by Tessa Bailey
“Gentleman,” Royce said straight-faced, “may I present Marist Northcott for your consideration?”
I strangled back the nervous laugh that wanted to escape. He was mocking them, or his family’s ridiculous tradition, or both.
He pulled out the chair for me at the other end of the table, which left a buffer of several empty seats, but put me directly across from his father. I strode toward it, determined not to look intimidated even as my insides quaked. I would do as Royce did. Be a different person when others were around.
Adapt to survive.
The evaluating stare of the board members made it cumbersome to move, but I lowered into the seat, kept my chin up and my gaze firmly on Macalister. I was smart enough to know the chairman was the only one whose opinion mattered, and I was already starting behind since I wasn’t my sister. If I lost his approval, I’d be doomed.
A hand gently clasped my shoulder, and I turned to look up at Royce. His expression made his thoughts clear. You’ve got this. My heart skittered from his small, supportive gesture, but when I faced the board, the action hadn’t been lost on Macalister. He eyed his son with interest.
Or perhaps suspicion.
Footsteps carried Royce away, and no one spoke until the door was shut behind him. Alice’s voice filtered in my mind. Mind your posture. Smile. Hands in your lap.
“Welcome.” Macalister’s voice was fixed and even. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with us.”
I hoped my smile wasn’t unnatural. “Thank you for having me.”
As a whole, the board was rather young-looking, and it was by design. Years ago, they had created a rule that each member would retire from their seat by sixty-five. Macalister had argued it was to keep the members fresh and sharp, but I suspected he’d done it to force his own father to relinquish his seat and allow Macalister to take over sooner.
The two members who’d come from outside HBHC were in their early fifties. Both men had made hundreds of millions on companies they’d taken public, retired from, and now held seats on the board. They drew cushy salaries for four meetings a year, plus a few events. It was a sweet gig.
Macalister turned to the members, one side and then the other as he spoke. “I believe most of you have already met her. She’s Charles Northcott’s youngest daughter.”
Heads nodded in agreement.
His cold stare returned to me. “But why don’t you indulge us and tell us a little about yourself?”
I adjusted my posture as my shoulders were already slipping. At least this was a question I was prepared for.
“Of course,” I said. “I’m twenty-one and will be starting my final year at Etonsons this fall. I’m studying economics with a minor in history. I’ve interned at Marche Risk Management and volunteered at the Museum of Natural History.” I took in a breath to transition from my schoolwork to my daily life. “I’m a voracious reader and collector of books, preferably—”
He lifted a hand, silencing me. I had ticked the box and supplied a satisfactory answer, and he wanted to move on.
The next few questions were also as I expected. My career goals. Strengths and weaknesses. How I dealt with conflict and failure. After that, the group shifted to my personal life. I was asked about loyalty, and what was the most important thing to me.
“Family,” I answered.
“Are you an organized person? A planner?” Macalister asked.
“Yes, sir.” I always looked ahead.
“So, tell me. How do you find the planning is going for Royce’s celebration?”
“Royce’s party?” His question tripped me up. “I haven’t been involved with that.”
Displeasure painted his face an ugly color. “It’s the biggest event of my son’s life—the man who’s to be your husband. You don’t care enough to be involved with that?”
The disapproving expressions swept through the board members like a cold chill, and excitement lurked in Macalister’s eyes. This wasn’t an interview, it was an interrogation. I needed to be extra careful. He was going to ask questions he already knew the answers to.
I swallowed hard but kept my chin level, scrambling to find the right response. “I figured it was best to wait for board approval before asking to be included. I didn’t want to overstep.” The lie came out sugary sweet. “Of course, if he’d asked me, I would have been thrilled to be included.”
The dark expressions around the table faded, but the chairman’s eyes narrowed. He’d meant to fluster me, and his plan had failed.
“Do you want children?” Mr. Geffen asked.
There was a pang in my chest. Of course he asked this question. Alice had told me how he and his wife tried IVF several times but had not been successful.
“Yes,” I said. “Eventually.”
I’d been so caught up in the immediate part of the arrangement, I hadn’t considered children. Did Royce want them? We were compatible on a basic level, but what if we weren’t on something else? What if it were a deal breaker? We’d known each other our whole lives but—God—we had so much left to learn.
“And you’re healthy?” Mr. Geffen was reluctant to ask it. “Everything seems to be okay in that department?”
I gave a pained smile. “Yes, sir.”
“Are you on birth control?” Macalister asked abruptly.
The air solidified, leaving nothing left to breathe. “Excuse me?”
All the way on the other end of the room, I could sense his irritation. It rolled down the table at me like a pen on a slant, picking up steam as it went. He weighted each word. “Are you on birth control?”
My breath came rapid and uneven. “Yeah. I mean, yes, sir.”
“What kind?”
Seriously? I had terrible cramps, and the pill was the only thing that saved me. I hadn’t had a period in a year. Did they want to know that too? My tone was clipped. “The pill.”
“And how many sexual partners have you had?”
I should have sensed this coming. With how conservative and controlling Macalister was, he’d want to know. He’d need every detail. My spine hardened into steel. “I don’t sleep around.”
