by Nikki Sloane
I nodded my understanding and went back to skimming the document. I had no intention of leaking secrets—and every intention of him doing it for me. As I read, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. He’d reached into his interior coat pocket, produced a pen, and set it on the glass table with a quiet ting.
He wasn’t subtle in the way he tried to hurry me along, but I ignored it and kept reading.
Finally, I picked up the black pen accented with gold, scribbled my name on the line, and closed the portfolio. “Salary.”
His eyebrow arched. “You told me you have plenty of money.”
“I do, but I don’t work for free.”
“I’m not ready to make you an offer.” Macalister’s hand on the back of the couch was held loosely in a fist, and he ran the pad of his thumb over his knuckles. It was distracting, and kind of . . . sexy. I forced my attention back to his lips as he spoke. “I don’t know your qualifications,” he added, “nor have I seen your résumé.”
I sat up, my back going straight. “The job I’m planning to do for you isn’t something that needs a résumé, but I can prove I’m qualified.”
He looked bored. “How so?”
“I know why Mr. Shaunessy wasn’t at your house on Saturday.”
There was no change in Macalister’s demeanor, but he couldn’t control the way his chest lifted with a deep breath. “He had a prior commitment.”
“I bet he did.”
Liam Shaunessy sat on the board at HBHC and had an affair with Alice. He’d slept with his chairman’s wife. Now he lived in eternal fear of the day Macalister would come and destroy him for it.
This bombshell didn’t have the impact I was looking for, so I dug deeper in my arsenal.
“And I know what used to happen,” I lowered my voice to a hush, “when a man was promoted to the board at this company.”
It was as if I’d cracked a whip. Macalister launched forward, his spread fingertips on the glass as he leaned over the table and put his face just inches from mine. His expression filled with darkness and silent rage, and holy hell, it was gorgeous. “I don’t know what she told you, but I’d choose your next words very carefully.”
It took a second to figure who he was talking about. “Marist? No, she’s never said a word to me.”
Not that she would. We weren’t friends, and I wasn’t sure we ever could be. I’d had to make a name for myself at Cape Hill Prep, and I’d done part of it at Marist’s expense. We didn’t speak about our time in high school, but I was pretty sure she hadn’t forgiven me for it. It left us without friendship, but instead a partnership.
I helped her whenever I could. Sometimes it was beneficial, but it was mostly done out of guilt.
Macalister cautiously retreated to his seat, looking relieved this highly volatile information hadn’t come from her, but his curiosity took over. “Who, then?”
I wasn’t going to waste a bargaining chip. “I’m qualified, and now I want to talk about my salary.”
“All right,” he snapped. “One hundred thousand.” He switched gears so quickly, it made me uneasy.
This was a lowball opening offer, but Stephen Alby hadn’t raised me to be a fool. “That’s all restoring your reputation is worth to you?”
“You seem to think I’m incapable of doing that without your assistance.”
Macalister’s glare was a blade of steel, cutting me down to size, and my voice wasn’t as powerful as I wanted it to be. “It’ll be harder without it.”
Anger made his nostrils flare and his eyes burn. “Are you threatening me?”
“No,” I answered quickly. “I’m just being real.”
I didn’t understand why he was fighting this. He had nothing to lose—except some money—and he was the type of guy who wouldn’t flinch at dropping six figures. I swallowed a breath and pushed forward.
“I don’t want to work for you. I want to work with you. Being your assistant is just my cover. It’s an excuse for me being around so I can do the actual work.”
He gave me an exasperated look. “And that work is?”
“You don’t have any friends.”
He leveled his imposing stare and hardened. “Your master plan is to, what? Get people to like me?”
He said it with disgust, but in a nutshell, this was the idea. It was phase two.
“That’s part of it, yeah. You want to keep something out of DuBois’s book? Then you need to make sure no one tells him anything. Friends don’t sell each other out.” I’d practiced this line on the drive into Boston this morning. It was a backhanded compliment and stripped the concept down to its bones. “Which means the ruthless and intimidating Macalister Hale will have to learn how to be charming.”
His short laugh was empty and intended to make me feel small. “I already know how to be charming, Sophia.”
My heart fluttered in my chest. Was I about to wake a sleeping giant? “No, I don’t think you do. Right now, the only reason someone would go out on a limb for you is because you leave them no choice. You motivate by fear.”
His eyes flashed with heat. He didn’t like what I was saying, but he wasn’t going to argue with it either.
I gave him my best smile and strived for a light, joking tone, even though I was serious. “You can only terrorize people into loyalty for so long.” I gauged his reaction, and when there wasn’t one, I softened my voice. “Why don’t we try it my way?”
His ice-blue eyes went unfocused, and his gaze drifted from mine, shifting to stare out the window at the coast beyond. “Tell me what you want.”
It was impossible to know if he meant my salary, or just in general, but I went with the easier choice. “Five million dollars.”
Irritation was slathered on his face as his attention snapped back to me. “That’s an enormous amount of money for someone who didn’t seem to care about it at all the last time we spoke. I am not a fool. You want something out of this arrangement, and I believe you need me far more than I need you.” His expression was shuttered. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have to pay you at all.”
