The Obsession (Filthy Rich Americans 2)

He didn’t compliment her. He offered nothing, not even a smile as she joined us. Instead, he glanced down at his watch impatiently. “We need to leave. I told Vance’s driver to meet us at five-forty.”

Royce let go of my hand only so he could pull on his mask.

When it had been decided we’d use the mythology theme, he’d asked me who he should go as. My original answer had been Hades, the king of the underworld, but I’d been wrong. I saw him as Ares now.

The black leather mask was molded to his face and then flared out like sharp pointed wings. Red notched upward at the corner of his eyebrows and down from the center of his eyes, exaggerating a menacing scowl. The mask was full of aggression and dominance. He looked ruthless. It was undeniably sexy as he pulled it into place.

So much tension filled the back of the limo, it was difficult to breathe. Royce and I sat on the side bench while Alice sat next to her husband on the back seat, and for a long time no one said anything. Macalister’s dark gaze kept returning to me every few minutes, as if checking to see I hadn’t vanished from the car.

We’d made it into Boston before the silence was broken.

“How was the conference?” Macalister’s focus shifted to his son. “They seemed quite pleased you could attend. You’d think you were a celebrity from the way they fawned over you.” He was smiling, but there was zero warmth. “I’m sure you enjoyed that immensely.”

Royce let the comment roll right off him. “It was fine, but I would have rather stayed here and dealt with stock price crisis.”

“It’s a situation, not a crisis,” Macalister said dryly.

“We’re down three percent over the month. Pretty sure crisis is the word the shareholders are using.”

Macalister was a god, but even he had to answer to someone, and he did not like Royce reminding him of that.

When the limo parked and the door opened, fresh air poured in, dispelling some of the thick tension that clogged the back seat. The limo had pulled up in a parking garage alongside another, although this car wasn’t as big. We all got out, doing our final checks to make sure we were camera-ready, and I stood still as Alice applied more lipstick to my already red lips. I tried not to think about how cruel the situation was for both of us.

Vance had taken a car to pick up Jillian, but neither got out of the limo we’d parked beside. Was it possible this was someone else’s car? I didn’t recognize the driver standing beside it, but there were quite a few on the Hales’ staff. Macalister marched with frustration toward the back door and reached out to open it—

“Sir.” The driver stepped in front of him. “They’re not ready yet.” His expression was heavy, filled with what he was trying to say while staying professional at the same time. “I think they might need another minute.”

The single word from Macalister fell like a hammer. “Move.”

The driver scrambled out of the way as his boss lunged for the handle and jerked it open.

Light from the parking garage splashed inside, revealing two bodies connected. Vance knelt on the floorboard, his black pants undone and down around his knees. He had one hand across his belly, holding his shirt up out of his way, and the other behind him on the seat, supporting himself as he leaned back. Jillian was in front of him on her hands and knees, her silver dress hiked up around her waist.

“What the fuck?” Vance cried, jerking out of her and turning away at the same moment he grabbed the back of her dress and yanked it down, covering her naked lower half.

“We’re all waiting on you,” his father growled before shutting the door with force.

The slam of it echoed in the parking garage, and then plunged the space into horrible silence. The image was seared in my brain, but what about Alice? I snuck a glance at her, but unless she was hiding all her emotions under her mask, she didn’t have any. She looked exactly as she had earlier when she’d caught her husband looming over me.

Vacant.

The limo rocked. Not from sex, but from the occupants’ panicked hands as they hurried to dress. Raised voices came from inside the car, but it was too muffled to make out the words and understand what exactly they were arguing about.

The door shoved open and Vance stepped out, his tuxedo in place and a mask pushed back on the top of his head. It allowed us to see his expression, which was a mixture of guilt and exasperation. His blue eyes focused on his father as he shut the door. “She’s not coming.”