The Deception (Filthy Rich Americans Book 3)

by Nikki Sloane

  “Can I get you anything, Mrs. Hale? Coffee, or a soft drink, or water?” the woman asked, pulling out the chair at the end of the table.

  It took a moment to realize she was talking to me. “No, thank you.”

  I lowered into the seat and set my gaze on the people at the other end. Typically, facing an entire legal team staring at you would make you want to sweat, but rather than look intimidating, they looked . . . excited? I glanced sideways at my lawyer, but he looked just as perplexed.

  The woman set a leather portfolio in front of me and a fancy black fountain pen beside it. It felt like I’d been shoved onstage during a play and had no idea what role I was playing or lines I was supposed to say.

  I opened the portfolio and stared at the dense text in front of me. Royce had been vague about what I needed to do, but there’d been so much with the prenup, the merging of assets, and my name change, I’d expected today to be about one of those things.

  But the document before me was a transfer of ownership. I slid it over to my lawyer.

  “Uh,” I said, “can you explain what we’re looking at?”

  “I’d be happy to,” said one of the older gentlemen across the room who wore a silver patterned tie. “Your husband has initiated a transfer of one of his corporations. He has elected you as the chairman of its board. This is RMH Industries, which holds assets of approximately twelve million shares in Ascension.”

  Everything ceased working inside me—my mind, my heart, my lungs.

  My voice was a ghost. “I’m sorry, what? Did you say twelve million?”

  He grinned. “I did.”

  I swallowed thickly. “What’s Ascension trading at?”

  One of the partners seated to my right had his phone out on the table, probably in anticipation of this question. “Fifty-four dollars and twenty cents.”

  I couldn’t imagine what I looked like to them. A pale faced twenty-two-year-old girl who was so shocked, her usually intelligent math brain wasn’t working properly. How much money was that?

  The silver tie man took pity on me. “The assets are valued at approximately six hundred fifty million dollars. RMH Industries has a four percent controlling interest in Ascension.”

  My lawyer made a sound like he’d been kicked in the chest.

  When presented with that much money, it triggered my fight or flight defense, and my desire was to bolt screaming for the door. It was more than half a billion dollars.

  “Oh, dear,” the woman said, who hovered to my right. “How about some water?”

  She didn’t wait for me to respond, not that I could. I sat stupefied while a tall, slender glass appeared next to the portfolio and ice water from a pitcher was poured inside. I had no idea if I was thirsty, but the water was there now, and it was an action I understood. I took the glass and drank while everyone studied me.

  I set the glass down, leaving my hand wrapped around it, staring vacantly at the polished tabletop. “I don’t understand.”

  “RMH Industries doesn’t manufacture anything. The business is set up solely to hold the assets. Doing it this way prevents you from incurring an enormous gift tax.”

  “No, I meant I don’t understand why he did this.” I wanted to know what the condition was. Nobody just fucking gave someone a half a billion dollars without expecting something in return.

  The man brightened. “Oh, I see. This is a wedding gift from your husband. Mr. Hale had us organize the paperwork so the deal could be executed once you were married and your name had been legally changed.”

  Meaning Royce hadn’t done this incredibly insane thing to try to get back in my good graces . . . he’d set it up weeks or months ago.

  “I imagine,” the man continued, “this is quite a happy shock.”

  “Yes,” I breathed.

  “We’re here to help, and we’ll take as much time as you need to go through everything.”

  It was a conditioned response and I didn’t know what else to say. “Thank you.”

  The rest of the afternoon was spent in the conference room. I was still in shock and absorbed only fifty percent of everything they said, but when the time came and with my attorney’s blessing, I picked up the pen and began to sign in the places they told me to, across from the signature my husband had already scrawled on the pages.

  The first time I signed, I started to use my maiden name and had to adjust it. I wasn’t a Northcott, I was a filthy rich Hale now.

  I didn’t remember the drive home. I blinked, and then I was sitting on the bench beneath the fountain at the center of the hedge maze. When I’d moved into the house, this had been my favorite spot. I could still remember the way the fireflies had winked among the hedges when Royce had gotten down on one knee and asked me to be his wife.

  I was determined not to let Macalister take my love of this place away. He’d already taken so much.

  You have enough money now you can build your own maze.

  It was true. As chairman of the board of RMH Industries, which had exactly one member, I could vote to pay myself whatever salary I wanted.

  Royce emerged from the hedges, his gray suit coat off and hung over an arm and his navy tie askew. He scanned his surroundings, and when he saw me, I stood. It allowed him to look at me in my plum colored sleeveless dress and nude heels.

  His gaze was magnetic. It sucked me in, drugging me as he tried to extract all my secrets.

  It was clear he expected me to say something, but when I didn’t, he went first. “I got your text.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  His expression was guarded as we felt each other out. “It was a surprise.”

  “It . . . was very surprising.”

  A smile hinted at his lips. “That’s what Frank said. He was worried you were going to pass out, but you held it together.”

  “Why? Why’d you do it?”

  His eyes glittered, trying to lure me in. “Come here, and I’ll tell you.”

