36. Layla #2
But before he leaves, he does something that shocks me more than any business deal could. He hugs me, tight and fierce, the way he used to when I was small. The man who once saw me as nothing but a means to continue his legacy… now holds me like I’m his daughter first.
“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” he whispers. “For everything I said. For how I doubted you both. I was afraid of losing everything, and I nearly lost what matters most.”
I hug him back, words momentarily beyond me. When he pulls away, his eyes are suspiciously bright.
He turns to Bennett, extending his hand. “Thank you,” he says simply.
Bennett accepts the handshake with a nod that communicates something I don't fully understand—some male code of mutual respect that seems to have developed in my absence.
And then we're alone, the door clicking shut behind my father with quiet finality. Bennett stands by the window, backlit by Chicago's glittering skyline, watching me with those intense blue eyes that see too much.
“You did all this in five days,” I say, not quite a question.
“Less than that. I was a blithering mess for a lot of it. But once I saw the way forward…” A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “I would have done it faster, but lawyers insist on sleeping occasionally.”
“Not you, though.” I step closer, noticing the shadows beneath his eyes that his perfect tailoring can't hide. “You don't look like you've slept at all.”
“Sleep seemed less important than fixing my mistake.” He doesn't move toward me, giving me space to process. “Than finding a way back to you.”
“This goes beyond us, Bennett. This is restructuring your entire business model.”
“Maybe it was time.” He shrugs, a gesture so casual it belies the magnitude of what he's done. “Maybe I needed someone to make me question approaches I've taken for granted.”
“And my father? How did you convince him to work with you after... everything?”
Bennett's expression softens. “He was worried about your future with the company, so it started there. But once we started talking about the technology itself, about what it could really become with the right support...” He trails off.
“Robert is a visionary. We helped each other find a practical path forward.”
“You two hated each other a week ago,” I remind him.
“We had something more important in common than our differences.” His eyes meet mine. “You.”
My heart stutters at the simple truth in those words. I close the distance between us, needing to be closer, to breathe the same air.
“I'm still trying to understand how this happened,” I admit. “The Bennett Mercer I met in that boardroom would never have compromised his acquisition strategy.”
“The Bennett Mercer you met in that boardroom hadn't fallen in love with the stubbornest, most principled woman in Chicago.” His hand lifts, fingers brushing my cheek with exquisite gentleness. “The one who made him question everything he thought he knew about success.”
“I missed you,” I confess, the words inadequate for the emptiness I've felt without him. “Even when I was furious, I missed you.”
“I missed you every second.” His voice roughens. “The penthouse feels like a museum without you in it. Cold. Lifeless.”
I don't know who moves first, but suddenly we're in each other's arms, his mouth finding mine with a hunger that matches my own.
The kiss is desperate, a culmination of days apart and revelations that have shifted the ground beneath our feet.
His hands thread through my hair as he deepens the kiss, and I arch against him, my body remembering exactly how we fit together.
His hands slide to my waist, pulling me closer until there's no space between us, the fabric of my dress a whisper-thin barrier between his heat and mine.
I should care that we're in Landon James's suite, that we've left a ballroom full of people downstairs, but all that matters is this—his touch, his taste, the solid reality of him after days of emptiness.
“Layla,” he growls against my lips, one hand sliding up to brush the side of my breast. “I need you.”
I pull back reluctantly, breathing hard. “I need you too. But not here.”
“No. Not here.” His eyes are dark with desire as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.. “We also have a lot to talk about.”
“Yes,” I agree. “About us. About what happens next.”
“But you believe me?” he presses, searching my face. “You believe I meant what I said? About changing? About us building something together?”
I study him—the man who remade his business model for a chance to make things right. The corporate shark who learned to build instead of devour. The billionaire who risked his board's disapproval for something he believes in.
“I believe you,” I say softly. “Not just because of the partnership, but because you listened. You actually heard me.”
Relief washes over his features, making him look younger, less guarded. “I should have listened sooner. Should have told you everything from the beginning.”
“Yes, you should have.” I can't help but smile. “But then I might not have discovered exactly how far you'd go to win me back.”
“I'd go further.” His voice drops to that serious register I know means he's completely committed. “Whatever it takes, Layla. You're everything to me.”
The intensity in his voice makes my breath catch. This man who calculates risks and returns with ruthless precision, is all in on us. No hedging, no contingencies, no exit strategy.
“I love you,” I whisper. “I never stopped.”
“I love you too.” The words fall from his lips without hesitation now, certain and clear. “More than I knew was possible.”
