28. Bennett
BENNETT
“ S he told me she loves me.” I press my palms against the window, watching my breath fog the glass. Three days of pretending I know how to handle this. Three days of her making coffee like nothing changed while I'm falling apart inside.
Caleb sets down his coffee with the caution of a man disarming a bomb. “And?”
“And I didn't say it back.” I turn from the window, tugging at my tie. It feels like a noose. “It's been three days.”
“Three days of what? Awkward silence? Separate bedrooms? You sleeping on the couch like a guilty husband?”
“No.” That's what's driving me insane. “She acts like nothing happened. Makes breakfast. Steals my shirts. Falls asleep on my shoulder watching TV.” I rake a hand through my hair, destroying the careful styling. “Like she doesn't even need me to say it back.”
“Maybe she doesn't,” Caleb suggests, leaning back with that maddening calm of his. “Maybe she just wanted you to know.”
The memory hits me again. Layla's voice in the dark, certain and soft. Not demanding. Not expecting. Just... honest.
“That's not how it works,” I insist, pacing behind my desk. “Someone says 'I love you,' you're supposed to?—”
“What? Panic? Create a spreadsheet analyzing the relationship's viability? Call an emergency meeting with your lawyer first thing in the morning?” He glances at his watch to make his point, his tone desert-dry.
“You're right. That's much healthier than accepting that a woman actually loves you without wanting your credit card number first.”
“I ask you in here to talk as my friend. You?—”
Before I can tell him exactly where he can shove his sarcasm, Jenna's voice crackles through the intercom. “Mr. Mercer, Robert Carmichael is here to see you. He doesn't have an appointment, but he says it's urgent.”
My coffee mug hits the desk harder than intended. Robert hasn't spoken to me since he called his daughter a whore and I told him I’d ruin him if he did it again.
“Did he say what he wants?”
“No, sir. Just that it's about Layla's future.”
My stomach drops through the floor. Caleb and I lock eyes. Nothing good ever comes from surprise visits from men whose companies you're dismantling.
“Send him in,” I say, buttoning my jacket with hands that aren't quite steady. “Caleb, stay.”
“You sure?”
“If he's here to threaten me, I want a witness. If he's here to beg, I want someone to remind me why I hate him. ”
Robert enters looking like he's aged a decade in three weeks. The financial stress, the acquisition, losing Layla—it's all written in the new lines around his eyes. He carries himself with the careful dignity of a man who's lost everything but refuses to break.
“Mercer.” He nods stiffly. “Kingsley.”
“Robert.” I gesture to the chairs, not bothering to hide my suspicion. “What can I do for you?”
He sits slowly, like every joint hurts. “I need to talk about my daughter's future with the company.”
Ice floods my veins. Future. That’s something I’ve been doing my best to ignore while I focused on the now…
“Layla's contract is secure for twelve months,” I say carefully. “As we agreed.”
“And after that?” His eyes bore into mine. “What happens when the year is up and you shut down everything with the Carmichael name on it?”
I keep my expression neutral despite the guilt twisting in my gut. After twelve months, Phase Two begins. The Carmichael division gets absorbed. Positions eliminated. The ugly truth I haven't told Layla yet.
Not because I’m keeping it a secret. But simply because I don’t want to think about it.
“That depends on what the board decides,” I say, falling back on corporate speak that tastes like ash.
“Bullshit.” The profanity sounds strange in his cultured voice. “We both know how this works. You'll gut what's left, slap your logo on it, and everyone with the Carmichael name gets tossed aside.”
He's not wrong. That's exactly what the board approved. What I signed off on before I knew her. Before I fell so hard I can't think straight .
“The timeline isn't?—”
“I don't care about timelines.” He leans forward, desperation cracking his composure. “I care about my daughter. She's brilliant, Bennett. More talented than I ever was. She deserves better than being thrown away after you've taken what you need.”
Every word hits like a physical blow because he's right. Layla deserves everything. The world. A future that doesn't depend on my ability to fight a board of directors who see her as expendable.
“I'm aware of Layla's capabilities.” Understatement of the century. I'm aware of everything about her—how she takes her coffee, the spot behind her ear that makes her shiver, the way she whispers my name in her sleep.
“Then keep her,” Robert presses. “Let her run whatever part of your company takes over the medical devices. Let her stay with the team she loves.”
Caleb shifts beside me. Even he knows what Robert's asking is complicated. It would mean restructuring everything, fighting the board, creating new positions that don't exist.
“That's not how corporate structure works,” I say, hating every word. “I can't just?—”
“You're Bennett Mercer,” Robert interrupts, and there's a flash of the old fire in his voice. “You reshape companies for breakfast. Find a way.”
My jaw clenches so hard it hurts. He's asking me to perform miracles. To fight my own board for a woman who told me she loves me while I sat there like a statue.
“Is this your way of trying to get forgiveness for what you said to her?”
