Two of a Kind: A Callaghan Family & Friends Romance

by Abbie Zanders

  “No!”

  “Yes!” Frankie clapped her hands together and beamed proudly at Stephanie’s exclamation. “Janelle at the hair salon told me that Mrs. D filed for divorce, and her and Ash are shacking up somewhere on the other side of Birch Falls.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know, right? And that’s not even the biggest thing. I’ve saved the best for last.” She paused for dramatic effect, ensuring she had everyone’s attention. Even Annette was poised just inside her office door, listening. “Spencer Dumas, the most eligible bachelor in Pine Ridge, is officially off the market!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Welcome back, Mr. Dumas,” the receptionist manning the main desk in the lobby of Dumas Industries greeted.

  It was an effort not to growl out a response. It wasn’t the guy’s fault Spencer had been played like a pawn in his father’s self-serving chess game.

  Spencer nodded curtly as he headed for the express elevator up to the executive offices on the top floor. Shoving his digital key card into the slot, he forced himself to take a deep, cleansing breath. When confronting Tristan Dumas, he had to keep his emotions under tight control. Any crack in his defenses would be seen as a weakness, and weakness was not to be tolerated.

  He was pissed, though. Beneath the controlled mask he wore, his blood was simmering. Not because his father had tried to manipulate him. No, he was used to that. What really bothered him was that his father believed he could be swayed into changing his mind by a flash of rich, pampered pussy. Did his father really think his dick held more sway over his head when it came to business?

  He had known who was behind Chelsea’s sudden appearance from the moment he saw her lounging seductively in his room. It was a classic Dumas’ move; the wealthy powerbroker’s version of catching flies with honey as opposed to vinegar. Like when Spencer thought to go to Princeton instead of his father’s alma mater, Harvard. A “recruiter” had shown up in a Ferrari, promising all kinds of “bonuses” if he changed his mind. Or when his father had convinced him that Maggie Flynn’s land was critical to the future of DI and had dangled that executive promotion, a corner office, and a three-time Penthouse centerfold model as a full-time personal assistant in front of his face.

  Okay, so maybe there was some precedent there for being swayed into seeing his father’s side of things.

  But not this time.

  Spencer stormed into his father’s office, ignoring the harried administrative assistant’s pleas to stop, to wait, informing him that an important meeting was in progress. He didn’t give a shit. He was the fucking CEO. If there was an “important meeting,” he had every right to be there.

  Familiar faces, men who were more like uncles than strangers, turned at his entry. Some held sympathetic looks. Others looked just as smug, just as arrogant as his father.

  “I’ll meet up with you on the links,” the elder Dumas said, calling an end to whatever unholy scheme they were plotting next.

  Spencer waited until they had all shuffled away, mumbling greetings as they passed. Some patted his shoulder, just like they had when he was a boy. They were powerful men in their own right—senior board members, a state senator, a judge—but that kind of success always came with a price tag. There wasn’t one among them who didn’t owe some debt to the man now glaring disapprovingly at him from across the office.

  “What the hell is that?” Spencer asked, tossing the tablet displaying his engagement announcement onto his father’s massive Bubinga wood desk.

  The chairman of the board glanced at it, then went to the small bar against the wall and poured them each a few fingers of fine whisky. “I would think it is quite obvious. It is the official announcement of your engagement to Chelsea Chamberlain.”

  “I told you,” Spencer said tightly, “that I am not marrying her.”

  “And I’m telling you,” his father said, holding out a glass, “that you do not have a choice. As CEO of this company, its welfare must be your first priority. A merger with Chamberlain Corporation is the best possible scenario for everyone involved.”

  “Not for me.”

  “You’re being selfishly obdurate. Chelsea Chamberlain is a beautiful, smart, refined woman. What’s the problem?”

  The problem was, she was like every other coddled princess he had ever known—cold, self-absorbed, and only interested in using him as a stepping stone to obtain more money, more power, and higher social standing.

