The Obsession (Filthy Rich Americans 2)

Disdain flooded his face. “This isn’t serious. A masquerade party?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “This is what you asked for.”

“I believe I asked for something memorable and sophisticated.” He set her phone down and pointed at the screen. “This isn’t elegant, it’s a junior prom.”

Alice tossed a lock of her blonde hair over her shoulder, crossed her arms, and rested them on the table, leaning forward. “This will be elegant, I promise you. It will still be black-tie.” Her posture was confident, announcing she wasn’t going to be deterred. “You can’t be memorable unless you go over the top. Otherwise, it’ll just be another bland corporate party, indistinguishable from all the others. You want this to be an experience, one people will be talking about for the next one hundred and fifty years.”

Macalister wasn’t sold, but as he leaned back in his chair, it was clear he was considering what she’d said.

“When people think their identity is obscured, even somewhat,” a sly smile graced her lips, “they let go of their inhibitions. Think about the guest list. Wouldn’t you love to have an evening where everyone has their guard down?”

My mouth dropped open. She’d just offered Macalister one of the things he valued most. The highest commodity in our elite New England town.

Information.

It’d be his best opportunity to learn all the secrets Cape Hill was desperate to conceal.

His gaze sharpened on his clever wife, and genuine delight flashed through him. He wasn’t on the fence about her theme anymore—he was in absolute support of it.

“I trust your judgement,” he said. “You understand how important this event is to me and my company.” He paused as the temperature of his voice plummeted. “I’m sure it won’t just meet my expectations—but exceed them.”

It was like he’d just barely left of the “or else” threat at the end of his statement, and I swallowed hard on Alice’s behalf. She didn’t seem affected, though. Either she felt confident in her abilities or she’d been married to him long enough she was used to it.

“Speaking of expectations,” his attention returned to me, and I struggled not to squirm in my seat, “after dinner is over, I have some items to go over with you. We can discuss them in the library.”

Royce asked it before I could. “What items?”

His father’s cool gaze turned to his oldest son. “Things that are none of your business.”

My heart launched into my throat, clogging my airway until it was nearly impossible to breathe. The mood in the room sank faster than a company’s stock after reporting a huge loss. Alice and Vance tensed.

But Royce’s chest puffed up, and he took on a dark cast. “Anything that has to do with Marist is my business.”

Macalister gave his son a look that screamed, is that so? In his mind, Royce had sold those rights away. The oldest Hale laced his fingers together on the tabletop, and as he sat in the ornate chair at the head of the table, he resembled a king on a throne. One who looked very much like he wanted to put the prince back in his place.

“We have an agreement,” Macalister said. “I promised to keep her updated on her family’s financial situation.” His piercing eyes curved back to me. “I don’t see a need for Royce to be included on that. Do you?”

Beneath the table, Royce’s hand latched onto my thigh, just above my knee. His warm palm tingled against the bare skin of my leg, but I tried not to notice. The action might have seemed affection to anyone else, but this was a warning. He was saying it was dangerous, telling me to be careful.

I understood what was happening and how I was playing directly into Macalister’s hand. And while I didn’t want to be alone with him, his offer was too good to pass up. Royce withheld information from me, and tonight I would do the same.

I pushed his hand off my knee as I looked at his father. “No,” I said firmly. “I don’t see a reason either.”

The pleased smile on Macalister’s face twisted my insides.

Tension rolled off Royce throughout dinner and permeated the room. Not that it would have been an enjoyable meal otherwise. Once the main course had been served, I realized these weekly dinners were merely business meetings for Macalister to preside over and ensure all his family members were carrying out the directions he gave.

As soon as we were dismissed, my fiancé turned in his seat and put a hand on the back of my chair. His voice was low and urgent. “Don’t be alone with him.”

I sucked in a breath. “Why? What are you worried is going to happen?”

Royce’s eyes darted away. “He’s manipulative.”

I did my best to hold in an incredulous laugh. “Oh, I see. Your worry isn’t about me . . . it’s what he might say about you.”