Page 63 of Dial B for Billionaire

He looks at me then, and his careful control wavers. “We should be.”

“But we're not going to?”

“I'm trying to.” He runs a hand through his hair. “God knows I'm trying. Do you know what today was like? Sixhours of crisis management meetings with Cruz Financial, and all I could think about was?—”

He cuts himself off.

“Was what?”

“It was you.” The words come out rough. “Every time Caleb spoke, every time Dominic made a joke, all I could think about was how much I wanted to be in that boardroom, across from you—watching you, listening to you, just... being near you.”

“I was distracted too.” The admission tumbles out. “All day, I kept wondering if you canceled those meetings because of last night. If it was regret—or just business. I signed three documents with the wrong date. My assistant asked if I was sick because I kept staring at nothing. I was so focused on whether we were actually going to have that dinner you promised or…” I let the words hang.

“Caleb thinks you're affecting my judgment.” He moves around the desk, stopping just out of reach. “Making me sloppy.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. “I missed a fifteen-million-dollar discrepancy in another deal. I've been calculating risks since I was twenty-two, and today I couldn't make basic numbers add up.”

“Because of me?”

“Because all I can think about is touching you.” His fingers flex at his sides. “Which is why we should probably maintain some distance. Be rational.”

“Right. Distance.” I turn back to the papers. “So the Q3 projections are forecasting a phased adoption strategy with?—”

“You wore the dress.”

I freeze. “You asked me to.”

“I know.” He's closer now. “I've been staring at that third button for the last five minutes.”

“We're supposed to be reviewing reports.”

“We are.” But his hand reaches past me for a pen, his chest brushing my back. “This projection here—” He circles something, his other hand bracing on the desk beside me, effectively caging me in. “—assumes we maintain current staffing levels.”

“Bennett.”

“I'm just pointing out the numbers.” But his breath ghosts over my neck. “Is that the perfume from the festival?”

“Yes.”

“Vanilla and jasmine. After that night, I found myself searching for it everywhere. Hoping I'd catch a trace and it would be you. Drove me crazy for weeks.”

I turn in the cage of his arms. Bad idea. Now we're face to face, bodies touching.

“We agreed to try this,” I remind him. “Why does it feel like you're still fighting it?”

“I'm not fighting it.” His hands grip the desk on either side of me. “But I need you to understand something. I don't do halfway. If we cross this line?—”

“We already did.”

“That was different. That was fantasy. This is real.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Because once I touch you, I won’t stop. Not tonight. Not tomorrow in that boardroom. Not ever.”

“Maybe I don't want you to stop.”

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