The Redemption (Filthy Rich Americans Book 4)

by Nikki Sloane

  Well, I did not.

  She was challenging, but I enjoyed a challenge.

  I scowled at myself as I dropped my phone on the charger and tried not to stumble on tired legs as I pushed toward my shower. The goal was to get it hot, but not hot enough that it’d put me to sleep. I’d rested on the shower bench and woken to freezing water running on me more times than I cared to admit.

  Was Sophia seeing someone? There was no evidence of a man in her life on her feed.

  I pressed my fingers to the center of my forehead like I could push the question away. All these inappropriate thoughts about her had to stop. They were merely the product of a curious mind weak with exhaustion.

  She was helping me restore my reputation, and any kind of relationship, especially a sexual one, would be counterproductive. The last thing I needed right now was to pursue another woman drastically younger than I was. I should be focused on Evangeline, not Sophia. No matter how tempting the girl and her dazzling smile were.

  You can’t have her.

  That, unfortunately, only made me want her more.

  As I’d instructed, Sophia wore the blue dress.

  When she strolled into the meeting carrying a tray of coffee cups and leaned over to set it on the center of the table, Mr. Parsons lost all sense of subtlety. His gaze washed down the length of her body and lingered on the sculpture of her legs.

  A territorial urge, not unlike jealousy, flickered inside me.

  It was unsettling. The whole point of her wearing that dress was to make the men look. Why was I now displeased that they had?

  Her attempt to ignore me was valiant, but as the day dragged on, I decided I wouldn’t allow it. After the meeting concluded, I found reasons to call her into my office. As my assistant, she’d been given the desk just outside my door, and she appeared aggravated each time I’d summoned her.

  Did she understand we were playing a game? And if she had, did she realize how terribly unbalanced her forces were in comparison to mine? She was playing against a master. I’d gravely underestimated her talent when we’d shot our round of skeet, and I was eagerly anticipating the moment when our roles would reverse.

  I was seated behind my desk, and my tone was unassuming. “That dress looks even better in person.”

  Sophia paused awkwardly at my unexpected compliment. “Thank you.”

  She resumed the menial task I’d assigned her of filling my office with the items that had been stored while I was away. She arranged a collection of awards I’d received during my tenure as CEO on the bookshelf, wiping away her fingerprints from the glass when she had the arrangement as she wanted it.

  “You liked my Instagram post from yesterday.”

  My pulse went out of rhythm, then settled back into its steady tempo. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  There was a myriad of truthful reasons I could have given her, but I went with a lie. “It was a successful meeting with Mrs. Gabbard.”

  The way she held my gaze announced she did not believe me.

  Or . . . perhaps it was something else? She angled her head as if contemplating. “What are you planning to wear tonight?”

  I lifted an eyebrow before dropping my gaze to the black, three-piece cashmere suit I wore.

  She frowned and abandoned her task, moving toward me. “Stand up.”

  Her order caused me to tick my jaw, but I found myself rising from my seat. Was there something wrong with the fit? I’d lost some weight and muscle tone during my time away but had been working diligently to get it back. “This is one of my finest suits.”

  Sophia held one arm across her stomach and used it to support her other elbow, resting her fingertips against her lips as she studied me critically. I didn’t retreat when she reached out and tugged at the knot of my tie, but my body went on alert. As I did last night, I wrapped my hand around her wrist and pulled it away, holding it aside.

  “I didn’t give you permission to touch me.”

  Her crystal blue eyes flooded with surprise at my abrupt action and curt tone, but like me, she didn’t retreat. Both our gazes slid to my fingers trapping her wrist, and her voice wavered. “You didn’t ask permission to touch me last night.”

  That was easily justified.

  “I didn’t need to because I already had it.” A smug smile warmed my lips. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  Her pink lips parted as she sipped in air. It forced me to consider kissing her again. I wanted to examine if her mouth would be as soft and inviting as it had been last night, and if she’d sigh the same way when I slicked my tongue across hers.