  Except Vexy. Vexy had no idea who he was or the size of his bottom line. She had just wanted him.

  But she used you, too, didn’t she? a small voice sounded in his head. Wrapped your dick up in knots, then left without so much as a goodbye fuck.

  We used each other, he corrected his petulant ego. And had she still been there when it was time for me to leave, I would have done the same. Walking away is a Dumas gold standard move.

  He wasn’t about to tell any of that to his father, though. The old man would find some way to turn Vexy into a vulnerability, a weakness. Instead, he looked his father right in the eye and said, “I don’t care for her.”

  His father laughed. Actually laughed. “Care for her? Don’t be so naïve. This is business. Love has nothing to do with it. Hell, you don’t even have to like her. Just marry her. Keep up public appearances, create an heir with her, and fuck whoever you want behind closed doors.”

  “Maybe that’s why you’ve been divorced five times? Or is it six now? I can’t keep track.”

  A muscle ticked in his father’s jaw. “The topic is no longer up for discussion, Spencer. Marry Chelsea.”

  “Or ...?” Spencer challenged, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Or ...” his father replied with eerie calmness, “the board will have no choice but to find a new CEO, one who will not hesitate to do what is required of him.”

  Spencer’s hands clenched into fists. While his father had hinted here and there with similar veiled threats before, he had never come right out and laid it on the line like that. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Your brother Phillip would give anything to be where you are right now.”

  “Half-brother,” Spencer corrected. “And he’s an idiot.”

  “An idiot who does what he is told,” his father said pointedly, then turned to the huge wall of glass that had a stunning view of the surrounding mountains, signaling the end of the conversation. “You have until the next board meeting to make your decision. Do not disappoint me again.”

  Effectively dismissed and nearly shaking with a mix of stunned shock and outrage, Spencer stormed out of his father’s office and went to his own. How dare the old man threaten him like that! His own son!

  “I do not want to be disturbed,” he barked at the homely, chubby woman sitting at his personal assistant’s desk before realizing he didn’t recognize her. “Who the hell are you?”

  She bit her bottom lip. “Yvonne, sir.”

  “Where is Michelle?”

  “Um”—she squirmed uncomfortably and pushed her thick glasses up higher on the bridge of her nose—“she was let go last week. I’m her replacement.”

  Spencer gaped at her. He hadn’t thought it was possible to be any angrier, but he had been wrong. His blood pressure increased, making the veins along his temple throb. Not that losing Michelle was a great loss. Michelle gave great blow jobs, but she was a shitty secretary. Regardless, she had been his shitty secretary, and his to fire, if he so desired.

  Spencer walked over to her, placed his hands on the desk, and leaned forward. His voice was very quiet as he spoke again. “Well, Yvette—”

  “Yvonne, sir.”

  “Well, Yvonne, if my phone rings even once, or anyone knocks on my door in the next several hours, you will be right behind Michelle in the unemployment line. Do I make myself clear?”

  She swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

  Spencer went into his office and closed the door. He made a beeline for his own stash of fine whisky and downed two jiggers in quick successio
n.

  When the hell had his charmed life become such a clusterfuck? Two days ago, he had been a perfectly happy, successful, single man in paradise, fucking the woman of his naughtiest fantasies. Now he was engaged to a she-devil who thought to control his dick and his business? And, if that wasn’t enough, his own father was threatening to lead the charge in ousting him if he didn’t fall in line?

  He threw the glass against the wall, finding some small satisfaction in the uncharacteristically violent act.

  The question was: what the hell was he going to do now?

  He sank behind his desk, wishing his grandfather still occupied one of the four corner offices. Spencer had always looked up to him and respected the hell out of him. Alexander Dumas had been every bit as business savvy as his father before him, and had somehow retained a strong sense of principles and the moral fiber that didn’t seem to have been passed along to his son, Spencer’s father.