I swallowed thickly. “I’m risking my reputation to save yours.”
“One hundred thousand dollars.”
He smoothed a hand down the line of buttons on his suit vest, as if he could brush my request aside that easily. Frustration built inside me, threatening to erupt—
“And the remainder of the five million,” he continued, “contingent upon DuBois’s book coming out and my satisfaction with its content.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. Did he realize how enormous the weight was he’d just placed on my shoulders? I gazed at him and his calculating expression. Yeah, of course he did. Making the money dependent on something I had so little control over was stacking the odds against me.
But it’d certainly motivate me to try, wouldn’t it?
“Do you agree?” he asked.
I mustered all the courage I possessed and pretended this would be easy. No big deal. “Sure.”
Macalister reached across the table, and as I stared at his offered hand, my stomach flipped over, filling with equal parts of excitement and apprehension. Both times we’d shaken hands on Saturday, there’d been this strange magnetic pull to him. What if it was still there?
Or worse . . .
What if it wasn’t?
My mouth went dry as I put my hand in his, and when he squeezed, every muscle in my body tightened in response. God, what was wrong with me? This wasn’t normal or right. He was so much older, and arrogant to the point he was rude, not to mention . . . maybe a murderer? Alice Hale’s death was an accident, but I was currently shaking hands with the man who’d caused it.
My body didn’t give a fuck.
Sparks crackled through our connection, lighting me up, and I prayed I could keep it contained. If Macalister had the slightest inkling of my thoughts, he’d throw me out of his office in a heartbeat. I had to get control of myself. Crushes
were for teenagers, and I was twenty-six, not thirteen.
I felt weightless when he let go of me, as if he were the thing tethering me to this world, which may have been true. Walking into HBHC this morning felt otherworldly. It was all shiny chrome and glass in the lobby, full of air and light. Up here near the top floor, it was the opposite. Dark wood and deep colors and partitions to create secretive meeting spaces.
“Now that we’ve agreed on terms, you’ll tell me the details of your proposal,” he said, looking completely unaffected by my touch from a moment ago. “Specifically, your plan of action.”
I rubbed my palms together, trying to dispel the electricity from my body. “First, you need a date.”
Confusion splashed through his expression. This was the last thing he expected me to say. “A date?”
I nodded. “I’m not going to dance around it. You seem like the kind of guy who appreciates it when people get to the point.”
“You’d be correct.”
My chest lifted as I took a preparing breath. “We need to bring your stock up, and the fastest way is for Cape Hill to see you with a new woman. It vouches for you and shows everyone it’s okay for you to step back into their circle.”
Macalister contemplated the idea with unease but didn’t rule it out immediately. He delivered the statement flatly. “You have someone in mind.”
“Yeah.” I shifted on the couch. “Evangeline Gabbard.”
He peered at me like I’d lost my mind. “I expect Mr. Gabbard will object.”
“It’s doubtful. He died last year.”
Surprise washed through his eyes. “How? Was he sick?”
“Plane crash.”
Mr. Gabbard had been working on his pilot’s license, and the small plane went down with mechanical problems not long after takeoff. It left his wife Evangeline widowed at forty-seven and—which most of Cape Hill didn’t know—saddled with a charity foundation that was a mess and in debt.
“She’s attractive,” I ticked off her qualifications, “well liked, and age appropriate. And as I understand it, she’s in financial trouble. If you start dating, that tells Cape Hill you’ve moved on.”
Even if it was a lie, we’d need people to believe Macalister was finally over his inappropriate infatuation with Marist. Word had spread like wildfire through the town about his declaration of love in front of the HBHC board. A man coveting his daughter-in-law was shocking, but that had been just one scandal in a day full of them.
He nodded in understanding and asked it like he was repeating a homework assignment. “So, I’m to seduce Evangeline Gabbard?”
“Uh . . .” My brain went fuzzy at the idea of him seducing anyone. “I guess that’s up to you. I was thinking I’d put my feelers out and see if she wanted to make a deal. You’re a finance guy, and she needs help with hers.” I pulled my eyebrows together. “I’m not sure she wants to really see anyone yet. It’s been a year, and I know there’ve been some guys interested, but she hasn’t taken anyone up on their offer. It makes me wonder if this arrangement might appeal to her.” Meaning it could help get people off her back if she was feeling pressure to start dating.
“This relationship would only be for show.”
“Yeah.”
He ran a hand over his jaw, letting his long fingers trail down over his high cheekbones, and I abruptly had to avert my gaze. The way he looked while he’d done it was violently sexy.
“All right,” he said.
My pulse skittered. “I have the greenlight on this?”
He sounded annoyed he had to repeat his approval. “Yes.”
“You were easier to convince than I thought you’d be. Most people don’t like being set up on—”
“I am not most people.” Macalister’s posture, even when relaxed and calm, exuded confidence. “What I am is practical, and your suggestion makes sense. You approach first. If she’s not open to the idea, then I’ll step in.”
It sent alarm bells ringing in my head. Macalister’s imposing, controlling way wasn’t a turn-for on too many people.
