Page 24

It's due diligence.
Standard procedure.
I almost believe it.
The elevator rises smoothly. By the time I reach the top floor, I've mentally locked the whole situation behind a wall.
There's a company to acquire. A transition to execute. An integration strategy to implement.
Whatever happened at the festival is irrelevant.
Whatever Layla Carmichael's game is, I'll uncover it.
And this time, I won't find her intriguing.
Even if I can still see the gape in her blouse every time I close my goddamn eyes.
LAYLA
“You're not eating.”
Mom gestures toward my barely touched gnocchi, concern etched into the fine lines around her eyes. Diana Carmichael has always been perceptive.Especiallywhen I'm trying to hide something.
“I'm pacing myself,” I say, dragging a single potato pillow through the cream sauce. “Unlike some people who inhale their food like it's trying to escape.”
“Life's too short for slow eating.” She takes another bite of salmon and closes her eyes in appreciation. “Especially when it's this good.”
Our cozy Italian spot has been our mother-daughter tradition since high school with its soft lighting, red-checked tablecloths, and a chef who still pinches my cheeks like I'm twelve. Tonight, the comfort only highlights how much has changed in the eight hours since Bennett Mercer walked into our boardroom and upended everything.
“So,” she says, setting down her fork, “are you going totell me what's wrong, or should I start guessing? Bad day doesn't begin to cover that look on your face.”
I set my fork down too. “Did you know? About Dad selling the company?”
Her expression shifts. Just enough to confirm everything.
“Ah.”
“That's not an answer.”
“You already know the answer,” she says, sipping her wine as I just stare at her. “Yes.” She sighs. “He told me about a month ago.”
Another one. Another person who knew before I did.
I pick up my fork again. “You didn't think to mention it?”
“It wasn't my place, sweetheart.” Her voice softens. “That was your father's responsibility.”
“Except he didn't tell me.” I stab a piece of gnocchi with a little more force than necessary. “Not until the buyer was already walking into our boardroom this morning.”
“That sounds like your father.” A sad smile crosses her face. “Always waiting for the miracle solution that never comes.”
She looks different lately. Lighter in a way. The auburn highlights in her hair seem brighter. Her outfit pops with color instead of the muted tones she used to favor.
“Is that why you left?” I ask. “Because of the company?”
She considers, twirling her wineglass by the stem. “Not directly. But his pride... his refusal to ask for help... yes, that was part of it.”
“He kept the company's finances from me.”