The Deception (Filthy Rich Americans 3) - Page 68

My lawyer made a sound like he’d been kicked in the chest.

When presented with that much money, it triggered my fight or flight defense, and my desire was to bolt screaming for the door. It was more than half a billion dollars.

“Oh, dear,” the woman said, who hovered to my right. “How about some water?”

She didn’t wait for me to respond, not that I could. I sat stupefied while a tall, slender glass appeared next to the portfolio and ice water from a pitcher was poured inside. I had no idea if I was thirsty, but the water was there now, and it was an action I understood. I took the glass and drank while everyone studied me.

I set the glass down, leaving my hand wrapped around it, staring vacantly at the polished tabletop. “I don’t understand.”

“RMH Industries doesn’t manufacture anything. The business is set up solely to hold the assets. Doing it this way prevents you from incurring an enormous gift tax.”

“No, I meant I don’t understand why he did this.” I wanted to know what the condition was. Nobody just fucking gave someone a half a billion dollars without expecting something in return.

The man brightened. “Oh, I see. This is a wedding gift from your husband. Mr. Hale had us organize the paperwork so the deal could be executed once you were married and your name had been legally changed.”

Meaning Royce hadn’t done this incredibly insane thing to try to get back in my good graces . . . he’d set it up weeks or months ago.

“I imagine,” the man continued, “this is quite a happy shock.”

“Yes,” I breathed.

“We’re here to help, and we’ll take as much time as you need to go through everything.”

It was a conditioned response and I didn’t know what else to say. “Thank you.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent in the conference room. I was still in shock and absorbed only fifty percent of everything they said, but when the time came and with my attorney’s blessing, I picked up the pen and began to sign in the places they told me to, across from the signature my husband had already scrawled on the pages.

The first time I signed, I started to use my maiden name and had to adjust it. I wasn’t a Northcott, I was a filthy rich Hale now.

I didn’t remember the drive home. I blinked, and then I was sitting on the bench beneath the fountain at the center of the hedge maze. When I’d moved into the house, this had been my favorite spot. I could still remember the way the fireflies had winked among the hedges when Royce had gotten down on one knee and asked me to be his wife.

I was determined not to let Macalister take my love of this place away. He’d already taken so much.

You have enough money now you can build your own maze.

It was true. As chairman of the board of RMH Industries, which had exactly one member, I could vote to pay myself whatever salary I wanted.

Royce emerged from the hedges, his gray suit coat off and hung over an arm and his navy tie askew. He scanned his surroundings, and when he saw me, I stood. It allowed him to look at me in my plum colored sleeveless dress and nude heels.

His gaze was magnetic. It sucked me in, drugging me as he tried to extract all my secrets.

It was clear he expected me to say something, but when I didn’t, he went first. “I got your text.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His expression was guarded as we felt each other out. “It was a surprise.”

“It . . . was very surprising.”

A smile hinted at his lips. “That’s what Frank said. He was worried you were going to pass out, but you held it together.”

“Why? Why’d you do it?”

His eyes glittered, trying to lure me in. “Come here, and I’ll tell you.”

Oh, my God. The realization washed through me, warming me all the way to my toes. He was going to finally say what I’d longed to hear. My heart soared, but my mind sent it crashing back down to earth. “No.”

My refusal derailed him, and rightfully so. He’d given me nearly everything he had, and I wouldn’t fulfill the simplest of his requests.

“No?” he repeated, stunned.

“We said we aren’t going to lie anymore, right? Well, there’s something I have to do, but . . . I can’t tell you what it is.”

His chin pulled back. “Why not?”

The biggest reason was because he’d try to stop me, but I went with an easier one. I mirrored the words he’d told me while we’d stood in the maze in the rain. “That way you can’t tell him what you don’t know.”

His face was a mixture of concern and disappointment. “Marist.”

“I’m asking you to trust me.”

Tags: Nikki Sloane Filthy Rich Americans Billionaire Romance
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