4. Bennett
BENNETT
H er face is the first thing I see when I walk into the boardroom.
Hazel eyes. Navy pencil skirt. Confidence wrapped in a skirt suit.
The woman from the festival.
Seated beside Robert Carmichael like she belongs there.
What the fuck?
My heart slams with a single, heavy thud against my ribs. My breath catches, and I force air into tight lungs.
Calm the fuck down, Bennett.
Instinct takes over. Years of deals, of control, of showing nothing— feeling nothing .
But for one raw second, she rocks me.
Somehow, in all my research—financials, org charts, IP audits—I missed this.
Her.
Something low and primal grunts deep down in my chest. A tug. A snap. That same jolt I felt at the festival, only sharper now.
Mine , that voice whispers. Still there. Still hungry.
Caleb steps forward, scanning the room with his usual assessment. Until he sees her. He’s brow furrows, then he cuts a glance my way.
I act as though I don’t even notice him.
Robert Carmichael clears this throat. “I'd like to introduce you all to Bennett Mercer, CEO of Mercer Capital, and his legal counsel, Caleb Kingsley.”
My gaze drifts to her.
Her eyes widen. Lips part.
Surprise?
Real or rehearsed, I can’t tell. And that alone pisses me off.
My jaw locks, the only outward sign of the storm rolling through me. Whatever I felt at that festival—whatever she made me feel—it doesn’t belong here.
“Thank you for the introduction, Mr. Carmichael,” I say, forcing my voice to hold steady. “We appreciate the opportunity to discuss how Mercer Capital can help Carmichael Innovations reach its full potential.”
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 the potential 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 development roadmap, 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.
Layla.
It fits. All sharp edges and soft vowels. A name you don’t forget, even if you try.
I shouldn’t want to say it.
I want to say it.
I want to growl it into her ear while I’m buried inside her, her body wrapped tight around?—
“Our latest development is only five months from launch.”
Her voice slices through the heat, snapping me back.
“We’re staring down a market disruption, and your valuation doesn’t reflect it.”
I lean forward slightly. Her perfume hits, warm and clean, vanilla and ambition. Fuck. I can’t think straight. “Potential doesn’t pay vendors. Or salaries. At your current burn rate, you’ve got seven weeks of liquidity. At best.”
Her face goes still. Color drains. “We run out of money in seven weeks?”
Robert doesn’t answer.
I don’t move.
I just watch.
The flicker of shock. The betrayal. The scramble to keep her face neutral.
It punches something loose in my chest. I bury it. Hard.
“I believe we should continue,” Robert says after a beat, clearing his throat.
And we do. Like nothing just cracked wide open .
For the next forty minutes, I field questions. Caleb takes point on the legal language, occasionally shooting me a look when he catches my focus drifting.
Layla says nothing. But her pen is a weapon in her grip, and she’s writing like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.
Finally, Caleb closes the presentation. “We’ll need a decision within ten business days. The terms we’ve presented today represent our best offer.”
Robert nods, standing. “Thank you, gentlemen. We have much to discuss.”
Layla leans toward her father. I can’t hear what she says, but the way his mouth flattens tells me it’s not nothing. Her voice is low. Cracked at the edges.
Robert touches her arm. “Later.”
The room starts to dissolve with executives murmuring, papers shuffling, people desperate to get out of there and digest what just happened.
But she doesn’t follow. Just stays frozen in her seat, staring at her notebook like it might rewrite itself if she blinks hard enough.
My jaw tightens. I force myself not to look. Not to care.
But I do. And no matter how hard I try to focus on catching up on my inbox while Caleb packs up, I’m hyper aware of her every breath.
“You ready?” Caleb zips up his case, and I nod, rising from the chair.
“Mr. Mercer?”
Her voice is quiet. Steady. But it lands like a hook between my shoulder blades.
I stop .
Caleb pauses on his way to the door, half-turned.
I glance at him. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
He hesitates just long enough to make his suspicion clear. Then he nods and leaves, pulling the door shut behind him.
And just like that, it’s quiet.
Just us.
“Yes, Ms. Carmichael?”
She stands. Smoothly. Controlled. But I see it in the way her hands press against the table before she steps out from behind it.
“I was hoping we could speak privately.”
“Seems like we are.” My voice stays even, though my jaw clenches.
She rounds the table, closing the distance between us like she doesn’t want anyone else to possibly hear what she’s about to say.