Just you, Sophia.
“There are other women we could try,” I said quickly. “If it doesn’t work out with—”
This was a done deal. He rose from the couch, acting as if I were no longer speaking, and strolled toward his desk. “Coffee.”
I floundered for a moment, not really wanting any, but also not wanting to be rude. “Um, sure.”
He stared at me incredulously, like I was supposed to be doing something.
Oh. My face turned warm, and I launched to my feet. He wasn’t asking me if I wanted coffee—he was telling me to go fetch him some. I pressed my lips together. If I was supposed to be his assistant, I had to play the part, didn’t I? “How do you take it?”
“Black.”
I suspected as much. Macalister was efficient, no-frills, so it made sense his coffee would be the same. My gaze ran the length of the room, double-checking there wasn’t a machine or side bar in here. This office was smaller than I would have expected, but then again . . . he’d only started using it today. It looked like it had been vacant for a while before this morning.
I hadn’t had a tour yet. I’d been escorted to his office by one of the security guards downstairs, but I still felt stupid asking. “Do you, uh, know where the coffee is?”
He was masterful at delivering a look that said exactly how irritated he was with me. He flung a finger at the hall. “Be proactive. I’m sure you can find someone out there who knows.”
Right. I went to take a step, but when a man appeared in the office doorway, my heart stopped. My legs turned to stone.
The man lifted a hand and knocked his knuckles against the doorframe to announce himself. He hadn’t spotted me because his gaze was set on Macalister, and I foolishly wondered if I stood perfectly still, maybe I could avoid detection.
“Tate.” Macalister was surprised to see his son’s friend, but not unhappy.
Tate Isaacs smiled, and it was a punch to my gut. I’d gotten nearly everything I’d wanted in my life except for two things—and Tate was one of them. I’d loved this boy once so desperately, my heart still ached when I saw him.
And he wanted absolutely nothing to do with me.
He stepped into the office, looking so effortlessly good it was unfair. His gray crosshatch suit was paired with a brightly striped tie, and he strolled forward with his usual swagger.
“Came to see if the rumors were true,” Tate said lightly.
A smile threatened in Macalister’s eyes. “I told you someday you’d come work for me.”
“Yeah, you warned me.” He stopped beside the desk with his back to me, and his voice went uneven. “I never got a chance to speak to you after . . .” His head tipped down. “You’ve every right to be mad, but for me, it was just business with Ascension. I hope you understand.”
Macalister waved a hand as if absolving him from his sins. “Of course. I never thought otherwise.” It was clear he didn’t want to talk about it. “How are you liking the asset management department?”
Tate’s posture straightened as if he’d brightened. “It’s busy. So busy, it doesn’t leave much time for sleep.”
“Good. That’s how it should be.”
The men fell silent.
Now the conversation had nowhere else to go, it plummeted into uncomfortable awkwardness.
“Well,” Tate backpedaled and glanced toward his escape, “I just came to by to say hello and I’m down the hall if you need—”
“Yes.” Macalister didn’t waste time waiting for Tate to finish his polite offer. “Please help Sophia locate the kitchen.” Macalister cast a finger toward me and promptly put his attention on his phone.
Tate’s dark eyes went wide when he turned and discovered me frozen beside the couch. I couldn’t imagine what I looked like. It seemed very much like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing either.
“Sophia?” His
word was loaded with confusion and distrust.
“She’s my assistant,” Macalister said.
I shoved a smile on my face. “Hey, Tate. It’s been a while.”
“Yeah.” He smiled back, but I heard the words in his eyes. “It hasn’t been long enough.” He jammed his hands in his pockets. “Kitchen’s down the hall. Take a left by the picture of the Seattle branch.” He paused and begrudgingly added, “You want me to show you?”
It came out forced and overly enthusiastic from me. “No, thanks.”
I left the men in the office and scurried out into the hall.
Thankfully, the coffee system was easy to figure out, and by the time I returned with an HBHC insulated cup full of black coffee, Tate was nowhere to be found.
Macalister didn’t bother looking at me as he took the cup from my hand, causing our fingers to brush. That sliver of contact was enough to warrant his attention though. He eyed me curiously as he took a sip.
“I take it you and Tate are no longer together.”
I jolted. “What? No, we never were.”
He studied me like a math equation. “Are you sure? I recall the way you looked at him at Royce’s wedding.”
My pulse kicked. Macalister hadn’t been in the loop the last two years, but before that? He didn’t miss much.
Well, other than his wife’s affair.
“Yeah,” my tone was curt, “I’m positive Tate and I didn’t date.”
“Why didn’t you?” He acted like his question was innocent when it was anything but. “You’re both young and attractive, and you ran in the same social circles.”
I was still off-balance from seeing Tate, and hearing how Macalister found me attractive only added to my disorientation.
I’d been a media darling during my Olympic outing and a homecoming and prom queen. I’d spent my high school and college years believing I was the prettiest girl in the room . . . although never on the inside. Just on the surface. My ego might have rivaled Macalister’s at one point, and by the time I’d graduated with my bachelor’s in communications from Columbia, I’d amassed over a million followers on Instagram.