The Temptation (Filthy Rich Americans 5)

“I am aware,” he said slowly, “I am not blameless. There is much of my life I would do differently if I could, and I would have started with how I treated the people I cared about.” His chest lifted, and he squared his shoulders to me. “I forgive you and would like to move beyond this.” He took another sip of his scotch, then stared at the amber liquid in his glass. “When your mother died, a large part of me went with her, and though I’ve started healing . . . I am not healed. I don’t believe that’s possible until I’ve repaired what I can of what I’ve done to you and your brother.” His tone shifted, becoming more hesitant than I’d heard in ages. “Will you let me try?”

“Yes.” The instant it was out, I felt different. Lighter. The heaviness of my guilt wasn’t completely gone, but it was a fraction of what it had been.

He looked pleased, and perhaps he felt lighter, too. “Excellent.”

I finished my drink, set the glass down on the desk, and turned my attention to the Lagerfield. “The good news is we can start right now. The bad news is, what we just discussed? That was the easy part.”

Had that made him anxious? If so, he didn’t show it. His gaze followed mine to the safe. “This is about Ms. Mendenhall, I presume.”

“Yes,” I said, “and no.” I put my hands on the back of the chair I’d sat in every night while watching Emery practice, and turned it back to its original position, angling the chair toward the fireplace. I gestured to the one opposite it for my father to take a seat. “I need to tell you a story.”

When he sat, I began by telling him about the malfunctioning alarm sensor and the pretty sales rep who’d asked me out to lunch. That I’d suspected she had ulterior motives early on, but I was willing to play along because I was intrigued by her theory that Jillian had faked her death. I explained what we’d discovered and then how we’d confirmed our friend was very much alive and well, free from her life in Cape Hill.

He didn’t ask questions when I talked about Emery’s plot to get inside Wayne’s safe and why she wanted to do it. How she’d spent ten years believing he’d stolen the final months she would have had with her father before he’d died, only to learn her father and his gambling addiction shared much of the blame.

“Wayne Lambert is blackmailing me for a seat on HBHC’s board,” I announced. “He didn’t go to Royce, because the board would be openly hostile to him if he did. I don’t think he went to you because you scare the shit out of him.” My tone was bitter. “I was the easiest Hale to target.”

My father stayed calm and detached, focusing on evaluating the problem. “What does he have on you?”

“Nothing, actually.” My heartrate climbed, and my breath quickened. “I’d thought it was a compromising video of me, but it’s . . .” I inhaled a long, deep breath. “Alice put a hidden camera in the dining room, probably in one of the flower arrangements she’d had done for the party.”

His mind worked so much faster than mine, so it already sensed the answer, judging by the dread in his voice. “Which party?”

“The one celebrating Royce’s promotion to the board.”

One moment he was sitting, and the next he was on his feet. “Have you seen this video?”

“Enough of it,” I said, “to recognize what was going on, and the faces in the room. I stopped watching when Marist’s dress came off.”

He moved so quickly as he strode the room, it was almost too fast to call pacing. He retreated deep into his thoughts, traveling a tight circuit across the rug before stopping and putting his hands on the back of his chair, leaning over it. He squeezed so tight, his knuckles turned white.

“Fucking Alice,” he uttered. It was so rare that he swore, but it was entirely appropriate. “I’m going to destroy Wayne Lambert.”

“I figured as much, but how are you going to do it without burning all of HBHC in the process?” I rose from my seat, leveling my gaze at him. “How do you do it without hurting Marist?”

He looked uncertain, but only a moment. “I’ll find a way.”

I nodded, hoping he’d say that. “I have an idea, but I need your advice.” Because my father wasn’t just a master at chess, he excelled at all kinds of strategy. “You’re always two steps ahead, and no one knows how to play the game better than you.” I brushed back the bottom of my suit coat so I could rest a hand on my hip. “A while ago, you came to me when you needed help executing your plan with Sophia. I’m asking the same of you now. Will you help me?”