by Nikki Sloane
Sophia was detached, like her voice was no longer contained in her body. “Why even ask? It’s done, and it’s clear you don’t give a damn about me. You did what was best for you.” Venom coated each word. “I hope you’re happy.”
This time when the line went silent, I didn’t need to look to see if we were still connected. She’d hung up on me.
My eyes burned from the lack of sleep.
All the calls I made went straight to voicemail, and the text messages unread. After an hour of failed attempts at communication, I considered driving over, but it was the middle of the night.
She was upset. It would be better to give her time to calm down, I told myself. I climbed into bed with the disgruntled cat, who spent five minutes heckling me with angry meows, and the next fifteen rubbing his cheeks against my fingers. I wished for sleep to come, and when it didn’t, I crafted a course of action.
It wasn’t surprising when my phone stayed silent in the morning. There were no pictures for me to approve. Whatever she put on today, she wasn’t wearing it for me. So, I dressed in one of my favorite bespoke suits, a dark gray one paired with a simple black tie, stood before the mirror in my closet, and took a picture to text to her.
Me: I wore this for you.
It had been lonely in the car all week riding to the office without her. There was only silence instead of her laughing at the asinine things she’d read on her phone, which she often insisted on repeating to me. I didn’t feel her gaze sliding appreciatively down my body when she thought I wasn’t looking, which always stroked my ego.
And it no longer smelled like an apple orchard in the car.
When I came down the hallway after my morning meeting, I discovered a stranger sitting at Sophia’s desk, and my eyes narrowed to slits. “Who the hell are you?”
The woman reminded me of frightened mouse, stammering out her words. “Uh, I’m Rosa. They said you needed a new assistant, so I’m here until you hire someone. Talent Solutions sent me over.”
Irritation filled me, but my exterior remained calm and aloof. “No.”
She blinked her confusion. “No?”
“I have no need for a temp. My assistant will be back tomorrow.”
Rosa had no idea what to do. She glanced around the office as if looking for help. “They said your assistant quit.”
“Excuse me?” I froze.
Once again, she glanced around like she wished someone would swoop in and save her. “The woman who placed me, she said your assistant called this morning and quit.”
Displeasure heated the marrow of my bones, some of it self-directed. I’d underestimated the level of anger Sophia held toward me.
“I see. Forward my calls to my cell,” I said. “And reschedule today’s meetings. I’ll be out the rest of the day.”
I’d planned to do this later, but she had forced my hand.
In sharp contrast to mine, the Alby home was only a decade old, even though the family helped found Cape Hill more than two centuries ago. As Stephen Alby’s business had grown, so had his assets, and they’d upgraded to this rambling mess of a house. It had a turret and two separate entrances, leaving my driver guessing which one to pull up in front of.
He chose correctly, and a housekeeper asked me to wait in the living room as she checked to see if Sophia was taking visitors.
I perused picture frames on the bookcase, the Alby family in various locations across the globe, and my gaze landed on the one in London with Tower Bridge in the background. Sophia looked so much younger that this had to have been taken during the Olympics. Her smile was bright and wide as she stood beside her mother. Stephen stood on the other side of Colette, and I noted the pattern in the pictures.
It was as if Stephen refused to be near Sophia.
I didn’t have time to dwell on the uncomfortable idea.
“Mr. Hale? She’ll see you. Follow me, please.”
Sophia’s bedroom looked exactly as it had in the video last night, with one major exception. The window seat was bare, and the stunning orchids I’d given her were nowhere to be seen.
She sat upright on her bed, above the covers and pillows stacked behind her back, wearing jeans and a Columbia University zip-up sweatshirt. Her hair was back in a ponytail, and if she was wearing makeup, it was a minimal amount. While I preferred how she looked when she was done up and in a dress, her casual appearance still made my pulse quicken.
Her gaze narrowed as she spied me lurking in her doorway. She didn’t ask me to come in, but when she turned off the television she was watching and gave me her full attention, it was enough of an invitation to propel me into her room and shut the door.
“I understand you’re upset, but I will not allow you to quit.”
She smirked, and if we were in any other situation, I would have found it incredibly appealing. “You honestly think you still get to tell me what to do?”
“There’s another woman sitting at your desk. Your point has been made.”
“My point?” She let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re a businessman, aren’t you? I’m out. We had a deal, and you broke it.”
“I altered it,” I corrected. “Your goal was for me to put the spotlight on Damon, and I will uphold that. But we’ll use my method and timetable.”
Outrage dripped from her words. “And you just decided that without me.”
My gaze moved off her and out the window to the shore in the distance. “I’d like to point out that you’ve made decisions without my knowledge.”
“Are you fucking kidding?” Frustration clouded her expression. “I signed you up for a bachelor auction.”
I turned and gave her a hard look. “You believed you knew what was best for me, and I feel the same about this.”
“Except the decision I made for you could be undone. The one you made? It can’t.” She sneered. “Natasha said it’s already with the printer.”
