by Tessa Bailey
Surprisingly, Richard and I hadn’t spoken since that night.
Royce wasn’t nervous or shy. In fact, I’d been the one last time to demand we couldn’t tell anyone. It didn’t seem to bother him.
It was hard to move my hand inside his jeans. I grabbed the undone sides of his pants and tugged hesitantly. “Is it okay if I—”
One corner of his mouth turned up in a sly smile. “Yeah.”
He slipped his hands under the waistbands, lifted his hips, and down everything went. As I gazed at his nakedness, I sensed his gaze burning right back into me. He was curious what my reaction would be, and I was . . . just curious. Tan legs gave way to lighter thighs in an ombre effect.
He was beautiful like this.
“Hmm, okay,” he said, grinning widely as I moved off the couch and onto my knees before him.
“It seems like it’ll be easier this way.”
His eyes were electric. “Please know I’m not complaining.”
I smiled as I used both hands to grip him. “Are two hands okay? Or too much?”
He sucked in an enormous breath, but his words were still tight with satisfaction. “No, that’s good.”
Since his pants were down around his ankles, it made it difficult to kneel right between his legs, but it was better than leaning awkwardly over him. I stroked both hands together from tip to base, and back up again.
“Tighter, if you can,” he said softly. I clamped my hands and dragged my fists down. He groaned and tipped his head back. “Fuck. Atta-girl.”
Oh, my God. I snickered. I was on my knees with a guy I didn’t really know, his dick was in my hands, and I wasn’t sure what I was doing. This was supposed to be awkward. Or hot and heavy. It wasn’t supposed to be intimate like this or enjoyable in this way. His easy, supportive attitude gave me the confidence to keep going.
His hips moved subtly with the tempo of my hands, but his chest? That moved much faster. He sighed and shuddered as I twisted my hands. I wrung a moan from his lips when I let one hand drift lower and explore, cupping him. His hands were splayed on the couch cushions, but they curled into fists as I worked him over.
I’d thought the sight of his finger sliding inside me was hot, but this? Him throbbing in my hands as I stroked him, all while he struggled to hold in his moans, was lightyears beyond that sexy scene. It forced me to squeeze my knees together, and an aftershock of pleasure shot through my center.
“Faster.” The word from him danced the line between an order and a desperate plea.
I picked up my rhythm. Dark satisfaction sped through me as he lost the battle and a loud, deep groan slipped past his restraint. He seemed to like it went I paid attention to the tip, so I brushed my thumb over the head, swirling around the drops of moisture there.
He said it as a warning. “Keep that up and you’re gonna make me come.”
I stared up at him. “Can I put it in my mouth first?”
He jerked in my grasp. “Fuck, Marist.” His smile was brilliant. “Did I create a monster when I asked you to wait?”
I slowed to a stop, letting him pulse in my grip. “I thought I already was. You said I was Medusa.”
“Wait.” His face went blank and his body tense.
I was stunned he was being indecisive about my offer, but I was even more shocked when he abruptly stood and yanked at his pants. The action knocked me backward, and I fell on my ass with a hard thud. I glared up at him, but he ignored me. Instead, he hurried to do up his zipper and refasten his belt.
I hadn’t heard the approaching footsteps, but the abrupt knock on Royce’s door was loud and short.
It was the only warning we got. I had just enough time to turn and see the door swing open, revealing Macalister Hale standing in the hall.
Chapter Nine
Royce was twenty-five, but age didn’t seem to matter when he was being caught by a parent. He sank onto the couch, snatched up a throw pillow, and set it in his lap to cover his erection.
Abandoned on the floor, I scrambled to my feet, and my face flamed to a million degrees. So much for protecting me. Yes, I had all my clothes on, but it was obvious what we’d been doing the moment before his father appeared.
Macalister surveyed the room the same way I assumed he’d search for a redundant employee to fire. His gaze missed nothing as he stood in the doorway, one hand still on the doorknob. He had on slacks and a button-down shirt, and it was the closest to a relaxed outfit I’d seen him in.
“I came to ask how your dinner went,” he said, “but I see it’s still going.”
The sharp edge of his words gave me a thousand invisible cuts. I dropped my gaze to the floor, wanting to find a throw pillow like Royce had, only one big enough so I could hide behind it completely.
“Yeah,” Royce said, acting disinterested. He threw his arm over the back of the couch with the same ease he’d had with me earlier. “We were just talking.”
I traced the pattern on the rug, but the tense, heavy silence said Macalister wasn’t buying his son’s bullshit. A blast of cold wafted over me, and I knew his focus had shifted my direction.
“Alice showed me pictures, but since you’re here, Marist, let’s have a look at you.”
My gaze crept hesitantly back up. I was frayed and raw but did my best to stand straight and meet Macalister in the eye, whether I was ready for his evaluation or not. I had no idea what making out with Royce had done to my hair or makeup, or if his father would notice my flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen mouth.
I’d bet money he did—if I had any money to my name.
Macalister’s eyes were blue like his sons’, but much darker. They were the color of the Atlantic in January, and just like the ocean, they were volatile. They could be calm one minute and ferocious the next. They were intriguing and haunting. His gaze tore down from my dark hair to my newly pedicured toes, and then worked its way back up at a measured pace.
