Page 49 of Dial B for Billionaire

He storms out. The restaurant’s hush snaps back, allglassware and violin music, and every eye in the place is trained on our table. Bennett sits motionless, jaw locked, the bones of his hand pale against the white linen. I stare at my barely touched risotto.

Long seconds tick by.

“Layla.” His voice is soft.

I fumble to pick up my purse when Bennett's hand covers mine.

“Let him go,” he says quietly. “He needs time to process.”

I sink back down, suddenly exhausted. His hand is still on mine. Warm. Steady. I should pull away. Instead, I turn my palm up, letting our fingers tangle briefly before propriety kicks in and we separate.

“So much for keeping him contained, huh?”

“He's hurting.” Bennett's eyes move between mine. “Watching your life's work change hands... it's like losing a part of yourself.”

“Speaking from experience or because you’ve watched people grieving so many times?”

“A little of both.” A shadow crosses his face. “My father felt the same when the mill closed.”

“Your father owned a mill?”

“Worked it. But it was his identity after forty years there.” He takes a sip of wine. “He died six months later. Doctor said it was his heart, but I think it was the grief. He lost who he was.”

The vulnerability in his voice undoes something in me. “Bennett?—”

“Your father's reaction is normal,” he continues. “Expected, even. I'd be more concerned if he wasn't fighting this.”

“Even when he's comparing you to birds of prey or Satan?”

“Especially then.” His lips quirk. “Though I prefer when he sticks to 'corporate vampire.' It's a better descriptor of what I do.”

A laugh escapes despite everything. “Last week he called you a 'soulless spreadsheet succubus.'”

“That's a new one.” He's fully smiling now, and it transforms his face. “Points for alliteration.”

We're both grinning like idiots when the waiter materializes. “Is everything prepared to your satisfaction?”

I look at our untouched plates, Dad's abandoned chair. “Actually, could we get these boxed up? And the check?”

“Of course, madam.”

When he's gone, Bennett says, “You didn't eat.”

“Neither did you.”

“I was distracted.” His eyes hold mine, and there's nothing professional in that look. “You're wearing that perfume from the festival.”

My pulse skips. “You remember something like that?”

“I remember everything about that night.” His voice drops, intimate despite the public setting. “The way you laughed at your own nervousness. How you bit your lip when you were thinking. That ridiculous comment about my facial symmetry.”

“Oh God?—”

“I went home and immediately poured a scotch,” he admits. “Sat there staring at my phone, debating how long I should wait before texting you. Settled on five minutes. Made it three.”

“Three minutes?” I laugh. “What happened to playing it cool?”

“You happened.” He leans closer, and I catch his scent. God, he smells good. “I couldn't get you out of my head. I needed…something.”

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