His lips find mine again, softer this time, the desperate edge replaced by something deeper. When we finally break apart, he rests his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my lips.
“Let's go home,” he murmurs against my temple, his arms still wrapped around me like he can't bear to let go.
Home. Not his penthouse. Not my apartment. Home. The word resonates in my chest, filling spaces I didn't know were empty .
“We should probably make an appearance downstairs first,” I say reluctantly. “Considering you orchestrated this entire evening.”
“Five minutes,” he agrees, pressing his forehead to mine. “Just enough time to thank our hosts and rescue your friend from Caleb's attempts at charm.”
“I think she might need rescuing from herself more than from him,” I laugh, remembering the look on her face. “They were practically generating sparks when we left.”
Bennett's eyebrows lift. “Interesting development. Caleb could use someone who challenges him.”
“And Serena could use someone who keeps up with her.” I straighten his bow tie, the simple domestic gesture feeling right in a way I can't explain. “There. Perfect again.”
“Not without you,” he says, capturing my hand and pressing a kiss to my palm. “Never without you.”
He moves to lead me back downstairs, but I quickly stop him, needing to say something first.
“Bennett.” He turns to me, and I take his face between my hands, needing him to really hear me. “What you did for me—restructuring everything, finding a way to save what matters, even working with my father—it means everything. But you need to know something.”
His body tenses slightly, bracing for conditions or reservations.
“I'd have loved you anyway,” I whisper. “Even if you couldn't save the company. Even if all you could offer was us. I still would have wanted you, wanted us.
The vulnerability in his eyes is enough to break my heart. For a moment, he looks like someone no one has ever truly chosen just for who he is.
“You would have?” His voice holds a note of wonder. “Knowing what was coming?”
“Eventually,” I admit, running my fingers along his jawline. “I'd have been furious for a while longer. Made you work for it. But yes, Bennett. I would have chosen you. That's what terrified me most—knowing I loved you enough to forgive almost anything.”
He pulls me close, burying his face in my hair. “I don't deserve you.”
“Probably not,” I agree, feeling him laugh against me. “But you're stuck with me anyway.”
His laugh is unsteady, relief and joy mingling in the sound. “Thank God for that.”
He kisses me again, and this one feels different—like a promise, like a future unfolding between us. When we break apart, his eyes are blazing with that intensity I've missed so desperately.
“Five minutes downstairs,” he says, his voice dropping to that register that makes heat pool low in my belly. “Then I'm taking you home and showing you exactly how much I've missed you.”
“Five minutes,” I agree, already anticipating his hands on my bare skin. “Don't you dare make small talk with anyone.”
When we return to the ballroom, Serena spots us immediately. Her eyes dart to our joined hands, then to my face, where she clearly reads everything she needs to know.
“Well, well,” she says as we approach. “Looks like someone had a productive conversation. ”
“Several, actually,” I reply, unable to keep the smile from my face.
Caleb appears at her side with two champagne flutes. “I take it all went well?” he asks, handing Serena a glass with what looks suspiciously like attentiveness.
“Very,” Bennett confirms, his hand still firmly clasping mine. “We should be able to proceed as planned.”
The look that passes between the men carries years of friendship and shared understanding. I've never seen Bennett rely on anyone the way he does on Caleb, and it makes me happy to know he hasn't been completely alone all these years.
“I'm glad,” Caleb says, his usual professional reserve softening. “I'd hate to see all those billable hours go to waste.”
Serena rolls her eyes. “Always about the bottom line with you legal types, isn't it?”
“Not always,” Caleb replies, his gaze lingering on her face a beat too long. “Some things are worth more than money.”
The loaded statement hangs between them, creating a tension I recognize all too well. Bennett notices too, his eyebrow arching slightly as he glances at me with shared amusement.
“We should find our hosts,” Bennett says, clearly providing an exit strategy. “Thank them for their hospitality.”
“And then?” Serena asks, her knowing smile making me blush.
“And then we're leaving,” I reply, squeezing Bennett's hand. “It's been... an eventful evening. ”
“I bet,” she murmurs. “Call me tomorrow with details. All of them.”
After thanking Willa and Landon and making promises to meet later in the week, Bennett guides me toward the exit.
“Your place or mine?” I ask as we wait for the car, though we both know the answer.
“Ours,” he says, the word heavy with meaning. His thumb traces circles on my wrist where my pulse races. “I want to wake up with you in our bed tomorrow and tell you about all the ways I plan to love you.”
The driver pulls up and the attendant opens the door for us, but I don't move. Instead, I rise on my toes and whisper against his ear: “Then take me home, Bennett. And show me what forever looks like.”