I frowned and approached her bedside, causing her eyes to widen, and I didn’t enjoy how she shirked back into the pillows. It reminded me of the retreat she’d made in my kitchen the first time I’d attempted to kiss her.
I softened my tone. “Don’t misunderstand. This was not easy for me, and I did not make this decision lightly. I’m aware I should have told you sooner.”
She looked dubious. “Was . . . that supposed to be an apology?”
I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. I’d plotted this conversation in my head on the drive over, and I’d veered off course the moment I’d stepped inside the room. “Yes.” I pushed the words out. “I am sorry.”
“You didn’t tell me because you worried if I found out, I’d go directly to DuBois.”
“Yes,” I admitted.
I’d done what was necessary to ensure the outcome I wanted, but the amount of shame I felt about it was surprising. I’d known the moment she’d named Damon I couldn’t reveal him. Not only for the damage it could cause me, my family, and my company, but because her strike against him needed to be tactical. Surgical.
“I have a plan,” I said.
“Yeah? So did I.”
I ignored her statement and reached inside my suit, withdrawing the folded piece of paper, and handed it to her. She unfolded the check, and there was no reaction as she stared at the seven figures. We’d agreed on five million, less the one hundred thousand for her salary, and although I hadn’t read the book yet, I trusted her review that my name was safe.
She lifted her gaze defiantly to mine. “Fuck your plan and fuck your money.”
The world slowed as she lifted the check and tore it cleanly in two. It was a staggering display of power, and my mouth fell open. Like no amount would satisfy her now, because she was beyond numbers. I was a fool not to realize Sophia was priceless.
“I gave you everything,” she said, putting the two halves of the check together. “My body,” she ripped them apart and stacked the pieces once more, “and my secrets.” Eve
ry rip she made tore through me mentally. “And what did you give me in return?”
She tossed the ruined check at my face, and the torn scraps fluttered as they fell, five million dollars’ worth of confetti to celebrate my betrayal.
“You kept this enormous secret from me. I told you I never wanted to be in the dark again, and you kept me there.”
The impact of it all was so brutal, it knocked me back a step, but the words came instantly. “I’m sorry.” My shoulders lifted as I took in a deep breath. “I will make it right.”
“Your money can’t solve this.” To prove her point, she swiped a hand across her bedspread, casting off the torn pieces of my check that had landed there.
“No, but I have a plan, and if you would be reasonable for a moment—”
“I don’t care, and I don’t need you, Macalister.”
Something inside me snapped at hearing she had no use for me, like she hadn’t said she loved me or our time together was meaningless. It broke the leash on my urge to control.
“Don’t be foolish,” I warned. “If you go after Damon now, it could ruin you. People won’t see you as the victim. They’ll say he didn’t know.” She was young, but she knew how the world worked. “They’ll spin you as the girl hellbent on destroying the career of a good man who made an unfortunate mistake a long, long time ago. Depending on how his people get him to respond, he could come out the other side looking even better.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head, not wanting to hear it.
“Have you considered that?” I demanded. “Because I have. Don’t let him beat you at your own game.”
It punched a cruel laugh from her, which made her wince. “Everything’s a game to you. Even me.” Her eyes watered with bitter tears. “You couldn’t get Marist to fall in love with you, so you tried with me instead.”
Her accusation cut me in half. In the beginning, there may have been a sliver of truth to what she was saying, but now? I slipped my fingers across her cheek, cupping the side of her face. “Sophia, no.”
She jerked away, gasping with pain from the sudden movement. “I didn’t give you permission to touch me.”
The dominant side of my personality was demanding I get control of this situation. My touch was a weapon against her, and I should use it. But instead, I withdrew, trying to respect her wishes, and stared at the scraps of paper littered around my feet.
“So, you got me to fall in love with you,” she said, “but I wouldn’t pat yourself on the back. Because now?”
Fire invaded her expression as she uttered the same sentence every woman I’d ever loved had said.
“I hate you.”
Her statement flared through my mind, awakening a sleeping giant.
It spurred the armies inside to pick up their weapons and prepare for battle. This was a challenge she’d issued, and I would fucking rise to meet it.
I had stumbled greatly, but I was prepared to do everything to gain her trust back and give her what she desired.
“You don’t hate me,” I said. “I won’t allow it.”
“Oh, my God, get out.” She scowled. “I don’t want to see you again.”
I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep them from balling into fists at her order. “If that’s what you need right now, I’ll leave, but this isn’t over.” I gave her the full force of my intensity to let her understand how serious I was. “I want you. I’m no longer afraid to admit I want you in every way. And once I’ve corrected my mistake . . . I will have you.”
Fear hinted at the edges of her face, and I was sure I wasn’t the cause. It was worry that she might want the very same thing.
She tried to sound strong, but it was more of a plea. “Get out.”
I took in a deep breath, turned, and walked out her door, ready to get to work.
The same housekeeper was waiting for me in the foyer when I tried to leave.
“Mr. Hale, if you have a moment, Stephen would like a word. He’s in his study.”