  Oh, my God. The realization washed through me, warming me all the way to my toes. He was going to finally say what I’d longed to hear. My heart soared, but my mind sent it crashing back down to earth. “No.”

  My refusal derailed him, and rightfully so. He’d given me nearly everything he had, and I wouldn’t fulfill the simplest of his requests.

  “No?” he repeated, stunned.

  “We said we aren’t going to lie anymore, right? Well, there’s something I have to do, but . . . I can’t tell you what it is.”

  His chin pulled back. “Why not?”

  The biggest reason was because he’d try to stop me, but I went with an easier one. I mirrored the words he’d told me while we’d stood in the maze in the rain. “That way you can’t tell him what you don’t know.”

  His face was a mixture of concern and disappointment. “Marist.”

  “I’m asking you to trust me.”

  “I do trust you, but you’re making me nervous.”

  My heart ached as unease twisted in his expression, but I had to stay strong. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

  It wasn’t the answer he expected, and he when he didn’t get a better explanation, irritation simmered below his surface. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

  I swallowed a breath. “That’s as much as you gave me after you sold me to your father.”

  Oh, he really didn’t like that. His jaw clenched as he probably bit back the words he wanted to say and took a long moment to assemble the words in his head. His voice was cool. “We’re not at that same place. You weren’t my wife back then.”

  “You made difficult decisions to get what you wanted. Win at all costs, right?” I squeezed my hands into fists to prevent myself from reaching out to him. “I have to do that now, for us.”

  He stood so still, he could have been another beautiful statue in this garden. The moment hung, each second more agonizing than the last.

  “Fine,” he said quietly. “If you can’t tell me your plan, then I can�
��t tell you why I gave you the shares." His eyes dulled with resignation and disappointment. “Let me know when you’re ready to trust me again.”

  His posture was stiff as he turned and disappeared into the hedges.

  The party to celebrate the acquisition of Ascension was a relatively modest affair by HBHC’s standards, but the management employees and their spouses seemed to be having a good time.

  The event space was a cozy ballroom in a hotel not far from HBHC headquarters, and by the time Royce and I arrived, the place was already loud with conversations. Open bars were set up around the room, and fancy appetizers circulated on silver trays carried by event staff.

  I stayed close to Royce as we mingled, flashing vacant smiles and making small talk. The game of it wasn’t as enjoyable as it had been at our wedding, but that was probably because I was distracted by what I’d have to do. My gaze found Macalister across the room, standing with Mr. Shaunessy and Mr. Powell, and the three board members seemed to be congratulating themselves on their latest conquest.

  He must have sensed my gaze on him, because his head turned my direction, and his eyes zeroed in on me. Caught, I quickly darted my gaze away and stared at the ice sculpture with the HBHC logo carved in it.

  As dinner drew to a close, I kept my phone in my lap and hidden beneath the table, checking the notification I’d received a new Instagram message.

  Sophia: I heard something about Alice today. Call me when you get a chance.

  My breath caught. Sophia was like the CIA. Very little happened in Cape Hill without her knowing about it, and concern grew in me with each passing second. Had she found out that Alice had poisoned me? My gaze flicked to her across the table. She looked on as her husband talked to Mr. Lynch about the last time he’d gone skeet shooting.

  If word got out, I had no idea what it would do.

  I put my hand on Royce’s knee and gave him an overly bright smile for the benefit of the people we were sharing a table with. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

  The ladies’ restroom was thankfully empty, and I hurried into the last stall while punching the button for Sophia.

  “Hi,” she said. “That was fast.”

  “Hey.” I forced casualness into my voice. “What’s up?”

  “I didn’t want to put this in a text. I don’t know if Royce reads your stuff, or if he might accidentally see, but it sounds like Alice is having an affair.”

  My pulse skittered. It wasn’t the poisoning, but this was equally bad, so the surprise in my voice was genuine. “What?”

  “You know how I’m friends with Penelope Marino?”

  I didn’t even know who that was. “Sure.”

  “Her parents are being complete dicks to her right now because she still hasn’t found a job. They say she’s being too picky, so to motivate her, they made her get a shitty job over at Cheveux as the receptionist.”

  Cheveux was the salon Alice took me to when she’d had my green hair dyed back to its original shade of brown and the crazy painful wax job. But where the fuck was Sophia going with this? “Okay . . .”

  “Well, she comes in yesterday after her lunch break, and one of the stylists says their client left their phone. It’s sitting behind the desk, and for the next hour while Penelope waits for the girl to return and get it, all these dirty text messages are rolling through.” She paused, probably for dramatic effect. “Alice was the one who came to pick it up.”

  “Those could have been from Macalister,” I lied. That wasn’t his style, but it absolutely sounded like something Vance would do. He’d seemed genuinely into Jillian, but had he started hooking up with Alice again on the side?

  “No. They were from—get this—Richard’s dad.”

  The bathroom was empty, but still I dropped my voice to a hush. “Liam Shaunessy?”

  “Yup. Someone needs to show that girl how to hide her text messages, and also—what a step down. I mean, Macalister to Mr. Shaunessy? He’s barely decent looking, and Macalister’s so hot, I need a shower after looking at him.”

