22. Bennett
BENNETT
“ T hat's the last of it.” Caleb closes his laptop with finality. “The deal is contained. For now.”
I lean back and stare at the city lights. The whole city glitters beyond my office windows, indifferent to corporate crises and CEOs who can't stop thinking about women in their t-shirts.
“Someone fed those numbers to their board on purpose.” I roll my neck, trying to crack out the tension. “This wasn't an accident.”
“Agreed.” Caleb loosens his tie. “My money's on Harris. He's been gunning for your position since last quarter.”
“Let him try.” The words come out sharper than intended. “It's my fucking company.”
“CEOs get unseated all the time. Especially when they're distracted.” He gives me a pointed look. “We pulled this back from the brink, but we need to address the source.”
“I'll handle Harris.” My phone sits silent on the desk. No messages. No missed calls. My fingers twitch toward it before I catch myself.
Caleb notices, because of course he does. “She's probably asleep, you know. Like normal humans are at two in the morning.”
“I wasn't?—”
“Right.” He stretches, joints popping. “Come on. Let's grab a drink at The Metropolitan. Clear our heads.”
My instinct is to refuse. To go home where her scent still lingers on my sheets. Where her coffee mug sits in my sink. Where everything will feel oddly empty without her chaos…
“Fine,” I agree, realizing I don’t want to go back to where she isn’t. “One drink.”
Caleb's eyebrows shoot up. “Alert the press—Bennett Mercer just agreed to fun. Should I check for a fever?”
“Don't push it.”
Twenty minutes later, we're at The Metropolitan Club. The leather and whiskey smell of old money can't mask the fact that I'd rather be anywhere else. Specifically, wherever Layla is right now.
“Macallan 25,” I tell the waiter. “Neat.”
“Same,” Caleb adds, then peers across the dimly lit space. “Is that Kennedy and Cruz?”
Indeed. Ronan Kennedy sits in the corner with Dominic Cruz, both men engaged in what appears to be an animated discussion over tablets and whiskey.
“Didn't know Ronan was in Chicago,” I comment.
“Want to say hello?” Caleb's already standing. “Haven't seen him since the Miami conference.”
We cross the room, expensive shoes silent on thick carpet. Dominic spots us first, his face splitting into a grin .
“Well, well. Chicago's most dangerous acquisitor graces us with his presence.” He stands, pulling Caleb into one of those half-hug things men do. “And past midnight too. Did hell freeze over?”
“Bennett's turning over a new leaf,” Caleb says. “He's practically human these days.”
Ronan rises, shaking hands with his usual efficiency. “Gentlemen. Join us?”
We settle into leather chairs just as our drinks arrive.
“What brings you to Chicago?” Caleb asks Ronan.
“Navakor Energy board meeting. Dominic's considering co-investing.”
“Considering?” Dominic laughs. “You mean you're trying to convince me to throw money at another one of your unicorns.”
“It's solid tech,” Ronan insists. “Rebecca's already reviewed the patents.”
“How is Rebecca?” I ask, remembering his assistant-turned-wife who shook up New York's financial district.
“Running circles around me.” His whole demeanor softens. “Both professionally and as a soon-to-be mother.”
“No shit?” Dominic leans back. “Ronan Kennedy reproduced? There goes the neighborhood.”
“Due in July,” Ronan says, proud as any new father. “She's already planning the kid's investment portfolio.”
“Of course she is.” Caleb shakes his head. “Remember when you swore you'd never get married? Said feelings were for people without portfolios to manage?”
“That was before I met someone worth breaking rules for,” Ronan says simply.
My hand moves to my phone without permission. I want to call, to hear her voice, but I don’t want to wake her... I take a larger swallow of scotch than necessary.
“Speaking of breaking rules,” Dominic's eyes glint with mischief. “Word is Bennett's been breaking a few of his own lately. Something about late nights with the Carmichael heiress?”
I fix him with a stare that would send junior associates running. “Gossip, Dominic?”
“Observation,” he counters smoothly. “Jenna mentioned you were unavailable after hours when I wanted to call you during our last Nakamura meeting. That's not the Bennett Mercer I know.”
“Maybe I'm evolving,” I say dryly.
“Or maybe,” Caleb jumps in, the traitor, “someone finally got past that wall of ice you call a heart.”
“This is about Carmichael Innovations?” Ronan asks, interest piqued. “I looked at that deal months ago. Solid tech, but the founder seemed... inflexible.”
“That's one word for Robert Carmichael,” I mutter.
“He’s been…a challenge,” Caleb puts in. “Even more so now that Bennett is sleeping with his daughter.”
“Caleb,” I warn.
“What? Seems it’s common knowledge if Dominic has heard the rumors.” He shrugs, completely unrepentant. “Besides, it's not like you've been subtle. The entire Chicago financial district probably knows.”
