Page 21 of Dial B for Billionaire

“We have ten days,” I tell her. “Maybe less.”

“Jesus.” She takes a breath. “I'll need the whole team working overtime. And even then...”

“Make it happen,” I say, a new determination hardening my voice. “Please? Whatever you need, you've got it. This might be our only chance.”

“Lay, this is crazy. You know that, right?”

“I do. But at least it’s something. I can work with crazy. But I can’t work with nothing at all.”

“Understood. We'll get started right away.”

“Thank you, Audrey.”

Harold's files hit my inbox as I hang up. I scan them. And then immediately wish I hadn't.

Six weeks. Not seven.

My stomach lurches as the reality sinks in. I stare at the numbers, heart pounding, then lean back and press my hands over my face. Everything is worse than I thought.

My phone buzzes with a text.

Serena:

Rooftop bar Saturday, 9PM. I've informed the universe you'll be there. Resistance is futile.

I manage a faint smile.

Me:

Fine. But make it tequila.

Serena:

That's my girl!

I tuck the phone aside. I can't stop the collapse right away. But maybe I can breathe. For a few hours, at least.

And then? Then I'll figure out how to save what's left of my father's legacy. Even if it means going toe-to-toe with the devastatingly handsome corporate shark who’s about to own us.

BENNETT

We’ve barely pulled away from the curb when Caleb strikes.

“You going to tell me what that was?”

I slide into the back seat without meeting his eyes. “What what was?”

“Um. Let me see… The way your brain seemed to drip out of your ears every time you so much as glanced at the COO.” He snaps his portfolio shut. “I have never covered your ass the way I had to in there today. Still, the meeting went well. Better than expected. Robert practically handed us the keys.”

I turn to the window where Chicago slides past, steel and glass catching afternoon sun. Our driver slices through traffic with practiced ease, cocooning us in climate-controlled silence.

“Bennett.” Caleb's voice cuts through my thoughts. “What's going on you and her?”

“Nothing that affects the deal.”

“That's not what I asked.”

I exhale slowly. Control the breath. Control the mind. A technique that's served me through a thousand negotiations.

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