The Initiation (Filthy Rich Americans 1)

“Why?” I demanded.

His Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow, and guilt rushed through his expression. “Are you okay? I didn’t want to hurt you, but I thought this might make our first time less traumatic.”

“Traumatic?” Jesus. “It’s just sex, Royce. Not war.”

He had no response to that. Maybe he was thinking I was a naïve virgin and he knew better. Was I Medusa now? He sat in the tense silence, utterly still. Even in statue form, he was beautiful. I wanted him to pull me into his arms. He needed to do something fast, because emotions roiled in my belly, and I worried I might start to freak out.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly.

“I changed my mind.” I didn’t want to show weakness, but all the desire in me had fled. Now I just wanted to be dressed as quickly as possible and pretend this never happened. I leaned forward and grabbed the jeans wadded at my feet. He nodded in understanding and leaned between the front seats, reaching to grab the package of tissues on the tray in my console.

“I thought you might. You still haven’t answered me, though.” He pulled out a tissue for himself and handed the pack to me. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said curtly. I was aware I was being unfair to him. I’d asked for this, and although he’d been misguided, he had been trying to help me. Part of me was relieved to have this part over with. “I can’t stand the sight of blood.”

His gaze left mine and drifted down to the tissues in my hand. “Do you need me to—”

“Nope,” I said.

God, no. He didn’t seem squeamish or fazed by this, but I wasn’t about to accept his help cleaning me up. When we both finished our tasks and I was buttoning my pants, my confidence inched back into place.

“You should have asked if that was how I wanted it done.”

His gaze was heavy. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

I sighed. “It’d be easier to argue with you if you’d stop agreeing with me.”

“I know it’s fucked up, but I was trying to help.” He turned to face me, bringing one of his legs up onto the seat and propped an elbow on the seat back. “Are we okay?”

Were we? I stared at my knees, unable to hold his gaze.

“I don’t know,” I said softly. I wanted us to be.

He reached out and grasped my chin, turning me to look at him. His fingertips slid over my cheekbone so he could cup my face.

“This whole thing?” I continued. “The situation we’re in . . . it’s so fucked up.”

His chest expanded as he took in a deep breath. “Yeah.”

I could read the thought he had loudly on his face. What he really wanted to say was, you have no idea. But he didn’t. Instead he moved in until there was no space left and captured my lips with his.

It was sunny but windy outside, and the water on the bay was tumultuous. I watched the whitecaps froth on the waves through the window in Alice’s office, and it matched the emotions swirling inside me. I sat alone, waiting with my legs crossed and my foot bouncing with nerves.

I hadn’t seen Royce since Saturday afternoon. He had corporate events and business dinners, and obligations he promised to fulfill on his father’s behalf. He’d texted me a few times during the week under the guise of quizzing me on board members, but I believed it was really an excuse to talk to me.

I kind of liked it.

Would I see him now before the interview? Or would he be in the room as well?

I was sure I didn’t have time to text him and ask. Alice had left me in her office while she went to check on the boardroom and make sure everything was set up. I drummed my fingers on the armrests of my chair. I’d sat for interviews before, but they had been for summer internships. Not something where the stakes were so high.

No matter how much I’d tried to tighten finances and forced my parents to squirrel money away, my family would struggle if I failed.

“They’re ready for you.”

I swiveled toward Alice’s voice and gazed at her as she stood in the hallway, her gray dress matching the steel skyscrapers outside. My heart stayed in my seat as I stood and filed out of her office, clutching the handle of my purse so tightly, my hand ached.

“Do I look all right?” I despised how timid I sounded, and I knew better. If the wind had destroyed my hair or I’d smeared my lipstick on the elevator ride up, Alice would have told me when I first arrived.

I’d spent the last five years learning how not to care about other people’s opinions, and it was impossible to unlearn it in ten days.