“But this is a better offer. That kind of money could—” I cut her off before she can say it. I know what she thinks of me now, some stupid masseuse could use two million dollars.
It’s the kind of money I’ll never make in my lifetime, but that’s not the point. And I get that most—hell, probably all—people wouldn’t turn it down, but this comes with a catch.
“I don’t want his money.”
“Whatever you say. I work for you, and if you want me to go back with that, I will,” she simply states now.
“That’s what I want.”
We end the call with somewhat defensive and hostile “goodbyes,” and I flop back down against my pillow. Scrunching my eyes shut tight, I will myself not to start crying.
That whole conversation just brought me back to the reason I left in the first place, to all the shit that has happened in my past that I chose to ignore.
Signing that NDA would be the worst decision I could make. It’s what he wants, and it’s controlling and a desperate way to silence me.
Money buys everything.
Cars.
Houses.
People.
Silence.
My silence.
I’m staring up at the ceiling, contemplating if what I did was completely ridiculous. He has me questioning my decisions like he always did, and he’s not even here.
Two million dollars is a fuckload of money, and I just turned it down.
My phone chimes, a text coming through, and this time it has to be Kai, but again, it isn’t.
Glancing down, I see my lawyer’s name pop up.
* * *
Nancy: They’ve now offered $11 million. Think this over and call me when you get a chance.
* * *
I launch my phone into the oversized chair that sits in the corner of the bedroom. It’s currently stacked with clothes I have yet to put away. The phone lands there with a soft thud, just as a knock comes on my front door.
“Fuck you,” I mutter. “You can stay there.”
I climb out of bed, bitter and crabby, and make my way to the front door. This time it has to be Kai because my lawyer can’t get here that fast.
And when I pull it open, he’s standing there, coffee in hand, and a smile on his beautiful, tanned face.
“Good morning,” he says, holding one out for me. “Best coffee on the island. Took a guess at what you like based on your response to Daze’s coconut cake last night.”
He winks at me, and I step aside to let him in. He’s wearing a pair of low-slung boardshorts, shirtless with his impressive abs on display.
“It’s a Hawaiian latte. Trust me, you’ll love it,” he says, and there are those words again.
Trust him.
Right now, men suck. They suck so badly that I even want to hate Kai, and he’s done nothing to me other than show up here with coffee and treat me with kindness.
