The Twin Switch (Millionaires Legacy Book 13; Gambling Men) Page 6

  “Seventy-six thirty-two.”

  The figure wasn’t computing inside my head. Surely to goodness, Max wouldn’t have booked me a seven-thousand-dollar hotel room. “How much did you say?” My voice squeaked embarrassingly.

  “Seventy-six dollars and thirty-two cents.”

  Wait, what? “That doesn’t even make sense.”

  “I told you we had a good discount. You’re basically just paying the tax.”

  Something didn’t seem right to me. “They’re giving me a free room.”

  “No, they’re giving a good corporate client a free room. It’s empty. Nobody’s going to sleep in it if you don’t.”

  “Let me point out the flaws in that logic,” I said.

  “Please don’t.”

  “You can’t operate at a loss and make it up in volume.”

  He smiled and reached out to cradle my cheek. “I’m pretty sure the Canterbury Sands isn’t operating at a loss.”

  “They will be if they keep doing things like this.” I leaned my face into his palm.

  I wanted to stay. I really, desperately wanted to stay.

  “You want help finding your friend?” Max asked.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  I told myself to stand up, but my legs didn’t move. Then I ordered myself to stand up. Unfortunately, myself wasn’t cooperating very well tonight.

  “I have to go now,” I said to myself as much as to Max.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Thank you for...” I wasn’t exactly sure how to phrase it.

  “Dessert?” he asked with a lift of one eyebrow.

  “Dessert,” I agreed with a smile. “It was a really lovely dessert.”

  I managed to force myself to stand.

  He stood with me. “If it gets late, pick up the key.” Then he gave me a tender kiss on the lips. The tingle told me mine were bruised—in a good way, a very good way.

  I wanted to melt against him. But I knew that would be the end of my Brooklyn search. I owed it to my brother and to Brooklyn to stay strong.

  “Goodbye, Max Kendrick. It was nice to meet you.”

  “It was nice to meet you, Layla Gillen.”

  Four

  I set my alarm, and it’s a good thing I did, because I was sound asleep when “Viva la Vida” came up on my phone.

  My room was nowhere near the size of Max’s. But it was beautiful and comfortable, and the view was off the charts. I was seriously thinking of applying for a job with whatever corporation he worked for. The vacation perks alone would be worth it.

  I wondered again what he did for a living—also if there was a chance they needed a mathematician.

  I wished I could luxuriate in the shower or maybe take a long bath in the jet tub. But I wasn’t here for pleasure. I had to get back on Brooklyn’s trail. So I pushed myself through a quick morning routine and headed for the lobby again.

  In the Sweet Garden Restaurant, I found her. There was no mistake this time. I was looking at her head-on. And she was in the middle of the room with no quick exit.

  I had her.

  Intent on Brooklyn, I was almost to the table before I looked at her companion.

  I stopped, froze really. Everything inside me turned ice-cold, and a roar came up inside my brain.

  “You!” I called out, almost shouting.

  The tables nearby went quiet, and I thought to move closer.

  “You!” I rasped this time in a whisper.

  Max stared at me in abject shock, all but dropping his fork into his scrambled eggs.

  “Layla,” Brooklyn said, guilt and astonishment ringing clear in her tone. “What are you doing here?”

  I turned my head, frustrated with her but purely incensed with Max. “I’m here for you. I came to talk to you. I came to bring you to your senses. Why wouldn’t you answer your phone?”

  I struggled to make sense of the situation.

  Had Max known who I was all along? Was he psychologically deranged?

  “I didn’t know what to tell you,” Brooklyn said.

  I turned back to Max. “What is this? Are you sick? Are you a pervert?”

  He looked baffled by the question.

  I kept talking. “Why would you do such a horrible, horrible thing?”

  “Layla,” Brooklyn cried out. “It’s not his fault.”

  My focus remained glued on Max. “How is it not his fault? How is it not your fault?”

  He’d slept with me. He was wooing Brooklyn by day and sleeping with her best friend by night?

  “It’s just happened,” Brooklyn said. “We didn’t plan it.”

  Max sat there silently.

  Max, who’d kissed me so passionately, who’d held me tenderly in his arms, who’d taken me to heights of pleasure and then ordered chocolate soufflé.

  “Tell her what you did,” I said to Max. “Tell her!”

  “Layla?” Now Brooklyn sounded worried.

  “She doesn’t know, does she?” I said to Max. “Do you feel the least bit guilty? Are you twisted?”

  “Layla!” Brooklyn came to her feet. “I know this has to be hard for you.”

  Max stood, as well.

  “He’s a lying scumbag,” I said to Brooklyn. “Let’s go. Let’s go right now and forget any of this ever happened.”

  I was having second thoughts about telling Brooklyn the whole truth about Max. Maybe she didn’t need to know. Maybe this was a secret I should take to my grave.

  The important thing here was that she came back to James. She could choose James over Max without ever knowing the depths of Max’s depravity.

  “You must be Layla,” Max said to me.

  I felt like my head might explode. “That’s how you’re going to play it?”

