The Initiation (Filthy Rich Americans 1)

Macalister surveyed the room the same way I assumed he’d search for a redundant employee to fire. His gaze missed nothing as he stood in the doorway, one hand still on the doorknob. He had on slacks and a button-down shirt, and it was the closest to a relaxed outfit I’d seen him in.

“I came to ask how your dinner went,” he said, “but I see it’s still going.”

The sharp edge of his words gave me a thousand invisible cuts. I dropped my gaze to the floor, wanting to find a throw pillow like Royce had, only one big enough so I could hide behind it completely.

“Yeah,” Royce said, acting disinterested. He threw his arm over the back of the couch with the same ease he’d had with me earlier. “We were just talking.”

I traced the pattern on the rug, but the tense, heavy silence said Macalister wasn’t buying his son’s bullshit. A blast of cold wafted over me, and I knew his focus had shifted my direction.

“Alice showed me pictures, but since you’re here, Marist, let’s have a look at you.”

My gaze crept hesitantly back up. I was frayed and raw but did my best to stand straight and meet Macalister in the eye, whether I was ready for his evaluation or not. I had no idea what making out with Royce had done to my hair or makeup, or if his father would notice my flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen mouth.

I’d bet money he did—if I had any money to my name.

Macalister’s eyes were blue like his sons’, but much darker. They were the color of the Atlantic in January, and just like the ocean, they were volatile. They could be calm one minute and ferocious the next. They were intriguing and haunting. His gaze tore down from my dark hair to my newly pedicured toes, and then worked its way back up at a measured pace.

“Turn,” he said.

I was a purchase being assessed, and it was humiliating, but Royce’s advice played on a constant loop in my mind.

Be the girl he wants you to be.

I forced out a smile and turned slowly in place, an expensive toy on display, spun so he could see the details from all angles. When I came back around, I felt just as hollow as the smile on his face.

I was the girl who didn’t care what anyone thought, and with a cruel twist of fate, now this man’s opinion meant everything. So much rode on it.

“Very nice,” he said. “Alice worked a miracle.”

Tension snapped through me, but I didn’t react. It was like my spine had broken but as long as I stood perfectly still, no one else would know. I could hold myself together with the strength of the shell of my body.

As the quiet stretched in the room, it became evident he was waiting for a response from me.

“Thank you,” I bit out.

“I’m sorry I interrupted your evening.”

“It’s fine.” Royce sounded bored. “She was just leaving.”

What, I almost demanded, but caught myself in time. He’d switched so fast into the other version of himself I had whiplash, but he’d had years of practice. He was an expert at it by now.

I straightened and tried not to look uncomfortable. “Yes. Thank you for dinner.”

He rose reluctantly from the couch. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

Macalister followed us down the hall until we reached the landing at the top of the staircase. “Good night, Marist,” he said.

I held in the shiver at my name in his voice. “Good night, Mr. Hale.”

“You may call me Macalister. We might be family one day, after all.” It sounded like a threat.

I nodded since my throat had closed up, preventing me from speaking. I turned and controlled my descent down the stairs when I wanted to run. His calculating gaze bore into my back as I took every step, and I felt it in the marrow of my bones all the way home.

The headquarters of the HBHC was a rather plain-looking tower of steel and glass, but it had a strange greenish tint to it, like it had been stained with the same ink that was used to print money. The building didn’t stand out from the other skyscrapers in downtown Boston, but it was easy to identify by the glowing red and black logo at the top.

There were glass elevators in each corner of the building, and sometimes from the street you could see them whisking people up and down, but only the executives with offices on the top floors were allowed to use them. The rest of the employees used the bank of elevators in the middle of the tower.

A week ago, I would have been thrilled with a job offer from HBHC after graduating from Etonsons. I would have strived to work my way toward a glass elevator job, just like my father had. But now, as I sat waiting in the atrium of the building, my future was unclear.