The Initiation (Filthy Rich Americans 1)

Royce appeared at the edge of the dancefloor, but Macalister shot him a look that dictated he needed another minute.

His tone lowered like it was wrapped in velvet. “You should know I’m quite impressed with you. That’s twice now you’ve forced me into negotiations. However, I always get my way in the end.” A dark look smeared across his face. “You may have spared yourself two minutes with me, but now I want more.”

His words dripped with desire.

“I own you, Marist. And eventually I will have you.”

I gasped and jerked free from his arms but couldn’t escape the horror he’d caused.

He smiled like this was all fine and what he’d just said was perfectly acceptable. “Thank you for the dance.” He nodded, a gentleman biding adieu. “We’ll see each other again soon.”

NINETEEN

I DIDN’T TELL ROYCE what his father had said that night.

In fact, we had been engaged for three days before we saw each other again. He’d been on the board less than twenty-four hours when a software update broke the HBHC site, preventing US users from doing any online banking. It was an ‘all hands on deck’ crisis. My father slept in his office every night until it was resolved.

While Royce was focused on the company, it seemed like the rest of the world was focused on us. My feed was full of pictures from the party. It was beyond bizarre to see Royce and me lumped in with the real celebrities who had been there.

On Wednesday morning, my family met with the man who would handle the Northcott estate, and we signed the releases to give him access to everything. My mother had struggled with it. When she tried to back out and claim they could do it without help, I had to go the tough love route.

The harsh reality I painted for her made her cry.

But the advisor could negotiate rates and payment plans and dig us out of the hole in a third of the time it’d take us to do it on our own.

She glared at me as she signed one document after another. I’d been cold and direct because my frustration with them was reaching critical mass. After everything I’d done for my family’s sake, they weren’t just ungrateful—they had the nerve to act like I was the bad guy.

Sadly, I gained new understanding into Macalister’s desire to control others. If left on their own, it was likely my family would destroy themselves.

Dread pooled in my center as I drove up to the Hale estate and parked beside the garage. Royce had told me his father and Alice were still at the office, which helped with some of my anxiety, but I wasn’t looking forward to the conversation I needed to have about what I’d seen in the woods.

Or what his father had said to me.

I climbed the steps outside, and by the time I’d reached the front door, it swung open, revealing Royce in jeans and a t-shirt. He was so dressed down from the last time I’d seen him, but he still looked great. Less polished, but confident and in command.

Summer was in full effect outside, but as I came into the house, I understood why he was wearing jeans. It was freezing. “The air conditioning must be working overtime.”

He quirked his lips into a tight smile. “My father says he thinks better when it’s cold.” He shut the door behind me, cupped a hand on my cheek, and dropped a quick kiss on my lips. “Hi.”

It was crazy how powerful his effect over me was. One chaste kiss and I was suddenly warm, even as goosebumps pebbled on my legs beneath my shorts. “Hi,” I answered back.

“So, this is the foyer.”

What? I peered at him with confusion. “I can see that.”

His eyes were playful. “It’s where we’re starting our tour.”

“Oh. I see.” I’d grumbled to him earlier how I hadn’t seen half of the house I was going to be living in. I glanced around and pretended to evaluate the space as if seeing it for the first time. “Yes, very nice.”

Royce headed to the left and showed me the formal sitting room. We saw the casual living space, a guest suite, and the all-seasons room at the back of the house where we’d waited with his family for announcements. He took me into the sprawling kitchen and showed me where the important things were. Silverware. Glasses. Everyday plates.

He avoided the dining room, pretending it didn’t exist, which I appreciated.

The steps to the basement were narrow. The room to the right was the home movie theater. Leather recliners were placed in two tiered rows in front of a large screen, and a projector hung overhead.

The room on the left was the wine cellar. It was all maple-colored racks lining the walls and warm brick. A wrought iron chandelier dangled from the arched ceiling. Royce barely gave it a passing comment, but the cozy room was inviting.