  “Play what?”

  I glared at him.

  He stared back. His acting was superb.

  “Layla?” A voice behind me joined the conversation.

  It was weird.

  It was stereo.

  I turned to see Max standing behind me. The loud noise came up in my ears again, and my knees went wobbly.

  “Layla?” Brooklyn asked from what seemed like a long distance away.

  “Whoa.” Max reached for my arm and took hold of me.

  “Who?” I managed to ask.

  I gaped at the Max behind me.

  “I see you’ve met my brother, Colton,” Max said.

  “Are you kidding me?” Colton said to Max.

  “Me kidding you?” Max asked. “What on earth’s going on?”

  “You met Brooklyn,” Colton said to Max.

  “This is the guy?” I said to Brooklyn.

  “This is Colton Kendrick,” Brooklyn said.

  Her face was flushed. Well, she should be embarrassed.

  “Brooklyn is engaged,” I told Colton flatly.

  “I’m aware of that,” Colton said.

  “So, what—”

  “What are you doing?” Max’s question rolled right over mine.

  “It’s complicated,” Colton said to Max.

  “It’s simple,” I said, my gaze taking in both Colton and Brooklyn. “Brooklyn is marrying my brother, James, in thirteen days at St. Fidelis’s Cathedral. It’s been planned for over a year, and there are five hundred guests coming.”

  Colton looked to Brooklyn and raised his brow. “Five hundred?”

  “That’s relevant?” she asked him.

  “It’s unsettling.”

  “Get over it—”

  “Hey,” I interrupted. “Can we take a reality check here?”

  “Your brother?” Max asked me.

  “They’ve been in love for years,” I said.

  “That is complicated,” Max said.

  “
Not you, too.”

  Max gestured to Brooklyn and Colton. “It looks complicated to me.”

  “It’s fleeting,” I said, knowing it had to be true. “It’s a phase, nothing more.”

  “Why don’t we ask them about that?”

  It occurred to me that I should be having this conversation with Brooklyn. It had nothing to do with Max. Max and I were done.

  All night long and through the morning I’d hoped I would see him one more time. Now I never wanted to see him again. My memories of last night would always be tainted by these horrible circumstances.

  “Can we go somewhere and talk?” I asked Brooklyn. The best thing I could do in this moment was to get her out of Colton’s clutches.

  She looked to Colton before answering.

  That reaction was not encouraging.

  “Go,” he said gently. “You can’t hide anymore.”

  The reluctance on Brooklyn’s face hit me square in the stomach.

  She was my best friend. We shared everything. I couldn’t remember a single time, a single event, a single moment when she hadn’t wanted to pour out her heart to me, and me to her. This man was coming between more than James and Brooklyn. He was coming between me and my best friend.

  He had to be stopped.

  * * *

  Brooklyn headed down the hallway that I’d learned led to the hotel garden.

  We didn’t talk as we wound our way through the morning crowds.

  She took a different route, but we ended up at the Triple Palm Café. It was quiet this morning, and we easily found a table by the rail overlooking the gardens.

  As soon as the waitress finished pouring coffee and orange juice, I launched into the speech I’d been mentally rehearsing for hours.

  “What is going on?” I demanded, but I didn’t stop for an answer or even a breath. “You sneak out of the hotel room, leave me this stupid note, ignore your phone and shack up with some guy—”

  “He’s not just some guy, and we didn’t shack up.”

  “Do you know him? Had you met him before Friday night?”

  I could tell by Brooklyn’s expression that the answer was no.

  “Then he’s just some guy,” I said. “You’ve known James for years. You’ve loved James for years.”

  “I didn’t plan this.” Brooklyn’s voice cracked ever so slightly, evoking an unwanted swell of sympathy inside me.

  I didn’t want to be sympathetic. I wasn’t anywhere near ready to consider her side of the story. I was in full-on defense mode of my brother.

  “I didn’t want this,” she said.

  I kept my voice hard. “Then why did you do it?”

  She scanned the garden as if she was framing her answer.

  “Why?” I repeated.

  “It’s Colton,” she said. “He’s... We’re... It’s...”

  “Do you have a brain tumor?” I asked. For the first time it occurred to me that this situation might not be Brooklyn’s fault.

  She rolled her eyes and lifted her coffee cup to take a sip. “I do not have a brain tumor.”

  “I’ve heard that people’s personalities can totally change when they have a brain tumor. Do you need a CAT scan?”

  “No.”

  “We can get you a CAT scan. I bet we can get one right here in Vegas, today. If there’s something wrong with your brain—”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my brain. My brain is perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

  “How would you know?”

  Now that I’d come up with the theory, I realized it had merit. This was a complete and sudden departure from the woman I’d known my whole life. Something like this didn’t happen, all of a sudden, out of the blue, with no warning whatsoever, if there was nothing physically wrong with a person’s brain.

  “Maybe it was a stroke,” I said.

  “Will you stop?”

  “A ministroke. You remember my Aunt Sandy had one that time. You’d never have known it happened if she didn’t develop the sudden poker addiction. She had all of her friends playing five-card stud for quarters. Before we figured it out, she won two hundred bucks and made Rachel Simms cry.”

