“What about you? Do you like being a travel agent?”
“Yeah, it’s great. A dream come true.” Kayla couldn’t help the edge of sarcasm that came with the words; that was just part of who she was.
The mood went from awkward to uncomfortable, and that was where Kayla drew the line.
“Listen, Lexi, this has been nice and all, but I have to get back to work.”
“Oh, yeah, sure.”
Kayla wrapped up her sandwich. She had barely taken a bite, but her appetite was non-existent. Maybe it would return later when she curled up on her sofa with the tub of ice cream she planned to pick up on the way home. Lexi hadn’t eaten much of her lunch, either, she noticed.
“Maybe we can get together sometime,” Lexi said. “Coffee, or better yet, dinner.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
Kayla paused and looked Lexi in the eye. “Lexi, does Ian know you’re here?”
When Lexi hesitated, Kayla read the answer plainly in her eyes.
“Exactly,” Kayla said. “That’s why. Listen, for what it’s worth, I am sorry. I know it doesn’t mean much now, but it’s true, okay? I’m sorry for all the things I said, all the things I did, all the trouble I caused.”
Lexi’s eyes brightened. She opened her mouth to respond, but Kayla held up her hand.
“I know your heart’s in the right place, but do us both a favor and let it go, okay? It’s water under the bridge, and I don’t need any more drama in my life.”
With that, Kayla left the deli and walked back to her office, feeling even worse than when she had left.
Chapter Twenty-One
Holing up in his office had proven only marginally successful in keeping the sharks at bay. There was no shortage of people offering him unsolicited advice, each one thinking they knew far more about what was best for him than he did.
Maybe a couple years ago, he would have agreed with them. The bottom line was, a marriage to Chelsea Chamberlain did make good business sense. It would give both companies a crucial advantage, especially in the European markets, and everyone involved stood to make a shit ton of money.
His cutthroat instincts were humming with the potential to turn a multi-million-dollar venture into a billion-dollar one. It should be a no-brainer, yet he was balking. Why?
Because, for some unfathomable reason, he didn’t want to do it. He blamed his grandfather, who had somehow managed to make him believe it was possible to have it all. Not only had the man made Dumas Industries into an international success, he had also been crazy in love with his wife of fifty-two years.
Chelsea was classically attractive and had the countenance of a royal. Her bloodlines ran more blue than red. She spoke five languages fluently and had studied at the best schools money could buy. Her family had more money and more connections than his, and that was saying something.
Personality-wise, they were very much alike. Cold. Calculating. Ruthless. She had no more use for hearts and flowers than he did, and didn’t care for one minute that there were no genuine feelings between them. She, like him, had been raised with one goal: to win. To always come out on top, no matter who you had to step on in the process.
Now that no longer seemed enough. He wanted more.
He wanted to love his job. He wanted to get up every morning and look forward to whatever the day would bring, not dread it. He wanted the freedom to make his own decisions, without political ramifications, without bending to the will of the one-percent who controlled not only Dumas Industries, but most of the big companies around the world.
Sate gave him all that and more. He had turned his vision into a profitable reality and had complete autonomy.
Originally, he had purchased the small island with the intent of creating his own private getaway, but then he got to thinking and the ideas grew. Why build a house when he could build a resort? Why build a state-of-the-art kitchen when he could build a five-star restaurant? Why buy another big yacht when he could purchase a fleet of smaller, sleeker models and charge handsomely for the privilege of using them?
His entrepreneurial spirit had soared. If he, the man who had everything, needed a place to escape, then others did, too. Being the master of his own domain held a lot more weight when that domain involved clients willing to shell out big bucks to feed their need for top-shelf treatment.
The best part was, it was all his. It had taken him years, but he had done it all outside of the DI umbrella.
He sat back in his chair and rubbed his tired eyes. He wished he was at Sate now, handling business via SAT link while sitting on his private penthouse balcony and sipping something cold and potent instead of in his corner office, surrounded by dark paneling and yes-men. If it hadn’t been for Chelsea’s unannounced arrival, he still might be there, finding more excuses to avoid his father and this merger. If it hadn’t been for Chelsea’s personal staff waiting in the lobby to snap misleading pictures as he escorted her out, his “engagement” wouldn’t be broadcasting on local and national news.
And he had been having such a good time, too.
Visions of Vexy flashed in his mind as they did so often these days, making his pants grow snug beneath the desk. He pictured her eyes, filled with desire and intent as he filled her, teased her, made her beg.
He reached into his desk and retrieved the red thong he had found in his pocket, the one she had left him as a souvenir. The one he had carried around with him ever since.
He didn’t even know her name. Oh, it would be easy enough to find out. One call to Dominic and he would have all her contact information. He had been tempted to do just that many times over the past two weeks.
But, he hadn’t. She had snuck out for a reason. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what that reason was. Had she simply scratched her itch and moved on? Did she have a wealthy, powerful husband to return home to?
Spencer sighed heavily. Maybe he was getting sentimental in his old age. Maybe he was experiencing the first wave of a midlife crisis. The big 4-0 was looming just around the corner.
