The Redemption (Filthy Rich Americans 4)

My daughter-in-law’s name was a trigger, and anger welled inside me, pushing against the dam I’d created to keep myself from losing control. Pressure was building, but I’d have to find release elsewhere later.

I drew in a deliberate, calming breath. “Even if that’s true, it’d be foolish to try it again. I still control the largest stake in HBHC, and as I’m no longer on the board, I have more time to pursue my interests.” My gaze drilled down into her, and she wilted beneath it. “You do not want to become my focus, Ms. Alby.”

“No, I don’t,” she said.

It rankled that I couldn’t do anything about what she’d done. There was no punishment or retaliation I could dole out. It was likely she’d been a pawn in Marist’s game, anyway, and I should direct my anger there. Not that I could. My daughter-in-law had done whatever she could to outplay me, and I respected that. We Hales understood it was win at all costs.

My tone was measured and even. “If you’re half as smart as you think you are, then you know I’ll come after you with my considerable resources if you meddle in my family’s business again.”

Ms. Alby’s throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. “I get it. I just wanted you to understand what I’m capable of. What I can bring to the table.”

I clenched my fists tightly then let the tension release, using the action to disperse emotion. “I’ve heard your proposal.” I straightened in my seat and spoke with finality. “And I decline.”

Her lips parted in surprise. This was not the answer she wanted, and without it, she looked lost. Until this moment, she’d been so sure of herself, and when her confidence flagged, it exposed her raw innocence beneath. Her father wasn’t an attractive man, but luckily, Sophia Alby had always favored her mother and now surpassed her. The uncertainty in the girl’s eyes made her look younger, and vulnerable, and the man I’d been before would have exploited it in every way possible.

Instead, I forced myself to ignore her stunned look and glance down at my Cartier watch, which had been an anniversary gift from my first wife. “How much longer does your father intend to keep me waiting?”

“He doesn’t know you’re here yet,” she said softly. “He thinks he’s meeting you at twelve-thirty.”

“Excuse me?” I’d set this lunch appointment at noon to maximize visibility to the rest of Boston’s elite and remind them I still existed.

She pushed back from the table and stood, and I was already halfway out of my seat before I recognized habit had forced me to give her this courtesy I wouldn’t have otherwise. At least it allowed me to use my height to my advantage. I towered over her, and it drew her gaze up.

“My father will be early for a meeting with you, so I’m sure he’ll be here any minute.” She licked her lips nervously. “You’ll change your mind, Mr. Hale. You’ll find I . . .” She tilted her head and gave in to a shrug. “Well, I tend to get my way. Like when I asked my father’s assistant to push his schedule thirty minutes. Or when the maître d’ sat me at your table when I didn’t have an invitation.”

Her words hadn’t finished settling on me before she pulled a card from her purse and dropped it on the table.

Brightness lit her eyes, and her mouth widened into a soft, disarming smile. “My phone number and email, for when you’re ready.” She turned to leave without a farewell.

Competing thoughts warred in my mind as she departed, but when my gaze latched on to the bare sliver of her back, everything else faded. The dress she wore was professional and demure from the front, but like her, it held back a secret from me. I couldn’t stop myself from admiring the strip of pale skin and the long line her spine carved down the center of her body.

It was like sculpture. Flawless. Beautiful.

For one long moment, I wanted her.

More than three years spent lusting after Marist, despite every attempt not to, so to suddenly feel a tinge of interest for someone else . . .

The power of it made me brace a hand on the back of my chair and grip it so ferociously, I expected it to splinter beneath my grasp. This reaction was inappropriate and unacceptable. The spell Marist held over me was broken, but I wasn’t recovered. I was merely a man weakened by starvation, eager for any morsel of food, even if it was to my detriment.

She was just the first woman to genuinely smile at me in years. That was all this was.

Sophia Alby wasn’t anything special.

Yes, she’d sat across from me and tried to hold her own when few people in this world had, but she’d failed to get what she’d wanted from me, hadn’t she? I could respect how she tried, but not her failure.