Page 25 of Dial B for Billionaire

“In his mind, admitting the company was failing meant admitting he was failing.”

“But he hasn't. The recall wasn't his fault?—”

“It doesn't matter whose fault it was.” She gently covers my hand with hers. “He built Carmichael Innovations from nothing. Its success was his identity. Losing it... breaks that.”

I blow out a slow breath. “Well, now some corporate raider is going to tear it apart. And I get to watch from the front row.”

“Terrible timing,” she agrees. “Right after your promotion. We haven't even celebrated properly.”

“Hard to celebrate when I'm suddenly responsible for three hundred people staring down unemployment.” I take a long sip of wine. “And all before the weekend even starts.”

Mom gives me a half smile. “Then maybe we celebrate resilience instead. Because if anyone can find a way through this, it's you.”

“You think? Because most days it feels like I'm barely treading water. This is my first COO role, and instead of proving myself, I'm flailing.” I let out a shaky breath, trying to shake off the weight settling behind my ribs. “But anyway. Enough about my disaster Friday. How are you? Is the new apartment still working out?”

Her face lights up. “It's wonderful. So much natural light. I walk by the lake every morning.”

“You seem... happier,” I say carefully.

“I am.” Her smile is soft but real. “I didn't realize how much I'd dimmed myself until I had space to shine again.”

The honesty in her voice makes something in my chest ache. “I'm glad.”

“Oh! And I've started dating.”

I blink. “Dating? Like, men-who-aren't-Dad dating?”

“That's generally how it works,” she says with a smirk. “I'm fifty-two, not dead.”

“I know, I just... wow. OK. Dating.”

“Nothing serious,” she assures me. “Mostly coffee. Conversation. Though there was one interesting exchange a few weeks back...”

She trails off, like she's unsure whether to continue.

“What kind of exchange?”

“This random text. A very attractive man who thought we'd met before.”

A prickle runs down my spine. “Had you?”

“No! That's what made it so odd. But he was convinced. It got a little flirty, actually.”

“Mom! Please tell me you didn't sext a stranger.”

“Not sexting. Just… mature dialogue.” She pulls out her phone, scrolling. “Here. He even sent a photo. Very handsome. Said something about a festival. Symmetrical face.”

I freeze. “Symmetrical?”

“Yes. Like, perfectly symmetrical. Strong jaw, piercing blue eyes... said we'd met at a festival.”

My pulse skips. “Can I see?”

She hands over the phone.

And everything stops.

Steel-blue eyes. Sharp jawline. City lights behind him. A tumbler of scotch in one hand.

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