26. Layla
LAYLA
“ Y ou're glowing,” Serena tells me, leaning forward with her elbows on our corner table at Lockwood. “Like you've been plugged into the electrical grid.”
I take a sip of my gin and tonic, hoping the cool liquid might calm the warmth spreading across my cheeks. “I'm not glowing. It's just the bar lighting.”
“It's not the lighting,” Audrey says, stirring her Moscow mule with scientific precision. “You look happier than I've seen you in years. There's a measurable difference in your facial muscle tension.”
I can't deny it. Despite the Carmichael integration stress, despite Dad still barely speaking to me, I feel... buoyant. Like I'm floating an inch above the ground at all times.
“Fine,” I admit, setting down my glass. “I'm happy. Are you happy now?”
“Ecstatic,” Serena says, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “ So tell us everything. We haven't gone out drinking for weeks. Something's up.”
The word sits on my tongue like a loaded weapon. Love. When did that happen? When did wanting him become needing him become this terrifying certainty that he's rewired my entire emotional operating system?
I hesitate, finger tracing the condensation on my glass. I haven't told them about Bennett's closet gesture, about his invitation to move in gradually. It's been three days, and I've been processing it myself.
“He cleared out half his closet for me,” I finally say.
Both of them freeze, drinks halfway to their mouths.
“Actually, it was more than that. Custom built-ins. Designer clothes in my size. Twenty-four pairs of shoes.” I take a shaky breath. “He even converted half his library into an art studio.”
“Holy shit,” Serena whispers.
“He asked you to move in?” Audrey cuts straight to the point, her engineering mind bypassing all the romantic fluff.
“Sort of. Gradually. Starting with clothes and... seeing where it goes.”
“After five weeks?” Serena's eyebrows nearly reach her hairline. “That's either romantic or psychotic.”
“I know it sounds fast.” I run a finger around the rim of my glass. “But it doesn't feel fast when I'm with him. It feels... inevitable, somehow.”
“And what did you say?” Audrey asks.
“I said yes.” The admission makes my chest tight. “I'm keeping my apartment for now, but I've already brought over more things. My favorite books. A few framed photos. It feels right. ”
Serena studies me for a long moment. “You're falling in love with him.”
It's not a question. My silence confirms everything.
“Have you told him?” she presses.
“God, no.” I take a larger gulp of my drink. “It's too soon. Too complicated.”
“Because of work?” Audrey asks.
“That. And because I'm not sure he's... there yet.” I fiddle with my napkin. “He's not exactly the type to lead with emotion.”
Serena snorts. “Understatement of the century. The man probably schedules his feelings in thirty-minute increments.”
“He's different with me,” I say defensively. “When we're alone, he's... softer. More open.”
“I'll believe it when I see it,” Serena says, but her tone gentles. “Just be careful, Lay. Corporate sharks don't suddenly grow hearts.”
“Speaking of seeing it,” Audrey says, glancing toward the entrance, “you might get your chance.”
I follow her gaze, and my heart slams against my ribs.
Bennett strides through the entrance, his charcoal suit somehow still crisp after what I know was a brutal fourteen-hour day.
His gaze sweeps the room with typical efficiency until it lands on me, and those steel-blue eyes soften in a way that makes my chest tight.
That slow smile spreads across his face—the one that's mine alone.
Heat unfurls low in my belly, and I have to grip my glass tighter to stop my hands from trembling.
But he's not alone. Caleb Kingsley follows close behind, equally polished but wearing his usual expression of mild irritation with the world .
“Did you know they were coming?” Serena hisses as the men navigate through the crowded bar toward us.
“No,” I whisper back, my pulse quickening as Bennett gets closer. “He was supposed to meet me at the restaurant at nine.”
Before we can say more, they arrive at our table. Bennett leans down and presses a kiss to my temple—casual, intimate, possessive. The familiar scent of his cologne makes my head spin.
“Hope we're not interrupting,” he says, though his tone suggests he doesn't particularly care if they are.
“Not at all,” I manage, trying to keep the breathlessness from my voice. “I thought you were stuck at the office until eight.”
“Meeting ended early.” His hand rests on my shoulder, warm and claiming. “Thought we'd join you for a drink before dinner. If that's acceptable.”
Bennett Mercer asking permission instead of assuming? “Of course,” I say, shooting my friends a quick glance.