“Turn,” he said.
I was a purchase being assessed, and it was humiliating, but Royce’s advice played on a constant loop in my mind.
Be the girl he wants you to be.
I forced out a smile and turned slowly in place, an expensive toy on display, spun so he could see the details from all angles. When I came back around, I felt just as hollow as the smile on his face.
I was the girl who didn’t care what anyone thought, and with a cruel twist of fate, now this man’s opinion meant everything. So much rode on it.
“Very nice,” he said. “Alice worked a miracle.”
Tension snapped through me, but I didn’t react. It was like my spine had broken but as long as I stood perfectly still, no one else would know. I could hold myself together with the strength of the shell of my body.
As the quiet stretched in the room, it became evident he was waiting for a response from me.
“Thank you,” I bit out.
“I’m sorry I interrupted your evening.”
“It’s fine.” Royce sounded bored. “She was just leaving.”
What, I almost demanded, but caught myself in time. He’d switched so fast into the other version of himself I had whiplash, but he’d had years of practice. He was an expert at it by now.
I straightened and tried not to look uncomfortable. “Yes. Thank you for dinner.”
He rose reluctantly from the couch. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
Macalister followed us down the hall until we reached the landing at the top of the staircase. “Good night, Marist,” he said.
I held in the shiver at my name in his voice. “Good night, Mr. Hale.”
“You may call me Macalister. We might be family one day, after all.” It sounded like a threat.
I nodded since my throat had closed up, preventing me from speaking. I turned and controlled my descent down the stairs when I wanted to run. His calculating gaze bore into my back as I took every step, and I felt it in the marrow of my bones all the way home.
* * *
The headquarters o
f the HBHC was a rather plain-looking tower of steel and glass, but it had a strange greenish tint to it, like it had been stained with the same ink that was used to print money. The building didn’t stand out from the other skyscrapers in downtown Boston, but it was easy to identify by the glowing red and black logo at the top.
There were glass elevators in each corner of the building, and sometimes from the street you could see them whisking people up and down, but only the executives with offices on the top floors were allowed to use them. The rest of the employees used the bank of elevators in the middle of the tower.
A week ago, I would have been thrilled with a job offer from HBHC after graduating from Etonsons. I would have strived to work my way toward a glass elevator job, just like my father had. But now, as I sat waiting in the atrium of the building, my future was unclear.
Perhaps being Royce’s wife will be your only job.
I stared glumly at the water feature in the center of the atrium. It was a glass wall with the HBHC logo etched on it and water cascading down both sides. The water flowed in waves, rippling down the glass, and it was a nice effect. Pretty and—
Oh, shit.
I dug my phone out, flipped to the camera app and snapped a few pictures of the water wall. I’d been busy yesterday helping my students find different tutors since Alice demanded I quit my summer job. I’d forgotten all about her Instagram assignment.
I held the phone at a crazy angle, hoping for an artistic shot when my father appeared. He put his hands in the pockets of his suit pants, like he wasn’t sure what else to do with them. “Sorry for making you wait. The morning meeting ran long.”
“It’s all right.” I stood, and my father’s eyes widened.
He gazed at the outfit Alice had instructed me to wear today. It was a white, sleeveless blouse with pin-tuck details at the neckline and paired with a navy skirt and nude heels.
“You look nice.”
I pasted on a smile. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Come on. I’ll take you up.”
We rode in the glass elevator, and all the space we didn’t take up was filled with my father’s shame. I hated how everything had changed between us. No matter how much I wanted to, I’d never be able to see him as I once had. My parents’ lie had cost so much more than just money.
The elevator car stopped one floor from the top, and my father navigated us through the hallways until we reached Alice’s assistant’s desk.
“Since you’re already in the city,” he said, “do you want to grab lunch when you’re done?”
No, I didn’t. I was sure as soon as my appointment was over, I’d want to get the fuck out of the building. When I hesitated, hurt washed over his expression.
I gave him a sad smile, trying to show he wasn’t the cause. “I’d like to, but I don’t have any idea how long this will take.”
“Okay, I understand.” My father straightened the coat sitting on his shoulders as he prepared to head to his office. “Text me if you change your mind.” His gaze flitted to Alice’s office door. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
He put a hand on my arm to give me support, and then he was gone, moving down the hall. His posture indicated the guilt he was carrying was heavy. I tried not to think about it. I needed to focus.
“Hi,” I said to the pretty woman seated at the desk across from Alice’s office. “I’m Marist Northcott. I have a ten-thirty with—”
“Go right in.” The woman waved her hand toward the door. “She’s ready for you.”
Too bad I was nowhere near ready for her. But I rapped my knuckles on the door anyway, waited for Alice’s permission, and when it was granted, I turned the handle.
Her office was exactly how I expected it to be. It belonged on Pinterest boards and Instagram feeds. The side wall was all windows with natural light and a view of the bay. Her workspace was organized and tastefully decorated in soothing grays and greens. Even the clutter on her side table felt ‘right,’ as if it had been placed just so.
