The Obsession (Filthy Rich Americans 2)

I knew it was coming, that Macalister would forbid Royce and me from any kind of physical relationship. It was the next logical step in splitting us apart, and a small part of me was relieved by this constraint. Royce was masterful at seduction, and now his best tool of manipulation had been shelved.

But a much larger part of me mourned the loss of it. The only time Royce and I truly seemed to connect was when I acted on my feelings. I’d waited so long, just barely gotten him, and already he was being taken away. It was unfair, but so much of my life was right now I was growing used to it.

My voice was hushed and uneven. “All right.”

Macalister nodded, pleased. “My second condition is we play a game of chess together here every night.”

My heart ground to a halt. “For how long?”

“Until you beat me.” His grin was downright evil. “Do we have a deal?”

FIVE

ROYCE WORE A NAVY THREE-PIECE SUIT, a white dress shirt, and a pale silver tie with matching pocket square. He had his laptop bag hung on one shoulder and a cup of Starbucks in hand, and he strode down the hall toward his office looking both at ease and in command. He was so perfectly Wall Street it was like he’d just come from a stock photo shoot.

When his eyes locked onto me seated behind his assistant’s desk, he pulled to a stop. He stared, unable to believe what he was seeing, two separate universes colliding.

This morning, he’d gotten up earlier than anyone else to hit the gym and hadn’t returned by the time I’d left. Thankfully, the ride into Boston hadn’t been as awkward as I’d feared. Alice and I sat in the back of a Mercedes and Macalister up front with the driver, and neither of the Hales glanced up from their phones the entire drive.

“Marist?” Royce asked. His unsure gaze floated around the HBHC executive hallway like he needed to confirm where he was. “Do we have an appointment today?”

“No. Your father wants to see you when you get in, though.”

He was bewildered. “Okay, but what are you doing here?”

“Me?” I feigned my own confusion. “Oh, I work here now.”

“I’m sorry, you what?”

I gave him a Cheshire Cat grin. “I’m your new assistant.”

His eyes clouded. “Right.”

“Go see your dad. Someone from IT is supposed to be here soon to set up my email.”

He flopped his laptop bag on my desk with a thud, but set his coffee down with more care, as if the contents of the cardboard cup had greater value than the MacBook in his briefcase.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, “and then we’ll see about that.”

He did an about-face and returned to the elevator at the end of the hall. Even though he was on the board of directors now, he wasn’t on the top floor yet with all the other chief-level executives.

How long would it be before he was named chief operating officer? He wouldn’t be thirty for another four years, and that still seemed awfully young. He was hungry, though. Maybe his ambition made up for some of his lack of experience, and his last name did the rest of the work.

The doors peeled back, he stepped into the empty car, and I leaned over the desk to watch him as he turned to face the doors. The smirk on his face was so large, it read all the way down the hall to me. He was such an arrogant prick.

I hated how much it turned me on.

The doors sealed closed and carried him up to his father’s office, where he’d do his best to undo the move I’d made last night.

While I waited, I returned my attention to my phone and the article I was reading about chess theory. I’d lost my first game last night so quickly, it had been embarrassing. I had to get much, much better if I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life closed in the library losing to Macalister.

I was still installing a chess app on my phone when Royce’s shadow fell across me. I glanced up, and his furious expression made my heart stop.

“My office,” he growled. “Now.”

Holy shit. The dark timbre of his voice was scary and . . . a little exciting too.

He didn’t wait for me. He was a blur of navy wool and silver silk as he snatched up his coffee cup and laptop bag and pounded through the doorway into his office.

Royce didn’t have to issue the order for me to shut the door—his attitude made it perfectly clear the conversation we were about to have was serious. Beyond the glass wall at the back of his office, the city was different hues of gray. The concrete, the steel, and even the overcast sky were all cold and unemotional. Was it because the storm was brewing here in my fiancé’s eyes?