The Redemption (Filthy Rich Americans Book 4)

by Nikki Sloane

  His footsteps slowed. “I should probably warn you. It’s going to be out of date in about seven months.”

  I stopped and turned to face him, finding his expression guarded. He was nervous, unsure of how I would take the news. “Marist is pregnant?”

  “We were going to wait until she finished her Masters, but . . . oops.”

  I studied him and saw the excitement he tried to hide from me, but it was unnecessary. I remembered that feeling well. The exhilaration over creating something unique and lasting with the woman you loved. “You were the same for your mother and me.” I lifted the corner of my mouth, attempting a smile. “We meant to wait, but in hindsight, I’m glad we didn’t.”

  My statement caught him off-guard, and he gave a subtle shake of his head, like he was trying to clear his disorientation. “We haven’t told anyone yet, other than Vance. She’s only nine weeks along.”

  It came from me without hesitation and in a warm voice. “Congratulations.”

  Royce drew in a heavy breath. “Are you all right?”

  I’d tried to take his wife from him, and still he worried about me. For years, I’d thought he didn’t deserve her, that I was the better man, and I’d been wrong. “Yes. I’m happy for you both.”

  “Okay, good.” Relief lightened his shoulders, and he smiled. “You’re going to be a grandfather.”

  I suddenly felt all fifty-five of my years, and what I needed to do came into perfect focus. “You’ll move back into the house.”

  “What?”

  I set my gaze squarely on him, seeing all the traces of his mother, and I wished to undo so many things, but all I could do was move forward. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better father to you and your brother, and I’m sorry for what I did—and tried to do—with Marist.”

  Unease flooded through him, and he took a step back like he needed to regroup and evaluate what angle this attack was coming from.

  “I’m sorry,” I continued, “that my presence has made you uncomfortable in your own home, but I can correct that.” This was what Julia would have wanted. “The house is yours. I’ll have my lawyers start the paperwork to transfer it to you, and I’ll move out as soon as I find a place.”

  Royce stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. “You’re giving me the house? You’ve lived here your whole life.”

  “You’re starting a family, and it should be here. If my moving out makes that possible, I will be fine.” I adjusted my sleeves and fiddled with a cufflink. “I’m not giving the house to you, though.”

  His thought was plain on his face. Ah, there it is. “What do you want for it?”

  I paused. “Lucifer.”

  Now he was sure I’d gone mad. “You want my cat?”

  “He’s my cat now.”

  “What the fuck is happening?” He glanced around, perhaps looking for hidden cameras or to see if he was still connected to reality.

  “I didn’t want to, but I’ve grown quite attached to him.” It’d been six months since the cat had come into my life, and now I couldn’t imagine it being any other way.

  Like Sophia.

  “Talk it over with Marist,” I added. “If Lucifer doesn’t handle the move well like last time, I’ll bring him back.”

  He blinked slowly, considering it. “She told me you were different, but I couldn’t trust it.” It was almost as if he was talking to himself. “I was sure it was more manipulation, but . . . you are different.”

  “I’m trying to be.” Since we seemed to be talking so openly, I decided to risk it. “May I ask you something?”

  He nodded, but his throat bobbed with a hard swallow. Whatever expression was on my face had him worried.

  My breathing went shallow and my voice low. “Was Vance in love with Alice?” It was a question that had haunted me every day since the balcony. “I need to know if I accidentally killed the woman my son loved.”

  Royce exhaled loudly with surprise. “No.” He shook his head. “He wasn’t in love with her.”

  He looked at me with sad understanding, as if realizing I’d carried this fear for so long it’d begun to crush me. And now that the weight of it was gone, I became so light it was difficult to stay stable. The world threatened to hurl me off it.

  “He cared about her,” he said, “but I don’t think he could love her. She was too in love with you.” His shifted with unfamiliarity. “None of us are any good at this kind of thing, but you should talk to him. He’s ashamed, and he wants to apologize . . . I’m just not sure he knows how.”

