The Redemption (Filthy Rich Americans 4)

“No, we’re doing this right now. What the fuck, Macalister?”

I paced a circuit in the room. “I planned to discuss this with you.”

“Yeah? When?” she demanded. “When the fucking book came out?”

“This past weekend, on my yacht.” With everything that had happened, I’d pushed my plan back a week.

“Oh, I see,” she snarled. “Were you going to do it before or after you’d fucked me?”

Hearing all the profanity and how upset she was caused it to bleed over onto me, and I gave her the brutal truth. “During.”

I was a Hale, which meant it was win at all costs. I didn’t fight fair, and I knew she’d be more agreeable to my plan if she was intoxicated with pleasure. I would have fed it to her in pieces, information layered between orgasms.

“Oh, my God,” she gasped in horror.

“DuBois’s book is not the right vehicle,” I reasoned. “And the timing is not ideal.”

I could hear her heavy gasps for breath, and I had the terrible suspicion her face was wet with tears. I had to push the image from my mind and get through the rest of it. Once it was over, then I could assess how bad the damage was and what I’d need to do to address it.

“I know you wanted this,” I said, “but I believe it’s better if you wait.”

She was so much smarter than people gave her credit for, and I admired how she drove straight to the heart of the matter. “Better for who? You?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “If Damon is revealed in DuBois’s book, it won’t take him any time to deduce it came from me. I can’t control it. He could decide that if he goes down, he’s going to take the entire HBHC board with him.” I pressed a hand to the wall and leaned against it. “That wouldn’t just ruin me, Sophia. It’d hurt all of us, including Royce and Marist.”

Since she’d been the last woman to be initiated by the board.

“And it’d be better for Vance,” I continued, “and his political career, if Damon serves a term before it’s announced what kind of man he really is.”

She said nothing, but she was still there because her labored breath came through.

“You’ve known for years and not revealed it,” I said. “I’m asking for two more.”

Sweat sheened my skin from the run, and as I stood motionless in my gym, awaiting her response with my phone pressed to my ear, an icy chill crept over me. It was a warning of how horribly I’d mishandled the situation.

Sophia was detached, like her voice was no longer contained in her body. “Why even ask? It’s done, and it’s clear you don’t give a damn about me. You did what was best for you.” Venom coated each word. “I hope you’re happy.”

This time when the line went silent, I didn’t need to look to see if we were still connected. She’d hung up on me.

My eyes burned from the lack of sleep.

All the calls I made went straight to voicemail, and the text messages unread. After an hour of failed attempts at communication, I considered driving over, but it was the middle of the night.

She was upset. It would be better to give her time to calm down, I told myself. I climbed into bed with the disgruntled cat, who spent five minutes heckling me with angry meows, and the next fifteen rubbing his cheeks against my fingers. I wished for sleep to come, and when it didn’t, I crafted a course of action.

It wasn’t surprising when my phone stayed silent in the morning. There were no pictures for me to approve. Whatever she put on today, she wasn’t wearing it for me. So, I dressed in one of my favorite bespoke suits, a dark gray one paired with a simple black tie, stood before the mirror in my closet, and took a picture to text to her.

Me: I wore this for you.

It had been lonely in the car all week riding to the office without her. There was only silence instead of her laughing at the asinine things she’d read on her phone, which she often insisted on repeating to me. I didn’t feel her gaze sliding appreciatively down my body when she thought I wasn’t looking, which always stroked my ego.

And it no longer smelled like an apple orchard in the car.

When I came down the hallway after my morning meeting, I discovered a stranger sitting at Sophia’s desk, and my eyes narrowed to slits. “Who the hell are you?”

The woman reminded me of frightened mouse, stammering out her words. “Uh, I’m Rosa. They said you needed a new assistant, so I’m here until you hire someone. Talent Solutions sent me over.”

Irritation filled me, but my exterior remained calm and aloof. “No.”

She blinked her confusion. “No?”