by Nikki Sloane
The question was innocent, but a sixth sense of awareness tingled down my back. Like I saw the edges of a trap peeking out from beneath its camouflage but disregarded it. “It’s been my favorite one so far.”
Heat warmed his eyes. “It was my favorite as well. You’re so much like me, Marist.”
The shudder that clattered through my body was unavoidable. My name on his lips, coupled with the idea I was remotely like him, was too much not to react to. He watched my shoulders quiver, and his expression shifted like he was pleased. He enjoyed having such an effect on me.
My voice was timid when I wanted it to be strong. “We’re not alike.”
“You grew into a levelheaded young woman,” he said, “despite your financially inept parents, even as they spoiled you and your sister shamelessly. Like you, I grew up with enormous wealth and stayed sensible throughout it.” He listed them like bullet points he’d prepared ahead of time. “You speak directly. You do what needs to be done, even when it’s difficult. And most importantly, you understand when people need to be saved from themselves.”
I launched up out of the chair, literally running from what he’d said. I needed to put distance between us as quickly as possible. But I’d only made it a few steps toward the window when I heard his chair creak, announcing he’d stood as well.
Macalister’s voice was surprisingly hesitant. “I don’t say this to upset you.”
There was a table beside the window, and I set a hand on it for support while I tried to slow my ragged breathing. The glossy black and white pieces of the chessboard nearby were carved figures of art. I wanted things to be like that. Structured rules, clearly defined lines, and to know which team everyone was playing for.
I had to change the topic. “May I ask you a question?”
“Yes.”
The word came from just over my shoulder, and I closed my eyes. His proximity constricted every muscle in my body, turning me into one of the chess pieces at my fingertips.
“You don’t seem like the type of man to be friends with Mr. Lambert.”
His laugh was empty. “That’s a statement, not a question . . . but a correct one. I’m not, nor will I ever be, friends with Wayne Lambert.” He emphasized the word like it was revolting. “He’s just a means to an end.”
“You want to see Vance with his daughter.”
“Yes. Among other things.”
I swallowed a breath and opened my eyes, staring out the window at the manicured lawn that seemed to endlessly stretch for miles around the Hale house. “Such as?”
In the taut silence suspended between us, I felt his gaze fixated on my bare back, drinking in all my vulnerable, exposed skin. The library was cold, and Macalister was colder still, yet when he moved in, there was the dark heat of his breath. It washed down my back and drew a violent shiver from me.
His lips were right beside my ear. “Wayne Lambert is going to get me a presidential nomination to the Federal Reserve.”
Oh, my God, of course.
Lambert had been a megadonor to the president’s election campaign, was a staunch supporter, and a close friend. It’d be easy for him to whisper a favorable word in the president’s ear. And Macalister had plenty of experience. He ran the second largest bank in the country and was scandal-free. He would likely sail through the confirmation hearing.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise that this was what he desired. Being the head of HBHC was great, but there was far more prestige and control at the helm of the Federal Reserve. Overseeing the entire U.S. banking system and maintaining interest rates was ultimate power. It was the pinnacle of his career; he couldn’t ascend any higher.
“Oh,” I breathed.
“I think it’s only fitting,” his tone was distant thunder, quiet but full of power, “since my family helped build the Fed, that I should sit on its board.”
Yet another thing he felt entitled to, simply for being born.
And Macalister would mine Mr. Lambert’s connections in multiple ways. They could be equally useful to Vance, who was eyeing a career in politics.
“I’d wish you luck,” I said, “but I doubt you’ll need it.”
I could hear the smile in his voice. “No, I won’t.”
I didn’t get a moment to catch my breath before the mood in the room changed. It shifted and turned darker, as if the air knew his motives.
“This dress you have on,” Macalister’s tone dipped and veered toward seduction, “I like it very much.”
Before I could react, a single cold fingertip kissed my skin and skated like a whisper down my spine. It was barely a touch, but I jolted away from it, sending my hip crashing into the side of the table.
The chess set rattled and teetered, and the tallest black piece with a cross at the top of its crown toppled over onto its side, rolling toward the edge of the table. I grabbed it instinctively to stop it from falling and unleashed my tongue. “I didn’t give you permission to touch me.”
“You’re right, you didn’t.”
Was that supposed to be an apology? I was trapped between him and the table, and genuine fear snaked through my body. Royce had installed a lock on my door. Emily had said Macalister believed he was entitled to everything, including people. And he’d purchased me like property. He probably believed he had every right to my body, and I’d been so fucking foolish—
“I shouldn’t have done that.” He abruptly stepped back. “Forgive me. It won’t happen again.”
I clutched the game piece so hard, the sharp edges were uncomfortable in my grip. A little over a year ago, I’d stood in nearly this spot while Royce touched me the same way, yet the difference was staggering.
“You’re . . . shaking.” Macalister sounded surprised. “Are you afraid?”
There was no hesitation. “Yes.”
He asked it when he already knew the answer. “Of what?”
