The Temptation (Filthy Rich Americans 5)

“Prove it, then,” Wayne demanded. “You can convince both Royce and Macalister that I’m the best option. While your father’s not on the board anymore, he still holds significant sway over its members, and a recommendation from him would be persuasive.”

It would be, but he was dreaming. My father hated him.

“I don’t see that happening, Wayne.” I put extra emphasis on his name before I turned toward the clubhouse. I didn’t want to spend another moment with him.

“I bet you’ll change your mind, Vance. Especially when I tell you your father’s not the only one who likes to collect secrets.” His tone was sinister and choked with malice. “It’s been a hobby of mine for quite some time. And I believe your stepmother Alice enjoyed it as well.”

My movements slowed to a halt, including my heart. I’d stopped halfway across the patio, so I had my gaze directed toward the door, but I couldn’t actually see it.

It was because my attention was focused completely on the man at my back.

“I imagine,” he continued, “you don’t want that kind of scandal to get out. I think your whole family would prefer it didn’t.”

Oh, shit.

My affair with Alice. He knew.

My entire body tensed until I was unmovable stone. “You don’t want to do this.” My tone was as threatening as an approaching hurricane. “My father will come after you, and all you have is hearsay from a woman who—”

“Do I?” he patronized. “You’re sure that’s all I have?”

I turned to face him, and his victorious expression was a punch to my gut.

Fuck.

Fucking fuck!

I was twenty-two when Alice and I began hooking up, which meant I was young and dumb. Getting involved with her was only one of the many stupid choices I’d made back then. My affinity for documenting us together on my phone?

That was another.

And Wayne Lambert grinned at me now like he was in possession of something incredibly damning. Photos, or a video, or worst of all—both.

“What do you want?” I snarled.

He was so pleased with himself it turned my stomach, and now he looked at me like I was an idiot. “That seat on HBHC’s board when it comes available. Make it happen, and this,” he searched for the right word, “unflattering information will stay between us.”

My hands tightened into fists, wanting to squeeze the life from the man across from me, but our father had drilled patience into Royce and me from birth. I’d learned the best strikes came from calculated strategy rather than being baited into an emotional reaction.

I could be smart about this. Let Wayne Lambert think he was in control of the situation while I planned my next move.

I spat the words out as if there was dirty seawater in my mouth. “I’ll see what I can do.”

I didn’t wait to see his thrilled smile. Instead, I turned and strode as quickly as possible toward the door, desperate to get somewhere that I could be alone with my thoughts. My mind raced much faster than my feet did as they carried me through the crowd.

If word got out that I’d slept with my stepmother, it wouldn’t just ruin my planned career in politics, it’d ruin my family. Alice hadn’t been a great person, but she was gone now, and I didn’t want to see her name dragged needlessly through the mud. And while my father already knew about the affair, the information could still hurt his reputation, not to mention, if he had to visually witness it . . .

That would hurt him far worse.

And I wasn’t going to allow that to happen.

The sound of the people around me buzzed like noisy, irritating insects, and I sidestepped Chloe Penhurst when she moved into my path. She had a superpower ability for sensing when I was vulnerable, and even though I saw right through to her agenda, I’d still let my dick land me in trouble with her. She was fun and hot, but we weren’t compatible anywhere outside of the back seat of her Bentley.

I was nearly to freedom when a feminine hand latched on my shoulder, and I groaned under my breath. I didn’t want to get stuck in an awkward conversation that would end with me rejecting her tonight.

Only it wasn’t Chloe.

“Vance,” the woman said. “How are you doing?”

There was a kindness in Sophia’s tone that was surprising. We’d been friends in high school, but not close, which meant her concern should have felt misplaced . . . but it didn’t. It was genuine.

“I’m fine,” I lied.

Her eyes were similar to my father’s in the sense that they didn’t miss much. “Really? You and Jillian stayed tight even after the break-up.”

“Yeah,” I wasn’t sure what else to say, “we did.”

She swept the curtain of her blonde hair back over her shoulder and then smoothed a hand down the side of her black dress, as if her palm was sweaty. “Look, I know he’s not your first choice, but if you want someone to talk to—”