Two of a Kind: A Callaghan Family & Friends Romance

by Abbie Zanders

  Spencer accepted the drink his father offered. He could tell by the triumphant look in the old man’s eyes that he believed Spencer had come to his senses. In truth, he had, just not the way his father thought.

  “Have you come to a decision?”

  “I have.”

  “And?”

  “And I’m not convinced a full merger with Chamberlain is in our best interests.”

  His father narrowed his eyes, no doubt realizing this was not one of his sure things. “Perhaps I did not make myself clear. This is not a negotiation.”

  Spencer pressed on. No guts, no glory.

  “How closely have you looked at their bottom line? Chamberlain might have a large presence in the European market right now, but they’re stagnant. They haven’t produced anything new in the last five years, and their takeover rate since 2015 is practically nil.”

  “Suddenly you know more than our team of financial analysts?” his father asked with cutting sarcasm.

  Spencer ignored the dig and continued. “I’ve done some research. Call it a hunch, but I think Chamberlain Corp needs Dumas Industries more than we need them. Why else would the old man put his daughter on the bargaining table like that? It’s a desperate move.”

  The old man didn’t blink. “The marriage was our concession, not his.”

  Spencer’s progression of carefully thought-out counterarguments came to a grinding halt. “Excuse me?”

  “Caldwell expressed concerns over your ability to lead the company into the next decade. The tentative merger agreement includes a clause that Chelsea share in the responsibilities of running the company. That, of course, is most easily accomplished by a marriage where, in the absence of a prenuptial agreement, assets are shared jointly by husband and wife.”

  Spencer didn’t look down to confirm, though it felt a lot like someone had just cut him off at the knees.

  Only through years of practice did he keep his expression and his voice even. “When were you going to tell me this?”

  The elder Dumas waved his hand, as if what he had just revealed was inconsequential. “It is all spelled out in the marriage contract. Our lawyers have already looked it over and assure me everything is in order.”

  Surely, he hadn’t heard correctly. Spencer’s sharp mind grabbed at the words and pulled them in, turned them around, twisted them to make more sense, but he still kept coming back to the same conclusion.

  “This is a new low, even for you.”

  “You need to look at the bigger picture here, Spencer.”

  “Oh, I’m seeing the bigger picture, all right. You think Chelsea Chamberlain can do a better job running this company than I can?”

  “She has already proven herself to be more than capable. However, there are those who will not readily accept a woman at the helm.”

  “So, basically what you’re saying is, I’m to be the figurehead, not her.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way. I’m sure the two of you can come to an agreement you are both satisfied with.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  His father exhaled. “We have already been through this. If you refuse to marry Chelsea, you forfeit your position in Dumas Industries.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. Take it or leave it.”

  Spencer stood up. “Thanks for making it easier, Dad. I’ll leave it.”

  “Think carefully before you walk out that door, Spencer,” his father warned in an authoritative tone. “Consider all you will lose.”

  “Believe it or not, many have found success outside these walls.”

  “And what do you know about it? Your life has been one of privilege.”

  That his father thought him so incapable only strengthened his conviction. “I’ll manage.”

  “This doesn’t have anything to do with the travel agent, does it?”

  Spencer paused, his hand on the doorknob, his blood chilling quickly. “Travel agent?”

  “The one you’re sleeping with. What is her name?” The sound of shuffling papers was clearly audible in the silence. “Ah, yes. Kayla O’Connell.”

  Spencer closed his eyes briefly, took a moment to control his features, and then turned around. He immediately wished he hadn’t. Even from across the spacious office, he could see the glossy photographs his father was extracting and carefully arranging on his desk.

  His feet carried him closer. He didn’t want to look, but he had to.

  It was even worse than he had thought. Pictures of him and Kayla together in explicit detail. In the elevator at Sate. In the massage room. And, more recently, photos showing Kayla pulling him into her house. Sitting next to each other at the overlook, eating ice cream.

  “You have me followed? Under surveillance?” he asked quietly. The adrenaline coursing through his body had turned to liquid fire; his excitement to white-hot rage. “I am your son.”

  “A son who I have warned many times about the importance of discretion. You are not some common local. You are the CEO of this company. Someone is always watching.”

  Spencer’s mind raced. Who had betrayed him? He had handpicked every member of the Sate staff, wanting to avoid this very thing. Absolute privacy was something he guaranteed his guests. The freedom to indulge without judgment, without fear of publicity—it was the very foundation of his baby. Without it, Sate was nothing more than just another expensive resort.

  He looked into his father’s eyes and saw them glistening with triumph. His father only had that look when he knew he had won. The old man had hedged his bets. Again.

  “I let you have your fun, Spencer, but that stops now. You will marry Chelsea. Together, you will set the course for DCII—Dumas Chamberlain Industries, Incorporated. And you will not see Ms. O’Connell again.”

  Spencer’s fists clenched at his sides. “That is not for you to decide.”

  His father looked at him. If Spencer didn’t know better, he would swear he could almost see pity in the old man’s eyes, but he had to be mistaken. His father didn’t do pity.