  “Since I’d never taught him.” I’d only recently learned myself. “I’ll talk to him.”

  “Okay, good.”

  He resumed walking, and I joined him, and it was . . . not unpleasant. For the first time in ages, the tension between us wasn’t stifling.

  “Can I ask you something?” he said. “Are you in love with Sophia?”

  I pulled up short. “Why would you ask me that?”

  “Because you’re different, and I think that’s her doing.”

  Resignation filled my voice. “I went away for two years.”

  “True. Except you didn’t start changing until you’d been home for months. That’s why I’m wondering if you’re in love with her.”

  Tightness constricted my chest. “She told me she hates me.”

  “All right, I get it.” Royce smiled widely. “If you didn’t love her, you would have just said so.” His eyes lit with amusement. “But you didn’t answer my question either time I asked, did you?”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  SOPHIA

  MARIST’S DARK GREEN HAIR COLOR WAS FADING, and I wondered if she’d waited to touch it up until after the family portraits.

  “Penelope said the shoot went well,” I told her.

  I didn’t mention that my friend had sent me some of the raw images to look at. Penelope had snapped some great pictures, but I preferred the ones of Macalister I’d taken without his knowledge. I had a few stolen away on my phone he didn’t know about, like the morning before Royce had interrupted our breakfast.

  “Yeah,” Marist said. “She did great.”

  The marina clubhouse restaurant was busy for it being a Wednesday night. There were people waiting for tables, but one of the perks of being friends with a Hale meant you never needed reservations.

  I was a little surprised and a lot suspicious when she’d called and asked if I wanted to grab dinner, but I’d said yes. Since quitting abruptly on Macalister, I’d been stuck at home, bored to tears. I was toying with the idea of going on a month-long solo vacation once I was feeling better because if I stayed in Cape Hill, I’d break down.

  I couldn’t be here when Damon Lynch won the election.

  And I certainly couldn’t bear to see Macalister Hale. Penelope’s pictures of him smiling had been a dagger to my heart. How the fuck could he smile, when all I felt was this constant ache, both physically and metaphorically?

  “So,” Marist cut into her steak, “I have a secret to tell you.”

  My suspicion increased ten-fold. Royce had played matchmaker with his father and me. Was he getting his wife to do it this time? I asked it with guarded interest. “Oh, yeah?”

  She leaned forward to share it. “Royce knocked me up.” Her eyes sparkled. “We’ve only told our families, and I know we’re not super close, but . . . we’re friends, right?”

  I blinked through my surprise, feeling like an asshole for suspecting the worst of her, and gave the biggest smile I owned. “Oh, my God, congrats!”

  “Thank you. I’m too excited to keep it to myself.”

  “That is exciting. When are you due?”

  “May seventh.” She took a sip of her water and turned bashful. “My hormones were being weird, so I went off the pill for a few months. Let this be a lesson to you. The ‘pull out’ method isn’t super effective when he forgets to actually do it.”

  I laughed and immediately pressed my hand to my sternum. It’d been eleven days since Macalister had bro
ken my rib and six since he’d broken my heart, and neither was healing as fast as I wanted.

  “Thanks for the tip,” I said.

  “You want kids?”

  I picked up my vanilla vodka and Coke and took a big drink. I loved babies and always pictured myself as a mother someday. “Yeah. I’d like to have kids, but . . . I’m not even dating anyone.”

  She gave me a sly smile. “Aren’t you?”

  I wasn’t naïve. Her husband was her best friend, and he told her everything. A dark expression filled my face, so she’d understand I didn’t want to talk about it. “We weren’t dating—we were fucking—and that’s over.”

  “Oh.” Her shoulders pulled back, and she glanced away. “I didn’t know. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Let’s talk about something else.” I scrambled for a topic that didn’t involve Macalister. “Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?”

  “He wants a boy, and I want a girl, which means it’ll be a boy. Those Hale men always get their . . .” She gave me a pained smile as she caught herself.