  Ugh. I pushed aside my disdain and focused. Alice wasn’t with Mr. Shaunessy for his looks, she was with him to get her husband’s attention. “Who else has Penelope told about this?”

  “No one, as far as I know.”

  I was playing the long game, and the last thing I needed right now was for the board to suddenly change. “Then I need to ask a really big favor,” I said. Sophia would likely think this was just concern for my new in-laws. “Don’t let this get out. If the rumor has already started, you think you could kill it?”

  I pictured her on the other side of the phone looking proud and powerful. “Yeah, probably.”

  “God, thank you, Sophia. If Macalister were to find out, I don’t know what he’d do.” Truer words had never been spoken. “Hey, let’s get together this weekend on Vance’s boat. I’ll have Royce invite Tate.”

  She wanted Tate badly, and I could practically hear the thought in her head. Vance’s sailboat was big, but it wasn’t big enough for Tate to escape from her like he’d managed to do in Aspen.

  Her voice was loaded with excitement. “Definitely.”

  When I was finished with the call, I left the restroom and only made it a few steps before Macalister emerged from the shadows. “Marist.”

  My mouth went dry, but I matched the innocent tone of his greeting. “Macalister.”

  The party was going on in the next room over, but the hallway was empty, and it felt like the rest of the world had abandoned me to this man, who the last time we’d been alone had professed his love.

  “How was the honeymoon?” His eyes glittered with arrogance.

  I kept my voice perfectly level. “It was great.”

  He was amused. “But you cut it short. Why was that?”

  I pressed my lips together for a moment, not wanting to be too obvious. “You know why.”

  Genuine surprise rolled through him. He hadn’t expected me to reveal the truth, and excitement worked its way into his eyes.

  “Besides,” I added, “Royce wanted to be back for the acquisition. This is a big deal for HBHC.” I squeezed out a smile. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.” His excitement thickened. I held my ground as he shifted his weight, subtly leaning closer to me. “Perhaps you’ll help me celebrate by joining me tonight after the party is over. We could finish our round of chess.”

  My stomach bottomed out and breath caught painfully in my lungs, but I pushed forward. I had to do this. “Of course.” My anxiety shot through the ceiling, causing my voice to go weak. “Should I bring the board to your room?”

  SIXTEEN

  CARRYING THE CHESSBOARD WAS AN INSURMOUNTABLE TASK. Not because it was heavy, but because I shook violently and worried the pieces would shift off their squares. There were miles between the library and Macalister’s bedroom.

  I’d never been in his room before. At most, I’d glanced through his open doorway, but I was rarely down at this end of the hall, and his room was typically closed to keep Lucifer from going inside.

  Not that the cat would. He craved attention, and since Royce and I were the only ones who gave it, Lucifer largely ignored the other humans in the house.

  Tonight, the door was ajar and soft light curled around its edges, beckoning me to see Macalister’s lair. I gingerly used the edge of the chessboard to inch the door open, my breath held tight in my body.

  The master bedroom of the house wasn’t much larger than Royce’s. Like his, it had tall ceilings and oversized windows. However, instead of a view of the hedge maze, the room looked out over the shore. The bright edges of Cape Hill gave way to the ocean, and I wondered if Macalister liked how his castle looked down over his kingdom.

  Despite the fancy, ornate chandelier hanging over the bed, the room was deeply masculine with its slate gray walls and moss green chairs in the sitting area. I lingered in the doorway, unable to cross the threshold.

  Macalister must have thought I was waiting f
or an invitation. It was more of an order than a request. “Come in.”

  My legs barely worked, and I tottered a few steps into the room before willing myself to get it together. I’d asked for this, I reminded myself. He gauged me critically, perhaps cataloguing every nervous bone I had, before gesturing toward the sitting area and the low table he intended me to set the board on.

  A huge mirror hung on the wall behind the chairs, and when I caught my reflection, I saw what he saw. My flushed face and wide eyes, looking very out of place in my father-in-law’s bedroom. I tore my gaze away and set the board down, sliding it to the center of the table while he closed the door.

  “Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?”

  “Uh, sure.” I ran my hands under my skirt as I sat and crossed my legs at the ankles. Tension kept my back straight and my body at the edge of my seat.

  He didn’t give me options to see what I would like. Instead, he went to the far side of the room and opened a paneled cabinet, revealing a small fridge. He pulled out the green bottle with a golden label, retrieved a glass and a small towel from the counter, and stalked toward me.

  My pulse tumbled and raced faster. He was carrying a bottle of Dom Perignon. “Champagne?”

  He leaned over me to set the flute on the table, straightened, and went to work peeling off the foil and cage. “The occasion calls for it.” He put the towel over the cork and began to twist. “I’m happy we’re playing chess again.”

  When the loud pop of the cork rang out, I flinched.

  “You seem nervous.” He folded the towel, set it and the cork on the table, and picked up the glass.

  “I am nervous.”

  As he poured, his gaze was on the bubbles, but his focus was on me. “Why? We’ve played many times before.”

  “I’m not nervous about the game. It’s what happens after.”