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I don't know.
Bennett:
I'll wait.
Two words that somehow hurt more than all his previous messages combined. Because Bennett Mercer doesn't wait. He acts. He takes. Heconquers.
But for me, he'll wait.
I set the phone down and move to my closet. The Northwestern sweatshirt needs to go. If I'm going to figure this out—figure us out—I need to stop hiding.
Tomorrow, I'll go to work. Face the reality of Phase Two. Look at spreadsheets that calculate human cost in dollars and cents. Try to make the inevitable run as smoothly as possible.
But tonight, I let myself admit the truth Mom saw immediately. I miss him. Not just the sex or the luxury or the way he made me feel desired. I miss his terrible jokes about market penetration. His complete inability to cook anything besides eggs. The way he hums Chopin while reading contracts.
I miss the man who cleared out half his closet for me. Who built me an art studio I haven't even used yet. Who looks at me like I'm both his greatest risk and his only reward.
The man who's waiting.
I look at my phone again, that last text sitting on the screen like a lifeline:I'll wait.
The words blur as tears return. Not the angry tears of three days ago. Something softer. Sadder. More complicated.
I stand and take Bennett’s Harvard t-shirt from a hook, pulling it on over my head and hugging it to myself. The flare of hope feels too big, too bright to snuff out. For the first time, I start to believe he meant it: Life isn’t fair. Neither is business. But maybe love is.
BENNETT
“Mr. Mercer? Are you still there?”
I’m on a call with Dominic and Tokyo. The team lead's voice crackles through the speaker, and I realize I've been staring at the same spreadsheet cell for five minutes without seeing it.
“Yes. Continue.”
“As I was saying—for the third time—the Southeast Asian market may not deliver on these expected...”
Three days since Layla didn’t come home to me. Three days since she looked at me with those betrayed eyes and said she needed space. Three days, and I can't focus on a simple market analysis because all I hear is her voice breaking:I love you, Bennett. And you've been lying to me this entire time.
“Mr. Mercer?”
“I'll have Jenna send revised projections by end of day.” Dominic answers for me, and with a muttered ‘thanks’ I disconnect before they can ask anything else, before Ihave to pretend I remember what projections they're even discussing.
My office door opens without a knock—only one person has that privilege.
“That's the third time you've hung up on Tokyo.” Jenna sets fresh coffee on my desk, studying me with concern. “Dominic and I don’t have the authority to approve this without you. So, should I apologize and reschedule?”
“No. Yes.” I rake a hand through my hair. “Just…Handle it.”
She hesitates, which is unlike her. “Sir, you have the board presentation in an hour. The one about the Hartley acquisition?”
Hartley. Right. Another company to dissect, optimize, strip for parts. The thought turns my stomach.
“Push it to next week.”
“But sir?—”
“I said push it.”
Her lips thin, but she nods. As she turns to leave, she pauses. “I need to be frank with you, Bennett. We can’t keep operating like this while you're...” She trails off, struggling to find words that won't result in a harassment suit. “... indisposed.”