“No.” The word was forceful enough it disturbed the cat, and its ears went back. “No,” I repeated, calmer. “I’m not playing a game.”
She didn’t believe me. “You’re always playing a game.”
I used my pawn to take her queen in one swift, deliberate action. Marist’s eyes widened as she took in the board, stunned I’d fallen for her simple trap. When excitement flashed through her blue eyes, weakness momentarily took hold. She was so stunningly beautiful, and my son was unworthy to have stolen her heart.
Stop. Enough.
“Check,” she said, quickly moving her knight into position.
I could have attempted to run, but I despised wasting time. The outcome was set. I slid my king over one square, and as soon as I lifted my fingers off the piece, Marist was up out of her seat, eagerly moving her rook into position.
Her word was breathless like she’d run a marathon. “Checkmate.”
I toppled Zeus over and sat back from the board.
The thrilled smile on her lips froze awkwardly, then died as realization dawned in her. “You . . . let me win.”
“Perhaps you give me too much credit.”
She shook her head. “I know you let me win.”
“How is that?”
She sank into her chair, pleased with the result but not that it’d been given to her. “You’re not upset you lost.”
I blinked slowly, not confirming or denying it. The girl was clever, and I turned my gaze toward the black ball of fur that would once again be a resident of my home. “Maybe I’m a different man than I was before.”
“Maybe you are,” she said softly.
The cat sensed I was looking at it and cast its wary eyes on me. It still found me lacking somehow.
Like it didn’t believe I’d changed at all.
THREE
MACALISTER
ROYCE STOOD AT THE BASE OF THE FRONT STEPS outside the house, his brown hair ruffling in the late April wind. The sky was overcast and would be a perfect backdrop for spotting the orange clay discs against, and the wind wasn’t that strong. Unless it picked up, it was unlikely to disrupt our game.
My son looked tired as he waited for our guests to arrive. He had one arm slung around his wife and his hand sliding up and down her sleeve as if to keep her warm. It was brisk, but not intolerable, and her tailored jacket was wool, so I suspected Royce’s gesture was more for my benefit than hers.
He used every opportunity to remind me who she’d chosen.
Lines crinkled at the edge of his eyes. Not with age, as he had just turned twenty-nine—but with exhaustion. The demands our business placed on him would only increase as he climbed in the ranks. I’d done my best to prepare him, or at least what I believed was the best. He’d received far more instruction than I had, but I’d made up for my lack of experience with my drive and determination.
I glanced at the team of staff waiting beside the golf carts to drive my guests down to the field once they’d arrived, and I scowled. The invitation had clearly stated the game was to start at ten. I expected people to be early, and yet no one had arrived.
Royce noticed when I glanced at my watch. “It’s early,” he said.
Annoyance ran through me. “I’m aware.”
“Here comes a car,” Marist said, glancing beyond the fountain at the center of my circle drive and down to the long driveway lined with trees.
A black Bentley prowled toward us, and I straightened my posture. Some of these men I hadn’t seen since my ousting. A lesser man might have been intimidated, but I was not a lesser man. I was eager to put the past behind us and return to the level of respect I’d once commanded.
I was pleased when the car pulled to a stop and Damon Lynch stepped out, followed by his wife Kristin. Damon had been a fiercely loyal ally when I’d been the chairman. He’d voted with me no matter what because he’d understood his role.
When I went away, he never visited, but I didn’t take it as a slight. Partly because we weren’t close friends, but mostly because seven months ago, he’d declared he was running for Congress. It was a smart decision to keep his distance from me until I’d paid my debt.
Damon delivered a practiced smile, and it was nearly convincing. He’d make an excellent politician. He was packaged correctly with wealth, looks, a strong background, and little moral conviction. He shook my hand firmly. “It’s good to see you again, Macalister.”
“Yes,” I said quickly. “I wonder if there’s any space for Vance at your campaign headquarters.”
I didn’t mince words, and when I reinforced my point by not releasing my hold of his hand, the smile faded from the future congressman’s eyes. “Sure.” His voice was less convincing than his smile had been. “We’d love to have him as part of the team.”