#SampleSunday: Layover, an Only One Bed Holiday Novella

Airline chaos, explosive chemistry and Only One Bed

I know I’m a few days late, but it’s still the season to give thanks… to my readers!

This newsletter includes a sneak preview of my holiday novella, so grab a festive beverage and settle in, friends!

I’m QUITE excited to share my last project of 2025- Layover, an Only One Bed Holiday Novella.

Catch the first sneak peek of Layover HERE and if you want a SPICY sample, check my INSTAGRAM.

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Stranded. Tired. Annoyed. Attracted.

That’s the vibe when Taryn Holt meets Lance Mercer, a man who challenges her, irritates her, and somehow sees right through her boardroom armor.

This holiday novella is a layover gone sideways: two people who should never share a conversation, let alone a bed, suddenly thrown into the same storm, the same city, and the same impossible situation— an upscale room and only one bed.

Here’s your look at the moment everything changes for Taryn…and the stranger who’s about to turn her weekend (and her!) inside out.

I had such a good time pulling this together. Enjoy!

This book is currently exclusively available at the Books by DL White store.

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The December air was chillier than I expected as we stepped outside. Atlanta cold was not really cold, but it could still cut through a light jacket, especially after sunset. The driver led us to a black sedan parked in the pickup area, stowed our bags in the trunk and opened both rear doors.

I climbed inside and closed the door with a solid thunk, then reached for the seat belt. The interior smelled like leather and that new car smell that was likely just a highly professional detailing.

Taryn glanced over at me as she buckled herself in. I returned her look with a raised brow, but bit back the comment that wanted to pour from my lips.

I said I would be good.

She caught it anyway.

“I have a tough job. One of the toughest in my department. I’m willing to get my hands dirty, have the difficult conversations, smooth out the bad news.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, like she was reading from a brochure. “My company takes good care of me, so I’m not tempted to quit. And my assistant is a Nubian Goddess who deserves an extra Christmas bonus for arranging this on a few hours’ notice. On a holiday weekend, no doubt.”

“Must be nice,” I replied, then instantly regretted it. I would be sleeping in the city park if I couldn’t get my tongue to behave.

“It is.” Taryn didn’t offer an apology. “You do work that matters; I do work that pays well. Different priorities.”

As the driver pulled away from the curb and the terminal chaos receded into the distance, the windshield became mottled with raindrops. I pulled out my phone and fired off a quick text to my brother.

Flight canceled. Staying overnight in Atlanta. Will keep you posted on new flight times. Give Mariah a hug from Uncle Lance.

“We don’t have to be besties,” Taryn said after a few minutes of tense silence, then watching me shoot off the text and put my phone away. “But…try not to make me regret being nice.”

“Fair enough.”

“I’m serious. We can coexist without the constant sniping. Right? Basic human decency?”

“I can manage basic human decency. Just...” I shifted in my seat, trying to find a comfortable position. “Not sniping takes all the fun out of talking to you. You’re so...stubborn.”

“Don’t fuck with me,” she snapped. “I’m not in the mood to mediate whatever issues you have with corporate America while we’re under the same roof.”

“And I’m not in the mood to be lectured about my naive idealism by someone whose job description includes the phrase ‘workforce optimization.’”

She twisted in the seat so she faced me, her gold frames catching the glare of the streetlights as we passed them. “What issues do you have with workforce optimization?”

“It’s corporate speak for firing people. Some young upstart in a well-cut suit marches in to talk to the C-Suite and then I’m no longer an employee at Argent Global.”

“Ahhh. Okay.” She leaned back in her seat, studying me with new interest. “So you have a personal beef with my job, with the kind of work I do.”

I nodded, directing my attention to the scene outside the window—the city lights beginning to twinkle as evening blanketed the city. “I guess I do. So you’ll forgive me if I’m not a big fan of...whatever buzzwords you guys are using these days for putting people out of work.”

“I prefer to call it strategic restructuring,” she said, with a completely straight face.

“Of course you do.”

The city came up quick, the buildings cutting against the inky sky. Holiday banners hung from windows, red and green lights strung through the trees, casting colorful reflections on the wet pavement.

Traffic thickened as we approached the city center. Two large shopping centers—one named Lenox Square, the other Phipps Plaza—glowed on either side of a main thoroughfare. The storefronts were dressed for the season in elaborate displays. Valet stands were jammed with shiny, expensive cars. Wreaths hung from lampposts like crowns.

“I’ve never been down here for the holidays before,” she said, watching through the window as we crawled through traffic.

Despite the congestion of cars packed bumper to bumper with holiday shoppers, the area buzzed with energy. Shoppers hurried along the sidewalks with bags, their breaths visible in small puffs in the cool air.

“I’ve never seen Atlanta past the airport,” I admitted, “It’s…nice. Festive, isn’t it?”

“Retail needs people to feel joyful,” she answered, eyes still fixed on the glass. “Joyful people spend money.”

I almost laughed but held it in. “You always talk like that?”

“Like…what?”

“Detailing the economic theory behind everything. It’s like you only see numbers, talk in numbers. You don’t see people. This is small talk for you? This is really how you converse?”

“Only when I’m awake,” she said. For the first time, there was actual humor in her tone.

“Do you ever just enjoy something without calculating the profit margins?”

“I enjoy plenty of things that aren’t work.”

“Can’t wait to find out what those things would be.”

She ticked them off on her fingers like items on a shopping list. “Travel to far-flung, exotic locales. An excellent vintage wine. High thread Egyptian cotton sheets.”

