by Nikki Sloane
We’d made it into Boston before the silence was broken.
“How was the conference?” Macalister’s focus shifted to his son. “They seemed quite pleased you could attend. You’d think you were a celebrity from the way they fawned over you.” He was smiling, but there was zero warmth. “I’m sure you enjoyed that immensely.”
Royce let the comment roll right off him. “It was fine, but I would have rather stayed here and dealt with stock price crisis.”
“It’s a situation, not a crisis,” Macalister said dryly.
“We’re down three percent over the month. Pretty sure crisis is the word the shareholders are using.”
Macalister was a god, but even he had to answer to someone, and he did not like Royce reminding him of that.
When the limo parked and the door opened, fresh air poured in, dispelling some of the thick tension that clogged the back seat. The limo had pulled up in a parking garage alongside another, although this car wasn’t as big. We all got out, doing our final checks to make sure we were camera-ready, and I stood still as Alice applied more lipstick to my already red lips. I tried not to think about how cruel the situation was for both of us.
Vance had taken a car to pick up Jillian, but neither got out of the limo we’d parked beside. Was it possible this was someone else’s car? I didn’t recognize the driver standing beside it, but there were quite a few on the Hales’ staff. Macalister marched with frustration toward the back door and reached out to open it—
“Sir.” The driver stepped in front of him. “They’re not ready yet.” His expression was heavy, filled with what he was trying to say while staying professional at the same time. “I think they might need another minute.”
The single word from Macalister fell like a hammer. “Move.”
The driver scrambled out of the way as his boss lunged for the handle and jerked it open.
Light from the parking garage splashed inside, revealing two bodies connected. Vance knelt on the floorboard, his black pants undone and down around his knees. He had one hand across his belly, holding his shirt up out of his way, and the other behind him on the seat, supporting himself as he leaned back. Jillian was in front of him on her hands and knees, her silver dress hiked up around her waist.
“What the fuck?” Vance cried, jerking out of her and turning away at the same moment he grabbed the back of her dress and yanked it down, covering her naked lower half.
“We’re all waiting on you,” his father growled before shutting the door with force.
The slam of it echoed in the parking garage, and then plunged the space into horrible silence. The image was seared in my brain, but what about Alice? I snuck a glance at her, but unless she was hiding all her emotions under her mask, she didn’t have any. She looked exactly as she had earlier when she’d caught her husband looming over me.
Vacant.
The limo rocked. Not from sex, but from the occupants’ panicked hands as they hurried to dress. Raised voices came from inside the car, but it was too muffled to make out the words and understand what exactly they were arguing about.
The door shoved open and Vance stepped out, his tuxedo in place and a mask pushed back on the top of his head. It allowed us to see his expression, which was a mixture of guilt and exasperation. His blue eyes focused on his father as he shut the door. “She’s not coming.”
“Apparently not,” Royce said.
Macalister ignored the comment and leaned over his youngest son. “Excuse me?”
For a brief moment, Vance flashed daggers at his older brother, but his attention swung back to his father. “She’s too embarrassed.”
“Fix it,” he ordered.
“I tried. She won’t come out of the limo.”
When Macalister turned his demanding gaze toward his wife, everything went cold inside me. He needed to smooth things over with Lambert’s daughter and have her walk in on Vance’s arm, and he expected Alice to handle it for him.
“I’ll do it.” I stepped forward, grabbed the door, and ducked inside before anyone could stop me. Maybe if I got her to come out, Macalister would owe me. I could use it to buy myself some time until I figured out what to hell I was going to do about his demand in the library.
At the least, it should spare Alice from having to talk to the girl who’d just been caught fucking her lover.
Jillian sat at the front of the back seat, as far away from the door as possible, with her face in her hands, and she didn’t look up when I pulled the door closed and locked us in together.
“Hey.” I gave her the most soothing tone I had. “Hey, it’s okay.”
She lifted her head, and her face was a mess. Black smudges collected under her eyes from her tears, and rather than worry about her . . . I wondered if her mask would be able to disguise it. God. What was wrong with me? This would have been the last thought on my mind four months ago, back before I’d agreed to become a Hale.
Her voice wavered. “Please tell me you came in here to kill me.”
I opened my clutch and pulled out a tissue, extending it out to her. “Nope. I came to tell you that Macalister wants you and Vance together so badly, he’d probably be thrilled right now, except he’s too busy worrying we’re going to be late.”
Her movements slowed as she took the offered tissue. “What?”
“I get that you’re embarrassed, but what just happened is seriously no big deal. But if you don’t walk in with Vance . . . that’s a very big deal.” I scooted closer to her on the side bench. “So, I’m here to help. You’re going to sit beside me when we all go together in the limo. You’ll put your mask on and hide behind it if you want to, and I promise everyone will act like nothing happened. Big, fake smiles for five minutes while we walk in, and that’s it. Easy.”
Knuckles rapped on a window, announcing I was running out of time.
“Everyone saw me naked,” she whispered.
“Not really. It was a lot more Vance than you.” I quirked a smile. “Even if they did, who cares? You got this. Show them you don’t give a fuck.”
