38. Layla
LAYLA
“ A re you sure you need all these books?” Serena asks, hefting a box that's clearly straining her arms. “I mean, aren't e-readers a thing?”
I glance over from where I'm wrapping a framed photo in bubble wrap. “Says the woman with an entire wall of vinyl records.”
“That's different,” she huffs, setting the box down with a thud. “Vinyl has superior sound quality. Plus, it's aesthetic.”
“And physical books have a superior reading experience,” I counter. “Plus, they look great on Bennett's built-in shelves.”
The mention of his name still sends a little thrill through me, even three weeks after our reconciliation. Three weeks of waking up in his arms, of rebuilding trust, of watching him fight for a different kind of future for Carmichael Innovations.
“God, you're disgustingly happy,” Serena says, collapsing onto my increasingly empty sofa. “It's almost offensive.”
“Sorry for being in love.” I laugh, sealing another box with packing tape.
“Speaking of love,” Audrey says, emerging from my bedroom with a mischievous glint in her usually serious eyes, “didn't I hear something about you being one of the last people to leave the gala because you were too busy dancing with a certain lawyer you keep pretending you can’t stand?”
I watch with glee as Serena's face goes bright red. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“Caleb Kingsley,” I clarify helpfully. “Tall, dark, expensive suit. Looks at you like you were the most fascinating thing in the room.”
“He does not,” Serena protests, but her voice lacks conviction. “We were just... drinking the free champagne.”
“Right,” Audrey drawls. “Because that’s what stupidly wealthy men do.”
“It’s what not especially wealthy women who don’t normally get invited to fancy galas do.”
“And yet,” I tease, “a certain stupidly wealthy man has been texting you ever since. Funny coincidence.”
“He texts his incipit thoughts to annoy me.”
“He does it because he wants to get into your pants.”
Serena throws a throw pillow my way and I dodge it with a laugh. “We're not talking about this. We're talking about you moving in with your billionaire boyfriend after the world's shortest breakup.”
“It wasn't that short,” I protest, though I know she has a point. “And it wasn't really a breakup. It was... a necessary recalibration. ”
“A what now?” Audrey snorts, taping up another box. “Is that corporate speak for 'we had a fight but the makeup sex was too good to stay mad'?”
I feel my cheeks warming. “It was more involved than that.”
“Sure it was,” Serena says, her voice softening. “But seriously, Layla... I’m insanely happy for you. You deserve a happily ever after.”
Serena's phone vibrates on the coffee table, the screen lighting up with Caleb's name. She lunges for it with suspicious speed, but not before I catch a glimpse of the message preview.
“Dinner tonight at 8? I promise not to mention corporate law more than seven times.”
“Well, well,” I say, arching an eyebrow. “What was that about annoying texts?”
“He's insufferable,” Serena sighs, pocketing her phone without responding. “Argumentative. Stubborn. Thinks he knows everything.”
“Sounds like someone else I know,” Audrey stage-whispers to me.
Serena's phone buzzes again.
“Are you going to answer him?” I ask.
“No. I’m going to ignore him.” She picks up a fresh moving box.
Her phone buzzes a third time. Then a fourth.
“Oh for God's sake,” she mutters, pulling it out again. Her expression shifts as she reads, and I catch the ghost of a smile before she schools her features back to irritation.
“What did he say?” I press, abandoning my packing to sit beside her.
“He sent me a picture of grape juice. ”
“Grape juice?” Audrey blinks.
“Yeah. And the caption was: 'Found a bottle of wine older than your last relationship. Thought you'd appreciate the vintage.'” She rolls her eyes. “He thinks he’s so fucking hilarious.”
Audrey and I exchange glances. “That's... actually pretty funny,” Audrey says.
“It's overstepping,” Serena corrects, but she's already typing back. “How does he even know how long my last relationship was?”
“Because you joke about that stuff all the time and he's been paying attention to you when you talk,” I suggest.
“You did lament your poor taste in men that night we were at Lockwood after Layla and Bennett left for their dinner reservation.”
The doorbell saves Serena from having to respond. “That must be Mom,” I say, checking my watch.
I open the door to find my mother loaded down with bags from our favorite deli. “Reinforcements have arrived,” she announces. “I brought enough to feed an army.”
We clear space on the kitchen counter and dig into the spread Mom brought. Between bites of turkey club, conversation flows easily—until Mom brings up the partnership.