Manufactured.
“Oh.” Alice froze mid-step and a frown cast on her face. “What are you wearing?”
I glanced down, checking to make sure my clothes hadn’t magically changed during the elevator ride up. “Um . . . I thought this was what you said I should wear.”
“Hmm.” She evaluated my outfit and tucked two fingers under her chin. “That white’s not right on you. You look washed out.”
She pointed to one of the chairs in front of her desk, indicating where I should sit as she moved to the closet. A few backup outfits on hangers hung there, over bins with labels on them. She rifled through her choices and selected an ivory top.
“I think we’re close enough in size, this should work.” She thrust the silk fabric into my hands.
I stared down at it, then lifted my gaze to her. She peered back at me impatiently.
Oh, God. “You want me to change right now?”
Her expression said I was being weird, and the idea of me taking my shirt off in front of her was wasn’t.
Her tone was matter-of-fact. “We’re both girls.”
“Right.” Except she was a woman, one who was twenty years older than I was and potentially going to be my stepmother-in-law.
I shoved aside the icky sensation in my stomach, draped the top over the back of the chair, and gripped the hem of my shirt with nervous hands. She appeared disinterested in watching me change, but also made no attempt to turn or give me privacy, so I turned in place. I wasn’t ashamed of my body, but this was an office, not a locker room.
Once I’d slipped into the new top and tucked it into the skirt, I shifted back to face her and awaited approval.
She nodded. “Yes, that works.” She brightened abruptly. “How did you do with your assignment?”
It was a foreign feeling to not put my best effort forward. I was suddenly the kid who forgot to turn in their homework. “I might need another day or two.”
Her expression was pointed. I knew what she wanted, so I unlocked my phone and reluctantly handed it over. She wasn’t going to be happy with my feeble attempt. As I sank into the chair, Alice scrolled through my album.
“Oh. What’s the story with this necklace?”
I’d forgotten that was in there. I frowned. “It was my mother’s.”
She glanced up from my phone. “Was?”
“I mean, it is. I took it Costolli’s to be”—I searched for something other than the truth—“appraised.”
Her eyes softened with understanding. Her attention went back to the screen, and as she scrolled, each picture seemed to increase her irritation.
“What are these at the end?” she asked. “The fountain downstairs?”
“I thought it was pretty.”
Her look was pointed. “Okay, but this doesn’t work. It still doesn’t tell me who you are, Marist.”
I bit my tongue so hard it was a miracle my mouth didn’t fill with blood. The problem was she actually wasn’t interested in me. I had no desire to live a carefully curated life of picture-worthy moments, hoping to impress others. The real me posted random shit of mythology and pretty plates of food.
“Don’t slouch,” she said, correcting me like a schoolmarm. I straightened my posture, and she pressed her lips together, considering. Her tone was conversational, rather than adversarial. “Maybe you think all this is silly or pointless, but I need you to understand . . . this is important to Macalister.”
“Why?” I wished instantly I hadn’t said it, but she didn’t seem offended by the question.
“Because he’s trying to improve the dynasty that is the Hale family. He has a legacy to protect, sure. But he’s also thinking bigger. He wants to be a recognizable, elite brand. Part of America’s new royal class, like the Kennedys.”
My pulse quickened. “He’s considering politics?”
“Macalister? God, no.” The thought was humorous to her. “But Vance will have a degree in political science next year, and his fat
her has big expectations.”
Oh, I bet he did. If Vance was going into politics, his father would want to see a President Hale in his lifetime.
Alice had said the magic words when she’d told me this was important to Macalister. I hoped she’d believe my eagerness. “I can try harder.”
“Good. Tomorrow you’ll have better shots, I’m sure. Today you’ll post the picture of the necklace and tag Costolli’s in it.” She took her seat behind the desk, opened a drawer, and passed a folder to me. “Before we get started, this is a nondisclosure agreement. It’s standard stuff. Anything said or witnessed when you’re with the Hales is confidential.”
I flipped open the folder and was assaulted by a dense contract. My eyes glazed over just scanning the first paragraph. There was no sound in the office other than Alice absentmindedly tapping the edge of the pen she’d picked up against her blotter while I looked over the NDA. I hurried through the reading, not wanting to keep her waiting. I selected a pen from the holder, uncapped it, and leaned over to sign—
“Stop,” she said abruptly. Her hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. “Marist, did you read all of it?”
I parted my lips to say something, but she already had her answer from my reaction. I hadn’t.
“You’re so young.” Her voice went soft. “I’m going to give you some friendly advice I wish I’d gotten, and it’s advice you’re going to need. Read everything before you sign. Take as much time as you need. If you don’t understand, you ask questions.” She gently squeezed my wrist. “Promise me.”
“I promise.” I nodded, and when she was satisfied, she released me.
After reading it line-by-line, I picked up the pen and signed. I understood that I couldn’t discuss anything with anyone outside the family, and there would be steep fines and legal recourse if I did. Alice made a copy for me, and I slipped it in my purse.
“All right,” she said, tucking a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear. “Do you know how many board members there are here?”
“Nine.”
She looked pleased with my correct answer. “Do you know any of them?”