Page 73 of Dial B for Billionaire

I bite back a smile. “You can handle intensity.”

“Of course.” She straightens. “I just wanted to confirm the arrangement. He's already sent seventeen emails about the integration timeline. Since six AM.”

“That sounds like Dominic.”

“Seventeen emails. Each one color-coded.” A tiny furrow appears between her brows.

The elevator opens onto the executive floor, saving me from further interrogation. But as I head to my office, I hear her mutter, “Who color-codes emails?”

Caleb's already in my office when I arrive, feet up on my desk, scrolling through his phone.

“Feet,” I say automatically.

He doesn't move. “You're late.”

“It's eight thirty-five. The meeting's not until nine.”

“You're usually here by seven.” He looks up, eyes narrowing. “Holy shit.”

“What?”

“You got laid.”

I move to my desk, forcing him to drop his feet. “I slept well after a stressful day putting out fires.”

“No, this isn’t your 'I crushed my enemies' face. This is... is that satisfaction? Actual human contentment?”

“Don't be dramatic.”

“Don’t lie to my face.” He leans forward. “Who is she?”

“We have a meeting to prepare for.”

“Deflection.” His eyes widen. “Holy shit, Bennett. You did it, didn't you? You actually slept with Layla Carmichael.”

I keep my expression neutral, but it's too late.

“Jesus Christ.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I don't know whether to call you an idiot or give you a high five.”

“Neither would be appropriate.”

“Appropriate?” He laughs, short and sharp. “I think we left 'appropriate' in the rearview mirror when you bailed her up at the rooftop bar.” He studies me. “At least tell me that you’ve got it out of your system now and can move on?”

My silence is answer enough.

“Of course you don’t.” He shakes his head. “Because you don't do anything halfway. So what is this? A relationship? Are you actually dating her?”

“I don’t know what this is.”

“You don’t know.” He leans back and scrubs a handover his face. “Are you removing yourself from the Carmichael team, then?”

“I can handle myself in a professional setting.”

“Can you? Because yesterday you missed fifteen million dollars in the Tokyo deal. That's not handling shit. That's woefully distracted. I can’t protect you from your own board if this becomes a pattern.”

“That won't happen again. My head is clear, and I have this under control.”

“I fucking hope so.” He watches me carefully. “Look, I'm not judging. I'm genuinely happy you finally pulled the trigger on this thing between you two. But I need you to seriously think on this—can you be in that room with her and still function? Or do I need to run the meeting while you stare at her like a lovesick teenager?”

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