Macalister turned to the members, one side and then the other as he spoke. “I believe most of you have already met her. She’s Charles Northcott’s youngest daughter.”

Heads nodded in agreement.

His cold stare returned to me. “But why don’t you indulge us and tell us a little about yourself?”

I adjusted my posture as my shoulders were already slipping. At least this was a question I was prepared for.

“Of course,” I said. “I’m twenty-one and will be starting my final year at Etonsons this fall. I’m studying economics with a minor in history. I’ve interned at Marche Risk Management and volunteered at the Museum of Natural History.” I took in a breath to transition from my schoolwork to my daily life. “I’m a voracious reader and collector of books, preferably—”

He lifted a hand, silencing me. I had ticked the box and supplied a satisfactory answer, and he wanted to move on.

The next few questions were also as I expected. My career goals. Strengths and weaknesses. How I dealt with conflict and failure. After that, the group shifted to my personal life. I was asked about loyalty, and what was the most important thing to me.

“Family,” I answered.

“Are you an organized person? A planner?” Macalister asked.

“Yes, sir.” I always looked ahead.

“So, tell me. How do you find the planning is going for Royce’s celebration?”

“Royce’s party?” His question tripped me up. “I haven’t been involved with that.”

Displeasure painted his face an ugly color. “It’s the biggest event of my son’s life—the man who’s to be your husband. You don’t care enough to be involved with that?”

The disapproving expressions swept through the board members like a cold chill, and excitement lurked in Macalister’s eyes. This wasn’t an interview, it was an interrogation. I needed to be extra careful. He was going to ask questions he already knew the answers to.

I swallowed hard but kept my chin level, scrambling to find the right response. “I figured it was best to wait for board approval before asking to be included. I didn’t want to overstep.” The lie came out sugary sweet. “Of course, if he’d asked me, I would have been thrilled to be included.”

The dark expressions around the table faded, but the chairman’s eyes narrowed. He’d meant to fluster me, and his plan had failed.

“Do you want children?” Mr. Geffen asked.

There was a pang in my chest. Of course he asked this question. Alice had told me how he and his wife tried IVF several times but had not been successful.

“Yes,” I said. “Eventually.”

I’d been so caught up in the immediate part of the arrangement, I hadn’t considered children. Did Royce want them? We were compatible on a basic level, but what if we weren’t on something else? What if it were a deal breaker? We’d known each other our whole lives but—God—we had so much left to learn.

“And you’re healthy?” Mr. Geffen was reluctant to ask it. “Everything seems to be okay in that department?”

I gave a pained smile. “Yes, sir.”

“Are you on birth control?” Macalister asked abruptly.

The air solidified, leaving nothing left to breathe. “Excuse me?”

All the way on the other end of the room, I could sense his irritation. It rolled down the table at me like a pen on a slant, picking up steam as it went. He weighted each word. “Are you on birth control?”

My breath came rapid and uneven. “Yeah. I mean, yes, sir.”

“What kind?”

Seriously? I had terrible cramps, and the pill was the only thing that saved me. I hadn’t had a period in a year. Did they want to know that too? My tone was clipped. “The pill.”

“And how many sexual partners have you had?”

I should have sensed this coming. With how conservative and controlling Macalister was, he’d want to know. He’d need every detail. My spine hardened into steel. “I don’t sleep around.”

“That’s good to know,” Mr. Shaunessy interjected. “But it wasn’t what Macalister asked, was it, dear?”

My jaw ached to hold in the words I wanted to say. As I stared at the man seated at the head of the table, my blood heated until it ran scalding through my veins. I wanted to wipe the smug expression off his face. He wouldn’t call me a slut outright, but he would imply. He’d use whatever number I gave him to shame me in front of the board.

Except the trap he’d laid was going to backfire. This was a question he didn’t know the answer to.

There was probably a flush on my cheeks, but I calmed and blinked a cold stare at the sea of older, pale faces. “Zero.”

Mouths dropped open. Mr. Geffen stopped mid-sip of his glass of water.

Macalister scowled and sat back in his chair. “Don’t lie to us.”

“I promise you, I’m not.” I couldn’t have sounded more sincere if I’d tried.

It looked like Mr. Burrows believed me. He was the oldest member at sixty-two, but he looked at least ten years younger. Alice told me he ran a four-hour marathon.

Tags: Nikki Sloane Filthy Rich Americans Billionaire Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net