The Redemption (Filthy Rich Americans Book 4)

by Nikki Sloane

  This drew a fraction of a real smile across her lips, and I enjoyed seeing it. “He’s better than you, Macalister.”

  “Perhaps,” I begrudgingly admitted. “You didn’t see me at my best last time.”

  “You were too busy giving me those helpful tips.”

  I deserved that. “I will be better tomorrow.” The conversation lulled for a weighty moment. “That’s where you left it with him? He’s not going to acknowledge you’re his daughter?”

  She pressed her lips together. “I have two fathers, yet neither one wants to claim me.”

  Displeasure slid down my back, wrapping around my chest, and intensified with my next thought. “Duncan doesn’t know he’s your half-brother.” It explained why she’d treated him like he was diseased. “Does Kristin know?”

  She stared at me like I was missing something obvious. “Macalister, no one knows. Just the people involved . . . and now you.”

  Normally, I would have relished knowing such a secret, but there wasn’t any satisfaction here. Sophia had become important to me, and my disappointment in Damon was beyond limit.

  “Had I known any of this,” I said, “I wouldn’t have hosted that event.”

  Her gaze ran away guilty. “I know. It’s why I couldn’t tell you.”

  “I wouldn’t have spent a penny on a man who shirks his responsibility and abandons his own daughter. Especially when it’s you, Sophia. I wouldn’t have let him step a foot in my home.”

  Anger swelled, an unstoppable force, as I recalled the callous way he’d treated her once I’d explained she’d been the one to organize the entire event. I had the terrible suspicion she’d done it for him, another attempt to impress the father who refused to acknowledge her.

  I rose abruptly and pulled my phone out of my interior coat pocket. “This is unacceptable.”

  She leapt to her feet, and her warm hands closed around mine, stopping me. “What are you doing?”

  I didn’t want to like how her touch felt, but it happened, regardless. “I’m going to explain to Damon I want this corrected.”

  “You can’t, and also, how? He doesn’t work for HBHC anymore.”

  “He still sits on the board.”

  She said it quietly, as if she were trying to soften the blow. “But you don’t.”

  Frustration curled its irritating fingers in my stomach, twisting. Would I be able to talk Royce into this? Unlikely. My relationship with the board was tenuous at best, and Damon had been my closest ally.

  He’d worried about me learning the truth, and it was why he’d warned me about Sophia. “Duncan says she's famous for spreading lies.”

  She wanted to spread the truth, though.

  Her hand stayed on mine, even as I lowered my phone, and her expression was defeated. “You can’t convince him to do the right thing. Believe me, I tried.”

  “I don’t understand why you have stayed quiet. He doesn’t deserve your silence.”

  Her eyes filled with shame. “No, he doesn’t. That’s why he pays for it.”

  She’d told me once she didn’t need money, and now I understood. I pulled my hands from her grasp and ignored the way she looked bereft. “I see.”

  “Don’t you dare judge me,” her tone was defiant, “for taking the only thing he’s willing to give.”

  I pocketed my phone as I considered her statement. Why shouldn’t she take his hush money? I would do the same, if I were in her position. “You make an excellent point. But have you considered what this will do if it gets out? I seem to recall you said your goal wasn’t to destroy anyone.”

  I don’t know what compelled me to do it, but I stepped closer and placed my hand against her cheek, forcing her gaze upon me. Her breathing went short and shallow, and her pupils dilated.

  “I don’t want to destroy him,” she said. “I gave him plenty of chances to admit the truth. He only loves his picture-perfect family, which doesn’t include me. He wakes up every day and makes the choice that I’m not good enough.”

  I wasn’t any good at tenderness, but I wasn’t in control anymore. I brushed my thumb over her smooth skin and watched her pink lips part, like she was preparing for my impending kiss.

  “You are good enough,” I said. “More than good enough.”

  As soon as the words had left my mouth, she rose and closed whatever space was left between us. Her lush lips pressed sweetly to mine, and her kiss disrupted. It was the first time she’d initiated, and I wasn’t certain I should allow it. I preferred when our power dynamic was clearly defined, and I was the one in charge.

  She did too, didn’t she?

  I groaned as her hands pushed inside my suit coat, sliding over my chest. It was much too enjoyable. Her needy fingers clutched at my shirt, holding me still as she explored my mouth with her tongue. My instinctual reaction was to pull away and correct this behavior before it escalated.

  You are too old to fuck her on your office couch, and you can’t do it properly there, either.

  I eased her back, and her eyes blinked open in surprise, finding my fixed expression. “Thank you for telling me.” Her face froze. She was confused and disappointed, but I ignored it and pushed forward, needing to get her back on track. “I’m glad you enjoyed my gift. You’ll take it home, and you’ll think of me every night while you use it.”

  She swallowed so loudly I heard the click of her throat.

  “Yes?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Excellent.”

  James DuBois was a terrible shot, and I was glad for it. I’d made him partner with Damon, and they were currently in last place. I’d taken Sophia as my partner, and we were well ahead of the rest of the pack.

  “That is quite a sight,” DuBois remarked the first time he’d watched her annihilate both targets within a quarter of a second. He eyed her with admiration and respect, and unwarranted pride filled me. She was my partner.