  “Don’t paint the nursery blue just yet,” I grumbled. “They don’t always get what they want.”

  “I couldn’t paint it, anyway. We haven’t decided which room will be the nursery yet.”

  What was she talking about? Their apartment was big, but there were only three bedrooms in it, and one was being used as an office. My confusion was obvious.

  Marist lifted a shoulder. “We’re moving back into the house.”

  “With Macalister?” I shot her a skeptical look, one that asked her if that was a good idea.

  “He offered to move out, but Royce and I talked about it, and we’re willing to give it a try.” She tossed a hand up. “He’s putting the house in Royce’s name, so we can throw him out if he does anything, but honestly, I don’t think he will.” She stared at me like this was somehow my doing. “He’s changed.”

  My phone was on silent, but it vibrated on the tabletop, scooting along as it rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but I was happy for the momentary escape from a discussion about Macalister.

  “Sorry, one second,” I said to Marist. I tapped the screen and pressed the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Hi,” a male voice said. “Is this Sophia?”

  I didn’t recognize the caller, but he sounded young. “It is.”

  “Hey, this is Ian Holzman. We met at Damon Lynch’s birthday party.” This was the guy who’d hit on me all night and I’d been dumb enough to dance with. “I hope you don’t mind that Vance gave me your number.”

  Oh, I fucking minded. I opened my mouth to unleash my fury, but he kept talking.

  “I swear I’m not a stalker,” he said. “It’s just, I’ve been looking at your social media accounts, and I think you’d be a real help to the team. Damon’s social media presence is good, but it could be better.”

  My fury was sidetracked. “Are you offering me a job?” Working for Damon?

  “Uh . . . not exactly.” He hesitated. “I’m not in charge of that, but I was hoping you’d be interested in, like, volunteering.”

  I closed my eyes as irritation overtook me. I was an influencer, and he wanted to me to use my brand to promote Damon Lynch. And he wanted me to do it for free.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry, but—”

  “Damon’s hosting a private dinner next weekend at the Plaza with his friends and donors. I was thinking you could come with me.”

  I asked it flatly. “As a date?”

  “As friends.” He answered so quickly and casually, it was obvious he’d hoped to turn it into a date. “It should be fun, and, hey—free dinner.”

  Thoughts spun in my head. I’d never get in on my own, and I was pretty sure I was on a no-fly list. The only reason I’d been at the last campaign party was because I’d freaking helped throw it.

  Macalister had warned me not to go after Lynch, but this could be my best opportunity.

  And the icing on the cake was Macalister would probably be there for support. He could watch as I strolled in on another man’s arm then defied his advice. I’d show him how little control he held over me now.

  “What do you say?” Ian asked.

  Hopefully to Marist, my smile didn’t look as evil as it felt. “That sounds good. I’m in.”

  I wore the gray dress Macalister had bought me, and when Ian arrived at my house to pick me up, his eyes nearly fell out of his head.

  “Wow.” His lustful gaze stroked over my cleavage. “You look amazing.” He wasn’t subtle either, and I could see he was thinking his night had just improved big time.

  “Thanks.” I snatched my clutch off the table and slid my phone into it. “I’m ready.”

  When we came down the front steps outside, he went to the driver’s side of his BMW, not bothering to open my door. It irked me. I liked chivalry and gentlemen and all the things. I was a sucker for romances and the big, grand gesture at the end. It was part of the reason I’d put everything out there with Tate in my catastrophe of a speech, and why I’d confessed my feelings to Macalister so quickly.

  I wanted to live large and love big.

  That was the plan for tonight too. I’d nearly died three weeks ago, and if I had . . . would Damon Lynch have come to my funeral? Or was I really nothing to him? I needed this town to know the truth. DuBois’s book dropped in three days, and it would shine a light on the dark, dirty corners of Cape Hill, but I wanted a fucking neon sign over Damon.