“How's your father adjusting to the new arrangement?” she asks.
“Better than expected,” I admit. “Having Landon respect his expertise has helped. And Bennett...” I pause, thinking about how carefully he's handled Dad's pride. “Bennett's been really thoughtful about letting Dad maintain authority over research decisions. ”
“Smart man,” Mom says. “Your father needs to feel valued, not managed.”
“Bennett's learning that about a lot of things,” I say, thinking about how he's approached our relationship with the same careful consideration.
My phone buzzes with a text, and I can't help the smile that spreads across my face as I read it.
Bennett:
Missing you. The penthouse feels too quiet without you already.
Me:
I'll be home soon. With more boxes than you bargained for.
Bennett:
Bring them all. Bring anything that makes you happy.
“That's the look,” Mom says softly, watching me. “The one that tells me you've found the real thing.”
“I think I have,” I admit. “Despite everything that tried to get in our way.”
Serena's phone buzzes loudly on the counter. “Shut up.” She snatches the phone, her cheeks flaming.
“What did he say this time?” Audrey asks with uncharacteristic nosiness.
“Nothing important,” Serena mutters, but she's typing back with suspicious speed.
“If it's nothing important, why are you smiling?” I point out.
“I'm not smiling.”
“You're definitely smiling,” Mom confirms. “It's the same smile Layla gets when Bennett texts. ”
“It is not!” But Serena's protest lacks heat, and she's still looking at her phone with an expression that's equal parts exasperation and fondness.
Her phone buzzes again, and this time she can't hide her grin. “He's... actually kind of funny. For a pompous ass.”
“Progress!” I cheer. “What's he saying?”
“He sent me a legal brief titled 'The Case for Why Serena Morgan Should Accept an Official Date,'” she admits reluctantly. “Complete with citations and precedents.”
We all burst into laughter. “That's actually brilliant,” Audrey says. “And completely dorky.”
“Dorky?” Serena looks offended on his behalf. “It's clever. And thoughtful. And...” She stops, realizing what she's admitted. “And I hate all of you.”
“You like him,” I say in a sing-song voice.
“I barely know him.”
“But you want to know him better,” Mom observes with maternal intuition.
Serena's silence is answer enough.
As we finish lunch and return to packing, I watch Serena check her phone with increasing frequency. Each time it lights up with Caleb's name, her whole demeanor softens, just for a moment, before she remembers to look annoyed.
“For what it's worth,” I say while taping another box, “Bennett thinks very highly of Caleb. Says he's one of the most brilliant people he knows.”
“Of course he does,” Serena mutters. “They're both insufferable overachievers.”
By four o'clock, we've packed the last of my belongings. My apartment looks strange stripped of everything that made it mine—bare walls, empty shelves, the echoes of a life I'm ready to leave behind for something better.
“That's it,” I announce, surveying the boxes stacked by the door. “Everything I need for the next chapter.”
My phone buzzes with a new text.
Bennett:
Car service arriving at 4:30. Don't argue about the movers I'm sending.
Me:
Bossy billionaire.
Bennett:
Your bossy billionaire. And yes, I'm sending professional movers whether you like it or not.
“He's sending movers,” I announce.
“Of course he is,” Serena says, momentarily distracted from her own texting situation. “Can't have his girlfriend lifting heavy boxes like a peasant.”
“I love that he takes care of me,” I admit. “Even when I don't ask him to.”
“That's what good partners do,” Mom says. “They anticipate each other's needs.”
As if to prove her point, Serena's phone buzzes again. She glances at it and actually giggles—a sound I've never heard from her in fifteen years of friendship.
“What now?” Audrey asks.
“He sent a follow-up brief titled ‘Amended Petition: Why the Defendant's Objections to Dating Opposing Counsel Are Legally Insufficient,’” she reads, trying to sound annoyed but failing completely. “With a footnote that says 'See also: Morgan v. Kingsley, No Case Too Hard to Win.'”
“Oh my god, you're done for,” I laugh. “He's flirting in legal citations.”
“It's not flirting, it's—” She stops, reading further. “Oh. He signed it 'Respectfully yours, Caleb' with a little smiley face.”
“Respectfully yours?” Mom repeats. “That's sweet.”
“And the smiley face seals it,” Audrey adds. “He’s smitten.”
