by Nikki Sloane
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 father 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?”
“No, not really. I’ve met Mr. Shaunessy a few times. I went to prom with his son.”
Alice’s expression was strange, like she’d swallowed wrong—but the feeling seemed to pass quickly. “Okay, then, we’ll start there.”
It took nearly an hour to go through the file of Liam Shaunessy that was stored completely in Alice’s head. First, it was his basic history. Where he went to school, how he came to HBHC, his ascension to the board. Next came the personal. He was married with two kids, both boys, which I already knew. He lived in Cape Hill and enjoyed golf and duck hunting.
Finally, we moved onto social politics. There’d been a squabble between his wife and another board member’s over an interior designer, something about using the same upholstery patterns. As a result, they didn’t speak to each other, and it was imperative they not be seated together at any events.
I wanted to rub away the pain it caused in the front of my forehead, but I sat dutifully and listened as Alice laid out all the skeletons and drama associated with the Shaunessys. Thankfully, her desk phone rang with an urgent call, and I was dismissed until our appointment tomorrow.
I practically leapt from the chair and hurried toward the door—
“Marist?”
I froze, halfway to freedom, then slowly turned to face her. She clicked a button on her phone to mute the call and picked up a black journal, a place marker ribbon trailing out the bottom.
“Can you drop this off at Royce’s desk before you go? It’s some of my ideas for his party.”
I took the journal with a tight smile. “Sure, but where—”
“His office is three doors toward the elevator.” Her focus shifted to her computer screen. “See you tomorrow.” She pressed the button on her phone and went back to her conversation. Task accomplished, I ceased to exist to her at that point.
I folded my arms over the journal as I strode down the hall. It was quiet on the floor. Most people had their doors closed, either in meetings or out, which made sense. It was close to lunchtime. The desk across from Royce’s office was empty and not in use. Had they not hired an assistant for him? Or did he not need one?
The door to his office was ajar. I went to knock, but my knuckles hovered at the wood when his brusque voice rang out. “And how long is that going to take?”
A male voice was piped through the speakerphone. “If you want me to move on it now? A few weeks. It might raise flags.”
“I don’t care,” Royce said. “Just get it done.”
My hand moved of its own volition, nudging the door open.
The layout was the same as Alice’s office. The back wall was all glass and had a view of the harbor, but otherwise they were completely different. His furniture was masculine and traditional. Ornate scrolls were woodworked into the side of his dark oak desk. Like his room at home, the space was devoid of personal items. Only one piece of framed artwork decorated the wall, and I recognized the crimson Harvard logo.
Maybe he didn’t hang artwork on the walls because, like the jewelry store, it couldn’t compete with the most beautiful thing in the room—him. Royce stood at the side of his desk and leaned over it, his hands in fists resting on the top. He wasn’t wearing his suit coat or his tie; both hung on the back of his chair. The sleeves of his shirt were undone and rolled back, his collar undone.
With his terse conversation over, he stared down at the desktop, head hung and lost in thought. The corded muscles traveling along forearms twisted, the line broken only by the expensive watch on his wrist. The sight of him so contemplative and backlit by the windows was breathtaking. It looked as if the fate of the world was on his shoulders.
I snuck my phone out of my purse, hurrying to capture the image. In my rush, I’d forgotten to put it on silent, and the electronic shutter clicking made his gaze snap to me. His eyes were wild and furious until he realized who he was seeing. His expression quickly morphed to confusion.
I lowered my phone and tried to act natural.
“Marist?” He straightened from the desk. “What are you doing here?”
“I had an appointment with Alice. She asked me to bring you this before I left.” I held up the journal and gave it a small shake.
“What is it?”
He hadn’t invited me into his office. It felt rude to charge in, so I stayed in my place. “She said it was ideas for your party.”
“Oh.” He held out his hand, curling his fingers in a come closer gesture. “Shut the door.”
I inhaled deeply, did as he said, and handed him the book, only for him to toss it with a thud onto his desk.
“I’m sorry about the other night.”
An apology from a Hale? I didn’t think remorse was something they could experience. I didn’t want him to read any emotion on my face. “Telling me to leave? Or the stuff that happened before?”
He cocked his head to the side and shot me a look that said I was being silly. “I meant how I had to kick you out. I’m not sorry about anything else.” He made a face. “Well, maybe that we were interrupted.”
He leaned back against the desktop and crossed his arms over his chest. As his unhurried gaze worked over me, I shifted my weight on my pumps. It was strange to be standing alone in his office in the middle of the workday.
I didn’t belong here.
He didn’t seem to feel any of the discomfort I did. “What was your appointment with Alice about?”
“Prep work for the interview.”
A muscle along his neck twitched. Or . . . had I imagined it? He painted on a smile. “I can help with that if you’d like. Come over tonight.”
I tensed, unsure if I was even allowed to say no. “I have plans.”
“This weekend, then. I’ll send my driver.”
“You don’t have to do that. Besides, I like driving.”
It was like I’d just told him his account was overdrawn. Skepticism wrinkled the bridge of his nose. “Really?”
“You don’t?”
“No. I mean, I don’t know. I don’t drive.”
What? I’d assumed he had a whole fleet of sports cars, and some days his hardest decision was which one to take for a spin
. “Like, ever? Why not?”
He tossed a hand up in the air casually, then used it to rub the back of his neck. “I’ve always had a driver, so I guess I never saw the point in learning.”
Shock bolted through me. “You don’t know how?” I would never want to be that dependent on someone else. “Oh, my God, you should learn. I think you’d really enjoy it. When I’ve got my favorite song on and it’s just me in the car? I love it. That’s freedom.”
I snapped my mouth shut, realizing too late that I sounded like an idiot. But he didn’t act like he thought that. He considered my statement, and it seemed to grow more appealing each second. “Freedom, huh?”
“Yeah,” I offered. “I could teach you. You help me with the interview, I show you which pedal’s the gas.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I know which one’s the gas, thank you.”
Royce pushed off the desk, rising to his full height. Even though I wore heels, he was still two inches taller than I was, and as he closed the distance between us, my eyes grew large. He was dangerous like this. Confident and powerful while in his own domain, all of Boston at his feet.
His voice was smooth like the glossy lacquer on his desktop. “All right. Sounds like a deal to me.”
I’d expected a handshake, but instead he brushed his knuckles across my cheekbone and lowered in, sealing our deal with a slow, lingering kiss.
TEN
ALICE WAS ABLE TO COVER a lot more ground at our next meeting, which was good. She had a work trip to the Chicago branch next week and would be out of the office until Wednesday. Coordinating the schedules of the eight current board members was no small feat, and the only workable date was Thursday.
Which meant I’d have to clear hurdle number one and face the board in less than a week.
I’d learned about almost all of the men who sat in the coveted positions—all but Macalister himself. I wasn’t sure if Alice was saving him for last, or not going to cover him at all. She was cagey whenever I asked for details about the interview. It was clear she wanted me to do well when I sat for it, but she also wouldn’t give me a clue about what kind of questions they’d ask.