The Obsession (Filthy Rich Americans Book 2)

by Nikki Sloane

  “I should get out of here,” a smirk broke on his lips, “while I still can.” He strode to the door and pulled it open but hesitated before going through it. “Come find me tonight after your game.”

  He vanished through the door, and a moment later Donna appeared, gazing into the dressing room to survey the aftermath. She scoured the dress with her sharp eyes, and when she discovered it was unharmed, relief softened her expression.

  I hadn’t finished recovering, so my voice was shaky. “Do you do wedding dresses?”

  The woman’s laugh was bright and full. “For you? I’d be honored.”

  With practice every night, I’d become quite good at chess.

  The unfortunate thing was Macalister benefited from the practice as well and was also improving. Playing the same person repeatedly taught him my thought process and my weaknesses, and he used all of it to his advantage.

  Tonight, I’d gotten closer than ever to beating him. The game had taken forever, and I’d put him in check more than once, but then he’d castled his king, and the repositioning move obliterated all my plans.

  “You’re a worthy opponent, Marist,” he said as he took my king.

  I mumbled a thank you and a goodbye before scurrying back to my room, anxious to put on some lipstick and go find Royce. It was a Friday night. Would we go out and make appearances? Or would he carry me off to a place where we could be alone?

  There was a black box waiting on my bed, and my heart slammed to a stop before it crashed to the floor. It was roughly the same size as a shoebox, and I approached it with fear until I discovered the handwritten note beside it.

  Open me.

  I’d seen Royce’s scrawling handwriting enough times at the office to recognize it, and I let out a tight breath. My emotions swung wildly from dread to excited anticipation about what could be inside.

  The fancy box was closed with a magnetic latch, and I slid my fingers beneath the lid, peeling back the hinged top. The white diamonds glinted and winked brilliantly in the light, set against the black velvet interior, and the beauty of it forced me to clasp a hand over my mouth.

  And it grew more amazing the longer I stared at it.

  From a distance, the masquerade mask just looked like glittery lace, but up close was where the finer details emerged. Delicate lines of diamonds curved and scrolled, each ending in a tiny head complete with emerald eyes. The half-mask was a beautiful tangle of slithering snakes.

  I gingerly lifted it from the box, and another note dangled from the ribbon I’d use to hold the mask in place.

  Leave this here and meet me where I proposed.

  The girl who loved the movie Labyrinth swooned. Emotions surged through me in a frenetic mix of excitement and anticipation. What was going to happen when I found him? Was he going to tell me all his plans? Open up?

  Would he show me our future?

  The desire to put on lipstick was pushed aside—it’d only slow me down. And it would be wasted, anyway, because all I wanted to do was finish what we’d started in the dressing room this afternoon. I tucked the mask back in the box, placed it on the dresser beside my stack of mythology books, and darted out into the hallway.

  Where I faceplanted into Macalister’s hard chest.

  He gave a grunt of pain, dropped whatever he was holding, and his arms came up around me to stop my fall.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d had me in his arms. We’d waltzed together the night of the initiation, but as we stared at each other now, I wasn’t sure which one of us was more uncomfortable.

  “Macalister,” I gasped.

  I was going to say more and tell him how he’d startled me, but the words died in my throat. Upon hearing me say his name, the glaciers in his eyes melted. His hands clamped down and urged me to stay.

  “Are you all right?” He peered down at me like my answer was irrelevant. He’d judge for himself.

  No, I wasn’t all right because he had his hands on my waist and it was unnecessary. I was steady now. “I’m fine.” I jerked out of his hold, and he didn’t bother to hide his dissatisfaction. I frowned. “What are you doing here?”

  He bent, retrieved the item he’d dropped, and thrust the Greek mythology book toward me. “You seem to be in quite the hurry tonight. You left before I could return this.”

  He was a voracious reader and had devoured almost all my books. I couldn’t tell if he genuinely liked the subject or if he only read them to get under my skin.

  “Oh,” I said. “Do you want another?”

  His expression was ominous. “Not tonight.”

  “Okay.” I took the book from him and added it to my stack in my room, and was dismayed to discover he was still in the hallway when I returned, waiting for me.

  He asked it like he somehow already knew the answer. “Where are you off to?”

  I was reluctant to tell the truth, but he’d be able to tell if I were lying. “I’m meeting Royce.”

  “Oh? Where?”

  I had to pull the words from my body. “Uh . . . the maze.”

  Dark clouds gathered in his eyes at my answer. “The hedge maze?”

  I nodded and squeezed out a tight smile, trying to inch past him in the hallway. “He’s waiting for me, so I—”

  “I’ll walk with you.”

  Alarm coasted through me. “Oh, that’s okay. You don’t have to.”

  “I insist. It’s easy to get turned around, and I believe last time you went in there on your own, my son had to rescue you with an umbrella.”

  Last time—? I’d been in the maze dozens of times since that stormy night and probably knew it better now than he did. But Macalister often worked late. He wasn’t aware I spent most of my afternoons before dinner sitting beneath the fountain and reading.

  “Besides,” he added, “there’s something I’d like to discuss with both of you.”