He tapped a few keys and brought up Sate’s website. If he couldn’t be there physically, he could at least take some pleasure in looking at his baby.
Swells of pride rose in his chest when he saw the gleaming resort rising from the volcanic rock that had formed the island millions of years earlier, surrounded by pristine white sand and crystal-clear azure seas.
Even better, the site was showing a 4.95 out of a possible 5 approval rating.
He opened the reviews, craving some good news.
The most recent was a glowing five-star, extolling the virtues of the excellent staff, fine cuisine, exemplary setting, and exceptional amenities. Spencer was smiling by the time he reached the end; the PR firm he had paid top dollar hadn’t written a plug half as good.
He paged down, finding the name of the reviewer listed as Kayla O’Connell, a senior agent for the You Deserve It Travel Agency. Spencer chuckled at the name, then clicked on the link with the intent of sending them a personal thank you.
He was surprised when the agency’s website popped up and revealed that it was located in Brandyville, Pennsylvania, less than twenty miles away from Pine Ridge.
He was even more surprised when he clicked on the Our Agents menu item and got his first look at the woman who had written such a stellar review.
Kayla O’Connell. Vexy.
And she was less than twenty miles away.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The headache that had started shortly after Lexi showed up at the agency grew steadily worse throughout the afternoon, making her even crankier. The curious looks and hushed whispers that had begun around the same time didn’t help. Finally, Kayla had had enough.
She waited until the last client left then turned around and faced Sue Ann, Carly, Frankie, and Stephanie. “Annette!” she called out. “Would you come out here, please? I only want to do this once.”
When everyone was g
athered and looking at her expectantly, she said, “All right. Go on. Ask me.”
They exchanged glances. It was Carly who spoke first.
“You know Lexi Callaghan?”
“Yes. We went to high school together. It was a long time ago. We’re not close.” All true statements, however misleading.
“I thought she was from Georgia.” This was from Sue Ann, who told anyone who would listen that the best chefs hailed from the south. “That’s where she met up with Aidan Harrison and they came up with the idea for the Celtic Goddess.”
“Oooo, Aidan Harrison,” crooned Carly. “That man is smooth, creamy chocolate on a stick. Do you know him, too?”
“It’s sex on a stick, not chocolate on a stick. No, I don’t know Aidan Harrison. And Lexi moved south before she graduated.”
“Why did she come to see you?” Annette asked, her nose twitching as if she smelled a potential prestigious client.
This was where things got tricky. “She saw my write-up on Sate and recognized my name. She decided to stop in to say hi and get some more information.”
It was partially true. Lexi had seen her review and asked her about it as they had walked to Franklin’s Deli. If Kayla had to guess, she would bet Ian had been skulking around the internet, looking for some hidden agenda or ulterior motive on her part.
“Did she say anything about booking?”
“No. Anything else?”
They shook their heads. “Good. I’m going home.”
“But it’s only six o’clock.”
Kayla shot Annette a withering glance. “I’ve cleared my desk, and I have no appointments scheduled for tonight. I’ve also already logged more than sixty hours this week.”
Annette’s mouth snapped closed as Kayla gathered her things and left.
The ride home was relatively uneventful. As planned, she picked up a tub of ice cream on the way. She couldn’t wait to change into her stretchy pants and spend the rest of the night lounging on her sofa and binge-watching something to get her mind off her shitty day.
It was as she was unlocking her door that she heard something out back. Reaching into her purse, she grabbed her pepper spray and cell phone, and eased around the corner. She didn’t see anyone, but the door to her shed was ajar.
“Damn it,” she muttered.
Scowling, Kayla approached and found the padlock hanging open, but there was no evidence of tampering. Had the kid been by to mow the lawn? She hadn’t even noticed. Chances were, he had and had just forgotten to lock it up again. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Because she worked such crazy hours, she left the key to the shed in one of those fake-rock things on the back porch. She would have to remind him again next time he came to be paid. It wasn’t exactly a high-crime neighborhood, but things did occasionally go missing. Even worse, some curious kid could come along and end up hurting himself or ingesting chemicals or something, and it would somehow be her fault.
A quick look inside revealed some disarray, but nothing obviously missing. Apparently, the kid didn’t like taking the time to put things away properly any more than he liked locking up.
With a few colorful mumbles, she secured the shed. Instead of putting the key back in the fake rock, she took it inside. She didn’t mind letting the kid use her equipment and tools, but she did expect him to do so responsibly.
She had no sooner dropped her purse on the counter when her cell phone chimed. When she saw the number flash on the caller ID, she ignored it. She didn’t have the strength to deal with her mother, not until she had a long, hot shower, a tub of ice cream, and at least two episodes under her belt.
She turned off her cell and plugged it into charge. For the rest of the night, she was officially unavailable.
Kayla put the ice cream in the freezer then headed for her bedroom. The landline phone rang before she made it.
“Kayla? Are you there? Why aren’t you answering your cell? Are you screening? Pick up the phone. This is your mother.”