“That’s good to know,” Mr. Shaunessy interjected. “But it wasn’t what Macalister asked, was it, dear?”
My jaw ached to hold in the words I wanted to say. As I stared at the man seated at the head of the table, my blood heated until it ran scalding through my veins. I wanted to wipe the smug expression off his face. He wouldn’t call me a slut outright, but he would imply. He’d use whatever number I gave him to shame me in front of the board.
Except the trap he’d laid was going to backfire. This was a question he didn’t know the answer to.
There was probably a flush on my cheeks, but I calmed and blinked a cold stare at the sea of older, pale faces. “Zero.”
Mouths dropped open. Mr. Geffen stopped mid-sip of his glass of water.
Macalister scowled and sat back in his chair. “Don’t lie to us.”
“I promise you, I’m not.” I couldn’t have sounded more sincere if I’d tried.
It looked like Mr. Burrows believed me. He was the oldest member at sixty-two, but he looked at least ten years younger. Alice told me he ran a four-hour marathon.
He leaned forward in his chair. “Are you waiting for marriage?”
“No, sir. I mean, I wasn’t intentionally.” My mouth had gone dry, and I eyed the water glass in front of me longingly, watching a drop of condensation trail erratically down the side. But I knew if I reached for it, they might see how I was shaking. “Honestly, I didn’t date much in high school or college, and when I did, it just . . . never went that far.”
Mr. Lynch, who was seated to Macalister’s right, turned his stunned gaze to his boss and said it with awe. “She’s a virgin.”
Macalister wasn’t having it. “You’re a gorgeous girl from a wealthy family. You really expect us to believe no one has touched you?”
With everything he’d said, it was his compliment tha
t threw me the most. “I didn’t say no one has touched me, but I haven’t—”
“I see. What exactly have you done?” The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. It screamed, gotcha.
My gaze dropped to the blank notepad before me and the pen with the HBHC logo printed on its side. There was no point in lying. Macalister had nearly caught me with Royce’s dick in my hands.
I was supposed to play my part and be what Macalister wanted, but it seemed like what he wanted most was to tear me apart. To break me down and prove I wasn’t worthy of entry into his family.
Alice had won him over by standing up to him. It was incredibly risky, but if I was going to lose, at least I could say I went down swinging.
I filled my lungs with air, using it to inflate my confidence. From this point on, I needed to be unsinkable. “I’ve been intimate with two guys.”
His lips parted, probably to ask for specifics, but I cut him off before he could.
“Hands,” I said, “above and below the waist. That kind of thing.”
Mr. Lynch didn’t seem to be aware this conversation was truly between Macalister and me and interrupted. “No oral sex? Ever?”
My gaze was locked onto Macalister as I answered his lackey. “No, sir.”
In my peripheral vision, I saw the rest of the board members exchange looks with each other.
“Who were the boys?” asked Mr. Shaunessy.
“Do you really want their names?” It was clear they did. “Well, Royce. And, um . . . Richard.”
Mr. Shaunessy flinched. “My son?”
The king, sitting on his throne, stared at me. He didn’t care about who, only why I was still a virgin. To him, I was a puzzle to solve. “Are you not interested in sex?”
“No, I am.” I wasn’t going to play his game and let him embarrass me for something that wasn’t shameful. “Very interested, actually.”
“Is that so?” His eyebrow arrowed upward. “Then, I assume you masturbate?”
A few of the board members gasped. Mr. Geffen coughed as he choked on his own spit.
Inside I was dying, but I refused to show it. Be unfazed. Besides, I read the challenge in Macalister’s words and would meet it head-on. My voice was loud and strong. “Nearly every day.”
Some of the board stirred in their seat. But Macalister? The shift was subtle, barely noticeable. His lips parted and heat flared in his eyes. It wasn’t judgement or disgust causing it—this fire was something far more insidious.
Arousal.
My heart thudded to a stop.
His broad shoulders tilted as he leaned on one armrest of his chair, and his lips peeled back into a smile. “I’m sorry if you find my questions frank, but I believe sex is an important aspect of a healthy marriage. Most girls your age have already had some experience with it.”
“I am not like most girls.”
His smile widened, stretching into his eyes. “No. No, you’re not. I see that now.” He thumbed the underside of wedding band on his finger. “You’re attracted to Royce? Sexually?”
I would have thought that was clear, but I humored him. “Yes, sir.”
“That’s good. However, I’d prefer if the two of you don’t go any further until we’ve finished this approval process.”
Yet another instance of Macalister trying to assert absolute control, but it wouldn’t work. Royce had already told me he wouldn’t take my virginity until we were engaged. “I’ve waited a year for him, I think I can wait another . . .” Shit! What was I doing? “I mean, I’ve waited this long, it’s fine.”
My attempt at backtracking was futile. Macalister latched on, intrigued. “What was that?” When I said nothing, he prodded, “Go on. You said you waited a year for him. What did you mean?”
My hesitation wasn’t helping, but it was hard to admit. “Last year, Royce . . . he asked me not to sleep with anyone.”
His expression didn’t change, but behind his eyes I could see him working through it. “He wanted to be your first.”