It was likely Mrs. Alby had cut their vacation short because of Sophia’s accident, which meant Stephen was now at home. I followed the woman down the hall and into a room that looked more library than home office, although he was seated behind the desk with his laptop.
At my entrance, he rose from his chair and moved toward me, his hand extended. “Macalister.”
I took his offered handshake. “Stephen.”
“My wife and I want to thank you for what you did for Sophia. I doubt there’s anything Colette or I can do to ever repay you for saving her life, but if—”
“There is,” I interrupted. “I need you to pull five million dollars’ worth of my HBHC stock and place it in a trust.”
He drew his shoulders back with surprise. His eyes were narrow set and his nose long, and I wondered how I never noticed how different he looked from Sophia. He wasn’t an ugly man, but he could not compete with Damon Lynch’s looks. That had to have been some factor in Colette’s night of weakness twenty-six years ago.
I tried not to speculate. No one could truly understand a marriage unless they were inside it.
“Sure,” he said, although he sounded anything but. “And who is the trust for?”
“Sophia.”
I watched a range of emotions float through him. Surprise. Skepticism. Then, distrust. He was an intelligent man, and he wondered what reason I would have to give her such a large amount of money. My mind would have followed the same route if the roles were reversed.
His expression clouded over. “May I ask you a question, man to man?”
“You may.”
“Have you slept with my daughter?”
At first, I respected his assertiveness. I was his biggest client, and this was a tough question to ask, likely to upset me. I appreciated people with backbone, and although she didn’t have his genes, some of Sophia’s fight undoubtably came from him.
But I worried he wasn’t asking as a father who wanted to protect her honor. He was asking because he wanted to exploit me.
“No,” I answered.
When faint disappointment materialized in his expression, it confirmed my suspicions. He’d be pleased if she traded the Alby name in for Hale.
“As I understand it,” I continued, “she’s not your daughter.”
His eyes went so wide, they were impossibly white, and he gasped. “She told you?”
“I respect how you did not abandon her or her mother at such a difficult time, when a lesser man would have. That says a lot about your character.”
He reeled with this information, not sure where to look or what to say.
“However,” I darkened my tone, “so does the way you treated Sophia once you knew the truth. You’re a fool. You let your hurt and your selfishness blind you from seeing what an incredible woman she became. I would have been proud to call her my daughter.”
Stephen blinked, and his defenses went up. His eyes went down to slits. “Glass houses, Macalister,” he snapped. “I don’t think you should be commenting on what makes a good parent. Your sons barely speak to you.”
He had a point, but I wouldn’t concede it. “Let me know when the trust is set up.”
I walked swiftly to the front door, and as I came down the steps, I pulled my phone from my pocket. I dialed the desk phone of my temporary assistant, hoping I hadn’t scared her off.
“Macalister Hale’s office, this is Rosa speaking,” she answered.
“Go find Marist Hale in benefits and compensation. I’ll be back in the office in forty-five minutes, and I want her waiting in my office when I arrive.”
Saturday morning, I had just stepped out of the shower when there was a knock on my bedroom door. I wrapped a towel around my waist and moved swiftly toward it. “Yes?”
“It’s Royce,” came from behind it.
When I pulled the door open, his startled gaze took in my bare chest and damp hair, and he glanced at the screen of his
phone. “Cutting it a bit close, aren’t you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The family portrait you insisted we do. The photographer should be here any minute.”
I paused. “That’s today?”
“Yeah. Vance and Marist are downstairs.”
I scowled. Sophia had set this up and likely put it on the social calendar, not the office one, and I’d forgotten to check it. Rosa had only been working for me a day and a half and wasn’t yet up to speed.
“You didn’t know?” Royce asked.
“Sophia and I are having some communication issues at the moment,” I said, leaving the door open as I headed for my closet.
“Marist told me.” He sounded smug. “That’s what you get for dipping your pen in the company ink.”
“Watch it,” I growled. “It wasn’t like that.” I needed to correct myself, because as far as I was concerned, we weren’t over. “It isn’t like that.”
I pulled on underwear and a pair of suit pants before sticking my head out to glare at him, only to find him smiling.
“What?” I demanded.
“This is great.” He pointed his finger to me, then him, then back again. “You fucking up and me getting to play the role of judgmental asshole. It’s way more fun from this side.”
I sighed, too tired to spar with him, and Stephen Alby’s words rang in my ears. Royce was being a jerk, but at least he was talking to me. I moved to the bathroom to finish getting ready, and he stood in the doorway watching me.
“I came up here,” he said, “to see what your plans were after this thing is over. I’ve got something to discuss with you.”
I pulled up my calendar on my phone, which I should have done earlier, and scanned it. “This is all I have on my schedule for the day. What is it?” He gave me a cryptic look, which I found irritating. “Is it bad?”
“That depends on you.” He straightened. “I’ll see you down there.”
As soon as he was gone, I opened Instagram to see if Sophia had posted anything new, but something was wrong. Her account suddenly had no posts. Surely, she hadn’t deleted her account.