When I climbed out of the limo, Macalister was right there, and I sucked in a breath. “We can go. She’s putting on her mask.”
He straightened with surprise, and relief edged across his expression. I gave him a look that told him I hadn’t done it out of the kindness of my heart. He was now in my debt.
While I’d been coaxing Jillian from the back seat, Vance had lowered his mask. It was a dark green with brass highlights, like the algae had been worn away from those spots. Curling tentacles spread out and hung down, four octopus arms on each side.
He spent so much time on a yacht these days, maybe he didn’t need the mask to feel like Poseidon. He helped Jillian out of one limo and straight into the other, larger one. I darted in right after them, taking a seat beside her as I’d promised to do.
The ride to the red carpet at the front of the gala was quiet and blissfully short.
There wasn’t really supposed to be media at the event. Photographers had been hired to take promotional images for the brand, but there was a velvet rope on either side of the red carpet, and several media outlets had shown up. So, when we emerged one by one from the back of the limo, there were cameras and flashes and cries for our attention.
I was the fake, Instagram Marist. I pasted on a smile and clung to Royce with an iron grip, then forced myself to walk with a normal gait and not sprint to the safety of the building at the other end. Inside, I was Medusa and he was Ares, and everyone should fear us, rather than us fearing them.
Not that Royce looked at all uneasy. He grinned and kissed my hand, playing it up for the cameras. Selling the story of our fairytale romance.
The expansive ballroom of the Harbor Plaza Hotel was bathed in purple and magenta lights, giving the room a surreal quality. Tall candelabras, draped in crystal beads, sat in the center of each table, flickering whispers down on the tablecloth.
I successfully survived dinner seated at the sam
e table as Macalister, as had Jillian. Perhaps the three glasses of wine she’d consumed had helped. But I hadn’t been able to talk to Royce alone and tell him what had happened. Part of me was too scared to. Not because I worried he wouldn’t believe me, but because if I threatened to leave . . . he might let me.
He’d choose his goal over me.
There was music from a live band following the dinner, and as we danced, I couldn’t help but notice Mr. Lambert and Macalister tucked in a corner, deep in conversation. At one point, Macalister smiled and laughed. To anyone else, he might look charming, but it left me horribly cold. Royce and I had our fake personas, and it was clear his father did too.
I grabbed Royce’s hand. “Let’s go out on the balcony.”
I’d put in my time during the cocktail hour and schmoozed with Royce’s employees. I’d sat with the rest of the Hales for a family picture. I’d even been able to chat with my parents for a few minutes before dinner, and once again, my mother had been more focused on the necklace I wore than her own daughter.
Now I wanted five minutes alone with my fiancé, who I hadn’t been able to touch for a solid week and was desperate to be away from the board members milling about the party.
We each snagged a glass of champagne and strolled out onto the balcony that overlooked the harbor. Despite the nice October weather, it wasn’t crowded out here. The music thumping from inside was muffled behind the windows, and there was the occasional horn from a boat, but it was relatively quiet.
He looked out over the water and said it right before he took a sip of his champagne. “I almost didn’t go.”
“What?”
“To Sydney. It was hard to leave.”
I rested my hand on the cold railing lining the balcony, not sure if he meant because he’d miss me, or because he wanted to protect me from his father.
“Hey, I need to tell you something.”
He turned and put the full force of his intense gaze on me. “Yeah, me too. But you go first.”
“I played your father in chess this afternoon, and I won.”
Beneath his black mask, surprise washed through his eyes, and a cautious smile lifted his lips. “That’s great. That means it’s over, right?”
I took in a preparing breath. “He didn’t take the loss well.”
His smile died. “What’d he do?”
I figured he only needed the broad details. “He kissed me. He told me I had to come to his room tonight and if I don’t, he’ll make me get rid of my tattoo.” His mouth opened, maybe to tell me it wasn’t the end of the world, but I kept going. “And he’ll take away your seat.”
Royce’s chest rose and fell with an enormous breath. Then he tilted back his champagne flute and drained it in three big swallows. When his gaze settled back on me, it was impossible to read. “He’s bluffing.”
“What if he’s not?”
He shook his head. “I know him. He’s invested too much effort in his legacy to do that.”
I wasn’t stupid enough to ask Royce to give everything up and run away with me, but I wanted to. Macalister had invested in his legacy, and Royce had in his plan, and neither was going to walk away. They were on a collision course.
I could only hope we would survive it.
There was a boom overhead that made me flinch, and as I gazed up, gold rained down. Fireworks. There was a boat in the harbor setting them off, and it took me a moment to realize these were for the HBHC gala. The chandelier fireworks lit up the night sky and reflected in the bay water below. Their slow descent made them golden weeping willows until they faded away.
It was a beautiful, lavish display.
As he watched them, his elbows resting on the railing, I studied him. He looked so handsome and sure, and the words bubbled up, unstoppable.
“I love you.”
His head snapped to me, the fireworks forgotten. “What?”
“I said I love you.”
At that exact moment, Sophia Alby materialized from fucking nowhere. She must have come up behind me like a ninja. Was this how she got the bulk of her information? By eavesdropping and perfect timing?