  There was no room to argue. He left me and strolled down the hall, wordlessly demanding I go with him, and all the excitement I’d had for my rendezvous with Royce died.

  Macalister reviewed the most recent book I’d lent him as we made our way out of the house and toward the maze, but it was hard to focus on what he was saying. Every step brought me closer to a situation I didn’t want to be in. What was Royce going to think when I showed up with his father by my side?

  And what the hell did Macalister want to talk to us about? I imagined all sorts of new, terrible rules he’d enact. More control he’d try to exert over us. I was so tired of it, and I’d only been living in the house two months.

  The sun had set more than an hour ago, and even though the landscape lights were on and the weather was warm, there was a strange menace that lurked in the edges of the shadows. The breeze rustled through the trees and made the branches scrape against each other like fingers trying to claw their way out.

  When we entered the maze, I could tell he was frustrated by how slowly I was moving, but he didn’t comment. Perhaps he thought my slow speed was because I was carefully trying to learn the correct path, rather than delay the inevitable. When we reached the opening to the center, he made me go first.

  Each tier of the fountain was up-lit and glowed, casting amber light onto the cascading water and the ripples in the collection pool below. As he’d done while waiting to propose to me, he sat on the edge of the bench, his elbows on his knees and his head tipped down to the ground.

  Only this time he wasn’t in a tuxedo or even a suit. He wore a stone blue button-down shirt over pale gray shorts, effortlessly casual. The crunch of my footsteps on the pebbled path drew his gaze up, and when he caught the sight of me, his smile was epic.

  He pushed to his feet. “I was beginning to wonder if you weren’t—”

  Macalister stepped into view, and Royce became a new statue in the garden. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking because his frozen expression was devoid of emotion.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt.” Although Macalister didn’t sound sorry at all. “Marist told
me where she was going, and I asked if I could come with her. I believe the three of us need to have a conversation.”

  Royce must have rebooted himself because he blinked and came back online. Gone was the smile and the warmth he’d had ten seconds ago. He was the prince of Cape Hill now, and he eyed his father with veiled suspicion. “You know what? You’re right.” He lifted his chin, and his chest expanded with a deep breath. It made him look bigger and more powerful, and his tone was firm. “Marist is mine, and I’m going to buy her back.”

  I couldn’t hear the bubbling fountain or the insects singing in the distant trees. Everything dropped out so the only sound was his statement playing in a loop in my head.

  Marist is mine.

  Macalister jolted, visibly as surprised as I had been, but he recovered faster. “Oh? And why would I let you do that?”

  Royce didn’t look at me. He kept his intense gaze fixed on his father. “Because I’m going to give you fifty million dollars.”

  THIRTEEN

  TIME FROZE.

  Fifty.

  Million.

  Dollars.

  I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t blink. My muscles locked up, and everything stopped working.

  Macalister stared at his son with disbelief. “That’s . . . a strong offer.”

  “Well, I wanted to make sure you understood how serious I am.” And he was, from his confident posture to his strong voice.

  “If you want me to take you seriously,” his father said, “then perhaps don’t make me an offer with money you don’t have.”

  “What makes you think I don’t have it?”

  Anger streaked through Macalister’s face like a bolt of lightning. “If you’re telling me you liquidated stock in the current market, I have serious concerns about your financial acumen.”

  Royce was offended his father even suggested it. “I haven’t touched my portfolio.”

  “Then you don’t have it.” Macalister stiffened. “I know your net worth, Royce, because I’m the one who gave it to you.”

  The smile that spread across his son’s face was joyless and cold. “You think you know everything. You’ve watched every transaction I’ve ever made, stood over my shoulder, judging each move. But I figured out a long time ago you were never going to give up those purse strings. Not really.”

  Macalister gave a noise of exasperation. “Ah, I see. Now is where you make a big production out of revealing you have a secret account in Singapore. I’ll save you the time. I’ve known about that account ever since the day my hateful uncle funded it for you. Even if you were smart and invested wisely, you don’t have that kind of money there.”

  He probably expected his son to look heartbroken at this news.

  Instead, Royce’s dark smile widened. “You’re right. I don’t—not in that one. But in the accounts you don’t know about?” He looked so cocky, so sure. “Hell, if we close this, I can transfer funds by the end of business tomorrow.” The smile faded. “My offer is fifty million.”

  “No,” Macalister said quickly. “I won’t let you bankrupt yourself.”

  “Oh, spare me. You and I both know I’ll be fine.” It was as if he’d thrown off his disguise and finally risen to his true form. He was Ares in the flesh, hungry for battle. Starving for war. “Quit stalling and let’s fucking negotiate.”

  The tension between them was a cable stretched to its limit and ready to snap.

  Macalister turned his head and looked down his nose at me with shrewd eyes, like he was deciding my worth. Discerning if I’d be a good investment and worth the risk.

  Beneath all the shock, I finally found my voice, although it was a broken whisper. “Royce.”

  I didn’t understand what he was doing. If his life’s goal was to wrest control away from his father, he’d need every dollar he had, plus considerable help from outside investors. He’d secured that, it’d seemed, given his dramatic attitude shift today.

  So, what the fuck?

  Was he willing to risk everything he’d ever wanted . . . for me?