It had felt like I had been winning the battle up until this point, but now I was losing ground. I said it so softly, it barely traveled the length of the room to reach him. “Yes.”
“And you waited. He could have been off with a dozen different girls, and yet you stayed faithful. Why?”
We’d come full circle. Macalister had returned to asking questions he already knew the answers to. My pulse thundered, making blood whoosh loudly in my ears. I didn’t want to say why I’d waited for the boy I’d grown up disliking. I didn’t want to admit to myself why I’d turned down the stranger who’d asked for my number at the coffee shop this past spring.
“She’s in love with him.” Mr. Shaunessy acted like this was a fact he’d been clever enough to discover.
“No,” I said instantly. “No, definitely not. I barely know him.”
Mr. Shaunessy took on an all-knowing look. “All right. Infatuated with him, then.”
That one was harder to argue against, so I fell silent. I risked a glance at Macalister, who seemed pleased. I knew in my gut it wasn’t how his son and I had made a connection, but that this information gave him more leverage over us.
Mr. Burrows set down his water with a thud, the ice tinkling against the glass. “Well, she’s loyal, and you can’t buy that.”
Macalister’s attention snapped to him. “There’s no problem too big that money can’t solve. You, of all people, should know that.”
Mr. Burrows reacted as if his boss had slapped him across the face rather than just verbally. He sank back in his chair, and I doubted he’d say another word the rest of the time he was in the room.
Macalister’s focus crept back to me. “He’s not wrong, though. I respect honesty and loyalty, as both are difficult to find these days. Do you feel you would make a good wife?”
Alice had told me to control my hands, so I resisted the urge to tuck my hair behind my ear. “I don’t know how to answer that, other than to say I would try my best.”
Macalister nodded. “Well, that’s all we can ask of someone, isn’t it? Thank you, Marist. Please shut the door as you leave. The board and I have a lot to discuss.”
Chapter Twelve
Thank fuck the office hallway was empty when I left the boardroom. I put one hand on the wall to lean on, and the other in the center of my chest, and willed myself to keep it together. A million emotions churned inside me.
Relief it was over. Proud I’d survived. Fear at what I’d revealed. And, most of all, anger. All that preparing, and it had been pointless. I’d been ambushed by the questions.
I took a moment, sucking in air to steady myself before launching down the hallway toward Royce’s office. There was no assistant to stop me, and his closed door wasn’t going to either. I seized the doorknob, turned it, and stormed inside.
He was alone in his spacious room, typing on the keyboard and his gaze fixed on the computer screen. The other monitor beside him scrolled real-time data from the markets.
“Did you know?” I demanded, startling him. My voice cracked and lost its power. “Did you know what he was going to ask?”
Concern had Royce shooting out of his seat. He came to me, pushing his office door closed with one swift hand and sweeping me into his embrace with the other. His tone was hushed and soothing. “It’s okay.”
“The fuck it is!” I glared up as he loomed over me, taking up all my space. “I just told a room full of men that—oh, let’s see. I’m a virgin. I’ve given hand jobs to you and Richard Shaunessy, whose father asked for the names, by the way.” My stomach flipped over on itself as I declared the worst part. “And I masturbate nearly every day.”
“You do?” Lust pooled in his expression. “That’s hot, Marist.”
“Royce.” I was in no mood. Didn’t he see how serious I was about this? His comment only made me angrier. “This might be a game for you, but it’s my fucking life.”
He stiffened. “I’m sorry, you’re right.”
“Som
e of them are my father’s coworkers, and his boss.” I twisted out of his arms, needing distance. I didn’t want his touch to disarm me. “And you didn’t answer me. Did you know?”
His expression glazed over, and he hesitated before speaking. “I had an idea, yeah.”
I had to stare at the ceiling to drain back my tears of frustration. “You should have warned me.”
“I wasn’t allowed.” I could hear how torn he was. He’d at least wanted to tell me. Did that count for something? “If I had prepped you, they would have known, and then they wouldn’t have believed any other answer you gave.”
The jerk was probably right.
When it was safe, I put my gaze back on him and pinned him in place. “It screwed with my head.” A tremble rumbled through my shoulders, so I cross my arms to hold it in. My voice dropped to a whisper. “I think I fucked up.”
Alarm rushed through his expression, but he tried to downplay it, being strong for my benefit. Once again, he moved in and put his arms around me. “I’m sure you did fine.”
It should have felt weird, but I welcomed his offer of comfort. I’d pushed him away the first time, but now I desperately needed it. I gripped the lapels of his suit and peered up into his piercing eyes. They were like multifaceted jewels. Pale blue, and then ringed with dark sapphire at the outer edges.
“I told them I waited for you.”
He took in a deep breath, but otherwise he didn’t react. “So?”
“So . . . your father knows you asked me to wait because you want to be my first.”
Again, there was little reaction from him, but movement sparked behind his eyes, like he was entering crisis mode. “That’s fine.”
“You should have seen his face, though,” I warned.
He shrugged it off. “Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out.”
My heart beat a little faster. He could have easily said I’ll figure it out, but instead he’d said we. It had rolled so naturally off his lips. He saw us as a pair.