The Redemption (Filthy Rich Americans 4)

She shook her head when I tried to pass her glass of champagne back to her. “Keep it.”

“No, I don’t—”

She lifted a hand like it was beyond her control. “I know, but you look better holding it.” She grinned. “The thirsty bitches are going to start a bidding war over you.”

Either she’d already had a glass or two, or she felt comfortable enough around me to say such a teasing thing, but her statement made me feel . . . good. It left me at a loss at how to respond, but then the music faded in the ballroom, and the announcer asked the gentlemen participating in the auction to report to the captain’s room.

I started to move past her, but Sophia’s hand gently grasped my arm and made me hesitate. “Hey,” she said in a hush. “You don’t need it, but good luck, Macalister.”

There was a rush inside me, a sensation similar to falling unexpectedly. It was both frightening and exhilarating at the same time. My voice wasn’t as steady as usual, but hopefully she’d hear the weight I put behind it. “Thank you.”

We parted, her going into the ballroom to join her friends and me taking the long way around the building to avoid the crowd. The gift shop and offices were closed and dark. I walked past them, planning to cut through the restaurant which was also closed due to the event, but there were pictures lining the hallway, and I paused at one of them, recognizing the face.

It was last year’s regatta winner, likely taken moments after he’d crossed the finish line. Vance’s brown hair was wild in the wind, and the bright sunlight bounced off the hull of his boat and made the water around him a vivid blue.

He was smiling ear to ear. Happy.

My heart felt heavy, sinking in my chest. I hadn’t seen him look like that in years. Was it my absence and, with it, the lack of the enormous pressure I put on him that made this possible?

There were voices in the restaurant, both male, laughing and speaking far too loudly for the topic they were discussing.

“Come on, man,” one of them joked. “They should have used his mugshot for his picture.”

“Like it’d matter.” The second voice was bitter. “Macalister makes more money in a year than we’ll make our whole goddamn lives. And, hey, you know what likes money? Pussy.”

“Uh, speak for yourself, dick. I’m already making mid-six, and I’ve never had a problem getting pussy.”

Chair legs squealed across the floor like they’d risen from their seats. “You are so full of shit, Lynch.”

This had to be Duncan Lynch and not his father Damon. The voice was too young, and Duncan was one of the bachelors participating, not to mention, as a board member, the older Lynch made far more than six figures a year.

“You never had a problem getting pussy?” the other man continued. “Then I’ve got two words for you—Sophia Alby.”

My muscles solidified upon hearing her name, turning me into stone.

Duncan scoffed. “Okay, that was all her. I tried a couple times, but she always looked at me like I had a disease. I got tired of how she acted like she was better than me.”

With what little evidence I had, I concluded Sophia’s assessment had been correct. She was far better than Duncan Lynch.

The other man’s tone was teasing but contained an edge of meanness. They were striving to be friendly, but not friends. “Was that before or after Madeline gave you the clap?”

Duncan didn’t miss a beat. “Just so you know, I heard she got it from your dad.”

“That’s funny. I heard she got it from yours.”

Both men laughed like venereal diseases were hilarious. I pressed my fingertips to my forehead and rubbed the crease I felt developing there. During my tenure, most of the board members had trouble staying faithful to their wives, and Damon Lynch was no exception. But I assumed he’d taken precautions during his indiscretions, and now he was running for Congress on a ‘family first’ platform.

“I saw her,” the other man said, “so I know she’s here. What are the chances she’ll bid on me?”

“Who? Sophia?” Duncan paused. “None, bro. She’s only into dark meat.”

Anger flared inside me on both her behalf and Tate’s. Cape Hill wasn’t welcoming to anyone deemed ‘new money,’ and was even worse regarding race. It was shameful the number of times a member of the Isaacs family had been told they were in the wrong place when attending social events. I couldn’t tolerate Duncan’s statement, and the heat melted the stone from my body. My large feet fell silently on the carpet as I made my approach, readying to confront them.

“She just needs a little convincing,” the other man said.

“She’s not the prom queen anymore, and you’re still so desperate to fuck her.”