The Merger

Chapter 3

(Elizabeth’s POV)

The wheels of my car had been spinning along the pavement for what felt like an eternity. Finally, my GPS chimed, announcing my arrival. I parked before an imposing house, its grandeur echoing in the high-class neighborhood. Manicured lawns and impeccably kept gardens surrounded me. Was I truly standing in front of Benjamin Baldwin's residence? The sheer thought left me momentarily stunned.

Shaking off my disbelief, I stepped out of the car, my purse in hand. With a sigh, I approached the front door and rang the bell. Moments later, a kindly older woman with soft blue eyes greeted me.

"Good evening. You must be Miss Elizabeth. Mr. Baldwin informed me of your visit," she said warmly. Introducing herself as Mrs. Miller, the housekeeper, she welcomed me inside.

I followed her through the foyer, taking in the elegant surroundings that oozed opulence and sophistication. We entered what appeared to be a formal living room, and I smiled in polite acknowledgment.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Miller," I responded graciously.

"Would you like a drink, dear? Perhaps a cup of green tea or some coffee?" she inquired kindly.

"Tea would be wonderful, thank you," I replied, taking a seat on the tan and gold sofa. As Mrs. Miller left the room to prepare my drink, I took the opportunity to freshen up. From my purse, I retrieved a pocket mirror and red lipstick. Adjusting my appearance, I gazed at myself, making sure everything was in place.

Suddenly, a burst of energy entered the room in the form of a brown and white bulldog. Playful and exuberant, the canine immediately took a liking to me, jumping onto the sofa and showering me with affectionate licks. Laughter bubbled up within me as I patted and interacted with the cheerful pup.

"I see you've met Franklin," a deep voice chimed in from the doorway. Looking up, I found Benjamin Baldwin standing there, a smile playing on his lips.

"He's quite the charmer, isn't he?" I replied with a chuckle.

"Absolutely. And Franklin, meet Elizabeth," he said, scooping up the dog and engaging in a playful interaction that revealed an unexpected endearing side of him.

Seizing the moment, Benjamin moved to sit beside me on the couch, the bulldog still in his arms. Curiosity and anticipation hung in the air as I contemplated what this unexpected encounter might bring.

"So, Eliza, tell me, why the animosity toward me?" His question was direct, his eyes probing for answers.

"Eliza?" I repeated, taken aback by the nickname he had assigned me.

"It's a nickname I thought suited you," he replied with a grin.

My gaze remained locked on him as I considered my response. "I don't hate you, Benjamin. But I certainly don't appreciate our parents orchestrating a merger to unite our companies."

He appeared unfazed by my words, and a hint of frustration flickered in his eyes. "You know, I've already apologized for my behavior at dinner. What more do you want from me?"

"Actions speak louder than words," I retorted, my tone unwavering. "Words mean nothing if they're not backed by genuine actions."

Before he could respond, Mrs. Miller returned with a warm cup of green tea, effectively interrupting our exchange. Her presence offered a momentary reprieve, and I gratefully accepted the tea, allowing its comforting aroma to soothe my senses.

As Mrs. Miller exited the room, Benjamin seized the opportunity to continue our conversation. "So, Eliza, what's your relationship with Stephen Pierre?"

I felt a pang of surprise at the mention of Stephen's name. "He's a colleague," I answered, narrowing my eyes suspiciously. "Why do you care?"

"Let's just say we had an interesting encounter outside your office today. He seems to have more than just business on his mind when it comes to you," he remarked, a hint of concern tingeing his words.

A chuckle escaped me at his insinuation. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Benjamin."

He scoffed. "Jealous? Please. I'd buy you a garden full of flowers, not some supermarket bouquet."

Despite his attempt at nonchalance, his words carried a weight that caught me off guard. Did Benjamin harbor feelings for me? The realization unsettled me, but I pushed the thought aside.

"Our circumstances are what they are, Benjamin. I agreed to this courtship because our parents insist, not because of any romantic inclination on my part."

