces. That’s when you need your friends the most.”

“It’s one hell of a mess.”

“Then we’ll handle it one piece at a time.” John held up a sparkly pink G-string. “Let’s get the cleaning party started.”

* * *

• • •

“WHAT have you been doing since you left Glenlyon Morrell in New York?” Miles Fanshaw, executive director of City Staffing Solutions, leaned back in his plush leather chair as he sipped his morning coffee.

Layla had always imagined having an office like this. Huge windows. Incredible view. Giant desk. Thick carpet. Framed artwork on the wall . . . What was that picture, anyway? It wasn’t anything, really. Just a scribble of random colors. Messy. Meaningless. Chaotic. Sam would have hated it.

“I thought about starting my own recruitment agency, but it didn’t work out,” she said honestly. “My parents run their own business, and they made it look easy, but I’m not cut out to go it on my own. I prefer the stability and security of working in an established company where I can learn from people like you who are at the top of their game.”

Not only that, she needed the money to help her parents, both with their relocation. She’d hit rock bottom the other night in the restaurant with Danny. After waking up on the cold tile floor beside a pool of her own vomit, she’d decided enough was enough. She’d pulled herself from the brink before and she could do it again. She was a Patel, and Patels didn’t give up.

Miles smirked. “Stability is definitely a weakness for you. Or do you just have trouble keeping a handle on your emotions? I know many women do.”

Misogynistic bastard. “So do many men,” she said tightly. “However, I can assure you, I’m a professional, and I act that way at all times—”

“Maybe not all times.” He handed her his tablet with the “Blue Fury” video playing on the screen. “I talked to your previous employer before our interview. She told me why she let you go.”

Layla’s stomach sank. Would she never be able to leave her past behind? “I’m not that woman anymore.”

Miles laughed. “People don’t change. Starting a business in a highly competitive field with minimal experience isn’t something a conservative person would do.” He studied her intently. “We need women like you, Layla. Sexy, pretty, passionate, and willing to think outside the box . . .” He smirked. “We’ll just need to keep you away from the balcony.”

“I don’t think my looks are—”

“You could have a very bright future here,” he said, interrupting. “Of course, you’ll have to start at the bottom and show us you can keep those emotions under control, but in a few years you could be my assistant . . .”

Layla tuned him out as he explained the long career path to partnership and what she would need to do to work her way up the corporate ladder. Is this what she really wanted? Starting from the bottom again? Sacrificing self-respect for success? Maybe her business hadn’t started out strong, but it was her business. She’d run it the way she had wanted. She’d answered to no one. Even Sam, who had far more experience running his own company, and had never treated her as anything less than an equal.

And Miles was wrong. She had changed. Sam had hurt her deeply, but she hadn’t flung her dosas at him. She had held her head high and walked away even though her heart had broken in two.

It was her heart that made her different. She cared about the employees she placed. Everyone had told her to focus on the corporate clients, but if she built a reputation for solid, long-term placements with quality staff, they would come to Layla Patel for their personnel.

Patel Personnel. The name hit her like a thunderbolt. Too perfect. Too late.

Or was it?

“Thank you for your time. I don’t think this is the right fit for me.” Layla pushed quickly to stand. If she was going to go back to a regular job, at the very least she should work for someone she respected. And if she did decide to be her own boss, she needed to move on, put the past behind her, and figure out exactly who she was and what kind of business she wanted to run.

“You’re making a mistake,” Miles said. “A big one. No one else is going to hire you.”