Serena is studying Caleb with obvious interest, while Audrey offers a polite smile.
“Ladies,” Bennett says smoothly, “this is Caleb Kingsley, my legal counsel and oldest friend.”
“Kingsley?” Serena extends her hand with sudden interest. “You wouldn't happen to know a David Kingsley, would you?”
Caleb takes her hand, one eyebrow arching with precision. “That would be my brother. Though I should warn you—we don't share the same sunny disposition.”
“Law runs in the family then,” Serena says, not releasing his hand immediately. “I work for Luminous as their marketing director. David handles our legal department. I thought you looked familiar—you have the same intimidating eyebrow thing.”
“It's genetic,” Caleb replies dryly. “Along with an unfortunate tendency toward brutal honesty and expensive scotch.”
“Brutal honesty can be refreshing,” Serena counters, finally letting go of his hand. “Expensive scotch is just good taste.”
“Careful, Kingsley,” Bennett says with rare humor. “She might actually be able to keep up with you.”
“Doubtful,” Caleb replies, but there's something almost like interest flickering in his dark eyes. “Though I appreciate optimism in the face of impossible odds.”
Bennett signals a waiter, and soon two more chairs appear at our table.
He slides in beside me, his thigh pressing against mine under the table, and I have to fight not to lean into his warmth.
Caleb takes the seat across from us, his posture shifting as if settling in for a long negotiation rather than casual drinks.
“So,” Serena says once they've ordered—scotch, neat, for both men, “what brings you both to our humble girls' night?”
“A momentary reprieve from legal documents that were threatening my will to live,” Caleb says with deadpan delivery. “Bennett insisted we needed air that wasn't recycled through conference room vents.”
“That, and I wanted to see my girlfriend,” Bennett says casually, his hand finding my knee under the table.
The word hits me like a lightning bolt. Girlfriend. He says it like it's the most natural thing in the world, but my heart hammers against my ribs. This is Bennett Mercer— the man who compartmentalizes everything—casually claiming me in front of witnesses.
“Girlfriend,” Serena repeats, raising an eyebrow at me. “That's new.”
“Is it?” Bennett asks, glancing at me with that half-smile that always makes my stomach flip.
“It's the first time you've used the term out loud,” I say quietly, just for him.
His thumb strokes across my knuckles, sending sparks up my arm. “Consider it official, then.”
Oh God, I'm in so much trouble.
The waiter arrives with their drinks, creating a momentary pause. When he leaves, Audrey breaks the silence with her usual directness.
“How's the prototype diversification progressing, Mr. Mercer? Logan mentioned some promising developments in the neural mapping algorithms.”
“Please, call me Bennett,” he says, and I notice how his voice warms when he talks shop. “Logan's quite excited about the applications. He speaks very highly of your engineering contributions. Says you're the only one who understands the elegance of the code structure.”
Audrey flushes, trying to look casual and failing spectacularly. “He's been surprisingly collaborative during the transition. I expected more resistance from the Mercer technical team.”
“Logan operates under the theory that good code transcends corporate hierarchy,” Caleb says, swirling his scotch. “Legally speaking, it's a nightmare. Practically speaking, it's brilliant.”
“Speaking of Logan,” Audrey says, aiming for nonchalant and missing by miles, “I thought he might join you tonight.”
Bennett and Caleb exchange a look that doesn't go unnoticed by anyone at the table.
“Logan doesn't do social gatherings unless specifically court-ordered,” Caleb explains. “And even then, we usually have to promise him new hardware to get him vertical.”
“Or threaten to revoke his server access,” Bennett adds.
Audrey nods, looking disappointed but trying to hide it. Serena, never one to let awkwardness linger, jumps in.
“So, Caleb,” she says, turning to face him fully, “when you're not destroying companies and negotiating people's livelihoods, what do you do for fun?”
I wince at her directness, but Caleb simply takes another sip of his scotch, looking amused rather than offended.
“What makes you assume I don't find crushing opposing counsel recreational?”
“Touché,” Serena concedes with a laugh. “But there must be something else. Running? Sailing? Alphabetizing your legal briefs by date of precedent?”
“I run,” he acknowledges. “And I collect first edition law texts.”
“Of course you do,” Serena says, leaning forward. “Let me guess—Blackstone's Commentaries and dusty volumes that smell like library basements and broken dreams?”
