8. Bennett
BENNETT
“ S o,” Caleb says, swirling whiskey like it's a science experiment. “The brunette at the bar has looked over here four times in the last twenty minutes.”
I don't glance her way. “Off you go then.”
“She's not my type,” he says, taking a sip. “Blonde, maybe. But she's definitely yours. Curvy. Confident enough to linger while pretending not to notice you noticing her.”
“Pass.” I drain my overpriced scotch.
“You know”—Caleb leans back, leather creaking beneath him. The rooftop bar is too loud, too crowded, and just slightly too much. I already want to go home—“most people come to places like this to interact with other humans. Make conversation. Maybe even smile.”
“I'm interacting with you.”
“I don't count.”
“That says a lot about our decade-long friendship.”
He grins. “That I'm a masochist with saint-like patience? ”
A server approaches with a fresh round. “Compliments of the lady in the red dress,” she says, setting a drink in front of me.
Caleb raises a brow. “The plot thickens.”
“No, thank you.” The server hesitates, looking between Caleb and I.
“You heard the man. Tell her we’re flattered but tragically unavailable.”
“Oh! Of course.” The server responds like she’s figured it all out and retreats. My fingers drum once against the table—a small tell I immediately suppress.
“Well done. She thinks we’re together now,” Caleb says.
“Good. I didn't come here to meet anyone.”
“No, you came to appease me and fulfill your biannual social obligation.” He leans forward. “Pick one, Bennett. Just one. Take her home, release some tension, resume being a corporate shark with a slightly improved disposition come Monday.”
I glare at him, and he smirks, knowing full well he’s sent my already thin patience packing with the suggestion.
It's part of the game we play. A battle of wits disguised as banter.
Still, he humors me and changes the topic.
“So. Have you heard back from Jenna yet? Figured out your strategy for…all of this?”
Instead of answering, I scan the crowd. The blondes. The brunettes. The women who aren’t her and never will be.
“Bennett.”
“She sent a preliminary report. More details Monday.”
“And?”
“She’s Robert’s daughter, all right. Top of her class. Worked her way up the ranks. Took over while her dad stepped back. No connections to competitors that we know of. No angles yet.”
“Yet,” Caleb echoes with a nod. “Hence the lack of public-facing charm tonight.”
I say nothing, letting his observation ricochet off the surface of my silence.
Caleb sighs. “Then follow-up on Monday. Low stakes. Figure out if she’s a threat… or an opportunity.”
I scoff. “The odds are fifty-fifty right now.”
“Just a hunch, but I’d put my money on the latter.” He cocks his head. “Am I wrong?”
I spin my glass, watching the ice swirl. If I’m honest, I don’t know how to answer. The part that’s still raw from the wrong number is at war with the part that wants another shot. It’s exhausting.
“I’m not making a move without more intel.”
“Does that mean you’re keeping her on? Because as your legal counsel, you’d be an idiot to get rid of the COO during the first phase of an acquisition.”
I set the glass down with a decisive click. “It means I’m willing to consider it.”
Caleb raises his drink in mock salute. “To unexpected turns. Let's hope this one works in your favor.”
I mumble something that might be agreement, then push back from the table. “Well, I've had my quota of two drinks and banal conversation. I'm heading home.”
“Oh, come on. It's Saturday.”
“I've got a six a.m. call.”
“It's barely even nine.”
“And I'd like a full night's sleep.” I straighten my cuffs. “Some of us didn't roll out of bed at noon today. ”
He waves a hand. “One of the many perks of being unmarried and childless. I’m not sure why you don’t do it.”
“Because I’m married to my work, and the company is my child.”
He’s about to respond, then freezes, eyes locked on something behind me. Surprise first. Then... smug amusement spreads across his face like sunrise over Lake Michigan.
“What?” I ask, already bracing.
“Don't turn around.”
Which, of course, guarantees that I do.
I pivot, my neck muscles tensing against my will, scanning the host stand.
It takes less than a second to find her.
Layla Carmichael.
Not in a pencil skirt. Not in the sundress from the festival.
In a dress made of emerald light and gravity.
It hugs her curves like it knows every secret she’s never told.
Her hair spills in soft waves, catching the glow of the rooftop string lights like a halo.
She's laughing— laughing —with the same friends from the festival, like the world hasn’t just turned upside down.
And for a moment, it tilts.
My chest tightens. My jaw locks. I forget how to breathe.
The acquisition disappears. So does the boardroom. The recall, the tension, the betrayal.
All of it vanishes beneath a pulse of need so sharp it feels like a blade.
Every nerve ending fires. Every inch of my skin suddenly too tight. It’s not just want. It’s ache. The worst kind. The kind you can’t control.