“Mmmm. All expensive things.”

“Money buys comfort, Lance.” She turned to face me fully, her expression serious. “Comfort buys peace of mind. Peace of mind lets me do my job without losing sleep over it.”

“Even if your job is destroying people’s livelihoods.”

“We’re back there?” The humor disappeared from her tone like someone had flipped a switch. “My job is saving companies from bankruptcy. Which, in case you missed Economics 101, preserves more jobs than it eliminates.”

I chuckled. “Tell that to the people you eliminate.”

“I do. Regularly. Part of the job.”

I stared at her, genuinely shocked. “You personally fire people?”

“If the situation calls for it.” She met my gaze without flinching, her chin lifted in defiance. “Someone has to deliver the news. Better it comes from an unemotional person who understands the numbers than from some middle manager who’s going to sugarcoat it and make everyone feel worse. Especially if they’ve been trotting out that ‘we’re a family’ nonsense. Families don’t lay people off.”

“Shit, Taryn.” This time I did laugh. “You are…stone cold.”

“What would you prefer?” She leaned forward slightly, as if issuing a challenge. “I should lie to them? Tell them the company will be fine when it won’t be? Let them find out when their paychecks bounce?”

“I would prefer to find solutions that don’t involve putting people out of work.”

“Wouldn’t we all? But your fantasy world, where noble causes keep the lights on, doesn’t exist.” Her voice had taken on that cutting edge again, sharp enough to draw blood.

We lapsed into a thick, hostile silence as the car turned onto a quieter street lined with brick buildings wrapped in white lights. The driver stopped in front of a sleek mid-rise with a discreet awning and evergreens glowing in planters that flanked the entrance.

“Guess we are here,” Taryn said, reaching for the door handle.

The building lobby was covered in marble with gold flecks that glittered under the soft lighting. It was the kind of place that whispered rather than shouted about money. An understated elegance that probably cost more per square foot than most people made in a year. Taryn nodded to the security guard and led me to the elevators.

We rode up in silence, both of us staring at the numbers as they illuminated in sequence. The elevator was mirrored, and I found myself stealing glances at her reflection—the way she stood perfectly straight, feet together, the elegant line of her neck, how her lips were pressed together in concentration.

When the doors opened, she led me down a hallway lined with identical doors to apartment 1214. The carpet was thick under our feet, muffling the sound of our rolling suitcases.

She checked a text on her phone, keyed in a code on a number pad and pushed the door open. Then stepped inside…and froze.

Her shoulders dropped and a small sigh escaped her lips.

I rolled my bag in behind her and stopped too, taking in the space with growing understanding of her reaction.

The apartment was gleaming, exactly as expensive-looking as I expected from a corporate crash pad: wide-plank floors that looked like they’d been individually selected, marble counters that gleamed under recessed lighting, a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows framing the Atlanta skyline.

But the center of the apartment was dominated by a massive king bed. White linens stretched tight, pillows arranged just-so, a dramatic dark wood headboard.

There was a small table with four chairs, a kitchen with an island and sparkling stainless steel appliances, exposed brick walls that added to the ambience of the space.

But no couch.

Taryn’s hand tightened on her suitcase handle. “Well, fuck. My assistant forgot to tell me she booked the studio.”

I cleared my throat, trying to keep my tone neutral. “So the only sleeping option is the bed.”

Silence. Heavy, awkward silence, loaded with implications neither of us wanted to acknowledge. She crossed her arms defensively, her body language shifting into protective mode.

“I’m so embarrassed. The corporate apartments I’ve stayed in have all been one bedrooms. I would have never offered a couch if I knew….”

“That they don’t believe in couches?” I asked before I could stop myself.

Her glare could have cut glass.

I lifted my palms in surrender, taking a step back. “Not a problem. I am grateful to be under a roof that isn’t an airport. Hand me a blanket and a pillow. I’ll sack out on the floor.”

She let out a sharp, bark of a laugh. “You... you’re six-four, I’m guessing? Your back will be locked up like Alcatraz in the morning.”

“Well, you’re not sleeping on the floor.”

“I am not.” Her chin lifted. I could see her working through the logistics in her head. “Look... we’re adults. The bed is enormous. You stay on top of the covers, I stay under them. Opposite sides.”

She glared at me, her eyes flashing behind her frames. “I have security on standby and I know how to fight. Keep your hands to yourself.”

“I wouldn’t dream of touching you, Taryn,” I said, though I knew that was a lie the moment it left my mouth. “I mean…if the situation were different—”

“It’s not,” she snapped, cutting me off. “Is this going to be a problem?”

I stared at her for a long beat, taking in the set of her jaw. I chose to believe her when she said she knew how to fight.

“No. Though, I need to note for the record...this is a terrible idea.”

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November Author Spotlight

She’s Got Soul by Aja

Podcast host Zola is smart, sexy, and opinionated. When wealthy app developer Khalil calls into her show to correct her, she doesn’t let him off the hook without a fight. The more they talk, the bigger the sparks. Could it be love?

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That’s a wrap for 2025 Projects!

Thanks for reading this peek at Layover and for celebrating other Black romance authors with me.

Though I really enjoyed Nonfiction November this year, I’m ready for December reads! I’m going to enjoy the plethora of Black holiday romance novellas and probably some thrillers. The pen is DOWN until at least February…but stories have a funny habit of ambushing me, so… we’ll see!

XOXO,
DL