The Obsession (Filthy Rich Americans 2)

Royce said nothing. He sat and plunked his phone face-up on the table beside the silver charging plate. I braced for Macalister to say something about how disrespectful that was. Phones weren’t allowed at the dinner table in my house . . . but here everyone had theirs out, resting beside their silverware like it was a required utensil in their place setting.

A woman I hadn’t met before, but who was clearly part of the Hale household staff, entered from the kitchen and served us salads. Alice first, then me, and then the Hale men in order of seniority. It was stilted and formal, and so uncomfortable it stretched my skin tightly. No one else seemed to feel it, though. In the silence, they readied their forks and began eating, oblivious to my discomfort.

“Marist. How did you find your first night here?” Macalister’s icy gaze locked onto me and refused to let go.

“It was fine, thank you.” I despised how weak my voice sounded. Silence followed, dragging painfully, and I felt compelled to fill it. I forced a bright tone. “How was your day?”

It was like I’d just asked him what color money was. He simply stared, making me wince and my skin stretch tighter still.

“It was fine,” he said finally. His attention left me so he could stab his fork into his salad, and then he focused on his youngest son. “I volunteered you to Lambert’s team for the Marblehead race at the end of the summer. One of their crew members broke a hand, and I told him you would help out.”

Vance blinked. He struggled to process the information but failed to conceal the dislike from his boyishly good-looking face. It wasn’t the sailing that bothered him. The Hales were the founding members of the Cape Hill Yacht Club, and Vance was an experienced helmsman. He had plenty of racing trophies to prove it.

No, I suspected it was Wayne Lambert who was giving him pause.

Mr. Lambert was the CEO of a giant pharmaceutical company. He had a very large and very New York personality, only moving here in the last decade so his daughters could attend Cape Hill Prep. Foul-mouthed and hot-tempered, he had one of those booming laughs that made a room go awkwardly quiet. He was loud in everything he did. And he was new money.

Which meant he was the polar opposite of Macalister Hale.

The two CEOs of Cape Hill seemed unlikely to be friends, so I had to wonder what was going on. Macalister wouldn’t put up with Mr. Lambert without a good reason.

“His daughter is also on the crew,” Macalister added. “Alice and I discussed it and feel she would be a good companion for the anniversary celebration.”

Vance’s pointed gaze swung toward Alice, and I couldn’t help but think about the last time I’d seen them together. She’d been on her knees, her hands fisted in the undone sides of his tuxedo pants and his dick buried in her mouth.

Her expression toward her stepson now was tepid. “Royce’s party was one thing, but this is huge. HBHC is turning one hundred and fifty years old, and you’re a Hale. You have to bring a date.”

Royce interrupted the wordless conversation going on between his brother and his stepmother. “Which daughter? Lambert has two.”

“The older one,” Macalister said.

“Jillian,” Alice said at the same time.

Royce turned his attention to his brother. “Be careful. She’s a stage-five clinger.”

Vance arched one eyebrow. “You dated her?”

“Yeah, I think ‘date’ would be too strong a word.” The amused look on Royce’s face froze, as if he just realized his fiancée was sitting right beside him while he was talking about fucking someone else.

Was I supposed to care about this? Because . . . I didn’t. It certainly wasn’t news to me that he’d been a player, and besides—he’d betrayed me. I wasn’t supposed to care about him.

He stared at me anxiously, not sure how I’d react.

I shrugged a shoulder. “Good luck, Vance. Last I heard, she has a boyfriend.”

A scoff came from the end of the table.

Macalister’s gaze was an avalanche. Cold, terrifying, and beautiful. “That doesn’t matter. When he asks her,” he turned his head so he could decree it directly to Vance, “and he will ask her—she’ll be pleased to trade up to a Hale.” His eyes turned smug. “They always are.”

If I’d been standing, the arrogance in his tone would have knocked me over, but he was wrong. My sister Emily had no desire to trade up to a Hale. She’d been promised to Royce for years and did everything she could to get out of it, including getting pregnant.

Alice set her fork down and picked up her phone. “Since we’re discussing the anniversary, I have a mockup of the invitation to show you.” She tapped the screen a few times before presenting it to her husband.