Page 86 of Roughing the Player
Mr. Watkins clears his throat. “As we understand it, your child, Kaylee Adams, is Brock Parker’s daughter. Is that correct?”
“Yes. She is.” The entire world learned that fact at the Outlaws’ press conference, so it’s no surprise Mr. Watkins did as well.
“Glad to hear it.” He sounds almost relieved. “Her legacy has been accumulating since her birth, and she’s due quite a tidy sum.”
“How much?”
“Twenty million.”
I choke. “Dollars?”
A small chuckle on his part. “That’s right.”
That much money would set up Kaylee for life. She’d never have to worry about making ends meet. But there’s one thing I don’t understand. “Why are you calling me instead of Brock?”
“We’ve approached Mr. Parker, but he won’t accept the bequest.”
Brock did what? I don’t care how lousy his relationship was with his father. You don’t pass up that kind of money, not when it’s meant for Kaylee. “I’ll need to talk to him. Can I get back to you tomorrow?”
“Of course, Mrs. Parker. Once you do, let us know how you wish to proceed.”
Although my first inclination is to call Brock and ask him if he’s lost his mind, I can’t discuss this over the phone. The conversation is bound to be volatile. Kaylee can’t overhear it either. So there’s really only one place we can talk. The condo.
I check my watch. He’s in practice, which means he doesn’t have his phone close by. After I call Mama to make sure she can be home for Kaylee, I leave a message for Brock asking him to meet me at the condo after work.
That night, he strides into the place, sporting a grin a mile wide. He’s probably anticipating another sex romp. But he’s going to be very disappointed.
His gaze cuts to the kitchen where I have something on the stove. “You’re cooking dinner?”
The couple of times we’ve come to the condo since our wedding, food was the last thing on our minds. “Yes, a casserole. We need to talk.”
His gaze grows worried. “About what?”
I fold my arms across my chest. “I got a call today from Horace Watkins.”
His grin disappears. “He shouldn’t have phoned you. I told him I wanted no part of it.”
“You turned down $20,000,000 for Kaylee without consulting me?”
“Yes.”
I stomp toward him and smack his chest. “How dare you do such a thing?”
“I don’t want my father’s money. I didn’t need it all these years. And I certainly don’t need it now. I can provide for Kaylee. I can provide for you.”
“That’s not the point. That money can ensure her future, her children’s future. She doesn’t have to suffer through hard times.” I’m so angry I’m practically hyperventilating.
His voice softens. “Like you did?”
“Yes.”
He cups my face. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to make your life easier.”
“I’m not blaming you, Brock. It’s my fault. I should have told you.”
“Ellie, my father’s legacy. I don’t want it.”
I gaze up at him, pleading. “So don’t take it for you. Accept it for Kaylee. Please.” He’s lived in the lap of luxury since birth. His parents may have been emotionally distant but they made sure he never wanted for anything. He was clothed, sheltered and fed. Although he empathizes with my situation, he’s got no idea what it means to be poor. “You don’t know how difficult it is to juggle bills; to choose between the rent and the electric bill, because you can’t pay both; to weep for joy at the grocery store because the spaghetti is on sale and you have two more dollars to spend on food.”
