The Redemption (Filthy Rich Americans 4)

I snatched up two pawns, one white and one black, and exchanged them in my hands behind my back. “Choose,” I said.

She lifted her gaze to mine, and although she tried to hide it from me, it was obvious how badly she wanted to win the game. It made me uneasy as I considered that outcome. I excelled at many things, but the one thing I hadn’t mastered was losing with grace. I thrived on competition, and it wasn’t in my nature to give up.

I had on her, hadn’t I?

Marist’s attention left the cat and focused solely on me as she walked toward the board. “Left.”

I extended my closed left hand to her, turned my palm up, and peeled back my fingers to reveal the white pawn shaped as a satyr. The half-man, half-goat figure was carved from marble, and I was pleased with the weight of the piece. The chess set we’d played with the last time was cheap acrylic.

Everything about this game was a higher quality and far more exciting.

She gingerly took the pawn from my hand as if minimizing the risk of touching me, and a sinister voice deep inside my mind whispered to make her do it. Instead, I ignored the voice. We put our pawns on their squares and took our seats across from each other, separated by rows of mythic Greek figures recreated as chess pieces.

As white, she had the advantage of the first move, and she made it confidently. The timid chess player she’d once been in this room was gone, forgotten. I’d taught her well, and Marist had become a formidable opponent.

We were both contemplative in our openings and didn’t talk, but as we moved into the middlegame, my competitive nature got the better of me. I looked for ways to distract.

“You’re right,” I said. “The cat doesn’t look well.”

“No. He’s by himself all day.” Marist’s gaze trapped mine, weighing me down with her meaning. “He’s lonely. I think it’ll do him some good to have companionship.”

My nostrils flared, and I tightened my eyes with displeasure at her subtext. I wasn’t lonely, and even if I were, who was to blame? Everyone had left me. “You’re speaking about the cat,” I said pointedly.

She acted like she hadn’t implied otherwise. “Yes.”

Marist had claimed I gave her too much credit, but the opposite was true. I’d spent years underestimating her. Even now, I’d tried to distract, and she’d reversed it onto me masterfully. I clenched my teeth as she captured one of my rooks, catching me off guard.

That should never have happened. Pay attention.

Sometimes, one mistake was all it took to lose everything.

Thankfully, I was able to get back on track after a few turns, and her eyebrows pulled together in dismay as I took her bishop. She recovered quickly and squared her shoulders, pretending I hadn’t undone all the plans she’d made.

It was impossible to tell if she were making conversation, or if there was an agenda buried in her question. “Are you ready for this weekend?”

Confidence ran through my words. “Of course.”

I’d invited HBHC’s board of directors and their spouses to my home for a morning of skeet shooting on the grounds, followed by a luncheon where I’d announce my return to headquarters.

Immediately after the events of Alice’s death, I’d stepped back from the company and put as much distance as possible between us. But I was still the president and the chief shareholder of Hale Banking and Holding, and I would resume working at headquarters, offering my guidance and expertise in a management role.

If any of the men took issue with it, I expected them to make it clear. They could tell me to my face, in my home, how exactly they found me unfit to work for the company bearing my name. I’d use the afternoon to remind nearly all the men who had given them their board seat, and tripled shareholder earnings during my tenure as CEO.

This new position didn’t come with much power, yet Royce’s reaction had been tepid when I’d explained it to him. However, that didn’t mean anything. Like me, my son was excellent at guarding his thoughts. He’d been the one to suggest I wine and dine the board before delivering my news, hoping to make it go over easier with them.

“I’m curious of your thoughts,” I said.

Marist’s fingers paused on her queen. “About you returning to HBHC?”

“Royce wasn’t as receptive as I would have liked.”

“Gee, I can’t think why that would be.” Her voice was dry as she pushed Athena forward, trying to bait me to go after her. But doing so would leave my king vulnerable to an attack by her knight in another set of moves. She pinned her stare on me. “What game are you playing? Are you hoping to get back on the board?” Her voice went shallow, like the idea was so distasteful she could barely utter it. “Are you doing it to try to get close to me?”