Page 48 of Two of a Kind
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Kayla reread the contractagain, mentally translating the legalese into something far simpler to understand.
Five million dollarscashand 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.
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.”