  “A stroke?” Brooklyn asked. “Seriously?”

  “It could happen.”

  “I’m twenty-six years old.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then you know I didn’t have a stroke.”

  “Then what on earth is wrong with you?”

  Brooklyn took another sip of her coffee.

  This time I joined her. It was hard to carry on a decent argument in the morning without a shot of caffeine.

  The waitress reappeared before Brooklyn could answer.

  “Can I get you something from the menu?” she asked.

  “An oatmeal muffin for me,” Brooklyn said.

  “A waffle,” I said. “Make it with strawberries, whipped cream and chocolate topping.” I figured it was the least I deserved given the stress of the circumstances.

  Brooklyn looked surprised.

  “It’s not like I have to fit into my bridesmaid dress.” I hoped the pithy comment shook her back to reality.

  “I guess,” she said, sounding hesitant.

  I took in the nuances of her expression. “So you haven’t completely made up your mind.”

  “I...”

  I reached out and touched her hand. “Brooklyn, hon, shut this down before it’s too late.”

  Remorse crossed her face. “Do Sophie and Nat know?”

  I was reminded that I should text Sophie and Nat. “I didn’t show them the note. Nobody but me knows about this.”

  Brooklyn gave a small, sad smile. “Thanks.”

  I pulled out my phone to text Sophie.

  “What are you doing?” Brooklyn looked worried.

  “I’m telling them I found you. I’ll say you needed a night alone. I’ll tell them we’re coming back today.”

  “No.”

  I met her gaze, telling myself to be calm and patient. Brooklyn was rattled and confused, and I had to bring her back down to earth. “We have to go back,” I said.

  “I can’t go back.”

  “Well, you can’t stay here.” I looked around at the meticulous, sculpted trees, the perfect gardens, the lights, the fountains. “This is a fantasy, Brooklyn. He’s a fantasy.”

  “He’s not.”

  “You don’t even know him.”

  “Maybe not, not completely yet, but he’s... There’s something about him, Layla, something big, something huge, something I’ve never felt before, not even with—”

  “James. Your fiancé. The man you love.”

  Her eyes took on a sheen of tears. “I do love James.”

  Now we were getting somewhere. I felt myself relax for the first time in two days.

  “Thing is—” she traced the condensation on her orange-juice glass “—I’m not in love with James.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense.” My momentary optimism shifted. It turned to a block of cement in my stomach. “You’re not making sense, Brooklyn.”

  “I wanted to be your sister.”

  This time I squeezed her hand. “You are my sister.”

  “I love your family.”

  “We love you. We all love you. It’s going to be great. The future is going to be wonderful.”

  All she had to do was get up from this table, get into a cab with me and head for the airport. There were flights back to San Francisco all day long. We’d take one and forget this ever happened.

  My mind flashed to Max.

  Okay, so maybe I wouldn’t forget every little thing about this ever happened. Even though I wanted to, my night with Max wasn’t something I’d ever forget.

  “You’re not listening,” Brooklyn said.

&n
bsp; “That’s because you don’t know what you’re saying.”

  She shook her head. “No. It’s because you can’t let go of the fantasy we spun, that I spun, that I let everyone believe in for so long. I am sorry, you know.”

  “Stop.” I couldn’t hear this.

  Our breakfasts arrived, and we both took a breath.

  The waffle looked fantastic, but I wasn’t sure I could eat anything right now.

  “I convinced myself I was in love with James.”

  “No.” I’d seen them together. I’d watched them for years. It wasn’t an act. “You’ve convinced yourself you’re not.”

  “I just found out there’s a world of difference.”

  “You’ve known that man—”

  “Colton.”

  “Fine. Colton.” His name felt like acid on my tongue. “You’ve known Colton for two days—two days.”

  “It’s not like I’m going to up and marry him at an Elvis chapel.”

  “This isn’t funny.”

  “It’s a little bit funny.”

  “Brooklyn!” I didn’t know what was wrong with her, but it was something profound.

  “If we don’t laugh, we’re going to have to cry.”

  “You’re destroying your life, and James’s life, and my life.” It made perfect sense that we should cry.

  She split her muffin in two. “I’m changing our lives.”

  “Not for the better.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  I picked up my fork and stared at the whipped cream melting over my waffle. The warm chocolate syrup was pooling on the plate. I suddenly felt tired. “Let’s go home, Brooklyn.”

  “Stay,” she said, her gaze turning warm, open and cajoling. She finally looked like regular Brooklyn again—the way she looked when she wanted something—free milkshakes for example.

  “Make an excuse to Sophie and Nat, and stay here with me a couple of days.”

  “You want me to watch you date Colton?”

  “I want you to meet him. You’ve met Max.” Suddenly, her expression turned calculating.

  I felt like I’d been slid under a microscope. I didn’t like it.

  “You’ve met Max,” she repeated. It was clear the wheels were turning inside her head. “How did that happen? When did that happen? What happened?”