We passed several guest bedrooms as we made our way to the end of the hall, and then a closed door on the right. “Vance’s room,” Royce said. “Although he’s probably in the theater room downstairs, playing PlayStation. His door has to stay closed because Lucifer isn’t allowed in there.”
“Lucifer?” Was this some sort of cruel nickname for someone on his staff?
“As in the devil?” A smile hinted on Royce’s lips as he put a hand on the small of my back and guided me through the open doorway to the left.
“Actually, in mythology, Lucifer is the morning star.”
The room he’d led me into looked like a luxury hotel. The walls were paneled in rich, dark wood. There was a sitting area with a light gray couch, a black coffee table in the middle, and two chairs upholstered in smoke gray on the other side. Beyond that was the king-sized bed. Its linens and headboard were done in the same light-to-dark gray scheme. Even the sleeping black cat curled into a perfect circle at the foot of the bed matched.
When Royce shut the door and closed us in, the cat lifted its head and gazed at me with apple-green eyes. It scrutinized me with a discerning look then moved on to the man. A half-second later it was on its feet, vaulting toward him and landing on the carpet with a soft meow. Like a dog who was happy to see its owner, the cat hurried to him and brushed against his leg.
“Are you allergic?” Royce tossed his sport coat onto one of the chairs. It was so his hands were free and he could reach down to grab the cat.
“No,” I said.
“Vance is.” I’d expected him to go to the door and set the cat outside of his room, but instead he held it in his arms and scratched its cheeks.
“This is Lucifer?” My brain short-circuited while watching him with the gorgeous cat, who was clearly loving the attention. A loud, steady purr rumbled from the animal.
“Yeah. My father hates him.”
“I’m surprised he lets Alice keep him.”
When he set the cat down, Lucifer wasn’t pleased. He snaked between Royce’s legs, meowing his protests. “He’s not Alice’s.”
That was . . . surprising. “Really? You don’t strike me as a cat person.”
He lifted a shoulder in a shrug and motioned toward the sitting area. “I found this kitten beside the dumpster outside my college apartment. His back leg was broken.” His tone turned playful. “Fucker cost three grand at the vet and sheds everywhere, but the upside is—as I mentioned—my father hates him.”
Royce dropped down onto the couch, which was more of a loveseat and didn’t leave much room for me. Not unless I wanted to sit close. I eyed the chair across from him and took it. “That’s an upside?”
Lucifer looked delighted Royce’s lap was unoccupied and immediately jumped onto the couch. The miniature panther draped himself across one of Royce’s legs, demanding more attention.
As he stroked the cat, Royce’s gaze didn’t leave mine. “I like to go off-script sometimes.”
The way he stared at me charged the room with electricity. His subtext was clear. Like this cat, I was not in the first draft of his scripted life, but he was happy with the revision. I crossed my legs, feeling uncomfortably hot and exposed. And needy.
“Well,” my voice was unnaturally tight, “you’ve got the whole villain look working for you with that cat on your lap. Like you’re plotting world domination.”
“I have been for a long time.”
I laughed, although I got the feeling he wasn’t joking. I teased, “Have you?”
“When my father steps down, I’ll be the head of HBHC.” His gaze dropped to the cat who stretched, revealing his claws as he did one paw and then the other before curling back into place. “Everything I’ve done is so that will happen. My whole life has been leading up to it, and it’s been the only thing I’ve wanted for so long, I don’t know if I can care about anything else.” Royce’s tone was deathly serious. “I want to be honest. You should know what you’re getting with me.”
Pressure squeezed my body, turning me immobile.
My sister’s words flitted through my mind. Hales can’t love anyone but themselves. Even here in Royce’s bedroom, it felt cold and impersonal. There weren’t photographs of his family, not even his mother who’d died when he was young. Just the pet, who seemed to be a tool of defiance against his father.
But . . . I appreciated him being upfront. Macalister had said marriage was an important partnership, and I believed it. I wouldn’t want to work with someone who didn’t respect me or refused to see me as an equal. I believed Royce did.
“You took my father’s deal for a reason,” he said, “and the same is true for me. Securing my future as the head of the company is all that matters.” His hand froze mid-stroke on Lucifer’s back. “There are a lot of hoops I still have to jump through, now and even after I’m on the board, and . . . I’m going to need your help.”