He extended his hand, a formal gesture that invited me into a new chapter. Hesitantly, I placed my hand in his, feeling an unexpected warmth in his touch.

"Will you enter a courtship with me?" he inquired formally, his thumb tracing gentle circles on my palm.

My mind raced with conflicting thoughts, but I knew that some ground rules were essential. "Fine, but with conditions," I began, my voice resolute. "First, I retain autonomy over my decisions. Second, intimacy is off the table. Third, respect is non-negotiable, and any breach of it will terminate this courtship."

His eyes bore into mine, his gaze unwavering. "Deal. But let's make a genuine effort. After all, our parents seem convinced that we're meant for each other."

A reluctant smile tugged at my lips. "Speaking of parents, they've invited us to their annual Charity banquet. Would you like to consider it a...date?" I teased, a hint of mischief in my tone.

Benjamin's smirk hinted at a playful side I hadn't yet seen. "So you’re asking me on a date?”

(Ben’s POV)

"I'm asking you to accompany me to the Banquet. Now, if you'd rather not because I'm too uptight, then say so now and I'll find someone else," she declares with a hint of arrogance. Her words hit me like a jab, a reminder of the judgment I've cast upon her. I had essentially labeled her as a prude.

An idea forms in my mind, and I decide to challenge her. "Why don't you show me why you're not uptight?" I say, my tone sly, as I place my hand on her thigh. Immediately, her expression stiffens, and I can sense her discomfort.

"Get the f**k off me, you jerk!" she retorts vehemently, her eyes flashing with anger. The vehemence in her voice takes me aback.

"I wouldn't sleep with you if you were the last man on the f*****g earth! I am only doing this for my parents, and if we do end up having to get married, I would never even sleep in the same room as you, let alone climb into bed with you. Think of me as a prude or uptight as much as you want, but I will not degrade myself to prove anything to a man who doesn't even get a routine STI test after screwing random girls he meets in clubs and bars!" Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. She's not holding back.

Damn! I can feel my anger flaring up, my frustration building. "I didn't want to screw you anyway! My d**k gets limper than an overcooked spaghetti noodle when I think of you!" I blurt out, my temper getting the best of me. The words spill out before I can even process the consequences.

"You pompous asshole!" she yells, and in a surge of anger, her palm connects with my cheek, the sting radiating across my face.

My blood boils, and I lose control. With a roar, I slam my fist through the wall, the force of my anger making me oblivious to the pain. I'm huffing and puffing, my breathing ragged, as I stand there with my fist still embedded in the wall. But her reaction brings me back to reality – she's visibly shaken, her eyes wide with fear. I've gone too far.

"You're a psycho! I'm outta here!" she shouts, rushing to gather her things off the sofa.

Fueled by guilt and remorse, I can't let her leave in this state. "Oh no, you don't! You're not storming out this time!" I call out, my voice desperate, as I grab her arm to stop her.

"Why are you leaving? Our conversation isn't over yet?" I demand, my tone softer now, an earnest desire to salvage the situation.

"I'm not going to stay here long enough for you to hurt me physically after hurting me with your words!" she retorts, her voice quivering as tears threaten to spill.

The realization hits me hard – she thought I might physically harm her. My anger subsides as quickly as it flared, replaced by a deep sense of regret. I've crossed a line, and I feel like the biggest asshole on the planet.

"Eliza, listen, I am sorry for what I said before. I mean it, I truly am. I never meant to hurt you with my words, and I never meant to scare you with my anger-filled actions. But you must know I would never harm you. I wouldn't dare put my hands on you in an aggressive way ever," I confess, my voice earnest and genuine.

Her expression softens, revealing a side of her I haven't seen before. She's not just the strong-willed, business-focused woman I've known – there's vulnerability beneath the surface.

"I'm sorry too, Benjamin. I mean it. Please, let's just start over and give it a genuine try," she replies, her voice sweet, and I can't help but feel a flicker of hope.

