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.”

More accurately, what’s best for you, Spencer thought.

Patricia Coxton-Jennings-O’Connell-Davidson had the parenting instincts of a pit viper. She and his father would get along famously. Thank God Kayla was nothing like her mother.

And he was nothing like his father.

“Mrs. Davidson, where is Kayla now?”

Her eyes glistened, and her lips curled upward in a greedy smile. “Why, at Dumas Industries, of course.”