Page 14 of Dial B for Billionaire

I sit. Directly across from her. The table between us feels too narrow for how far I need her to be.

She’s watching me. Tracking me. The eyes that felt so natural on me during the festival, now burn. My collar feels too tight. My pulse, erratic.

I don’t meet her eyes. I can’t.

Instead, I shift into the rhythm I’ve mastered, focusing on numbers, strategy, control. I cling to it like a lifeline.

“I've been speaking with Mr. Carmichael about thepotential synergies between our organizations,” I begin, as Caleb opens our presentation.

Synergies.A glossy coating for what this really is. We take what works and scrap the rest.

I walk through the slides. Risk mitigation. Streamlining. Talent consolidation, which is just code for layoffs. The cadence steadies me. Mostly.

I can feel Caleb glancing my way. He sees something is off. I already know he’ll find a way to corner me about it later. For now, he covers seamlessly in moments when I drift, his voice sure and confident as he takes over and expands on our efficiencies.

Out of the corner of my eye, she flips through the deck. Brows tight. Jaw tighter. Her teeth catch her bottom lip. That should be a minor detail. It isn’t.

That surprise on her face? The confusion? That’s real. No way she fakes that.

As we click to the next slide, she leans toward Robert, whispering something with urgency. Their heads close together in a familiar way.

“Ms. Carmichael has some concerns about our timeline,” Robert cuts in, resting his hand briefly on her arm. “Perhaps we should address those before moving on.”

I nod once, silently inviting her to speak. Let’s hear what she’s got.

She straightens, glancing around the room before locking eyes with me. Her voice is clear, steady. “Our development roadmap isn’t reflected here. You’ve projected a one-hundred-and-twenty-day runway, but you haven’t factored in the NeuraTech prototype’s commercialization schedule.”

As she addresses the room, explaining their developmentroadmap, I take the chance to study her face. The way she gestures reminds me of Robert. The same determined jaw. The same bright eyes, though hers flash with a fire his have lost.

The pieces click into place. Carmichael. The way she interacts with him… She has to be his daughter. The COO he mentioned but never named. And from the look on her face, she was left completely in the dark.

I glance at Caleb, who watches her with interest.

Hmm.

“Thank you,” I say calmly. “We’ll address projections during the valuation section. I’m sure you’ll have additional comments then.”

She sits back, lips pressed tight. But she doesn’t break eye contact. Not once.

And neither do I.

Until I force myself to turn back to the screen.

“As you can see, our assessment values Carmichael Innovations at seventy-six million, based on recent performance and recall risk.”

“That’s absurdly low,” she fires back, her tone cool but clipped. “Our IP portfolio alone?—”

“Hasn’t generated commercial revenue in over nine months,” I say, not missing a beat. “Value comes from monetization, Ms. Carmichael. And your recent track record suggests… difficulty in that department.”

She stiffens. A flush crawls up her throat, framing the delicate pulse I shouldn’t be watching but fucked if I can’t stop noticing every little thing about her.

“The recall affected one component,” she snaps. “The design itself is revolutionary. And our R&D?—”

“Is promising. But unproven. We've reviewed every prototype and trial record available.”

“Layla,” Robert warns.

And her name hits me like a shot to the ribs.

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