  She didn’t deny what I’d challenged her with. All she did was lower her hand to her side, dragging mine down along with hers since I couldn’t seem to pry my fingers loose of her. She stood in perfect submission, allowing me to touch her, and as I watched the bob of her throat in a thick swallow, the desire to kiss her exploded inside me.

  This . . . was not part of the plan.

  Who exactly was holding the power between us now? I jerked my hand away, finally free of her strange witchcraft.

  She blinked rapidly, as if bringing herself out of a trance. “Lose the tie and the vest.”

  I grimaced. “You seem to be operating under the mistaken impression you can tell me what to do.”

  Fire blossomed in her eyes. “Did you tell me how to dress today?” She shifted her weight to one side and put a hand on her hip, flaunting her sexy figure. “I wore this for you,” she said, “so you’ll do this for me.”

  War broke out in my mind, the two sides battling over her statement. Irritation took offense to her order, but on the other side of the battlefield, excitement was very pleased at her phrasing.

  I wore this for you.

  Logic became the mediator. I was no longer an expert in what women wanted, so listening to her advice was the sensible thing to do. I kept my gaze locked on her as I grabbed the neck of my tie and slipped the knot free, unthreading the silk from my collar. The patterned tie was discarded on my desktop.

  My jacket had to be removed before the vest, and as I tugged one sleeve of it off, the atmosphere in my office began to turn. I wasn’t taking off anything of substance, but it didn’t lessen the impact. The fact remained I was stripping off clothes under her direction and watchful gaze.

  I hung the coat on the back of my office chair, plucking away an errant silver strand of my hair that had been shed on one of the shoulders.

  Sophia’s pupils dilated. Her cheeks flushed pink, and her chest rose and fell quickly while I undid the buttons of my vest and took it off. She felt the same dark, sexual energy I did. It charged the air like an impending storm. All the conditions aligned to cause lightning.

  I folded the vest and set it beside my tie on the desk. When I reached for the jacket—

  “Open the top few buttons of your shirt.”

  She said it in a rush, perhaps hoping I wouldn’t pick up on the excitement lacing her words. It was flattering and enjoyable that I had this effect. Her eyes fervently followed my fingers as I undid my collar, then released the button below it.

  I didn’t want my question to be solely about my shirt, and I loaded the word with seduction. “More?”

  Her chest halted as she held her breath tight in her body. Oh, yes. She wanted more.

  It took her a century to answer. “Uh, put the jacket back on.”

  I did.

  A three-piece suit wasn’t standard for me—some days I’d forgo a vest. But I believed every suit required a tie. This state of underdress left me feeling exposed and my armor incomplete. Yet Sophia gazed at me as if the years separating us and my past did not matter. She forgot where we were and succumbed to the emotion channeling through her for one brief moment.

  Pure lust.

  It coated her expression and heated her eyes, causing me to answer in kind.

  I’m wearing this for you, I hoped my expression read.

  “Good,” she breathed. “You look good like that.”r />
  “Thank you.”

  She nodded, turned back toward the shelves she’d been arranging, and promptly ran into the end of the couch. Embarrassment held her shoulders tight to her ears, but she didn’t glance back to see if I’d noticed. She was wise enough to know I had.

  It was disappointing she wasn’t treated to my victorious smile, but I let it go, knowing this wouldn’t be her only opportunity to see it.

  Marquee was a modern fine dining experience. The space was minimalist, and there was no color palate by design. The room and tables were white and the chairs black. Only the fresh flowers in the centerpieces gave the eye some relief from the restaurant’s starkness.

  The food was the focus here, as it should be. The head chef had received rave reviews in The Boston Globe and Bon Appétit, plus a James Beard Award. I stood in the sleek waiting area in front of the host’s station and perused the accolades framed on the wall while I waited for my date’s arrival.

  Heels tapped out a hesitant pattern as they approached. “Mr. Hale?”

