Page 114 of Dial B for Billionaire

“Please. I'm calling to apologize.”

“Dad—”

“Let me finish. I've been so focused on what we're losing that I haven't seen what you're saving. The neural mapping project is thriving. Jobs that would have disappeared are still here. You're doing amazing work under impossible circumstances.”

The irony is so painful I almost laugh. If only he knew what I just discovered.

“I appreciate you noticing, Dad,” I whisper.

“I was hoping I could take you to dinner tonight. To apologize properly.”

My eyes flick to the damning folder. I can't do this now. Not when I'm still reeling, not when I might say something I'll regret.

“Actually, Dad, I'm swamped,” I say, words tumbling out too fast. “Can we talk later? Maybe this weekend?”

“Oh.” Disappointment fills his voice. “Of course. This weekend?”

“Yeah. I’ve just got so much on.”

“OK. Um…Is everything all right? You sound off.”

“Just tired. Long meeting.” Not entirely a lie. “I'll call you, OK?”

“All right. It’s good to hear your voice, Layla.”

When I hang up, the silence feels deafening. I stare at the folder, at the evidence of betrayal laid out in corporate language.

Phase Two. Job eliminations. Campus closure.

Dad has no idea what's coming. Neither did I until now.

I reach for my desk phone and dial my assistant whoanswers on the first ring. “I need you to cancel everything for today. I'm not feeling well.”

“No problem, Ms. Carmichael. Do you need anything?”

“Just to go home,” I whisper, hoping she didn't hear my voice break.

Because if I don’t get out of here, I’m going to shatter.

BENNETT

Nine o'clock and still no Layla.

I pace the kitchen, phone clutched in my hand, stopping every few seconds to stare at the untouched wine on the counter. She's never this late without calling. Never leaves me wondering where she is.

Something's wrong.

I hit call again, my fourth attempt in twenty minutes. Straight to voicemail.

“Layla, it's me. Call me. Please.”

My chest tightens as I hang up. After everything today—the meetings, the phone calls, the careful planning to secure her future—I need to see her. Need to tell her everything. Need to watch her face when she realizes I'm willing to fight my own board for her.

My phone buzzes. Finally.

Layla:

Not feeling well. Staying at my apartment tonight. Don't want to get you sick. Talk tomorrow.

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