“I didn’t exactly ‘know’,” Dominic says, his whiskey halfway to his mouth. “But thank you for the confirmation.”
I shoot Caleb a look, and he just smirks.
“The daughter, huh?” Ronan sets down his glass carefully. “Layla Carmichael? She's got a solid reputation. MBA from Northwestern, right?”
“Correct.” I take a sip of my drink, feeling somehow protective of any information about Layla.
“How do you even know that?” Dominic asks Ronan.
“I do my research,” Ronan says simply. “She was the only reason I considered the deal as long as I did. Been keeping the company from drowning under Robert’s mistakes for longer than she was COO, from what I heard.”
“Correct again,” I confirm, trying to ignore the pride creeping into my voice. She’s mine, and she’s amazing.
“Holy shit,” Dominic breathes. “Will you look at that—Bennett Mercer has actual feelings. Caleb, mark the date. History has been made.”
“Fuck off,” I mutter, but without heat.
“No, no, this is fascinating,” Dominic continues. “The man who once said relationships were 'inefficient resource allocation' is grinning like he just landed the biggest deal of his life. With a woman whose father's company he's acquiring, no less.”
“It's complicated,” I say.
“Always is,” Ronan nods knowingly. “I tried to keep things professional with Rebecca. Separate business from personal. Nearly lost her in the process.”
“See, this is why I stay single,” Dominic declares. “No complications. No board meetings about your love life. No trying to explain why you're suddenly making terrible business decisions because someone smiled at you.”
“Amen,” Caleb adds, clinking glasses with him. “Romance is for people who enjoy suffering.”
“You two are ridiculous,” I say, even as my phone buzzes. My hand shoots out embarrassingly fast, hope flaring?—
Jenna:
Tonight’s situation seems fully contained. Board briefing at 8AM.
The disappointment sits heavy in my chest. When did I become the guy who checks his phone like a lovesick teenager?
“Not her?” Ronan asks quietly, too perceptive for comfort.
I shake my head, pocketing the device. “Just work.”
“At two-thirty a.m?” Dominic whistles. “Either Jenna needs a raise or you need a life.”
“Says the man who sent me spreadsheets at four AM last week,” I counter.
“That's different. I live and breathe work.” He grins. “Besides, I'm not the one mooning over missed texts.”
“I'm not mooning.”
“You literally just deflated like a punctured balloon,” Caleb observes. “It was actually painful to watch.”
“You know what?” I drain my scotch and stand. “I think we’re finished here.”
“Where are you going?” Dominic asks. “We're just getting started. I haven't even told you about the twins in Miami?—”
“I have somewhere I’d rather be,” I say, already calculating the drive to Layla's apartment.
“It's two-thirty in the morning,” Caleb points out.
“So?”
“So normal people are asleep,” Dominic adds. “You can't just show up at her door like some stalker. ”
“Watch me.”
Ronan laughs, raising his glass. “There it is. The moment logic dies and instinct takes over. Good luck, Mercer.”
“Oh, you're done for,” Dominic says with delighted certainty. “Absolutely destroyed. I'm going to enjoy watching this.”
I toss cash on the table, enough to cover everyone's drinks. “Gentlemen.”
“Bennett,” Caleb calls as I head for the door. “At least text her first. Make sure she's?—”
But I'm already gone, my feet carrying me toward the elevator with a purpose I haven't felt in years. Text her? Plan it out? No. For once in my life, I'm going to do something just because I want to.
Because I need to see her. Need to know she's real and not some fever dream my organized life conjured up to torture me.
The drive takes eighteen minutes. I know because I count every one of them. This is insane. Dominic was right, I'm showing up at her door like some desperate stalker who can't go a few hours without?—
Fuck it.
I knock before logic can reassert itself. Once. Twice. Soft enough not to wake neighbors but loud enough that she'll hear if she's awake.
The door opens and my world realigns.
She stands there in my Harvard t-shirt, hair messed from sleep, eyes widening with surprise. The apartment air conditioning rolls out, carrying the scent of her shampoo and something that's purely Layla .
“Bennett?” Her voice is warm despite the sleep fog. “What are you doing here?”
I drink in the sight of her, barefoot, soft, real. “I wanted to see you.”
Her lips curve into that smile that ruins me. “It's almost three in the morning.”
“Is it too late?” The uncertainty in my voice would horrify my board of directors.
She steps aside, holding the door open wider. “Never.”
And then she’s on me. Legs around my waist, arms around my neck, mouth at my ear. I kick the door shut behind us, but the world was already forgotten the moment I saw her.
“Hi,” she whispers.
“Hi.” My hands support her thighs as I carry her to what I assume is her bedroom. “I missed you.”
“It's been five hours,” she points out, but her fingers are already in my hair, her mouth finding that spot below my ear that drives me insane.
“Too long,” I admit, past caring how desperate that sounds. Past caring about anything. Except her.