  There was a tightness in my chest. A pain I couldn’t pinpoint as another thought took hold.

  Royce Hale was a liar. It was possible everything he’d just said wasn’t true. A bluff. Maybe there wasn’t enough in his accounts. What if he’d asked for an enormous loan to give him the chance to undo his mistake?

  I stared at him as he awaited his father’s answer, his hands balled into angry fists and his posture screaming he wanted a fight.

  Macalister was the opposite. Calm, indifferent. “No.”

  The word hit me like a rock to the head, and I stumbled backward. “What do you mean, no?”

  The older Hale watched me curiously as I wobbled on my feet, barely able to stand. He had so much money, maybe he didn’t care to have more, but fifty million? And moreover, it wasn’t about that. Royce’s huge offer came loaded with power. His father would always be able to lord over his son what a terrible transaction Royce had made, buying me back at five times the price he’d sold me for.

  “I’m not interested in Royce’s offer.” Macalister stood there in his black suit and red tie, looking so fucking comfortable you’d never believe what he’d just turned down. “However, I have an offer for Marist.”

  My stomach clenched. “What?”

  “A new game.”

  “No.” There wasn’t any hesitation from me.

  He scowled. “You’ll listen to me first before making your decision.” His gaze flicked to Royce. “Be aware this negotiation is with her and her alone. If you can’t control yourself, you can’t stay.” When he was satisfied Royce understood, his focus returned to me. “If you win, I’ll step aside. You can be with Royce in whatever capacity you want. You’ll have your car. If you wish, you can return to your parents’ home until the wedding. You’ll be allowed to make your own decisions, even if they’re the wrong ones.”

  My mouth dropped open.

  He was offering freedom. Total freedom from him and his control. It was too tempting to ignore, but such a great prize would come at a terrible risk. “And if you win?”

  He was pleased I’d asked, rather than reject him again. But his pause was so long, I could tell a direct answer wasn’t forthcoming.

  “Do you want to know which of the myths is my favorite? The story of the Minotaur.” He lifted a hand, gesturing to our surroundings. “Fitting, given where we are, don’t you think?”

  The Minotaur was a monstrous half-man, half-bull creature who’d lived in the center of the complicated Labyrinth.

  “There are different versions of the myth,” he said. “Some say it’s seven men and seven women every seven years, and others say nine, but the rest is the same. They’re sent into the Labyrinth and try to escape before the Minotaur catches them.” The wind blew through the channels of the maze, swirling around us, but didn’t affect him. Like it hadn’t been given his permission. His expression was too focused, too intense. “Tonight, I’ll be the Minotaur. If you can escape the maze before I catch you, you win.”

  My breath came and went in short bursts. I was wise enough to know it couldn’t be that simple. I had to think two moves ahead. “You didn’t answer my question. What happens if you win?”

  Wickedness played across his attractive face, accentuating his high, elegant cheekbones. “Then I get the same prize as the Minotaur.”

  Words choked in my throat, refusing to come out, and my cheeks burned hot like I’d carelessly fallen asleep in the sun.

  Royce asked it, although I suspected from his urgent tone he already knew the answer. “What happens when he catches someone?”

  Macalister looked at me expectantly. He wanted me to say it out loud.

  My voice was hollow. “He eats them.”

  Royce’s eyes widened and his face turned an ugly shade of red. “No.”

  “Be quiet.”

  Macalister’s sharp voice might have silenced his son, but it had no effect on the loud voices in my brain. Royce had tol
d me his father didn’t play a game unless he thought he was going to win. Macalister was taller than I was, which meant he had a longer stride. On the nights he couldn’t sleep, he ran on the treadmill. In a footrace, he’d beat me easily. And he believed I didn’t know the path out, at least not that well.

  Even with all of that, it still didn’t seem like a guaranteed win for him.

  “That’s it?” I spat the question out. “All I have to do is make it out of the maze before you catch me?”

  Once again, a pleased look flashed through his expression. He understood I saw through his offer and needed to know the catch. “Before we start, I’ll be allowed to disorient you however I see fit.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Disorient me?”

  My stomach became an arctic crevasse as his fingers went to the knot of his tie and worked it loose. The silk was the color of blood, and he unthreaded it painstakingly slow from his collar, coiling it over his hand.

  “I’ll cover your eyes and turn you around. I’ll do things to make you lose your bearings.” With the tie gone, he undid the top button of his shirt, and an arrogant smile crept onto his face. “The game isn’t worth playing if I don’t have a fair chance to win.”

  That definitely made it harder on me, but I’d spent so many afternoons memorizing every twist and turn, each statue decorating the dead ends, that I knew this maze. I could conquer it blindfolded.

  And Macalister had no idea.

  The risk was great, but the promise of freedom was so tantalizing . . . was it crazy to consider playing? I turned and glanced at Royce, who glared at his father with such contempt, it was breathtaking.

  I swallowed down my nerves, pushed a wayward lock of hair out of my face, and prepared to negotiate. “I’m not saying yes, but if I were, I’d need a thirty-second head start.”

  Macalister’s lips curled up into something too insidious to be called a smile. “Ten.”