“Of you.” I risked a glance over my shoulder and found him looking, of all things, perplexed.
“There’s no need to be scared,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
But couldn’t he see he already had? He’d driven a wedge between Royce and me, and for what reason?
It was like he could read my mind, and his expression went hard. “I only want what’s best for everyone involved. You were too attached.”
I said nothing, because there was nothing to say. I couldn’t argue. He’d seen me nearly break down last night as Royce had walked out on me.
His command was delivered in a firm tone. “Turn around and look at me.”
I filled my lungs with air, turned, and forced my gaze up over his suit and serious face until I met his icy eyes. In a different setting and with another personality installed in his body, Macalister Hale could be irresistible. He had nearly everything already. Looks, smarts, money, and power. And he was young too. He didn’t look fifty, even though he was, and he seemed decades younger than the other CEOs topping the Fortune 500 list.
His calculating gaze scrutinized, searching for my flaws and weaknesses and probably finding them in spades, but I didn’t dare look away. I gripped the chess piece tightly in my fist and stared back. Was this who Royce would become in twenty-five years?
What if it took him less time to harden into cold, unmovable stone?
What if he’s become his father already?
Macalister was dark everywhere except for his pale eyes. “Someday, you’ll see how I saved you. You may even thank me for what I did.”
Fucking doubtful.
Yet the scariest thing of all was it looked like he truly believed what he’d said. He imagined himself my savior.
I couldn’t stand still under his inspection another second. I opened my hand and looked down at the figure in my palm. The carved black piece was intricate and beautiful.
“Would you like to play?” he asked.
“No, thank you.” I didn’t want to spend any more time in this library than was necessary. “I don’t know how.”
“I’m not,” I said quickly. Was this really that impossible to believe? My sister hated games. My father didn’t have time for them, and my mother only played cards. “No one ever taught me.”
His focus fell to the piece in my hand before returning skeptically to me. Behind his eyes, he seemed to be considering something, and a feeling of unease grew in my chest.
“Then I’ll teach you.”
My pulse sped tumbling along. “No, that’s all right. I don’t—”
The words died as he held up a hand to silence me. “The piece you’re holding is the king.” He spoke it heavy with meaning. “When he cannot escape the threat of capture, the game is over.”
My mouth went dry. Was he implying he was the evil king and I’d captured him? I hurried to set the piece down on the board. “I’m sure there are things you’d rather be doing than teaching me a board game.”
His eyebrow arched so high it was a miracle it didn’t knock down the chandelier. “Chess is a sophisticated game of strategy and tactics. You will enjoy it very much.”
If he was going to be my partner? Again, fucking doubtful.
He wouldn’t be dissuaded, even when I’d made it clear I didn’t want to play. He didn’t care, knowing he’d get his way. As he picked up the board and carried it to the desk, I stood rooted to my spot and looked longingly at the door. As long as I was here, I had to follow his orders. There wasn’t a way out, but perhaps I could get something for my misery.
He wanted something, but I did too.
“I want a job at HBHC,” I said.
He was arranging the board and paused, his fingertips still on a figure of a horse’s head. “Excuse me?”
“Royce doesn’t have an assistant. I was thinking I could be his until my semester starts.”
“No.” He didn’t bother to consider it. He just resumed his task, as if it were that easy to shut me down.
“I need something to do, rather than sit around the house all day, waiting for Alice to summon me.” Like I’d done today.
This time when he paused, he wore his irritation like his expensive suit. “It wouldn’t look good to have you working for him. If you need help occupying your time,” his tone threatened, “I’ll find something for you.”
I kept my voice soft and pleading, not wanting to challenge him. “You could call it an unpaid internship.”
His irritation climbed to the top of the bookshelves. “Why would you want that?”
“Experience,” I choked out.
Oh, I was going to have to get much better at lying if I was going to survive the Hale family.
Macalister’s jaw set. “That’s an acceptable answer, but it’s not your reason. Tell me now before I lose my patience with you.”
I went with a vague version of the truth. “Royce shuts me out to the point I don’t know who he is. You had me move in so we could get to know each other better, but he’s at the office so much . . . I thought this could help.”
What it would really do was help me figure out what Royce was planning. I’d have total access to his schedule, see who he was meeting with and talking to. I had no qualms about spying on my fiancé to discover all the secrets he wouldn’t tell me.
Macalister ran a hand over his jawline. “You understand you’ll be around him the majority of your day, and at the house in the evenings, in addition to all the events and obligations he has.”
“Yes.”
He didn’t smile with his lips, but it lurked in his eyes. “Royce won’t like that.”
“No,” I said, “I don’t suppose he will.”
He straightened abruptly as if it had been settled. “I will allow this on two conditions.”
My hands hung at my sides, hidden in the folds of my skirt, and I bunched my fingers into fists, bracing for impact.
“First, because you two will be working so closely and living together, I think a little distance is needed. You’ll refrain from physical contact except when it’s necessary. For instance, if you’re in public and some display of affection is required, that’s acceptable. But there’s no need for it in my house.”
