Page 100 of Dial B for Billionaire

“Apparently I have those.” I pull her closer. “Shocking as that may be.”

“Your secret's safe with me.”

“Good. Because the truth is...” I pause, the words unfamiliar. “You're it for me, Layla.”

Her eyes widen. “I am?”

“Mm-hmm. I've never wanted someone in my space the way I want you here. I want afternoons and weekends. I want dinner with no phones allowed. I want what we had in Lisbon, but here, in real life. Every day.”

She's quiet for a long moment. “That's... a lot of wanting.”

“Too much?”

“No,” she says quickly. “Just unexpected. Bennett Mercer admitting to human emotions. Stop the presses.”

I laugh despite myself. “Let's keep Wright Media out of it.”

“Good idea. I'd hate to see those headlines.” She puts on a news anchor voice: “'Corporate Shark Grows Heart: Local Woman Blamed.'”

“That's not how I'd put it.”

“No? How would you put it?”

I consider this. “Man discovers what he's been missing.”

Her expression softens. “That's... surprisingly sweet.”

“I contain multitudes,” I say, then grow serious. “So we're doing this? You'll stay?”

“I'll stay,” she confirms, rising on her toes to brush her lips against mine. “Though I'm keeping my apartment for now. Until we see how this goes.”

“Practical.”

“One of us has to be.” Her smile takes any sting from the words.

“Although,” she continues, stepping closer until her body's flush against mine, “I'm not sure I’ll need all those clothes. Half the time I'm here, I'm not wearing any.”

Heat shoots through me at her words, at the deliberate press of her hips. “Excellent point.”

“In fact,” she murmurs, fingers working at my tie, “I'm wearing too many right now.”

“Easily fixed.”

I capture her mouth, backing her toward the bedroom, expensive gifts forgotten as we fall together onto themattress. Her laughter against my lips is the sweetest sound I've ever heard.

Worth every adaptation. Every sacrifice. Every moment of uncertainty.

“I love your logic,” I murmur against her neck as she pushes my shirt off my shoulders.

“I have my moments,” she breathes, and that laugh—God, that laugh—makes every crazy thing I've done today worth it.

LAYLA

“You're glowing,” Serena tells me, leaning forward with her elbows on our corner table at Lockwood. “Like you've been plugged into the electrical grid.”

I take a sip of my gin and tonic, hoping the cool liquid might calm the warmth spreading across my cheeks. “I'm not glowing. It's just the bar lighting.”

“It's not the lighting,” Audrey says, stirring her Moscow mule with scientific precision. “You look happier than I've seen you in years. There's a measurable difference in your facial muscle tension.”

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