The way her hip shifts. The way her head tips back when she laughs. The flash of collarbone. It’s all burned into me. Like I’ve known her longer than I have any right to.
Then it all crashes back. Cold. Loud. Too much.
I turn. Caleb’s grinning like he’s just watched my entire operating system crash and is enjoying the blue screen of death.
“Well, well, well,” he says. “If it isn't the universe throwing you a curveball.”
“Shut up.”
“Not a chance. This is the most entertaining thing I’ve seen all week.” He leans in, eyes gleaming. “You know, for a man who eviscerates billion-dollar boards without blinking, you’re pulling serious teenage cafeteria crush energy right now.”
“I'm leaving.”
“No, you're not.”
I should be. I want to be. Every logical cell in my body says go.
But I don’t move.
I stay rooted to the spot like this goddamn chair grew teeth and bit me into submission.
“Fine,” I mutter, dragging my gaze away from her. “One more drink. Then I’m gone.”
“Of course.”
The server returns. I don’t acknowledge her. Caleb does the talking. I shift in my seat just enough to stay in her orbit—half-shadowed, half in denial .
She hasn’t seen me.
Not yet.
She’s seated near the edge of the rooftop, laughing with her friends. Same ones from the festival. Perfect view of the city. Better view of her.
She’s smiling. Animated. Tossing her hair over her shoulder with a laugh that’s almost too bright to be real.
And just like the first time I laid eyes on her, it wrecks me.
One small, instinctive gesture, and I’m back where I started. Wanting things I shouldn't. Remembering how easy it felt. Before the boardroom. Before the silence.
Was it all an act? That smile? The bold approach?
The number?
Or was the look on her face when she saw me at Carmichael… real? That flicker of shock? Like I’d stolen something from her without even knowing?
“She hasn’t clocked you yet,” Caleb says, voice lower now. “You gonna go over? Clear the air?”
“There’s nothing to clear.”
“Right. That’s why you slouched three inches when she looked this way.”
“I did not.”
He raises his whiskey, unconvinced. “Sure.”
I adjust my posture, just to prove a point.
“Look,” he says, tone softer. “She’s gorgeous. You had a moment. Then real life crashed in. You ghosted. She turned out to be the daughter of your latest acquisition. It’s weird for anyone.”
I breathe out through my nose. Slow. Controlled. “She gave me the wrong number. ”
His eyebrows lift. “Wait—what?”
“I texted her. Once. Wrong number.”
“She gave you a fake number, then acted blindsided when she saw you again?” Caleb lets out a low whistle. “That’s cold.”
“Or careless.”
“Or both.” He watches me. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because it’s irrelevant.”
“Is it?”
I stare down my drink. “Yes.”
“You’re off balance.”
“I don’t get off balance.”
“Sure,” he deadpans.
I glance at him.
“So what now? You gonna sit here and glare at her until she trips on her heels?”
“I'm going to finish my drink. Then go home.”
It’s a lie.
I’m anchored here like gravity recalibrated just for her. My pulse synced to her movements. Watching her like she’s some illusion I might blink away if I stop.
“She looked blindsided, Bennett,” Caleb says, quieter now. “That wasn’t a con in the boardroom.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Yours. Always. Which is why I’m telling you—you may have read her wrong.”
I don’t answer.
Because for the first time in a long time… I don’t know what I know. A flash of movement pulls my attention back to her table. She's standing .
She says something to her friends, then heads toward the bar.
The bar right near us.
Every rational instinct flares— leave, get out, walk away now —but I don’t move.
I stay frozen, muscles locked, as if leaving would confirm something I can’t name.
Caleb clocks it. Raises a brow. “Looks like fate’s taking over.”
“There’s no such thing as fate.”
“Then someone should tell your face. It didn’t get the memo.”
I shoot him a glare, then glance back, just in time to catch her leaning against the bar, speaking to the bartender.
That dress. That mouth. That hair I’ve already memorized in more ways than I should admit.
The line of her neck as she laughs—Jesus.
I shouldn’t still want this.
But I do.
I shouldn’t still ache to understand what we could’ve been.
But I do.
I lift my glass and drain what’s left. Signal the server. “Another. And water.”
Caleb arches a brow. “Settling in?”
“Monitoring an active variable.”
“Spoken like a man who’s absolutely not about to spiral.”
I ignore him. My focus is already fixed on her.
Because the woman I’m supposed to distrust—the one I’ve spent a month trying to delete from my system—is twenty feet away.
And I still want to know what would’ve happened… if she'd given me the right number.
Even now.
Even though wanting her might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.