She's shaking, clearly exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster. "I'm going to head home now. I am very tired and still a bit shaken up," she admits shakily.

I take a step closer, concern etching my features. "Come, sit down, and finish your tea. Let's watch some television for a bit, and then I will drive you home myself," I suggest, my intention to ease the tension between us.

She hesitates for a moment, then nods, and we settle on the couch. As I turn on the TV and play a rerun season of Survivor, her surprise brings a small smile to my lips. The tension starts to dissipate as we watch a few episodes together, the familiarity of the show providing a sense of normalcy.

Eventually, I notice that she's dozed off, her head resting on the arm of the couch. She looks peaceful, and I can't help but think about the way I've been treating her. A wave of guilt washes over me.

Gently, I remove her blazer and heels, her comfort becoming my priority. I lift her delicate form into my arms and carry her upstairs to the guest bedroom. Carefully, I lay her down on the bed, tucking a blanket around her. For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to have her close, but I quickly push the thought away.

Heading back downstairs, I retrieve her belongings and place them on the end table in the guest room. With a sigh, I dim the lights and close the door, allowing her to rest undisturbed.

As I prepare for bed in my own room, I can't shake off the feeling that I've been unfair to her. The realization dawns on me – I want to protect her, not hurt her. But understanding why remains a puzzle I'm determined to solve.

Chapter 5

(Elizabeth’s POV)

The jarring sound of my phone's alarm yanks me out of my deep slumber. Confusion clouds my mind as I slowly open my eyes, taking in my surroundings. "Where the heck am I?" I murmur, my voice barely audible. The room is adorned with light grays and calming blues, and I sit up in the bed, stretching to relieve the stiffness in my back. Panic begins to gnaw at me as questions flood my thoughts. Did I fall asleep at Ben's place? Was I in his bed? Did we... sleep together? The uncertainty spirals, threatening to overwhelm me. Could he have drugged me? My mind races in all directions until my gaze lands on my belongings – my purse, shoes, and blazer – neatly arranged on the end table.

My hand fumbles for my phone, and I groggily hit the snooze button on the persistent alarm. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, I notice the missed calls and messages from Jen and my mom. I'll deal with those later. Slipping on my shoes and grabbing my purse and blazer, I cautiously open the door to peer outside into a long hallway. My internal compass falters – left or right?

A deep voice cuts through the uncertainty, making me jump. "Left," it says, and I spin around, startled. A smirk tugs at the corners of his lips, and I shoot him a defensive look as I poke a finger in his direction. "Did you drug me? And sleep with me?" I demand, my voice laced with suspicion.

He recoils, eyes widening at my accusation. "Are you out of your mind, woman?" he retorts incredulously, his tone reflecting shock at the implication. "I'm not some sicko. You dozed off while we were watching TV, and you looked so peaceful that I thought I'd let you rest. I carried you to the guest room."

His explanation catches me off guard, and I find myself feeling a mix of surprise and confusion. He carried me to the guest room to let me sleep? The unexpected display of respect momentarily softens my defenses. "Well, thank you, Benjamin. I should head home now. I need to finalize arrangements for the banquet," I reply, my tone less confrontational.

He surprises me again by suggesting breakfast. "At least have some breakfast. Anne cooked," he suggests kindly. It's a tone I'm not accustomed to from him, and I find myself wondering about the change in his demeanor.

Reluctantly, I agree with a sigh, and we make our way downstairs to a spacious kitchen adorned with stainless steel appliances. Seated on the island, we're served a mouthwatering spread of fruits, eggs, bacon, and Belgian waffles by Mrs. Miller. I can't help but express my excitement and gratitude, and she smiles warmly before leaving the room.

I bow my head and silently say grace before diving into the delectable feast. His gaze remains fixed on me, and his husky voice startles me as he confesses, "I'm staring at you." I feel a blush rise to my cheeks, and I try to hide my embarrassment with a soft response.

