Page 64 of The Billionaire's Second Chance
She took a step back, bumping into the white bassinet. From inside a box came the sound of a small chime. A toy for the baby.
“But I told you,” she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t want it. That–that isn’t how this works. That isn’t how any of this works.”
“But it is, Sami,” I said. Her head moved slowly back and forth. “It can be; please, just listen, just let me explain–”
“No, Charlie,youaren’t listening,” she said, her voice rising. “I told you, I can’t… I thought…” She took another step back, shaking her head, her eyes wide. Panic crept up from my belly, tickling the back of my throat, then choking. “I thought you understood.What did any of this even mean?”
I couldn’t help myself.
I laughed.
“What did any of this even mean?” I hissed, feeling my eyes pop half out of my head. “What did any of this even mean?You’re askingmethat?” I brought my hands up to tug at my own hair. “I don’t fucking know, Sami, you tell me!”
“No,no,Charlie, that’s not fair,” she said. “We had anunderstanding. And now, you– You–” I’d never seen her like this before: her face pale and furious, eyes flashing, her breath coming fast and shallow. “We had an understanding. Youpromisedme.”
“No, we didn’t!” I said. “Anunderstanding?Whatunderstanding? You don’t tell me anything, so how was I supposed to know–I haveneverunderstood what thehell– What your fucking problem is!”
It was the wrong thing to say.
It was as if a sheet of ice had crystalized over her entire body. The fury of a moment ago was gone. The frustration. The life.
Samantha.
In her place was the–thefacsimileI’d mistaken for Samantha Scott for the past fifteen years.
“What my problem is,” she repeated, and I could feel my heart begin to slip through my fingers, bloody and slick and raw.
“You know that’s not what I mean, Samantha–”
“I do.” She nodded, a controlled dip of her head. Her perfect hair swung forward and back. “Because I told you what, as you say, myproblemis: I’m not willing to be a trophy. Andyou told me you understood.”
“Sami, please–” I said.
“Don’t call me that,” she hissed, her face still, her tone frosty. If someone were to walk in right now, they could have believed that I had interrupted Samantha, I don’t know, reading a book. A boring one. I probably looked like I’d been out for a jog in my stupid, pointless suit. “I trusted you,” she said. “I’ve always trusted you, Charlie. Even when we were kids, I–”
“Then trust me now!” I shouted. Her eyes darted to the door, and I hated that even now, she was worried about what other people were thinking. Still, I took a moment to rein myself in. “Don’t you see, Samantha?” I whispered. “You don’t want your brother–or your futurehusband–to cage you in. Iget it. But the cage you’ve built for yourself… it’s even smaller.” Her head still moved, back and forth, the ends of her blonde hair brushing against her perfect shoulders, and I longed to reach out and touch her, to pull her against me, to hold her close and not let go. “I’m not like him,” I said. “I won’t cage you in. I’mnot like him. I promise you. Listen, Samantha, you know me–Ipromiseyou that, and I never,everbreak a promise.Trust me.”
I thought, for a long, silent moment, that she had understood.
Then she spoke.
“Do you know what the worst part is?” She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. When she looked at me, tears glistened in her eyes, like water over dark, fathomless ice. “I still trust you. I think you really do believe that you could do it. That you couldhave it all.”
“Sami, Samantha, I–” I started, but she shook her head.
“I know, because I was almost convinced that I could have it all, too.”
CHAPTER30
Samantha
I won the award.
The phone call was brief, to the point:we’ve been following your career, you’re very impressive, especially at such a young age. Congratulations, Ms. Scott. We look forward to awarding you Agent of the Year at the banquet this Saturday evening.
Agent of the Year.
I sat, staring at my desk phone for a moment, feeling nothing.