  Spencer blinked through the red haze and looked again, finding only certain victory.

  “Perhaps not, but I’m sure she will agree.”

  If Spencer thought his blood had gone cold before, it was nothing compared to the ice jams that had formed and were lodged in there now. His father was too smug, too knowing.

  “What did you do?”

  “I simply provided her with a counteroffer.”

  A counteroffer? To what?

  A ray of hope formed. Kayla had been the one to walk away from him, which meant she might also have the wherewithal to tell his father exactly what he could do with his “counteroffer.”

  “And if she refuses?”

  A cold smile spread across his father’s face. “She won’t refuse, Spencer.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Kayla reread the contract again, mentally translating the legalese into something far simpler to understand.

  Five million dollars cash and her own travel agency anywhere in the world. All she had to do was agree never to see, talk to, or attempt to contact Spencer ever again.

  “I can’t believe you are even thinking about this, Kayla,” her mother tittered, waving her hands as she paced the small kitchen. “Five million! And your own business! Unless, of course, you’re going to hold out for more.”

  “I’m not going to hold out for more,” Kayla said through clenched teeth.

  “You’re right; it’s too risky. It could backfire. Oh, Kayla, do you realize what we could do with five million dollars?”

  Again with the “we.”

  “What about Charles?”

  Patricia lifted her nose. “I haven’t heard from him since I left. Clearly, he’s made his choice.”

  Or you’ve made yours, Kayla thought, biting her tongue.

  The night before, Patricia had seemed to be genuinely missing Charles. It was amazing how one day and an offer of five million dollars could change that.
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  Kayla had to get out of there before she said something she would truly regret.

  She picked up the papers, stuffed them into her purse/satchel, and grabbed her car keys.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out.”

  Kayla slammed the door behind her and stepped outside. She scowled at the beautiful, sunny day. Scowled at her unkempt lawn, reminded that she had yet to do it herself or find someone to cut her grass and trim the bushes. The few teenage kids in her neighborhood didn’t want to do something as labor-intensive and menial as yardwork, and a professional service was too expensive.

  You could afford it if you took the five mil.

  A low sound, not unlike a growl, rumbled in the back of her throat, silencing that inner voice.

  She got in her car, ignoring the death stares of the teenage girl in the window next door, and backed out of her driveway.

  After a couple miles, some of the anger began to fade, leaving only disappointment. She drove on autopilot, not even realizing where she was going until she saw the signs for the overlook.

  There was no one else there, but that wasn’t surprising. There were a lot of scenic parking areas like this throughout the mountains. The only ones who stopped were tourists passing through and kids who came up here at night for some unsupervised alone time. Most of the locals were so used to the beautiful views they never bothered.

  Neither had she until Spencer had brought them here. She had sat atop one of the weather-worn picnic tables with him, imagining the possibilities even as her words said otherwise.

  Did Spencer know about the contract that had been hand-delivered to her home, along with a file of explicit, compromising photos? She didn’t want to believe he did, but that damn inner voice kept echoing back what he had said to her that first night he had shown up at her door.

  “Was it because you saw it as an opportunity? Bragging rights? Or just a thrill to fuck someone so far out of your league?”

  Or perhaps he had taken her parting words to heart and decided to heed her advice. To forget her and marry Chelsea.

  Maybe it was a combination of both—doubt in her motives and the realization that she really wasn’t what he wanted. This offer was a rich man’s version of “thanks but no thanks” and “don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.”

  Assuming he even knew about it.

  That he might not know was a very real possibility. If what Spencer had said about his father arranging the whole engagement to Chelsea Chamberlain was true, then it seemed entirely plausible that his father might also have had an offer drawn up to keep her out of the picture.

  Of course, why bother drawing up a contract and offering incentive at all if Spencer had decided to walk away? She hadn’t asked for anything. Hadn’t threatened to go to the press.

  The answer she kept coming back to was enough to make her heart pound.

  “But, what if I wasn’t?”

  Maybe Spencer really was serious about not marrying Chelsea. Maybe he really did want something else. Maybe ...

  She pulled her phone out of her pocket and stared at it. No missed calls, no returned texts, despite the fact she had left several messages and thumbed several requests to the private number he had slipped her.

  Fuck it. A phone call or a text wasn’t going to cut it. She wanted to see his face when she asked him point-blank if he had anything to do with the contract and, depending on his answer to that, if he was still interested in ... something.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Spencer left his father’s office and headed right for the parking garage, ignoring any and all attempts to get his attention along the way. He needed to talk to Kayla and find out what the hell was going on.

  He reached into his pocket for his cell phone, only to discover it wasn’t there. He increased his pace, hoping it had simply fallen out when he had laid his suit jacket in the passenger seat earlier that morning.

  Several minutes later, he was slamming his palm down on the dashboard when he saw several missed calls and texts from Kayla’s number.

  He hit the Bluetooth button as he exited the parking garage. “Call Kayla.” It rang several times, then went to voicemail. Was that deliberate? Had she seen his contact info pop up on her screen and decided not to answer it?

