Chapter 21 Ben
Ben
It’s been seven days since I left Nottingham. Seven days since I last saw Lila. Seven days of pretending I have my shit together when, in reality, I’m barely keeping my head above water.
I’ve thrown myself into work, kept my schedule packed, signed deals, sat through meetings, and handled everything I promised the residents. Funds allocated, restoration projects initiated, investments restructured, but none of it has quieted the ache in my chest.
Because no matter how much I try to distract myself, I keep thinking about her.
I check my phone for the millionth time. No messages. No calls. I’ve wanted to call her every damn day since I left, but I told myself I wouldn’t.
For once, I needed to give her space.
I barged back into her life, tore through it like a wrecking ball, made decisions for her, around her, about her. If I want to prove I’ve changed, this is where it starts and yet… every second apart is driving me fucking insane.
I rub my temples, exhaling sharply. My office overlooks the London skyline, pristine glass panels reflecting the grey afternoon light.
The contrast between here and Nottingham couldn’t be starker.
My world in London is controlled, predictable.
Lila is none of those things. She’s colour and warmth and life and I miss her like hell.
As I pass Claire’s desk, she steps into view, her tone brisk and efficient. “Your two o’clock’s already here. They turned up early, so I had them wait in your office.”
I pause, a flicker of annoyance tightening my jaw. “Early?”
“Fifteen minutes,” she says with a nod, expression unreadable
I sigh, adjusting the cuffs of my suit. Fine. Let’s get this over with. I straighten my spine, preparing for yet another meeting that will mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. Another deal, another contract, another distraction.
When I push the door open, I stop breathing.
Because sitting there, in my sterile, painfully modern office, is Lila.
She’s perched on the edge of one of my sleek leather chairs, a stark contrast to the sharp lines and minimalist décor around her. She’s wearing a dress, soft, flowy, a little vintage, a little shabby chic, something that doesn’t belong in this cold, corporate space.
She looks like she’s stepped out of a different world and into mine and fuck me, I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
For a second, I can’t move, can’t speak, can’t breathe.
Then she looks up, meeting my gaze with those big, soul-wrecking eyes, and my whole world tilts.
Lila blinks up at me, uncertain, hesitant, but here. She’s here.
My grip tightens on the doorknob, grounding myself. I half expect her to disappear if I move too fast, like this is another cruel hallucination conjured by my sleep-deprived brain.
But she doesn’t vanish. She just sits there, her fingers smoothing over the hem of her dress, as if she’s just as overwhelmed as I am.
I don’t take my eyes off her as I reach for the desk phone, pressing the button to call Claire.
“Yes, Mr Ashcroft?”
“Cancel the rest of my meetings.” My voice is rough, uneven.
There’s a beat of silence before she replies, amused. “Already done, sir.”
I exhale sharply. Smart woman. Mental note: Give Claire a pay rise.
I set the receiver down, but I don’t move closer. Not yet. Instead, I watch Lila, waiting for her to speak first, because I need to hear why she’s here.
She finally stands, smoothing her hands down her dress, glancing around my office like she doesn’t belong here. She doesn’t. She’s too soft, too vibrant, too real for this cold, lifeless space.
“I like your office,” she says, though her voice lacks conviction.
I smirk, stepping toward her. “Liar.”
She lets out a small huff of laughter. “Yeah. It’s awful.”
Just like that, the tension shatters.
I take another step, closing the space between us, my pulse pounding. She’s here. She’s in front of me and I can’t go another second without knowing why.
“Lila.” I exhale her name like a prayer. “Tell me why you’re here.”
She lifts her chin, meeting my gaze head-on. Brave. Always brave.
Instead of answering, she reaches into the cotton bag slung over her shoulder and pulls something out. My brows furrow as she holds it up, and then I see it, the Mr & Mrs mug set.
The same one I sent her weeks ago. My chest tightens as she walks over to my desk, places the “Mr” mug on the polished surface, and picks up a Sharpie.
I watch in stunned silence as she uncaps it, leans over, and in bold, deliberate strokes, writes “On Trial” beneath the word Mr.
My lips twitch despite the pounding of my heart.
She turns back to me, arching a brow. “I take commitments very seriously, Ben.”
I cross my arms, intrigued. “Do you?”
She nods, all mock-seriousness, adjusting the mug with deliberate precision. “You’ll have to interview for the position.”
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head as I take the cup from her. “An interview?”
She shrugs, biting back a smile. “These things require due diligence.”
I glance at the mug, then back at her. “You know I like matcha, right?”
She smirks. “Good. Then you’re already halfway qualified.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest. This is Lila, my Lila. Sharp, quick-witted, completely incapable of letting anything be easy.
I lean against my desk, admiring how fucking gorgeous she looks right now. “Alright, where’s the interview happening?”
She strolls around my desk, eyeing my oversized executive chair like she owns the place, then lowers herself into it with a slow, deliberate movement. She crosses her legs, drumming her fingers on the armrest before tilting her head at me.
“Take a seat.”
She gestures to the smaller chair across from her, the one reserved for interns, clients, people who answer to me.
My brow lifts.
Her lips curve, but there’s no humour in it. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
I rake my teeth over my bottom lip, heat curling low in my stomach. Damn her. She’s enjoying this.
I exhale sharply, playing along, but every fibre of my being is locked on her, the way she leans back like she belongs there, the way her dress slides higher as she crosses her legs again, the way her eyes dare me to push back.
I settle into the smaller chair, my knees brushing the desk, my pulse drumming in anticipation.
She tilts her head, studying me, her fingers tracing idly over the leather armrest.
“Much better.”
Christ. I’m already half-hard, and we haven’t even started.
“Your work history is… questionable. Given your prior offences, the board has some concerns.”