  I’d find a way to confront him in front of the cameras and hit him where it’d do the most damage tonight. Like Macalister, he cared about one thing above all else—his precious reputation.

  As he drove, Ian dominated the conversation, not letting me get more than a sentence in here or there. He was twenty-nine and had a super impressive life, according to him. There was a line between cockiness and confidence, and he fell hard into the first category. I longed for a man I could sit in silence with, not a boy who humble-bragged the entire car ride into Boston.

  A man like that wants to own you.

  I scowled. Macalister had said he wanted me, but he’d also told me he wasn’t capable of loving me, and other than a bunch of mind-blowing orgasms, the only thing he’d given me was heartache. And yet I couldn’t quell the stupid excitement in my body at seeing him again. Maybe it was just to see the look on his face when he saw I was wearing the dress he’d given me, and showed him what he’d lost.

  After we’d gone through security, we were funneled with the rest of the guests into the main ballroom of the Plaza, where round dining tables were decorated with alternating blue and red tablecloths. At the front of the room was a stage with a blue curtain backdrop and evenly spaced lighting cast up on it like columns. American flags hung in stands at either side, and the podium in the middle was wrapped with Damon’s campaign logo.

  “Bar?” Ian asked me, turning to look at the line that had formed with people waiting to get their drinks. It was cocktail hour, but we’d arrived late because he’d been late picking me up and it had taken him forever to find a satisfactory parking space. His car was nice, but it wasn’t so nice it required being an asshole and angling it in two spots at the top of the parking garage.

  I definitely needed a drink, not just for courage for what I planned to do, but to survive the night. I was already dreading the Uber ride back home since I’d decided I wouldn’t be leaving with Ian. I nodded toward the bar. “Yeah.”

  While we waited in the line, I had a small reprieve. The husband and wife in front of us were big donors, and my ‘friend-not-date’ spent his time talking at them rather than me. I scanned the ballroom in search of one Hale man and found another instead.

  Vance wore a stone blue suit and tie, paired with a powder blue dress shirt, and he stood near the stage, talking to a group of people while he fiddled with the water bottle in his hands. He was so different from his dominating father and brother. He’d always acted as little more than a fuck boy, but I’d seen and heard enough to kno
w there was more to his story than he let on.

  I still needed to chew his ass out about giving Ian my number, though. He fucking knew better.

  Damon was all the way on the other side of the room, thick with people. It was going to be hard to get close to him, but as soon as dinner was over, I’d strike.

  When Ian didn’t tip the bartender, I dropped a few dollars into the jar and collected my lemon drop martini but made it only a few steps before my body locked up, forgetting the man before me was no longer its owner.

  Macalister wore a black suit and a silver tie, and the refined elegance that rolled off him was so strong, it was overpowering. If I were tougher, I would have kept going and moved past him, but my feet refused to work.

  His blue eyes started at my lips, and his gaze slowly worked its way down, sliding over me like a hot knife through butter. I wanted to melt at how sexual it was, especially out here in the open in front of my date, but instead I focused on the full glass of champagne he carried.

  When he was done feasting on me, his attention shifted to Ian, and his expression went cold. He said it politely, but I imagined it was the same tone he’d use if he told someone to fuck off. “Excuse us.”

  Ian shot me a look that announced I was on my own. “I’ll catch up with you at the table.”

  I narrowed my eyes at his quick exit then turned my attention back to the man I both loved and hated. I jabbed a finger at his glass of champagne. “What are you doing with that?”

  “Someone once told me I look better with it.”

  And, oh, how he did. It completed his look as a powerful, sexy billionaire.

  “What are you doing with that boy?” His mouth twisted into a slight smile. “He’s so extra.”

  I pressed my lips together to stop the smile. He didn’t deserve one. “He’s my date.”

  “Hm,” he dismissed. “I like that dress.” His eyes were inescapable gravity. “Did you wear it for me?”

  My pulse tumbled, speeding up. “No,” I lied.

  He didn’t believe me.

  “What do you want?” I snapped.