"Are you sure you're okay?" Avery asked her as she stepped back into the studio. Layla nodded, though she still felt a bit shaky.

"That's the third time you've gotten sick this week. I think you might need to go to the doctor. Or at least go home and rest," he told her, his arms folded across his chest.

"I'm fine. We have too much work to do, and I'm sure it's just...acid reflux or something," she shrugged, avoiding his pointed stare.

"You're not telling me something."

"Look, can't we just work? That's what we're here to do." Her voice raised an octave as she placed the headphones back on her ears.

Avery hit the button to call into the recording room. "No," he said into the headphones. "Not until you tell me what's wrong."

She stared at him through the Plexiglas window. Why did he have to be so damn perceptive? She'd wanted to seduce him, to take him away from Juliette so she would know the pain of losing someone she loved, but then he'd gone and told her he was divorced and cried a little, and that plan slid down the drain and in its place a genuine admiration for the guy had grown, damn it. Avery was just so freaking likable, but there was still one part of her original plan she figured she could carry out.

"You're not going to let it go are you?" Layla asked, yanking off the headphones when no music started. Avery shook his head.

"You're sick, Layla. As your producer and hopefully, your friend, it isn't right to keep going. You look like your about to pass out any second."

Layla's eyes narrowed. She stormed into the little room behind the glass, seeing red. Damn those hormones. She grabbed her bag and stormed toward the door. "Fine. If you seriously insist, I'll just go," she shot at him, hot tears burning in her eyes.

"Wait, don't rush off mad," Avery said, taking a few steps closer. "I'm just worried about you, that's all." He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, studied her with those soft blue eyes.

"I told you I was fine. Why won't you just believe me?" She sobbed, getting angry at herself for being unable to keep it reined in. This wasn't part of the plan.

"Because I have eyes, Layla," Avery whispered, pulling her into his arms and letting her cry on his shoulder. She cried and cried, the ugly kind of crying that no one ever wanted another person to see-contorted face, nose running, eyes puffy, cheeks red, and sobs that sounded like a dying animal. He just held her, soothed her, didn't try to make her stop, and she couldn't have been more thankful. She needed this...him...the tears...whatever...she just needed it.

Several moments later, she managed to get a hold of herself and Avery grabbed several tissues from the box on the table. He led her to the sofa and sat down beside her. "If you want to keep going, we can," he said softly.

She shook her head. "No, you're right. I can't do this today." She looked up at him, eyes welling with tears. "It's been two months exactly since..." she trailed off as she admitted her truth.

"Oh, Layla. I had no idea," he replied. "Why don't we shut everything down and go grab dinner?" He asked. "We can start fresh tomorrow, but I don't think you should be alone right now, and I want you to know that I'm here for you."

She nodded. "I don't think I'll be all that great of company, but thanks, Avery. It means a lot."

"Sure, no problem. Let me just text Emily real quick and let her know what I'm doing in case she needs anything," he said, pulling out his phone.

"Is it hard?" She asked, suddenly.

He looked at her, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Being a single parent. I can't imagine," she explained.

"It is hard, really hard. Thank God for Emily-she's been a lifesaver. Ready to go?"

Layla nodded and hopped up from the sofa. "Does Thai sound good to you? I want Thai food all the time lately."

Avery held the door for her. "Sure, whatever you want is fine with me."

"What if we get takeout and bring it back to my place? I'm not in the mood to be around a lot of people honestly," she added.

"That's fine with me. Whatever you want."

"You're too sweet, Avery," she said, her hand resting gently on his arm.