“Actually,” Caleb counters, his voice taking on an unexpected warmth, “my prize possession is a first edition of Myra Bradwell's legal briefs. The woman who fought the Supreme Court for a woman's right to practice law. I find pioneering spirits... compelling. ”
“Interesting,” Serena says, clearly surprised. “I wouldn't have pegged you as a champion of women's rights, Counselor.”
“I'm not one for 'pegging,' Ms. Morgan,” he replies, holding her gaze a beat longer than necessary.
Oh my God, did Caleb Kingsley just make a sex joke? At Serena? This is either going to end in murder or matrimony.
Audrey chokes violently on her Moscow mule, liquid spraying across the table as she coughs and sputters. I quickly hand her napkins while Bennett presses his lips together, clearly fighting laughter.
Serena doesn't miss a beat, her smirk deepening as she leans toward Caleb. “That makes sense. Being a lawyer, you'd be more prone to fucking everyone else up the ass.”
Audrey's coughing intensifies, and she nearly falls out of her chair, eyes watering as she stares at Serena in absolute horror.
“Jesus, Serena!” I half-exclaim, half-laugh, as Bennett finally gives up and chuckles beside me, his shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth.
“What? He started it!” Serena exclaims, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
“I swear I am not always this ungraceful,” Audrey insists, still catching her breath, her cheeks crimson. “But did you hear what she just said?” She points an accusatory finger at Serena.
“I did,” Caleb replies, his lips quirking into something dangerously close to a grin. “And I find myself oddly impressed by your friend's... directness.”
“I impress myself too,” Serena says, lifting her glass in a mock toast as laughter erupts around the table .
“I feel like I should apologize for what's happening here,” I murmur to Bennett.
He leans closer, his breath warm against my ear, making me shiver. “Don't. Caleb needs to be challenged more often. It's good for his cardiovascular health.”
I glance at the two of them—Serena and Caleb now engaged in what appears to be a verbal chess match about corporate ethics, with Audrey occasionally interjecting to correct a technical point. There's undeniable energy between them, a clash of personalities that creates actual sparks.
Bennett checks his watch, and I notice the subtle movement draws my attention to his hands. Those capable, elegant fingers that know exactly how to?—
“Our table's waiting,” he says, interrupting my increasingly inappropriate thoughts, “but if you'd rather stay...”
The offer surprises me. Bennett Mercer, voluntarily disrupting his precisely planned evening? For me?
“That's... very considerate,” I finally manage. “But I've been looking forward to dinner with you all day.”
The heat that flares in his eyes tells me he understands my meaning perfectly. Dinner isn't all I've been looking forward to.
“In that case,” he says, voice dropping slightly, “we should definitely keep our reservation.”
I drain the last of my drink and gather my purse, my skin tingling with anticipation. “Serena, Audrey, it's been lovely, but we have to go.”
Serena tears her attention away from her debate with Caleb long enough to give me a knowing look. “Of course you do. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. ”
“That leaves a disturbing amount of options open,” I reply, making her laugh.
“It was a pleasure meeting you both,” Bennett says, standing and offering me his hand. The simple contact sends electricity up my arm. “Caleb, don't stay too late. We have a conference call at seven tomorrow.”
Caleb nods, though his eyes stay on Serena. “Understood. Though I may need to review some... precedents... first.”
As we say our goodbyes, I can't help but notice how Serena leans slightly toward Caleb as they resume their conversation, and how his usual stern expression has softened into something closer to genuine interest.
“Those two are either going to kill each other or end up in bed together,” I murmur as Bennett's hand finds the small of my back, possessive and warm.
“My money's on both,” he replies, guiding me through the crowd. “Though knowing Caleb, he'll probably make her sign a non-disclosure agreement first.”
I laugh, but as we step into the cool Chicago evening, I realize something's shifted tonight. We're not hiding anymore. We're not ‘figuring things out.’
We're Bennett and Layla, together, and apparently that's something worth announcing to the world.
The certainty of it settles over me like a warm coat. As his hand tightens on my back and he hails a cab with his typical efficiency, I find myself wondering when exactly I stopped questioning this and started simply... believing in it.
Maybe that's what happiness actually feels like—not the desperate giddiness I expected, but this quiet confidence that we're exactly where we're supposed to be. Together.