She wore a black dress, a mask like Catwoman, and an epic grin. She’d heard what I’d said and was eagerly awaiting Royce’s response.
He rose to his full height, his eyes pure and determined, and placed a hand on my waist. “I love you too.”
It was effortless. Easy for him. His lips brushed over mine in a sweet kiss that asked for more, and I obliged. His second kiss was hungry. It tasted like champagne and passion, but emotions swirled uneasy inside me.
I had no idea if he meant what he’d said . . .
Or if it was a lie.
He could be in his prince persona, only saying it because if he didn’t, the repercussions would be disastrous. Sophia would start a whisper campaign within the hour that our fairytale wasn’t exactly as it seemed.
“You two are adorable,” she said. “I just came by to say ‘hi’ and tell you I love your mask, Marist. Can we grab a picture together?”
“Uh . . .”
Like last time, she didn’t wait. She pushed in between Royce and me, held her phone up, and prepared to take the selfie. “Smile!”
The version of myself on her screen looked normal, but beneath my dress, my knees knocked together. She captured all three of us smiling, the fireworks lighting up behind us. Satisfied, she lowered the phone, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. A blast of cold hit me like someone had opened a freezer door, and although I didn’t want to, my attention was pulled that direction.
Macalister was on the balcony, coming toward us like he was on the hunt. Or perhaps he was the Minotaur, even though his mask was pushed back on his head, revealing his full face. All the conversations going on around us ceased. Every pair of eyes was on him instead of the bursts of gold in the sky. They lit him in warm flashes.
“See what I mean?” Sophia whispered seductively before floating away. She was gone by the time Macalister reached us.
“Why are you hiding out here?” he asked.
Royce’s lips pressed into an irritated line. “We’re not hiding, we’re watching the fireworks.”
That was the moment Macalister Hale realized there were fireworks going off over the harbor. Maybe he didn’t know about them beforehand, as Alice had been responsible for the gala planning. He gazed up at them and watched the grand finale with a critical eye, but when it was over and the crowd who’d gathered to watch gave their applause, he looked pleased.
It was as if the show had given him more power. “Marist, may I have a dance?”
“No,” Royce said.
His voice was cold and deadly. “I don’t recall asking you.”
Before Royce could say anything else, I put a calming hand on his arm, and my tone to his father was firm. “No, thank you.”
Macalister’s expression was hard to read. Was he angry? Or just disappointed? “Very well. In that case, you two should make your final rounds. Royce, you’ll be needed after. Since most of the board is here, it’s the perfect opportunity to discuss an acquisition I think is in HBHC’s best interest.”
Royce made a face. “You think we should try to acquire someone now? With the stock already down?” He was skeptical. “That’s going to be a tough sell. Who’s the target company?”
There was no mistaking Macalister’s insidious smile. “Ascension.”
Oh, shit.
He knew.
TWENTY
MY HAND RESTED ON THE RAILING, and instinctively it clenched. Macalister had figured out Royce was planning to buy Ascension, and he was cutting his son off at the knees. Without that company, Royce had no shot at taking over HBHC. All those years he’d toiled to bring this into fruition, and now it was . . .
Gone.
A sickening feeling overwhelmed me. I was sinking into the bay. I didn’t know how Macalister had figured the plan out. That information certainly hadn’t come from me, but . . . would Royce
believe that?
I hadn’t been wearing his ring when I’d asked him about Ascension.
There was no reaction from him. The revelation had turned him into a statue. He didn’t blink and didn’t seem to be breathing either. My heart was beating fast enough for both of us.
Finally, he sighed, but it felt forced. Like he was trying to act natural. “The rest of the board won’t go for it.”
“You’re underestimating how convincing I can be.”
Royce narrowed his gaze. “You want to tank our shares even more, go right ahead. You’ll have a revolt on your hands, and as the second largest shareholder, keep in mind I’ll be leading the charge.”
Macalister waved the comment off. “We’ll discuss it, but I’m thinking about the long-term. This is a smart move.”
There was so much subtext there, he might as well have come out and said he wanted to buy Ascension simply to prevent his son from doing it. I despised how smug he looked about the whole thing. Pleased with himself.
He glanced at his watch. “We have fifteen minutes before we’re due in the business office. I had the team set up in there.” He tugged at his shirt sleeves, straightening the shirt beneath his jacket. “Marist, I’ve called a car for you. When I return home later, we can replay our game of chess since we didn’t get a chance to finish our last one.”
My mouth dropped open, and in that moment, anything could have come out. Fire. Expletives. A scream. But it all tangled together and clogged my windpipe, preventing a single sound.
It wasn’t until Macalister was gone that my words began working again. I clutched Royce’s arm, squeezing the tuxedo fabric in my fingers. “I don’t know how he figured it out, but I didn’t tell him.”
His voice was cool and indifferent, and it hurt like a fist to the chest. “You sure about that?”
“Yes, Royce. I swear.” I’d told him everything, even the stuff that was hard and made me look awful. “You believe me, right?”
The hesitation in his distant eyes was painful. “Yeah, of course.”
He’d told me he wouldn’t lie when we were alone.
And yet he just had.