21. Layla
LAYLA
L ockwood is quieter than usual, just a handful of couples and late-night business meetings. Audrey and Serena have claimed our favorite corner booth and ordered a bottle of red.
“Finally!” Serena waves me over. “Audrey's been annoyingly vague about why you've gone MIA.”
Audrey gives me a look that clearly says I kept my mouth shut .
“Spill,” Serena demands the moment I sit. “And don't give me the sanitized version.”
I glance at Audrey, who nods encouragingly. Time to rip off the Band-Aid. “I've been with Bennett Mercer.”
Serena's wine erupts like Mount Vesuvius—a crimson geyser that paints abstract art across the white tablecloth. She flails for napkins while making sounds like a drowning seal, knocking over the saltshaker in the process. The couple at the next table inches away like we're contagious.
“With MERCER?” she finally gasps, dabbing at her chin. “As in the billionaire? The corporate shark? The?— ”
“Yes, that Mercer,” I interject, trying to maintain a modicum of dignity as Audrey hands Serena another napkin.
“But how? When? What does this even mean?” Her eyes shine with excitement and disbelief.
“It's complicated and we're still figuring it out,” I admit, not wanting to dive too deeply into the chaos yet. “Just… this week has been a lot. My father threw a public fit at the integration meeting, and?—”
“He called her a whore in front of everyone,” Audrey says, her voice steady but low.
Serena gasps again, cheeks flushed. “Whoa. Whoa. Back the fuck up. He called you what?”
My stomach twists at the memory, and I take a deep breath before continuing. “He was upset about the acquisition, and when I stood up for myself?—”
“Which you did,” Audrey interjects, her eyes fierce. “You handled it with grace.”
“Thanks,” I say, forcing a smile. “But it just escalated from there. And I ended up walking out of the meeting.”
“Which is when Bennett told everyone to leave and then tore her dad a new butthole.”
Serena gasps. “Oh my god. What? Why hasn't anyone told me this?”
“Personally, I've been…processing,” I say, taking a sip of my wine. Serena just swings her eyes to Audrey.
“What? I practically live in the lab these days and it wasn't my story to tell.”
“This is insane.” Serena pours herself more wine with shaking hands. “When did this start?”
“About a week ago,” I admit. “Dad started really acting up, and Bennett and I took him to dinner to try to calm things down. We kind of got…close from there.”
“Wow. I mean, I'm surprised it took that long considering the tension between you two at the festival and then the bar. But, wow.”
“You should have seen them during meetings,” Audrey said. “The entire office has been speculating from the start.”
“I heard.” I wrinkle my nose. “I really thought we were being discreet for a while there.”
“Oh, honey.” Serena shakes her head, grinning. “You two are not subtle. The way you look at each other? The whole world could see you were an implosion waiting to happen.”
“I know that now.” I take a fortifying sip of wine. “It's been... intense.”
“I'll bet. So… where is Prince Hostile Takeover tonight?”
“Corporate emergency. Someone's trying to sabotage one of his deals.” I check my phone—no updates. “He'll probably be at the office all night.”
“That sucks. But hey, silver-lining, that means you get to hang with your girls and tell us what it's like dating an actual billionaire.”
“I really wouldn't call what we're doing right now dating. It’s more…figuring things out. But maybe Audrey can be the one to answer the question—she and Logan Whitman seem to be getting pretty close.”
Serena's eyes go wide. “Who the hell is Logan Whitman?”
Audrey goes stock-still, wineglass frozen halfway to her lips. A flush creeps up her neck. “We're just collaborating on work,” she says, but her voice comes out higher than usual.
Serena's jaw drops. “What is going on? First Layla's secretly hooking up with Mr. Billionaire, now you're getting cozy with some mystery man? Did everyone get a memo about office romance except me?”
“Logan's not a mystery man,” Audrey protests, but she's practically glowing. “He's Bennett's tech guy. Very smart. Very... focused.”
“Focused on what exactly?” Serena grins wickedly. “Your neural pathways?”
I nearly choke on my wine. “Oh my god, Serena.”
“What? I'm just saying, if a guy's going to talk dirty to Audrey, it better involve scientific terminology.” She turns back to our blushing friend. “So? Details. Is he cute? Does he make you laugh? Can he keep up with that big brain of yours?”
