The Redemption (Filthy Rich Americans 4)

“Yes?” He did nothing to hide his irritation.

I’d learned quickly in this job he did not like to be disturbed, but this was important.

“DuBois’s not going to Aspen,” I blurted. “His mother passed away this morning.”

Macalister’s shoulders stiffened as the news settled over him, then fell a touch as he leaned back in his chair, his gaze breaking away from me.

Even though he wasn’t disappointed with me, it was still hard to see.

“I have an idea,” I said. “We get someone from Lynch’s campaign to reach out and invite DuBois to the party at your house next week.”

The invite couldn’t come from Macalister. It needed to look like he had no idea the book was in the works and he was a man striving for redemption with no ulterior motive.

He considered the option. “If DuBois is considering writing the book, then he’ll accept this invitation. It would be too good of an opportunity for him to pass up.”

“Right.”

Macalister was traditional, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t adapt. He nodded, which I understood as his acceptance of this new plan. “I’ll tell Damon this afternoon. Perhaps Kristin is a fan of his work.”

“Fucking doubtful,” I said. “The only thing Mrs. Lynch reads is the labels on her prescription bottles.”

He scowled dark enough that he didn’t need to speak the words to scold. He didn’t like cuss words, especially in the office setting, but he’d tolerate them from others. Not me, though. I was held to a higher standard. And although I was supposed to be his partner, I’d given him control over one aspect of my life, and now it was bleeding into other areas.

“Whether or not she is a fan is irrelevant,” he said. “We only need a reason to push the invitation.” His gaze returned to his computer, like his personal life was sorted and now he’d focus on HBHC. “Cancel our Aspen plans.”

I shook my head. “You still have to go.” His head snapped my direction so he could level a glare at me, but I did my best to stand tall. “You have plans with Evangeline, and the place will be crawling with celebrity photographers.”

His icy scowl was epic, and I shivered. I watched the thoughts in his mind play out through his beautiful eyes.

“You know I’m right,” I added softly. “You have to go and charm everyone.”

Just not Evangeline, a voice in my mind pleaded.

He swiped his palm down his tie, turning his gaze out the window, as if he couldn’t look at me as he gave in. “Fine. We’ll go.”

It hurt to have to say it. “Macalister, I think I need to stay here. I still have so much to do for the event.”

Anger simmered in his expression. “It sounds as if you are saying I gave you more responsibility than you can handle.”

“No.” Panic tinted my voice. “I totally can handle it, but it’s, like, incredibly important to me that this event be the best possible. I want people to be floored, for it to be all they talk about for the next month.”

It wasn’t just to impress Macalister either, although that was part of it. I wanted to be seen and acknowledged by Cape Hill. Show my parents and Tate and the other people who didn’t care about me what they were missing out on.

The mood in the room had been tense, but the passion in my voice broke through, and Macalister’s lips parted with pleasant surprise. “If that’s the case, then it’s difficult to argue with you. I very much understand the desire to strive for excellence,” his gaze turned intense, “and how it can consume you.”

How did he do that? He could layer innuendo into nearly any phrase and make my insides melt. I swallowed thickly. “I need to stay, no matter how badly I wanted to go with you.”

It was terrifying to say the truth with him, but it was a calculated risk, and it paid off when he inhaled a deep breath. “I was looking forward to it as well.”

Desire cinched around me, making everything tight and locking me in place, but his admission lit me up inside. Warmth bloomed over my skin as I stood and endured the onslaught of his gaze.

It whispered things to me. Made promises and threats and guarantees that this thing between us would come to a head. Try as he might to resist, we were doomed.

Macalister and I were inevitable.

He paused and looked unsure, which was so rare, it was strangely beautiful to see. “Tell me the other name.”

The connection between us crumbled and disintegrated, and I sighed with hurt. I’d thought we were forging something, but he was just drawing closer to get my guard down. “I’ll tell you . . . soon.”

“When?” he demanded.

The words were bitter in my mouth. “When you’re ready to hear it.”