Page 142 of Dial B for Billionaire

Serena's phone vibrates on the coffee table, the screen lighting up with Caleb's name. She lunges for it with suspicious speed, but not before I catch a glimpse of the message preview.

“Dinner tonight at 8? I promise not to mention corporate law more than seven times.”

“Well, well,” I say, arching an eyebrow. “What was that about annoying texts?”

“He's insufferable,” Serena sighs, pocketing her phone without responding. “Argumentative. Stubborn. Thinks he knows everything.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Audrey stage-whispers to me.

Serena's phone buzzes again.

“Are you going to answer him?” I ask.

“No. I’m going to ignore him.” She picks up a fresh moving box.

Her phone buzzes a third time. Then a fourth.

“Oh for God's sake,” she mutters, pulling it out again. Her expression shifts as she reads, and I catch the ghost of a smile before she schools her features back to irritation.

“What did he say?” I press, abandoning my packing to sit beside her.

“He sent me a picture of grape juice.”

“Grape juice?” Audrey blinks.

“Yeah. And the caption was: 'Found a bottle of wine older than your last relationship. Thought you'd appreciate the vintage.'” She rolls her eyes. “He thinks he’s so fucking hilarious.”

Audrey and I exchange glances. “That's... actually pretty funny,” Audrey says.

“It's overstepping,” Serena corrects, but she's already typing back. “How does he even know how long my last relationship was?”

“Because you joke about that stuff all the time and he's been paying attention to you when you talk,” I suggest.

“You did lament your poor taste in men that night we were at Lockwood after Layla and Bennett left for their dinner reservation.”

The doorbell saves Serena from having to respond. “That must be Mom,” I say, checking my watch.

I open the door to find my mother loaded down with bags from our favorite deli. “Reinforcements have arrived,” she announces. “I brought enough to feed an army.”

We clear space on the kitchen counter and dig into the spread Mom brought. Between bites of turkey club, conversation flows easily—until Mom brings up the partnership.

“How's your father adjusting to the new arrangement?” she asks.

“Better than expected,” I admit. “Having Landon respect his expertise has helped. And Bennett...” I pause, thinking about how carefully he's handled Dad's pride. “Bennett's been really thoughtful about letting Dad maintain authority over research decisions.”

“Smart man,” Mom says. “Your father needs to feel valued, not managed.”

“Bennett's learning that about a lot of things,” I say, thinking about how he's approached our relationship with the same careful consideration.

My phone buzzes with a text, and I can't help the smile that spreads across my face as I read it.

Bennett:

Missing you. The penthouse feels too quiet without you already.

Me:

I'll be home soon. With more boxes than you bargained for.

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