Glad her mother couldn’t see her, Kayla began to undress. Chances were, things in Denver weren’t going as smoothly as Patricia expected and she was calling to vent. Kayla had been through it enough times to know. When it was just Patricia and Charles, Patricia got her way and things were quiet. But Charles’s daughter was not the type to stand idly by when Patricia started flashing the wife card and throwing her weight around. Charles inevitably got stuck in the middle and, not wanting to upset either woman, tried to compromise. Kayla could have told him that Patricia didn’t do compromise, but he would figure it out eventually. Either way, Kayla wasn’t about to get involved.
An irritated exhale sounded over the machine. “Fine. When you get this, call me.”
Kayla added that to the list of things she was not going to do.
Twenty minutes later, she was showered and in her PJs, curled up with a pint of chocolate chip mint and her finger on Play when her house phone rang again.
“Hey, baby. We still on for tonight? I’m down here at the Beef and Brew, and you’re not,” the rough, gritty male voice broadcast from the machine’s small speaker, making Kayla groan.
She had forgotten all about her date with Dax. They had a standing agreement to meet up on Thursdays if they didn’t have any other plans, kind of a “friends with benefits” thing.
She scrambled up off the couch and picked up the receiver. “Dax?”
“Kayla, where are you, babe?”
“I’m at home. I’m sorry, Dax, I should have called. I’m not feeling well.”
“You’re sick?”
“Not really, just a stressful day and a killer headache.”
In the background, she could hear country music blaring from the jukebox, the muted din of conversations, and the clink of bottles. Normally, she equated those sounds with a good time, but not tonight.
The thought of hanging out, engaging in the obligatory pre-hookup conversation, and pretending to give a shit was not appealing. Surprisingly enough, neither was the guarantee of sex.
Dax was always good for at least one decent orgasm, even if she did have to do most of the work herself.
“A headache, huh? I can come over to your place. I have just the thing.”
Kayla closed her eyes and shook her head for several seconds before realizing Dax couldn’t see her. “Not tonight, Dax, okay?”
“You sure? I used to date this chick who was all into Tantric sex. She said it was great for relieving stress and shit.”
“I’m sure. I’m just going to veg tonight.”
“All right. Hey, I got kinda worked up for tonight, you know what I’m saying? Do you mind if I ...?” Dax let the question hang, but she knew what he was asking.
“Sure, Dax. Knock yourself out.”
“Thanks, Kayla. We’ll catch up next time, yeah?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Kayla hung up and sighed. What the hell was she doing? Giving up a night of grunting, sweaty sex with one of the best built guys in town?
Yeah, she was, she thought, slumping into the couch. Because that was exactly what the night would entail—grunting, sweaty sex. No finesse. No worthwhile foreplay. No teasing give-and-take. Dax might have an incredible body she liked to occasionally climb like a monkey and some impressive equipment, but that was all he had. His skills were rudimentary at best, and more often than not, it was up to her to chase down her O. That no longer seemed enough.
Because Dax was not Spencer Dumas.
Kayla grabbed a throw pillow and screamed into it. She had to snap out of this. Spencer Dumas did not have a magical unicorn dick. What had happened at Sate was a one-time thing. He was never going to call, never going to show up on her doorstep. He didn’t even know her name. And he was engaged, for fuck’s sake.
The doorbell rang, interrupting the stern lecture she was giving herself.
“What the hell?” she moaned. Couldn’t everyone just leave her alone to wallow in her own self-pity for a while?
The doo
rbell rang again. She ignored it.
Then the banging started.
Now beyond cranky, Kayla got up and stomped over to the door with the giant spoon in her hand, dripping with melted ice cream. Whoever was on the other side was going to get a verbal reaming and an oversized utensil shoved up their ass.
She flung open the door and promptly forgot all that.
Because Spencer Dumas was on her doorstep.
Chapter Twenty-Three
What the hell am I doing?
The same thought had been rattling in his brain from the moment he had left his place. He had told himself repeatedly that he would not seek her out, that doing so would be a really bad idea, yet here he was anyway. But knowing Vexy—Kayla—was so close proved to be too much of a temptation to resist.
It wasn’t just that he wanted to see her again, though admittedly, that was his primary motivation. She had been on his mind like a catchy song he couldn’t get out of his head.
Beyond that, he had questions. Lots of them. Such as: had she known who he was all along? As a local, she would be familiar with Dumas Industries, and his picture appeared in the news often enough to make her knowing not only possible, but probable.
And, if she had known who he was, why hadn’t she said anything? Had she feared he wouldn’t have been interested if he knew of her local ties or that she wasn’t the wealthy diva she had appeared to be? Or had she had something more unethical in mind, like an opportunity for blackmail or scandal?
He didn’t want to believe their time together had been predicated on bad intentions, especially since he had been the one to initiate things. The fact that he had seen and heard nothing since her ghosting impression were points in her favor, yet he would have to be either stupid or incredibly naïve to believe it wasn’t a possibility. Spencer was neither. He had come from a long line of cutthroats.
Two of a Kind: A Callaghan Family & Friends Romance Page 8
