Page 38 of Dial B for Billionaire

She hands me a printed document, an addendum to the acquisition agreement, already signed and board approved.

I scan it. And a spike of adrenaline hits before I’ve even finished the sentence.

Fuck.

“Did legal review this?”

“Already on it,” Jenna says.

My throat constricts as I pass it to Caleb. His mouth twitches as he reads. “Well. That’s bold.”

“What is it?” Jenna asks.

“Robert’s added a clause,” I say, voice flat despite the pulse thudding in my ears. “Layla remains head of the Carmichael division for a minimum of twelve months. Non-negotiable.”

“Can he do that?”

“The board already voted,” Caleb says. “He’s just defining key personnel.”

“And making sure we can’t override it,” I add, jaw tight.

“Is it a deal-breaker?” Jenna asks.

“Of course not,” Caleb crows, slapping me on the back. “Bennett here is fearless in the face of unexpected developments. Right, Bennett?”

His gaze flicks to mine. He knows exactly what this means. I can't cut and run. Not this time.

“Send it to legal,” I say. “And tell them to cover their asses for this kind of thing in the future.”

“Will do.” Jenna heads for the door.

Caleb lingers. “What was it you said on Saturday night about not believing in fate?”

“This isn’t fate. It’s a father doing what’s right by his daughter.”

“Naturally.” He straightens his jacket. “I’ll have Vicky adjust the structure. Still want Layla in the integration meeting?”

“Yes. And bump the NeuraTech prototype to the top of the list. I want a full technical review.”

“On it.” He pauses at the door. “Twelve months, Bennett. It'll fly by.”

I don’t answer.

But the words follow me long after the door closes.

Twelve months of proximity.

Twelve months of pretending this is just business.

Twelve months with the one variable I can’t predict. The one reaction I can’t regulate.

I don’t like it.

The integration meetingstarts at two sharp. I arrive five minutes early to find the conference room already humming with activity.

Robert stands at the far end, deep in conversation with Vicky. Jenna’s flipping through her notes, Logan’s already plugged in, tapping at his tablet like the fate of the world depends on a loading bar. Caleb lounges in one of the chairs, reviewing legal briefs with theatrical disinterest.

“Morning, gentlemen,” I say.

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