I knew it was coming, that Macalister would forbid Royce and me from any kind of physical relationship. It was the next logical step in splitting us apart, and a small part of me was relieved by this constraint. Royce was masterful at seduction, and now his best tool of manipulation had been shelved.
But a much larger part of me mourned the loss of it. The only time Royce and I truly seemed to connect was when I acted on my feelings. I’d waited so long, just barely gotten him, and already he was being taken away. It was unfair, but so much of my life was right now I was growing used to it.
My voice was hushed and uneven. “All right.”
Macalister nodded, pleased. “My second condition is we play a game of chess together here every night.”
My heart ground to a halt. “For how long?”
“Until you beat me.” His grin was downright evil. “Do we have a deal?”
FIVE
ROYCE WORE A NAVY THREE-PIECE SUIT, a white dress shirt, and a pale silver tie with matching pocket square. He had his laptop bag hung on one shoulder and a cup of Starbucks in hand, and he strode down the hall toward his office looking both at ease and in command. He was so perfectly Wall Street it was like he’d just come from a stock photo shoot.
When his eyes locked onto me seated behind his assistant’s desk, he pulled to a stop. He stared, unable to believe what he was seeing, two separate universes colliding.
This morning, he’d gotten up earlier than anyone else to hit the gym and hadn’t returned by the time I’d left. Thankfully, the ride into Boston hadn’t been as awkward as I’d feared. Alice and I sat in the back of a Mercedes and Macalister up front with the driver, and neither of the Hales glanced up from their phones the entire drive.
“Marist?” Royce asked. His unsure gaze floated around the HBHC executive hallway like he needed to confirm where he was. “Do we have an appointment today?”
“No. Your father wants to see you when you get in, though.”
He was bewildered. “Okay, but what are you doing here?”
“Me?” I feigned my own confusion. “Oh, I work here now.”
“I’m sorry, you what?”
I gave him a Cheshire Cat grin. “I’m your new assistant.”
His eyes clouded. “Right.”
“Go see your dad. Someone from IT is supposed to be here soon to set up my email.”
He flopped his laptop bag on my desk with a thud, but set his coffee down with more care, as if the contents of the cardboard cup had greater value than the MacBook in his briefcase.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, “and then we’ll see about that.”
He did an about-face and returned to the elevator at the end of the hall. Even though he was on the board of directors now, he wasn’t on the top floor yet with all the other chief-level executives.
How long would it be before he was named chief operating officer? He wouldn’t be thirty for another four years, and that still seemed awfully young. He was hungry, though. Maybe his ambition made up for some of his lack of experience, and his last name did the rest of the work.
The doors peeled back, he stepped into the empty car, and I leaned over the desk to watch him as he turned to face the doors. The smirk on his face was so large, it read all the way down the hall to me. He was such an arrogant prick.
I hated how much it turned me on.
The doors sealed closed and carried him up to his father’s office, where he’d do his best to undo the move I’d made last night.
While I waited, I returned my attention to my phone and the article I was reading about chess theory. I’d lost my first game last night so quickly, it had been embarrassing. I had to get much, much better if I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life closed in the library losing to
Macalister.
I was still installing a chess app on my phone when Royce’s shadow fell across me. I glanced up, and his furious expression made my heart stop.
“My office,” he growled. “Now.”
Holy shit. The dark timbre of his voice was scary and . . . a little exciting too.
He didn’t wait for me. He was a blur of navy wool and silver silk as he snatched up his coffee cup and laptop bag and pounded through the doorway into his office.
Royce didn’t have to issue the order for me to shut the door—his attitude made it perfectly clear the conversation we were about to have was serious. Beyond the glass wall at the back of his office, the city was different hues of gray. The concrete, the steel, and even the overcast sky were all cold and unemotional. Was it because the storm was brewing here in my fiancé’s eyes?
“He said you asked for this job.” He jammed a hand in his hair, visibly unsettled. “What did you give him?”
I put my hands on my hips. “It’s none of your business.”
My answer angered him further, and I enjoyed the unease that simmered in his expression. He stared at me, silently demanding I explain.
I sighed. “I gave him nothing.”
His gaze narrowed. “He doesn’t give people what they want, ever, and definitely not out of the goodness of his heart.” Royce clenched a hand into a fist and pressed his knuckles against his desktop. “He doesn’t even have a heart. So, I’m asking again. What did you give him?”
“It’s nothing,” I repeated, my voice giving away nothing about how unsure I felt on the inside. “I have to play him in chess every night.”
There was no reaction. He was a statue. “For how long?”
“Until I win.”
It sounded ridiculous when I said it out loud, but tension corded his muscles, making his shoulders stiff.
“Great,” Royce snapped. “Did he mention he played competitively when he was at Harvard?”
I deflated a little. “No.”
He let out a tight breath and straightened, setting the full power of his intense stare on me. “So, now you’ll have to go to him every night. He’ll wear you down, Marist. He’ll get inside your head and turn you against me.”
