Page 79 of Dial B for Billionaire

“Layla—”

“But not for the job. God, not for...” She presses her palms against her eyes. “I need him to know that. That this isn't... that you're not...”

“I know.” My hand twitches toward her before I catch myself. “He knows too. He's just too proud to admit it.”

My phone buzzes.

Jenna:

People returning. ETA 2 minutes.

“Everything OK?” Layla asks.

“Boardroom’s filling up again.”

“We should go back,” Layla says, steel entering her voice. “Can’t let them think he broke me.”

“You don’t have to?—”

“Yes, I do.” She stands, smoothing her skirt. “I’ve got twelve direct reports in there who just heard my father call me a whore. I go back, or I lose their respect forever.”

We walk back together, maintaining careful distance. Just before we enter, her hand brushes mine, so quick anyone watching would think it accidental.

“Later?” she breathes.

“Absolutely.”

The rest of the meeting is autopilot. Robert doesn’t speak, won’t look at anyone. Layla handles every question with a grace that makes me want to give her a standing ovation. Or a hug. Or both.

When we finally wrap, Robert bolts like the room’s on fire. Layla watches him go, something fracturing in her expression before she catches herself.

“Audrey,” she says, voice forcefully bright. “Can you send me those neural mapping projections?”

“Of course!” Audrey beams, then glances at Logan. “Actually, Logan had some optimization ideas that were absolutely brilliant. Maybe we could all review them together?”

Logan actually blushes. “I mean, if you have time. I know you’re busy. We’re all busy. Time is… finite.”

“Coffee,” Layla suggests, taking pity on him. “You two should grab coffee and discuss. Away from here. Far away.”

“Coffee’s good,” Logan says quickly. “Efficient caffeine delivery system.”

Audrey smiles at him like he just quoted Shakespeare. “I love efficiency.”

They leave together, Logan holding the door and almost walking into the frame because he’s too busy staring at her.

“Ten bucks says they name their first kid Algorithm,” Vicky says as she exits the room.

Layla's phone lights up on the table. Even from here, I can see the preview of her father's text:

I'm in your office. We need to talk. Please.

She sees it too, her shoulders tensing. Our eyes meet across the empty conference room.

“Want backup?” I ask quietly.

“No.” She squares her shoulders. “I'm not interested in anything he has to say right now.” She picks up her phone and texts as much.

The way she handles it—decisive, clear, done—makes me want to pull her into my arms right here in the conference room. A month ago, she would have run to smooth things over. Now she's protecting her own peace. God, she's incredible.

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