I can’t stop the grin that tugs at my lips. “Can I ask who’s on this board, exactly?”
She steps closer, placing her hands on the armrests, caging me in. “Just me.”
She pauses, tilting her head. “Although… I do have certain personal stakeholders who also have a vested interest in this decision.”
I arch a brow. “Stakeholders?”
She nods solemnly. “Mmm. A very involved advisory panel. Passionate. Uncompromising. Should you fail to meet expectations, they will not hesitate to fire you.”
I huff out a laugh, already knowing exactly who she means.
I swallow hard as she slowly moves to straddle me, her soft floral dress brushing against my thighs as she settles into my lap.
Fuck.
She trails a finger down my chest, her eyes locked onto mine. “I take this process very seriously, Mr Ashcroft.”
I exhale through my nose, my hands gripping her hips, holding her still even as every nerve in my body begs me to move. To take.
“Ms Ng.” My voice is rough, strained. “What exactly are you assessing?”
She taps her chin, pretending to think. “Hmm, general competency. Can you follow instructions? Take direction well?” Her lips twitch, but there’s something deeper behind the teasing.
I clench my jaw, my grip tightening on her waist. “I think I can manage.”
She hums, still toying with me, but then her expression softens. “But mostly… I need to know if you mean it. If this is real for you. If I can trust that you’re not just here for the fight, for the challenge, for the thrill of getting what you couldn’t have before.”
Her fingers brush along my jaw, her voice quieter now. “I need to know if I’m safe with you.”
My chest tightens, because this isn’t just a question. It’s everything.
I take her hand gently, guiding it to rest over my heart. “Lila,” I murmur, holding her gaze, “you’re the only thing I’ve ever been sure of.”
A breath shudders past her lips before she kisses me, slow, searching, like she’s trying to map every inch of what we lost, what we’ve found again. I groan into her mouth, my fingers tangling in her hair, tilting her head so I can take more, give more.
She tastes like home, like everything I’ve been missing and I don’t want to come up for air.
Her hands frame my face, her thumbs brushing against my cheekbones, like she’s trying to memorise me. “I missed you,” she murmurs against my lips.
My grip tightens on her hips. “You have no idea.”
I press my forehead to hers, my breaths ragged. “A week apart felt like a lifetime. I hated every second of it.”
Her fingers slide down my chest, her eyes searching mine. “Then don’t leave again.”
Something breaks open inside me.
“I won’t.” I shake my head, swallowing hard. “I couldn’t if I tried.”
Her lips part, her breath hitching. “Ben…”
“I love you, Lila.” The words tumble out, rough, raw, irrevocable. “I have for years, and I will for the rest of my life.”
A soft, broken laugh escapes her, tears welling in her eyes, but she smiles and then she launches herself at me.
Her lips crash against mine, her hands fisting my shirt, desperate, frantic, like she’s been holding it in for years and can’t bear another second of silence. I groan against her mouth, my grip on her hips tightening as she presses into me, claiming me just as much as I’m claiming her.
“I love you too,” she breathes between kisses, her voice shaky, wrecked, perfect. She presses a hand to my chest, right over my pounding heart, like she needs to feel it, needs to know this is real.
I capture her mouth again, tilting my head, deepening the kiss, pouring every bit of longing, of lost time, of everything I can’t put into words into her. She moans against my lips, her nails scraping down my chest as she shifts in my lap, her hips pressing down, driving me to the edge of insanity.
“Show me,” she whispers, her voice thick with need, with urgency.
Something inside me snaps.
I groan, my hands gripping her thighs as I lift her slightly, my fingers bunching the fabric of her dress, pushing it up and out of my way. She’s already bare beneath it, and fuck, I nearly lose my mind.
She gasps when I press my palm between her legs, finding her hot, wet, ready.
“Christ, Lila,” I rasp, my control hanging by a thread.
She grinds against my hand, her breath stuttering. “No teasing, I need you. Now.”
I don’t hesitate. My fingers work at my belt, my trousers, shoving them down just enough, freeing myself, my cock aching to be inside her.
She rises slightly, guiding me to where we both need and then she sinks down, taking me in one smooth, desperate motion.
A strangled groan rips from my throat.
“Fuck, Lila.”
She cries out, her hands gripping my shoulders, her body stretching, adjusting, clenching around me like she was made for this. For me.
I thrust up into her, my grip on her hips bruising as she moves, riding me, taking me, owning me.
Her head tips back, her moans soft, breathless, perfect and I can’t stop kissing her. Her throat, her jaw, her lips, wherever I can reach.
“Look at me,” I demand, my voice rough, desperate.
She lifts her head, her gaze locking onto mine, blown wide with pleasure, with something deeper, something real.
“I love you,” I rasp, pumping into her, meeting her every movement.
Her lips part, her breath catching. “I love you too.”
I feel her fall apart around me, her body tightening, trembling, as she cries out my name, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her nails marking me, claiming me.
I lose it.
The sight of her, lips parted, eyes hazy, body quaking as she comes undone on top of me. It’s too much, too fucking much.
I thrust up into her one last time, my grip on her hips bruising, my own release slamming into me like a tidal wave. A guttural groan rips from my throat as I spill into her, dragging her down onto me, holding her tight, as if letting go would mean losing her again.
She slumps forward, panting, shaking, her forehead resting against mine. Our breaths mix, our bodies still fused together, the air between us thick, heavy, electric.
I brush my lips over her cheek, her jaw, anywhere I can reach, still trying to catch my breath, still trying to comprehend that she’s here.
Her fingers trace the back of my neck, her touch softer now, lingering, loving.
Neither of us speaks for a moment, too caught up in the aftershocks, the weight of what just happened, of what it means.
Then, in a whisper so soft I barely hear it, she breathes.
“You got the job.”