  Mine.

  As predicted, I’d done better today, but when I missed my second target, Sophia whispered to me under her breath, “Watch your flinch.”

  I nodded, and then turned my gaze across the playing field until it located Damon. There was a small part of me that wished to be ignorant about who her real father was. To a much lesser extent, this impacted my family. I’d expected Vance to ride Damon’s coattails.

  If DuBois’s book came out before the election, it’d put his entire campaign in jeopardy, and the timing wouldn’t leave any room to recover. It’d be more damaging to come out after he’d been elected. The scandal was a huge, dark cloud coming for him.

  It frustrated me immensely that he hadn’t gotten out in front of it. What, exactly, was his plan? Did he assume he’d pay her off until one of them died? I’d thought he was smart. Something this volatile couldn’t exist indefinitely in the shadows. It was going to come out and destroy both his career and his family.

  That was, if I told DuBois and if he published it.

  The rest of our shooting party didn’t concern themselves much with the outsider in our group. The writer was unassuming and friendly, letting everyone else do the talking while he quietly observed, taking stock. He was grateful to let Sophia offer him pointers, and I watched from my seat on the lawn as she pulled the butt of the shotgun firmly against his shoulder.

  Nearby, her true father waited impatiently for her to finish, and for the fiftieth time today, I welled the anger down to stay quiet. I couldn’t be reckless and brash or allow myself to be a slave to my emotions. I could lie in wait as she’d done and strike when the time was right.

  It was hot in the sun today, a perfect July day with little wind and low humidity, but a bead of sweat trickled down the valley of my spine. I was glad when the match ended, so most of my guests would leave, and I could begin working toward my goals with DuBois in earnest, inside the air conditioning of my home.

  “You were right,” Sophia said as she zipped closed her shotgun bag and slipped on a regular pair of sunglasses. “You
were better today.”

  It was surprising that I was more pleased about impressing her than with winning. Although we had done that, and easily. She’d only missed one bird out of the seventy-five rounds she’d shot. She hadn’t been distracted by Damon’s presence, but then again, she’d had twelve years of practice pretending he was little more than a stranger.

  “Good luck,” she said in a hushed voice, lifting her chin toward DuBois. “But you don’t need it.”

  I gave her a confident smile. “No, I don’t.”

  Sophia ushered the rest of the guests toward the line of waiting carts, but I motioned to DuBois, signaling for him to come to me. “Shall I give you the tour?”

  He gave a disarming smile.

  We rode together in a golf cart up the winding path that would lead us to the back of the house.

  “That was some party the other night,” he drawled.

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  “Very much. You must be close friends with Mr. Lynch to put on such a thing.”

  Sophia had told me to use every opportunity to be vulnerable, which I dreaded, but I understood its necessity. Also, I would make an effort to tell the truth, as long as I could put the right spin on it. I’d spent my life trying to achieve excellence, and now I had to show the struggle behind it.

  “Damon and I were close when I was CEO, and he was supportive in the aftermath of my second wife’s death, so, yes. You could say that.”

  DuBois had been looking at the grounds as we traveled along the path, but his gaze turned to me and sharpened. He hadn’t expected me to be quite so forthcoming.

  “Supportive how, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “He understood I’m human and that I’d made a terrible mistake, but that it does not have to define me.” It wasn’t hard to fill my voice with contrition. In the months after I’d come home, I’d learned how to feel things again, and my remorse was genuine. “It’s what I do now that determines what kind of man I truly am.”

  It was why I now hated Damon Lynch. As Sophia had said, he could have corrected his mistake, and chose every day not to.

  “Well,” DuBois gave me a mischievous grin, “you’re a fascinating one, at least. Not what I was expecting, and I’m a generally curious person, but I haven’t quite figured you out yet.”

  “I am private,” I admitted. “My name and fortune make that necessary.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they do.” The cart eased to a stop, and we climbed out. “But to hear people tell it, you’ve changed since you’ve returned to Cape Hill.”

  “Yes.” I gave him a direct look but kept my tone simple. “Losing nearly everything can have that effect.”

  I went up the marble staircase and onto the patio, hearing his footsteps as he followed.

  “I imagine so,” he commented. “If it’s of any consolation, I’ve only heard good things.”

  Inside, I smiled, but I kept my expression fixed. “That is good to know. I have much to atone for, besides my wife’s death.”

  I held open the door to the conservatory for him, but he paused at the threshold, staring up at me with surprise. “Oh?”

  “I suspect I don’t have to tell a man as observant as you that the money and influence in this town can have a powerful effect on its residents. The people here are in a class of their own. Infallible and untouchable, and when accountability is removed, so are their inhibitions.” I did my best to affect a resigned tone. “I thought I was above reproach, and I’ve strived to do better, but this is how the rest of Cape Hill lives.”

  DuBois stepped into the room, likely for no other reason than it was letting the air conditioning out. He scanned the space, which during Alice’s time here had been filled with plants and potted trees, but my housing staff had begun to scale back. It was more living space than greenhouse now.

  “I’ve only been here a few days, but I find it intriguing—the history and culture of this place,” he mused while examining one of the African violets on the windowsill.

