Page 96 of Dial B for Billionaire

“Dance?”

“Take days off. Fly across oceans on a whim. Neglect responsibilities.” His hand tightens at my waist. “But with you...”

He doesn't finish the thought. Doesn't need to. I understand because I feel it too. I feel this pull that defies logic, that makes me step away from everything I've always been.

“Let's not think about tomorrow,” I whisper back.

His answer is to pull me closer, press his forehead against mine as we move to the music, suspended in a moment that feels both fragile and eternal. Maybe this is fate. Or maybe it’s just us, finally letting go.

“Layla.”

He whispers my name across my lips and kisses me. Soft and searching, different to how he’s kissed me before. Like he's trying to memorize the taste of this moment.

The kiss deepens, enveloping us in its warmth as the music swells around us. I lose myself in the soft press of his lips, the gentle caress of his hands that hold my waist securely. For just a moment, the rest of the world fades—no corporate chaos, no looming responsibilities—just this intimate space where it's only Bennett and me. Nothing else.

BENNETT

One month after Lisbon, I'm doing something I've never done before: staring at my calendar like it personally insulted me.

There has to be a way to move the Patterson meeting without Patterson thinking I've lost my mind. Which, let's be honest, I probably have.

Not cancel—I'm not that far gone—but shift things around to create a full afternoon free. This shouldn't be rocket science, but my schedule's been crazy busy since Nakamura’s crisis last month. Between that and the Carmichael integration, Layla and I have fallen into a routine that's starting to feel like we're ships passing in the night.

Late nights at my place after she escapes her office. Or me showing up at her shoebox apartment when I finally break free from mine. Then incredible sex followed by a few hours of sleep before we both rush back to our corporate prisons.

I want more. I want what we had in Lisbon—timewithout someone calling with an emergency every five minutes.

“You realize this is weird, right?” Jenna says from my doorway, arms crossed like she's about to stage an intervention. “In seven years, I've never seen you voluntarily create personal time during business hours.”

“It's not personal,” I lie. “It's strategic.”

Her eyebrow shoots up. “A delivery from Neiman Marcus is strategic?”

Shit. “You weren't supposed to sign for that.”

“The doorman called during your budget meeting. Said the boxes wouldn't fit in the service elevator.” She steps into my office, closing the door with the discretion that makes her worth every penny I pay her. “Five boxes, Mr. Mercer. From the women's department.”

I lean back, trying to look casual instead of like a man who just got caught planning a surprise. “I have contractors coming to the penthouse this afternoon. Some custom work I need to oversee.”

“Right.” She nods slowly, clearly not buying it. “Hence the schedule rearranging.”

“Exactly.”

“The three o'clock with Patterson can move to next Tuesday. The investor call could be handled by Caleb, though I wouldn't recommend it unless you want him to bore them into a coma.”

“I'll take the call. Move Patterson.”

“Done.” She turns to leave, then pauses. “She must be something special.”

It's not a question, so I don't answer. But after Jenna leaves, I find myself thinking about it anyway.

Special doesn't even come close.

The past month with Layla has been like someone rewired my brain. What started as an inconvenient attraction has turned into something I can't compartmentalize. She's invaded my thoughts during board meetings. I catch myself smiling at my phone when she texts. I've started timing my mornings around whether she stayed over.

We haven't put a label on it. But it's real. Real enough that I'm rearranging my untouchable schedule and having ridiculously expensive clothes delivered to my penthouse. I used to think my suits were expensive before I let a personal shopper loose in the women’s department with my credit card.

My phone buzzes.

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