“He's...” Audrey fidgets with her napkin. “He actually listened when I explained the prototype. For three hours. Without his eyes glazing over.”
“Three hours?” I lean forward. “Audrey, that's practically foreplay for you.”
“It is not!” But she's smiling now. “Although he did say my algorithm was 'elegantly beautiful,' which...” She trails off, face heating.
“Which got your motor running,” Serena finishes with satisfaction. “I knew it. You've got that same dopey look Layla has.”
“I do not have a dopey look,” I protest.
“You absolutely do. It's like someone replaced your resting worry face with a screensaver of hearts and rainbows.” Serena refills our glasses. “So what's the deal? Are you guys going to coordinate your double dates now?”
“We're not—” Audrey starts.
“It's not like that—” I say at the same time.
Serena holds up a hand. “Ladies, please. You're both glowing like nuclear reactors. Just admit you're happy and let me live vicariously through your romantic chaos.”
“Fine,” I concede. “I'm happy. Terrified, but happy.”
“I'm confused,” Audrey adds. “Logan asked if I wanted to grab coffee tomorrow to 'discuss optimization strategies.' We’ve had coffee before. So I have no idea if that's a date or actual work.”
“With engineers, there's often no difference,” I point out. “Bennett spent twenty minutes explaining market penetration theory, and I genuinely couldn't tell if he was flirting or giving me a business lesson.”
“Was he?” Serena asks.
“Both, apparently.” I grin. “Turns out corporate sharks are surprisingly good at multitasking.”
“Gross. Adorable, but gross.” Serena raises her glass. “To my friends, who apparently have a type: brilliant workaholics who speak in acronyms and charts.”
“What's your type again?” Audrey asks innocently. “Emotionally unavailable pretty boys who ghost after three dates?”
“Hey!” Serena protests. “That's a completely different category of terrible decision-making.”
“At least our guys are consistent,” I point out. “Your last three dates couldn't even remember your name.”
“The last guy remembered my name!”
“He called you Sierra,” Audrey reminds her .
“Close enough.” Serena waves dismissively. “Besides, I'm taking a break from dating to focus on my career.”
“Since when?” I ask.
“Since you two just made me realize how low my standards have been.” She grins. “Do either of your billionaire boyfriends have any single friends...”
“Logan's not my boyfriend,” Audrey protests.
“Yet,” I add helpfully. “Give him time. Eventually his operating system will glitch and he won't be able to control himself.”
“Yeah right,” she scoffs, before adding, “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind the glitch.”
“Trust me,” Serena chimes in, “nerdy guys are like slow-burning fuses. They seem all controlled and logical until BAM—total meltdown over the right woman.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “And you, my dear, are definitely the right kind of chaos for Mr. Robot.”
“His name is Logan,” Audrey mumbles, but she's fighting a smile.
“Speaking of chaos,” I say, checking my phone again—still nothing from Bennett. “I should probably head home. Early meeting tomorrow and all that.”
“Aw, you're worried about Bennett,” Serena coos. “Look at you being all supportive girlfriend-y.”
“I don’t know if I’d label myself his girlfriend,” I protest automatically, then pause. “Am I his girlfriend?” The word feels too small and too big at the same time.
“Honey, you've been living at his place for four days and he defended your honor like a medieval knight,” Audrey points out gently. “If it walks like a girlfriend duck... ”
“Quacks like a girlfriend duck,” Serena adds with a grin.
“You're both terrible.” But I'm smiling as I gather my purse.
“Terrible, but right,” Serena declares. “It's our greatest strength and most annoying quality.”
I hug them both goodbye, Audrey whispering “Text me if you need to talk,” and Serena adding, “Text me if you need dating advice or bail money.”
“Why would I need bail money?”
“You never know with billionaires. They're unpredictable.”
The ride home is quiet, just me and my stubborn phone refusing to light up. My apartment feels even emptier now, the silence pressing in from all sides. I go through my nighttime routine mechanically—wash face, brush teeth, moisturize—all while listening for that blasted beep.
By the time I crawl into bed at one a.m, I've checked it approximately forty-seven times. Each time feeling more pathetic than the last.
He's handling a crisis, I remind myself. This is what dating a CEO means.
But as I lie in my too-big bed, I can't help noticing how cold the sheets feel. How quiet the room is without his steady breathing. Four nights in his arms, and my body's already forgotten how to sleep alone. Shit. I’m already too deep.