As we eat, conversation turns to his living arrangements, and he opens up about Anne and her late husband.

“David, Anne’s husband was like a father to me. Him and Anne basically raised my brother and I while my parents were busy working.” He says, His vulnerability surprises me, and I instinctively reach out to offer comfort. The empathy I see in his eyes is unexpected, given our history.

"His death must have affected you deeply," I murmur softly, drawing a connection between his loss and my own experience of losing a loved one. He acknowledges the sentiment, and a shared understanding passes between us.

In a rare moment, our eyes meet, and I feel a strange connection. I hastily look away, unsure of how to process the unexpected feelings swirling within me. This softer side of him, the one I'm seeing today, makes me question my earlier judgments.

As I prepare to leave, thoughts of the impending banquet and my to-do list fill my mind. He teases me with the idea of staying, a surprising invitation that doesn't match his usual demeanor. I chuckle and decline, insisting that I prefer my own space.

He informs me that he'll pick me up for the banquet, and I start to decline, but he insists, a soft smile gracing his lips. His kindness and the unfamiliar warmth in his gaze leave me wondering about the shift in his behavior.

I gather my things and head for the door, only to find him following closely behind. Just as I'm about to leave, he reaches for my hand, his touch gentle. "Have a good day, Eliza," he murmurs, and a soft kiss on the back of my hand sends a shiver down my spine.

Biting my lip, I manage a shy smile, my heart unexpectedly fluttering. "Yes, Benjamin, you too," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. With a quick nod, I pull my hand away and make a hasty retreat to my car, my thoughts swirling with confusion and intrigue.

(Later that Day)

(Benjamin’s POV)

"So she spent the night, huh?" Andrew smirks, his mouth full of salad. "Did you get lucky?" He adds crudely, making me roll my eyes. Sometimes, Andrew can be quite the pig.

"No, I didn't 'get lucky.' I'm doing things differently this time. I'm not messing this up," I respond firmly. He arches an eyebrow and drops his fork onto his plate.

"What?" I question, scrunching up my face in confusion.

"You're into her, aren't you?" Andrew says with a mischievous grin. "What? No way! I just want this merger to go smoothly," I growl, my irritation evident.

Andrew chuckles before taking another bite of his salad. "I think you two might actually be a good match," he admits in a hushed tone. I stare at him for a moment, taken aback.

"Really, Drew? What makes you say that?" I inquire skeptically.

"Just the way she gets under your skin so effortlessly. No woman has managed to do that before. There's something there, or else you would have given up on her by now," he shrugs nonchalantly, sipping his water. Could he be onto something? Were these feelings or just the thrill of the chase?

"Whatever, man. Are you coming to the banquet tomorrow? Jennifer will be there," I change the subject. Andrew gulps down a large mouthful of salad, making a strange face – an expression I've never seen him make before.

"What?" I question his reaction.

"Are you absolutely certain Jen will be there?" He abandons the salad completely, his face flushed as he contemplates his thoughts. And then it hits me – my eyes widen in realization.

"You have feelings for Jen! Actual feelings!" I chuckle, watching his face grow even redder.

"Shut up, man," he grumbles, clearly embarrassed.

"Oh, so you were just giving me a hard time about Eliza, but you've been keeping your own crush on her best friend a secret?"

"If I agree to go with you, will you drop it?" He whines.

"Absolutely," I laugh.

"Fine, but I'm taking the day off to prepare!" He announces, pushing his chair back and standing up. "Oh, and you're coming with me." Before I can protest, he's yanked me out of my seat and is dragging me towards the door.

"Where are we even going?"

"To see my barber. You can't show up at a formal banquet looking like a lumberjack," he points at my overgrown beard and long hair.

"Just so you know, the ladies dig the facial hair," I smirk.

"Yeah, but we want Liz to dig it, not every woman out there, dummy," he facepalms and shakes his head.

"Let's just go before I feel the need to strangle you," he snorts. I shake my head in amusement and follow him to the car.