  “Intriguing enough to write a book about it?”

  He turned and gave a knowing smile. “Perhaps.”

  The room was flooded with light and all the things we knew but weren’t saying. It was a different kind of negotiation than I typically participated in, but the rules were still the same. We both wanted something from the other, and neither of us needed to walk away from the table unsatisfied.

  “If I were writing a book,” he sounded casual, “would you be interested in being a part of it?”

  I feigned surprise and dismay. “As a subject?”

  He ticked his head, playing up his ‘golly, gee, shucks’ persona. “As a consultant. I’m an outsider. It’d be good to have the point of view from the inside of Cape Hill, and who better than the man who rules over it?”

  I saw through his attempt to flatter but pretended it’d worked. I paused as if considering. “I may be open to the idea.”

  NINETEEN

  SOPHIA

  TEN DAYS IN A ROW OF USING THE VIBRATOR Macalister had given to me, and I worried I was going to burn my clit off. He had a habit of asking me about it right as I delivered his morning coffee, I think in hopes of making me spill. Did he want me to, so he could punish me?

  He hadn’t touched me since I’d confessed the truth.

  But in my nightly fantasies? Oh, yeah. He couldn’t keep his domineering hands off my body. Was he ever going to let that become reality?

  He had given me very little detail on his discussion with DuBois either, other than to say it went well.

  On Friday, there’d been a major dustup with the German branch and government regulations, so he’d gone with Royce to Berlin, and they hadn’t come back until late the following Thursday.

  Which meant I wouldn’t see him until the premiere at the opera house tonight. At least, not in person. I’d still been texting him pictures for approval, and his second day in Germany I’d asked for a picture in return. I didn’t get to see him in the office, after all.

  The picture came back five minutes later. It looked like he was standing in the lobby bathroom of an upscale hotel, wearing his steely blue suit with a gold and blue striped tie. The picture was slightly off center, and he was caught staring at the screen of his phone, a look of concentration on his face.

  I laughed. Was this the first bathroom selfie he’d ever taken? I imagined him standing awkwardly in front of the mirror, fumbling with his phone and being unhappy with the results. Had he taken several, and this was the best of the bunch? It was classic dad, but it didn’t matter. His sheer hotness made up for it.

  Macalister: I wore this for you.

  Me: I approve.

  God, did I approve.

  He sent me pictures every day after that.

  It made me bold. Plus, I hadn’t seen him in a week, and ten days of orgasms while thinking about him had me conditioned. A Pavlovian response to drool at the thought of him.

  This morning as I dressed for work, I’d put on a pair of white panties that were so thin and sheer, I looked naked—other than the white lace detail at the edges. I stood in front of my full-length mirror in the black dress he’d given me, one hand lifting the hem of my skirt and flashing him. The faintest cleft was visible between my thighs.

  Me: I wore this for you.

  Three dots appeared, then disappeared.

  They blinked again, longer this time, before vanishing, and I grinned. My racy picture had put the great Macalister Hale at a loss for words. It came a few minutes later.

  Macalister: I approve.

  It was followed by an image of him lying shirtless on his back in his bed, his hair askew, and the shadow of his arm across his chest as he held the phone out overhead. It was so he could get Lucifer in the frame. The black cat was asleep, under Macalister’s arm and snuggled to his chest.

  Macalister: I had no choice in wearing this.

  I laughed but also my brain fried, wires crossing and shorting out, throwing off sparks. He was gorgeo
us, as was the cat, and the two of them together was overload.

  Me: He missed you.

  There was staff at the Hale house that took care of Lucifer, but the cat had made it clear to whom he thought he belonged to, now that Macalister had warmed up to his pet. I understood how the cat felt. I’d gotten Macalister to like me when he hadn’t wanted to, and now . . . I belonged to him.

  Me: I missed you too.

  As soon as I sent the message, I wished for it back. We had such a strange relationship, where him giving me a vibrator and making me come on his desk was safer than me admitting feelings for him. I didn’t know if he was interested in me in any capacity outside of sex. We were attracted to each other and both enjoyed him having control, but where did our boundaries stop?

  We couldn’t date. For one thing, he already had a girlfriend, as far as Cape Hill knew. Evangeline would be accompanying her ‘boyfriend’ in the box seats this evening, and I’d be watching from my seat down on the floor.

  Another issue was our dramatic age difference. People would assume I was a gold-digger determined to get her claws in him, and he was only after me as a hot piece of ass. And perhaps that was true, that he was only interested because I was some pretty young thing who’d sucked his cock and did what he told me to . . . but it didn’t feel true.

  Macalister and I had a lot in common. He knew more about me than anyone else in the world.

  And he’d told me I was more than enough.

  Those damned dots blinked and disappeared. Once again, he was having difficulty composing a response. I started to write a follow-up to downplay it, but the dots returned, cycling through until his message was delivered.

  Macalister: I am surprised. Your aim is usually impeccable.

  I slowed and stared dubiously at the screen. Was this why he’d hesitated? So he could make a joke? I furiously punched my thumbs on the screen, tapping out my question, but before I could send it, his next message rolled through.