Outwardly, Spencer looked just as calm, just as collected as he always did. His pace was easy as he strolled along the corridor to his father’s office, as if he was stopping in to ask about tee times or the upcoming charity gala.

Inside, his heart was pounding and adrenaline coursed through his veins. He felt more alive than he had in years, tingling with the thrill of uncertainty that came only from a high-risk venture.

It had been almost a week since he had watched Kayla get out of his car and walk away, feeling that odd twinge deep in his chest as she did so. It had been a week of introspection. While he had never particularly cared what anyone thought, he cared what she thought.

And wasn’t that unexpected.

The cynical part of him had had a lot to say on the subject. You’re confusing your heart with your dick. She’s just using you, it said, trying to see how much she can get. She senses she’s more to you than just a quick fuck, and she’s going to use that to her advantage. You’re walking a thin, dangerous line.

Yet, here he was, ready to step off the edge.

“Spencer, come in.”

Spencer entered, taking in the dark paneling, expensive furnishings, and thick carpeting as if seeing them with new eyes. Nothing much had changed since his grandfather had sat in the same office, behind the same desk.

The company itself had grown considerably since then, but at a steady, slow pace. While his grandfather and great-grandfather had been men willing to take the big risks to get the big payouts, his father preferred a sure thing and hedged his bets whenever possible.

It was much harder to relinquish the silver spoon you were born with than to craft one of your own.

Spencer had had the same silver spoon that his father had, but apparently, Spencer took after his grandfather more than his father, and in more ways than one. Sure, things were good for business, no doubt about it, but where was the challenge? Where was the sense of accomplishment and victory when you knew you had already won?

Marrying Chelsea would be exactly like that, he had realized. A sure thing. No challenge, no effort required. They barely knew each other, yet she was willing to sign a few papers, take a few photos, and boom, it was done.

Nothing much would change. They would put on a good show for the public, but that was all it would be—a show. Away from prying eyes, they would each continue to lead their own lives, except for the unspoken requirement that they produce an heir. Life and business would go on as usual. Predictable. Boring. Not good enough. Unacceptable.

If and when he decided to take that step into legally binding himself to another, he wanted it to mean something more than an increase of assets. He wanted to earn the privilege of putting a ring on a woman’s finger. More importantly, he wanted to actually feel something for the woman herself.

A few hours in Chelsea’s presence and there had been no spark beyond mild interest. Even her perfectly sculpted, pampered body—no doubt the best money could buy—had failed to stir his desire enough to warrant a test drive.

Of course, his reluctance to grab Chelsea’s low hanging fruit might have been at least partially due to the fact that Kayla had wrung every last drop from him only hours earlier. In an attempt to disprove that theory, he had closed his eyes and pictured Chelsea in her naked glory several times since, and ... nothing. Nada. Then he tried again, picturing Kayla brandishing that spoon at him, looking adorable and sexy in her PJs, flashing those eyes, and bam! instant wood.

What did that mean? Well, he hadn’t quite figured that out yet, but he did believe his recent obsession with Kayla O’Connell was about more than just sex, though that had, admittedly, been fantastic. While he did fantasize quite often about her, he also found himself wondering where she was, what she was doing. Wondering if she was thinking of him the way he was thinking of her.

Regardless, it all boiled down to one thing: he wasn’t going to marry Chelsea.

It wouldn’t be fair to either of them.

That was why he was here. To answer his father’s ultimatum with a great big hell no and provide a counteroffer. He was taking a gamble, sure, but he wasn’t totally without a safety net. He had made some discreet calls and had relocated some assets, just in case negotiations failed.

Even more exciting, and riskier, than calling his father’s possible bluff was what he was planning to do afterward. For that, he would be walking the wire with nothing below to catch him. He didn’t know how that part was going to play out, hence the risk. What he did know was that his life was not going in a direction he was happy with, and the only bright spots in the last couple years had been Sate ... and Kayla O’Connell.

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.”