“I meant…” she exhales, glancing at the closed doors before adding, “candidly.”
I stay where I am, arms folded across my chest.
“By all means.”
“I think we should address the obvious.”
“The acquisition terms?” I quirk one eyebrow.
“The fact that we’ve met before.”
And you made a fool of me by giving me the wrong number?
Despite the words dancing on the tip of my tongue, I keep myself in check, eyes locked on hers. Unflinching. “Is there a point to this conversation, Ms. Carmichael? I have another meeting shortly.”
“Look, I just…” She exhales and leans against the boardroom table, relaxing her posture a little. “I didn't kn ow who you were, OK? Not at the festival. And definitely not that you were in talks with my father.”
“And I’m supposed to believe the COO of a sinking ship was completely unaware an acquisition was on the table?”
Her lips press tight. A flicker of something like hurt knits her brow before it softens again.
“I knew there were offers,” she sighs. “My father didn't tell me he was seriously considering any. I found out today. Same as everyone else.”
I want to believe her. God help me, I want to.
She steps closer, arms crossed now like armor. “But that’s not why I asked you to stay.”
I tilt my head slightly, intrigued despite myself. “No?”
“Not the only reason, anyway.”
“Go ahead.”
“I wanted to make something clear.” Her chin lifts. “Despite how we met, this company is important to me. It employs three hundred and forty-two people. People who matter. People who deserve better than being reduced to a liability on your spreadsheet.”
There it is. That fire. That voice.
“Business isn’t personal, Ms. Carmichael.”
“Bullshit,” she snaps, and I blink. “Business is deeply personal to the people living paycheck to paycheck while you restructure their departments into oblivion.”
I stare at her. The passion in her eyes shouldn't be attractive. It shouldn't make heat pool in my stomach, shouldn't make me wonder what she'd look like with that same fire in her eyes while writhing beneath me…
“Your father seems to understand the stakes,” I say, voice rougher than intended. “Perhaps you should follow his lead.”
“My father is a brilliant inventor and a terrible operator,” she says without flinching. “I'm the one left trying to salvage things.”
I don’t respond. Because I know she’s right.
“You’re not going to steamroll me,” she adds. “You’ll get your deal, maybe. But not without a fight.”
My pulse kicks. I want to grab her. Kiss her. Ruin her lipstick and her resolve.
“The job conversation is premature,” I say after a moment. “Nothing is finalized.”
“But it will be,” she says. “And when it is, I'll need to look those people in the eye. I need to know I fought for them.”
She's shifted closer to me, and I wonder if she has any idea what she’s doing to me. How hard I am right now.
How much I want to believe her.
How much I hate that I want to believe her.
But I don't.
Not yet.
My jaw tightens as I fight the urge to lean closer, to see if her lips taste as sweet as they look when they form words like ‘people’ and ‘matter.’ It would be so easy to close that gap.
To claim her. Right here, right now. Take her on the boardroom table.
The thought of shoving papers aside and spreading her wide snakes through my mind, and I swallow hard, pushing it all back down.
“Your commitment is admirable,” I say instead, picking up my briefcase just to keep my hands busy. “Use it to prep your team.”
I move to pass her. Our shoulders brush .
“I’ll be reviewing every clause,” she says, low and lethal. “Line by line.”
I pause at the threshold. Inhale.
“Whatever you feel is necessary.”
“Don’t expect me to make this easy.”
I don’t turn around.
“I never do,” I say. “That’s why I win.”
I walk out, leaving her in the boardroom.
Alone with her principles.
Alone with a legacy that won’t be hers much longer.
My shoulders stay squared until the elevator doors slide shut. Only then do I let out a breath. Just one. A brief, private crack in my armor.
The knot in my chest still hasn’t loosened. Neither has the tightness in my pants. The arousal hit hard the second I saw her, and it hasn’t eased a bit. Not with that voice. That scent. The fire in her eyes when she stood toe-to-toe with me like she wasn’t the one about to lose everything.
This is just business. That’s what I tell myself as the elevator hums its descent.
Just a deal.
Just numbers.
Just strategy.
But my body won’t let it go. Her voice still fills my head. Her scent burrows into my brain like a bruise. Her blouse, gaping slightly when she leaned across the table…
This is just business.
I grind my jaw.
Fuck.
It’s already a lie.