  Evangeline Gabbard was a pretty brunette. She wore a long-sleeved black lace dress, nude colored heels, and deep red lipstick. Anxiety wove through her eyes, but I didn’t yet know if the cause were the evening, or the man she was about to dine with. Perhaps it was a mixture of both.

  “Macalister,” I announced, doing my best not to sound cold.

  “Evangeline.” She took the handshake I offered and flashed a shy smile. “Sorry for the clammy hands. I’m a little nervous.”

  “There’s no need to be,” I scoffed.

  Her fixed smile tried to mask the uncomfortable reaction she wanted to have, and my heartrate stumbled. The very first words out of my mouth had already been a misstep. I needed to correct.

  I forced a light tone. “I am nervous enough for both of us.”

  She blinked her surprise and laughed softly. My lie had put her at ease.

  There was no spark in our handshake. It was professional, ordinary, and forgettable. I gestured to the host we were ready to be seated.

  “Please follow me,” the man said.

  We wound through the dining area to a table near the center. Was this luck, or had Sophia requested this one specifically for maximum visibility? I pulled out Evangeline’s chair, and once she was seated, I took the one across the wide table from her.

  When she set her clutch on the table, I noted the wedding ring still decorating her left hand. She should have left that at home, because it made it harder to sell this as a date.

  “The wine list, sir,” the man said, handing me a leather-bound book. “Terrance is our director of wine and can make some excellent recommendations if you’re interested.”

  I took it from him only to speed along his departure.

  “Would you like some?” I asked her.

  “Yes, please.” She couldn’t have sounded more grateful if she’d tried, like she was desperate for the alcohol to take the edge off. “Which do you prefer?” she asked. “Red or white?”

  I held the book out for her. “Get whatever you’d like. I don’t drink.”

  Her eyes widened, and her gaze went to the cover of the wine list as she took it from me. “Oh, you don’t?”

  She peered across the table like something was wrong with me, and irritation heated my blood. When I told people I didn’t drink, they made incorrect assumptions. I didn’t struggle with addiction—this was merely a choice I’d made years ago. The unasked question lurked in her eyes and it forced me to answer.

  “I don’t care for how it affects me.”

  Control was essential, and that was hard to maintain when I was inebriated.

  She bit down on her bottom lip, unsure. “Would it bother you if I—”

  “No,” I answered easily. “I meant what I said. Order whatever you’d like.”

  Relief coasted through her, and I wanted to grimace. Was I that intolerable? Sophia hadn’t needed a drop of alcohol to survive dinner with me earlier in the week.

  As Evangeline leafed through the wine list, my gaze drifted around the room. The restaurant wasn’t large, but it was fully booked, and there were a few faces I recognized. Those I didn’t clearly recognized me. I’d felt the shift in the room as I’d entered.

  A woman near the back of the restaurant pretended to be texting someone, but the awkward angle she held her phone told me she was taking a picture.

  Excellent.

  Once our orders had been taken, Evangeline looked to me to begin the conversation.

  “I appreciate your willingness to meet with me,” I started, “especially under such unorthodox circumstances. I don’t usually send an assistant to arrange these kinds of things.”

  She picked up her water goblet and took a drink as she contemplated what I’d said. “Honestly, if you’d asked me, I’d have said no. It’s nothing personal.” She set her glass down, and her fingers lingered on the stem as she worked up the courage to say what she meant. “Okay, it would have been a little personal.”

  I went still.

  “I always found you intimidating,” she admitted. “But Sophia came to me with your offer, and I was getting pretty desperate.”

  Beneath the table, my fist clenched at the idea of this woman only agreeing to dinner out of desperation. Last time I checked, I was Macalister fucking Hale. I could buy this restaurant and everyone in it twice over, and that wouldn’t even touch my credit limit.

  My anger leashed my tongue, and that gave her time to continue speaking. She crossed her arms, leaned forward on the table, and her expression flooded with emotion.

  “I can’t tell you how much your help means to me. My husband’s foundation is everything.” Her voice was quiet and somber. “It’s all I have left of his legacy.”

