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Bennett Mercer tried to contact me.
And I need to tell him why he reached my mother instead.
Right after I find a way to save three hundred jobs from his corporate chopping block. And figure out how tostop his perfectly symmetrical face from dismantling my father's legacy one spreadsheet at a time.
BENNETT
“So,” Caleb says, swirling whiskey like it's a science experiment. “The brunette at the bar has looked over here four times in the last twenty minutes.”
I don't glance her way. “Off you go then.”
“She's not my type,” he says, taking a sip. “Blonde, maybe. But she's definitely yours. Curvy. Confident enough to linger while pretending not to notice you noticing her.”
“Pass.” I drain my overpriced scotch.
“You know”—Caleb leans back, leather creaking beneath him. The rooftop bar is too loud, too crowded, and just slightly too much. I already want to go home—“most people come to places like this to interact with other humans. Make conversation. Maybe even smile.”
“I'm interacting with you.”
“I don't count.”
“That says a lot about our decade-long friendship.”
He grins. “That I'm a masochist with saint-like patience?”
A server approaches with a fresh round. “Compliments of the lady in the red dress,” she says, setting a drink in front of me.
Caleb raises a brow. “The plot thickens.”
“No, thank you.” The server hesitates, looking between Caleb and I.
“You heard the man. Tell her we’re flattered but tragically unavailable.”
“Oh! Of course.” The server responds like she’s figured it all out and retreats. My fingers drum once against the table—a small tell I immediately suppress.
“Well done. She thinks we’re together now,” Caleb says.
“Good. I didn't come here to meet anyone.”
“No, you came to appease me and fulfill your biannual social obligation.” He leans forward. “Pick one, Bennett. Just one. Take her home, release some tension, resume being a corporate shark with a slightly improved disposition come Monday.”
I glare at him, and he smirks, knowing full well he’s sent my already thin patience packing with the suggestion. It's part of the game we play. A battle of wits disguised as banter. Still, he humors me and changes the topic. “So. Have you heard back from Jenna yet? Figured out your strategy for…all of this?”
Instead of answering, I scan the crowd. The blondes. The brunettes. The women who aren’t her and never will be.
“Bennett.”
“She sent a preliminary report. More details Monday.”
“And?”
“She’s Robert’s daughter, all right. Top of her class. Worked her way up the ranks. Took over while her dadstepped back. No connections to competitors that we know of. No angles yet.”
“Yet,” Caleb echoes with a nod. “Hence the lack of public-facing charm tonight.”
I say nothing, letting his observation ricochet off the surface of my silence.
Caleb sighs. “Then follow-up on Monday. Low stakes. Figure out if she’s a threat… or an opportunity.”