Serena stares at her phone for a long moment, then starts typing. “I'm sending him a response brief,” she announces. “Titled ‘Plaintiff's Motion for Preliminary Injunction Against Further Legal Flirtation.’”
“Are you granting or denying his petition?” I ask.
She pauses, fingers hovering over her keyboard. “I'm... taking it under advisement pending oral arguments.”
“Oral arguments?” Audrey grins. “Is that what we're calling your dinner Thursday?”
“I won’t be going to dinner on any day,” Serena mutters. “I mean, I like that he’s so persistent. And the banter is… But just…no. I couldn’t date someone so irritating.” She gives her head a shake and powers her phone down completely.
“Uh-huh.” I exchange knowing glances with Mom and Audrey.
Serena's facade of nonchalance might have worked if it weren’t for the storytelling light in her eyes and the slight quiver of her lips that broadcasts her true feelings. But if she’s not ready to admit what she wants, then I'm not going to push.
The buzzer rings, announcing the arrival of the movers Bennett sent.
As they begin efficiently loading my boxes onto dollies, I take one last walk through my apartment.
This place was my bunker. The place I licked my wounds, rewrote strategies, dreamed .
Now I'm packing it all for a penthouse and a future I couldn’t have imagined six months ago.
“Getting cold feet?” Mom asks, finding me staring out the kitchen window.
“No,” I say honestly. “Just saying goodbye to this chapter.”
She squeezes my shoulder. “The next one will be better.”
“I think so too.” I turn to her. “Thank you for talking sense into me that day. For making me see what was really important.”
“That's what mothers do,” she says simply. “We help our children find their way back to what matters.”
When the movers have loaded the last box, we head downstairs. A sleek black SUV waits at the curb, and leaning against it, looking devastatingly handsome in jeans and a casual button-down, is Bennett.
“I thought you were sending a car service,” I say as I approach.
“I changed my mind.” He pushes off the vehicle, his eyes taking me in with that intensity that still makes my heart race. “Couldn't wait to see you.”
I let him pull me into a hug, savoring the familiar heat of his body and the way his hands fit perfectly around my waist.
“Hey, Mercer,” Serena calls. “If you ever hurt her again, I will have both your knees broken by next week’s all-staff. Just FYI. ”
Bennett's eyebrows rise at Serena's threat, but he takes it seriously. “Understood. Though I should mention Caleb asked me to pass along that he's still waiting for your response to his latest brief.”
“I'm not responding,” Serena says quickly, but her cheeks flush pink.
“Really? He seemed pretty confident you would. Something about 'Morgan never backs down from a good argument.'” Bennett's lips twitch with amusement. “He's actually rewriting the entire thing. Said your legal reasoning was 'surprisingly sound for someone in marketing.'”
“He did not say that,” Serena protests, but she's already reaching for her phone.
“Oh, he did. Along with something about being impressed by your use of precedent law.” Bennett shrugs. “He also mentioned making dinner reservations, just in case.”
Mom clears her throat. “Perhaps we should let these two get home? I believe someone has some unpacking to supervise.”
“More like directing from the comfort of his leather chair while I do all the work,” I tease, but Bennett's hand finds mine, squeezing gently.
“You would be lifting a damn finger, my love. You’ve done enough for one day. Let me take it from here.”
As I slide into the passenger seat, I catch Serena staring at her phone with that same conflicted expression.
“Hey,” I call through the open window. “Whatever you decide about Caleb, make sure it's what you want. Not what you think you should want.”
She nods, tucking her phone away. “Says the woman who almost walked away from her perfect match because of corporate politics.”
“Exactly.” I grin. “Learn from my mistakes.”
Bennett starts the engine as Mom and Audrey pile into Serena's car.
“Think she'll text him back?” I ask.
“Caleb seems to think she will,” Bennett says, navigating through traffic toward home. “He's been insufferable since the Gala. Actually whistling in meetings.”
“Caleb whistles?”
“Apparently. Who knew?” He glances at me with amusement. “He seems to get a massive kick out her constantly rejecting him.”
I laugh. “Those two are perfect for each other. They just don't know it yet.”
“Give them time,” Bennett says, his hand finding mine on the center console. “Sometimes the best love stories start with the most resistance.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“Definitely.” He lifts our joined hands to press a kiss to my knuckles. “Though I'd say our story is just starting.”
“And this time, we're writing it together.”