  “My offer,” I repeated.

  Trepidation pricked up my spine. I’d been careless. In my distraction with Sophia, I hadn’t gotten clarification on what exactly had been discussed during her lunch meeting with Evangeline. Sophia had mentioned there were finance issues, so I had assumed money. But judging by the emotion painting Evangeline’s face, either I’d agreed to give up a lot of money . . .

  Or something far more valuable.

  “After John passed,” she said, “I didn’t have the strength to pay attention. Some people tried to help out, and I’d like to think they had good intentions, but the foundation is a mess. It’s been mismanaged to the brink of collapse.”

  “You need me to look at your books.”

  I’d said it as a statement, but she mistook it for a question. “Oh, good heavens, no. Your slot in the auction is more than enough help. I’m not going to bother you for anything else.”

  Dread wormed through my system, but I wouldn’t allow it to show. “I’m afraid you’ll have to elaborate. Sophia failed to mention anything to me about an auction.”

  Evangeline froze, panic swamping her expression. “She didn’t?”

  I disliked having to repeat myself, especially when it was clear I’d been heard.

  It took her a moment to compose her thoughts. “Well, every year, the Gabbard Foundation hosts a fundraiser over Memorial Day weekend. It’s our biggest drive, where we take in eighty percent of our annual donations.”

  “I’ve been in the past,” I said. “You host it at the marina clubhouse.”

  “Yes. Last year, we tried something new, and it was a huge success.” She picked up her glass of wine and took a sip, as if gathering courage, and it made my blood pressure rise.

  I was impatient and frustrated with the delay. “An auction.”

  “A bachelor auction.”

  SEVEN

  MACALISTER

  A SWARM OF ANGRY BEES FILLED MY HEAD, making thoughts difficult, and my tone reflected it. “And Sophia volunteered my son Vance for it?”

  I already knew this was not the case. Evangeline had said your slot in the auction, but I couldn’t wrap my head around the ludicrous concept.

  “No,” she said, the panic in her voice no
w matching the emotion on her face. “She said you would be willing to participate. Is that not true? It’s one dinner, just for fun, and for a good cause.”

  Fury corded in my body, twisting until I was rigid. I couldn’t fathom why Sophia had put me in this position, and I hated the words as I had to say them. “I don’t believe many women will be interested in paying for the privilege of an evening with me.”

  Putting myself up for auction was degrading enough, but I would not tolerate the embarrassment if no one were to bid. I’d be pitted against much younger men, none of whom had my notorious past, and my competitive nature was screaming this was a game I shouldn’t play.

  How could I possibly win?

  The brunette across the table delivered an awkward look, and although it seemed impossible, my uneasiness found a new low to sink to.

  “There’s more?” I snapped.

  “We talked about that. Sophia said instead of an evening, you’d make it an experience.” She pasted on a smile like a broker trying to upsell me an unnecessary product. “Your dinner will be during the Food and Wine Classic in Aspen. The winning bidder gets an all-expense paid trip included.”

  I wasn’t sure if I was going to fire Sophia or offer her a raise.

  And I needed to find out if she played chess, because the woman had a head for strategy. Offering the dinner as a packaged trip not only ensured I’d land bids and avoid embarrassment, but it announced my plans to attend the festival, and word of it should travel to DuBois.

  But Sophia had made this decision without my consent or approval, and my lack of knowledge about it left me looking foolish. I chewed out the words. “My assistant needs to work on her communication skills.”

  “Are you backing out?” Evangeline abruptly looked like she was going to cry, and alarms blared inside me. Making a woman cry during my first public evening out would be disastrous. Worse than if I’d just stayed isolated at home.

  “No,” I answered quickly.

  She was too distraught to hear it. “Because we’ve had such a hard time finding volunteers this year, and when Sophia came to me with your offer . . .” She gazed at me with watery eyes, and there was pureness behind them I couldn’t ignore. “You could singlehandedly save us.”