  Despite tripling the fledging company’s growth, his grandfather had always had time for young Spencer. He had actually listened to his ideas, and shared many of his own. Spencer would often seek him out when he needed to work out a problem, and now that was no longer possible. It had been nearly seven years since his grandfather passed, but Spencer still felt the loss acutely.

  His grandfather had been a hell of a business man. Ruthless to his competitors and fiercely loyal to those who were close to him. That was the kind of man Spencer aspired to be, but at what cost?

  What would he have to say about all this? Spencer smiled, knowing exactly what he would have to say. He would say Spencer’s father was a damn fool; that people were far more important than profits. That money could buy a man a lot of things, but not the things that mattered most: Dignity. Respect. Happiness. The love of a good woman ...

  Was there any dignity to be found in marrying a woman he didn’t love to get her family’s assets? Any respect to be gained in an arrangement that not only expected, but encouraged them both to screw around? Could he find happiness at the helm of an even bigger corporate machine with his father and Caldwell Chamberlain working the puppet strings?

  Spencer shook his head. The answer was no, and he didn’t need to hear his grandfather say so to know it was true.

  On the other hand, this was the only life Spencer knew. As Tristan’s firstborn son, taking over as CEO had never been in question. He had been raised with that in mind, groomed from an early age to one day be his father’s successor. He thought he had been doing a pretty good job of it, too, but apparently, not good enough.

  Chapter Twenty

  Kayla was in a foul mood. Of course, it didn’t help that no one else in the office felt the need to do anything. They sauntered in late, took long lunches, and left early when they bothered to come in at all, spouting one excuse after another. And when they were there, they spent more time gossiping and trading stories about kids and spouses than actually working.

  Annette would normally say something after a while, but even she was being particularly unhelpful. Every day this week, she had walked into the office like a storm cloud and spent most of her time holed away behind her closed door, then stomped out without warning and didn’t come back. Apparently, Annette was having male-induced shit moods, too.

  Though she loathed to admit it, at least part of Kayla’s ill temper could be attributed to the bombshell of Spencer Dumas’ impending nuptials. Not because he was tying the knot to Chelsea Chamberlain, no. That was what wealthy, corporate types like him did. They brokered power unions, and the rich grew richer.

  Nor was it because Kayla believed she had the type of magical pussy that would ruin him for anyone else, either—she knew better. She was good, but she wasn’t billion-dollar good.

  No, what bothered her was that the pictures accompanying the slew of society page articles were taken in Sate’s lobby on the same day she had left. Mere hours after the limo had whisked her out of paradise, Chelsea Chamberlain had arrived and stepped right into the arms Kayla had snuck out of.

  Thank God Kayla had already been long gone by then. If she had been there when Spencer’s fiancée had arrived and had seen with her own eyes the embraces captured in the official engagement announcement, it would have been a crushing blow. Knowing that their time together had been fleeting was one thing. Having it thrown in her face, along with a big side of “you’ll never be good enough for that,” was something else entirely. She wouldn’t have handled it well. At least this way, she had been able to seethe in the privacy of her own hometown without having to worry about running into him and seeing that cocky smirk. Or even worse, seeing no acknowledgment whatsoever.

  Adding to her ill temper was her own stupidity. Moronic sap that she was, she had actually thought he would be disappointed by her sudden departure! Now she felt foolish for worrying about leaving without saying goodbye or offering an explanation. She felt even more so for thinking, even for a moment, that there had been something special between them, something that transcended the physical.

  Yeah, she was an idiot. Even though she had known it was just a convenient fling, known that it had meant nothing, some part of her hurt, and that pissed her off even more. She had been down that road before, entertaining romantic fantasies that maybe, just maybe, there might be someone out there who ...

  She shut those thoughts down immediately and with extreme prejudice. She was not the kind of woman men had serious relationships with. She had come to terms with that a long time ago.

  So, what was different this time?

  Nothing, she answered herself coldly. Spencer Dumas was no different than any other powerful alpha male she had ever known. He took what he wanted without apology, then moved on.

