The Initiation (Filthy Rich Americans 1)

Besides, part of me was curious. I’d been to the Hale’s house many times over the years, but never for one of Royce’s parties.

The usher’s voice boomed when I stepped through the front door. “Miss Marist Northcott.”

It stunned me motionless. Had he legitimately announced me? Like this was some social ball from the 1800s? I waited for a chaperone to appear and pair me up for a stilted dance with a suitor, but thankfully no one came.

There were a few people milling about in the foyer, but no one I recognized. Conversations and laughter buzzed from the next room over, echoing in the large entrance. I faced the grand staircase that split halfway up, running away from the enormous painting of the Hale family centered over the landing. I stifled the urge to slink up the staircase and away from the horror of having to mingle.

Emily was just inside the front sitting room. She snatched two glasses of a bubbly drink from a waiter’s tray as he passed by and then held one out without even turning to glance over her shoulder at me. I took the glass and slipped by her side.

I was only twenty, but no one cared whether it was legal. We’d all been drinking since high school.

“Christ, I think half the company’s kids are here,” she muttered beneath her glass the moment before she took a sip.

I surveyed the crowd and came to the same conclusion.

Hale Banking and Holding Company had started out as a simple bank, but over the last one hundred and fifty years had grown into so much more. Now the eighth largest bank in the world, they had financial and wealth management, commercial banking, and were pressing deeper into the global markets.

At the helm of HBHC sat Macalister Hale.

He controlled an enormous empire and was barely fifty years old.

I’d only spoken directly to him once. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome, but also the kind of man who made you feel like a nuisance. Like you had no business being near him and using up any of the air in the room to breathe because that was his air. It, along with everything else, belonged to him.

Mr. Hale didn’t appear to be around. It was unlikely, anyway. This was Royce’s party to celebrate his graduation from Harvard Business School. His father had better things to do than hang out with college kids on a rainy Saturday night.

Conversations bounced off the dark paneled walls, high ceilings, and hardwood floor; the sound was too loud to be soaked up by the Persian rugs and expensive couches. I lingered at Emily’s side as a shadow while she mingled. She made effortless small talk with a dozen people I recognized from school or our father’s job.

We believed Charles Northcott, our father, was on the cusp of making the board of directors at HBHC now that Mr. Steinway had retired. Twenty percent of our sleepy Cape Hill town was a company employee.

I didn’t miss the way my sister’s gaze subtly darted around the room, searching for—but not finding—the man of the hour. Royce would emerge later when all pretenses of this civilized soiree were dropped. Eventually, people would indulge in the hard liquor and the best drugs their overpriced dealer could procure for them. Then the party would officially start, and Royce would make his appearance.

Emily latched a hand on my elbow and pulled me close, bringing her lips right by my ear. “Where the fuck is he? I’m dying here.”

“You want me to go look for him?” Oh, God, please say no.

“No,” she sighed.

Relief swept through me. I made other people uncomfortable, and yet Royce Hale? He seemed to be the only one able to do it to me. His piercing blue eyes were always hungry and relentless. Like his father, he dominated all the air in the room.

I didn’t envy Emily’s situation. Our mother had been best friends with Mrs. Hale, and before she had passed away, they’d always joked that their children would marry. Even after her death, our parents had remained friends—if you could call it that—with the Hale family.

Arranged marriages didn’t typically exist in our tightly woven circle, but there was an unspoken understanding between our families. Perhaps it was to honor his late wife’s wish, but Macalister Hale had decided long ago it would be advantageous for Royce and Emily to partner. They were a good match in every area. Wealth, intelligence, looks. Together, Royce and Emily would be the unstoppable power couple, and now that he’d finished school, it was time for him to make his move.

It should be easy. Royce had essentially been granted first right of refusal over my sister.

The situation was sort of fucked up, but Emily didn’t protest. In fact, she didn’t seem to mind at all. She liked the idea of dating him.