  As much as he liked taking risks with money and capital, Spencer discovered he wasn’t too fond of them in his personal life. He hated this feeling of uncertainty. It was foreign and uncomfortable. Until recently, he had always known where he stood with others.

  Or he thought he had.

  Dad had always been an arrogant, self-important ass, but Spencer hadn’t realized just how incompetent his father thought he was.

  “It’s just business, Spencer.”

  His father’s parting words left a bad taste in his mouth. No words of praise, no vote of confidence.

  Spencer had been the CEO of Dumas for more than seven years and the company was stronger than it had ever been. Unlike Chamberlain, they hadn’t closed a single division, hadn’t outsourced, hadn’t had a single lay-off. DI might not make the same profit margin as Chamberlain, but they were solidly in the black and provided jobs and benefits for thousands of people. Didn’t that count for something?

  In his opinion, arranging a marriage and interfering in a man’s personal life was a hell of a lot more than “just business.” Spencer was no choir boy, but his father had crossed some serious lines.

  The old man had been so smug when he had informed Spencer of his “counteroffer.”

  How had Kayla reacted to that? Had she been insulted or ecstatic? A worse thought: did she think he had anything to do with it?

  Five million cash and her own startup was a powerful incentive for walking away, especially when she had already walked out on him twice, three times if he counted Sate. Fucking hell.

  Spencer disconnected the call without leaving a message for Kayla. What exactly would he say? Don’t do it?

  He briefly thought about just letting her know he was on his way, but nixed that idea, as well. Depending on the situation, she might just decide not to be there when he showed up.

  The travel agency was on the way, so he stopped there first. He parallel parked his McLaren among the Fords and Chevys lining the street and hopped out, ignoring the curious stares from those driving by and walking along the sidewalk. They were nothing compared to the reception he received when walking into the agency. Heads turned. Conversations stopped.

  He scanned the open floor plan of ordinary desks, looking for Kayla, but she wasn’t there.

  “You’re Spencer Dumas.” That came from a wide-eyed redhead with a phone receiver in her hand, frozen midway to her ear.

  “That I am,” he said, smoothing his features into the mask he wore for public appearances. “I’m looking for Kayla O’Connell. Is she here?”

  “No,” said another woman, one wearing a vivid red dress and too much perfume. “But I’ll be more than happy to help you.”

  He summoned a practiced smile, one meant to charm and disarm. “I’m sure you can”—he flicked his gaze down to the engraved nameplate on top of her desk—“Carly, but I’m looking for Ms. O’Connell specifically.”

  “Perhaps I can assist you, Mr. Dumas.”

  He turned to find an older woman stepping from a private office toward the back. The owner, Annette Goldman, if he wasn’t mistaken.

  “As I was just telling Carly, I’m looking for Ms. O’Connell. Is she here?” That was the third time in as many minutes he had spoken the same words.

  “No, she’s not. But I would be happy to—”

  “Thank you,” Spencer said, cutting her off before he had to explain a fourth time that he was only interested in speaking with Kayla.

  He exited the agency to find a young, uniformed woman slipping something beneath his windshield wiper.

  “Excuse me!”

  “Is this your car?” she asked, flicking the tip of her pen toward the hood. “It’
s beautiful. What is it, a 720S?”

  “Yes, it is. Did you just give me a ticket?”

  “Yeah.” She pointed over her shoulder at the meter. “Expired.”

  “I was in there less than five minutes.”

  She smirked. “Should have spent the dime for the meter, then. You could have taken a whole hour. Though, I guess anyone who can afford one of these babies can afford the twenty bucks for a parking violation. Have a good day, sir.” The young woman walked away, whistling.

  Spencer grabbed the ticket, crumpled it, and then shoved it into his pocket, wondering what other unpleasant surprises the day was going to bring.

  He drove to Kayla’s house, frowning when he saw the state of the yard. The grass needed a good mowing, and weeds were poking up along the walkway. He didn’t remember it looking like that before.

  Kayla’s car wasn’t in the driveway, but he went to the door and rang the bell anyway. Patricia answered on the first ring, no knocking required.

  “Well, this is a surprise, Mr. Dumas. You didn’t change your mind, did you?”

  Contrary to her words, she didn’t look at all surprised to see him as she swirled the amber liquid in the glass she held. Judging by the potent whiff of alcohol that wafted across the several feet that separated them, it wasn’t her first.

  That bad feeling in the pit of his stomach intensified.

  “Mrs. Davidson. I’m looking for Kayla. Is she here?”

  Kayla’s mother looked him up and down, her expression unreadable. “No.”

  “Can you tell me when you expect her to return?”

  “I don’t imagine she’ll be much longer.”

  “I need to speak with her. May I come in and wait?”

  “I don’t think so, Mr. Dumas. It would violate the terms of the agreement.”

  Spencer cursed under his breath. Any hope, however slim, that his father had been bluffing died a quick and painful death.

  “I only want what’s best for my daughter, Mr. Dumas. I’m sure you understand.”