  She didn’t blame him; she blamed herself. She wasn’t naïve. She had known what she was getting herself into. She could have ignored his summons. She could have said no.

  She hadn’t.

  And the real ass-kicker? If she had the ability to travel back in time, knowing what she now knew, she still would have gotten into that elevator commando. Still would have spent fourteen glorious hours indulging in the best sex of her life.

  Because ... yeah, he was that good.

  Kayla sighed, irritated with herself. Angry at her nipples for beading. Angry at her sex for clenching at the mere thought of Spencer Dumas and the naughty, naughty things he had done.

  “Kayla?”

  Kayla had been so caught up in her own thoughts that she hadn’t seen the woman approaching her desk. It took only a moment to place the face, more mature than the last time she had seen it, but still every bit as beautiful.

  “Lexi? What are you doing here?”

  She received a tentative smile. “Well, you didn’t return my phone calls.”

  No, she hadn’t. Most people would have understood the implicit meaning and let it go. Not Lexi.

  “I didn’t see the need.”

  The smile faded as Lexi shifted her weight, biting her bottom lip, just like she used to. There wasn’t much of the shy, skinny kid Lexi had once been in the woman standing before her now, but that nervous tell hadn’t changed.

  “Can we talk?”

  Kayla noticed that the rest of the office had gone silent and was watching the exchange. There was a good chance they recognized Lexi, also known as Alexis O’Connell Kattapoulos Callaghan, master chef extraordinaire and co-owner of the Celtic Goddess. What they didn’t know was that Kayla and Lexi were stepsisters with a less-than-Hallmark-worthy history.

  As much as Kayla did not want to have this conversation with Lexi, she wanted to avoid office drama more.

  “Sure,” she said, choosing the lesser of the two evils. “I could use a break.” Kayla locked her computer and grabbed her purse.

  The whispers started before the door even closed behind them. She hadn’t been gone thirty seconds and was already dreading her return.

  “Franklin’s okay with you?” Kayla asked, setting a quick pace for the deli down the block.

  “Yea
h, sounds great.”

  The lunch rush had already come and gone, so they were able to place their orders and find a quiet table in the back without issue.

  Kayla picked at her sandwich, waiting for Lexi to get to it. It didn’t take long.

  “I wanted to thank you. I had no idea those things still existed. I thought ...”

  “That my mother got rid of them ages ago?” Kayla smirked, amused by Lexi’s unwillingness to throw shade even after Patricia had been enough of an evil stepmother to rival a Grimm fairy tale. “If she’d known about them, she probably would have. Lucky for you, dusty attics aren’t her thing.”

  Lexi offered a small smile. “How is Patricia?”

  “She and husband number three just moved out to Denver.”

  “I heard she remarried. And ... how have you been?”

  Lexi was trying, she could tell, but the only way to describe the situation was awkward. The last time they had spoken, Kayla had been fired up with liquid courage and incensed with rage and envy. In the heat of the moment, Kayla had said awful things, lies aimed to hurt and cause maximum damage. She had even pushed Lexi, sending her into a tree, which resulted in Lexi almost bleeding out and sealing Kayla’s status as Most Hated Woman in Pine Ridge.

  Time might heal all wounds, but some things could never be forgiven. In classic Lexi fashion, she was trying anyway. Lexi’s perfection no longer turned Kayla’s eyes green, but that familiar sense of inferiority did snake through her psyche. Lexi had always been better, prettier, nicer. She still was.

  “Me? I’ve been great. No need to ask how you’re doing. Your picture’s in the local paper every other day.”

  Lexi’s cheeks pinked, as if embarrassed. Modesty was yet another thing they didn’t have in common.

  “Happily married, with a big family like you always wanted. Kids of your own. How many rugrats do you have now?”

  “Two,” Lexi answered, her embarrassment morphing into motherly pride. “Patrick and Kate.”

  “Good for you,” Kayla said, and she meant it. Just because she wasn’t cut out for marriage and motherhood didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate the happiness that radiated from Lexi. To each her own and all that.