Pain crashes across his face like I've slapped him. “No. She shouldn't forgive me. What I said was...” He stops, swallows hard. “I was angry and I took it out on the one person who never gave up on me. That's on me. But it doesn't change the fact that I want what's best for her.”
“And you think you know what's best?” I can't keep the anger from my voice. “The man who called her a whore in front of her entire team?”
Robert flinches like I've hit him. Good. I hope it hurts.
“I know I lost any right to an opinion that day,” he says quietly. “But I also know my daughter. She won't just survive in any job. She needs purpose. Challenge. The ability to build something that matters.”
Every word cuts because he's right. Layla could excel anywhere, but excelling isn't the same as thriving. I've watched her with the medical device team—the way her whole being lights up when she talks about neural mapping, how she loses track of time working with Audrey in the lab.
“The board approved a specific plan,” I say, falling back on facts because feelings are too dangerous. “Positions are assigned based on need and efficiency.”
“Since when has Bennett Mercer been limited by board approval?” There's a ghost of the old Robert in that challenge—the inventor who built an empire from nothing. “You've restructured dozens of companies. Surely you can find a solution for one exceptional employee.”
One exceptional woman who whispers she loves me in the dark. Who's turned my perfectly ordered world upside down without even trying.
“Even if I could,” I say slowly, my mind already racing through possibilities, “it would raise questions. People would talk about special treatment. ”
“Because you're in love with her.”
The words hit like a blow. And before I can stop myself, before I even realize I mean it, I say, ‘Yes.’
Robert's mouth falls open. Even Caleb's eyebrow twitches, though he wisely stays silent.
“I had a feeling,” Robert says finally. “The way you defended her...” He looks at his hands, then back at me. “And it's serious?”
She told me she loves me three nights ago and I've been drowning in it ever since. Drowning and terrified and completely lost.
“It is.”
Something shifts in Robert's expression. “Then you understand why I'm here. Why I need to know she'll be taken care of.”
“Layla doesn't need taking care of,” I say firmly, anger flaring again. “She needs opportunity. Challenge. Room to prove what she's capable of.”
“Exactly.” He leans forward again. “So give her that. Not charity. Not a token position. A real chance to show what the medical technology can become under her leadership.”
The request hangs between us. It's not unreasonable. Hell, it's probably smart business—Layla understands the technology better than any executive we could bring in. But it would mean fighting for her. Publicly. Making it clear that she matters to me in ways that go far beyond professional.
“I'll consider it,” I say finally, knowing I'm already planning how to make it happen. “But I can't promise anything.”
“That's all I ask.” Robert stands, looking older and more fragile than when he walked in. “She doesn't know I'm here.”
“I figured.”
“I've tried to apologize. She won't take my calls.”
“Give her time,” I find myself saying. “She's hurt, not heartless.”
Robert's throat works. “Take care of her, Bennett. She's everything I have left.”
“I will,” I promise, meaning it more than any contract I've ever signed.
After he leaves, Caleb stays silent for a long moment. I can feel him watching me, cataloguing every tell.
“You're already planning it,” he says finally. “Actually restructuring an entire division for her.”
“I'm considering creating new opportunities that happen to align with her skills,” I correct, but even I don't believe it.
“Bullshit.” There's no heat in it, just tired certainty. “You're planning it because you're head-over-heels, completely gone for this woman. You've been in love with her since that festival, and every decision you've made since has been about her.”
The words sit between us like an indictment. Because he's right. Nothing has been the same since I met her.
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth! That you're so far gone you'd fight your own board for her.
That you can't imagine a future where she's not in it.
That you're terrified because you've never felt this way about anyone.” Caleb leans back, studying me like a case he's trying to crack.
“And I want you to admit you're an idiot for not telling her.”
My phone buzzes on the desk.
Layla:
Working late again. Don't wait up for dinner. Love you.
Love you. Like it's the easiest thing in the world to say.
“It's true,” I admit, the words scraping my throat raw. “I'm completely gone. I need her to know I'm all in. No conditions. No corporate bullshit. Just... everything.”
“Then tell her,” Caleb says. “Not just how you feel. Tell her about Phase Two. About the board's plan. All of it.”
My hands clench into fists. “She's going to hate me when she finds out I've been sitting on this.”
“Probably,” Caleb agrees, because he's a brutally honest asshole, even when it hurts. “But she'll hate you more if you keep hiding the truth.”
I check my watch. If I skip lunch and moves some things on my schedule, I’ll have three hours. Three hours to figure out how to tell the woman I love that no matter what I do, Carmichael Innovations dies and becomes Mercer Health.
Three hours to explain that I can save her job, her team, maybe even a sliver of her father's legacy. But only if I can convince the board without them turning on me.
Three hours to work out how to lay everything on the table—truth, fear, love, failure—and pray that she still chooses me anyway.