The Initiation (Filthy Rich Americans 1)

It had felt like I had been winning the battle up until this point, but now I was losing ground. I said it so softly, it barely traveled the length of the room to reach him. “Yes.”

“And you waited. He could have been off with a dozen different girls, and yet you stayed faithful. Why?”

We’d come full circle. Macalister had returned to asking questions he already knew the answers to. My pulse thundered, making blood whoosh loudly in my ears. I didn’t want to say why I’d waited for the boy I’d grown up disliking. I didn’t want to admit to myself why I’d turned down the stranger who’d asked for my number at the coffee shop this past spring.

“She’s in love with him.” Mr. Shaunessy acted like this was a fact he’d been clever enough to discover.

“No,” I said instantly. “No, definitely not. I barely know him.”

Mr. Shaunessy took on an all-knowing look. “All right. Infatuated with him, then.”

That one was harder to argue against, so I fell silent. I risked a glance at Macalister, who seemed pleased. I knew in my gut it wasn’t how his son and I had made a connection, but that this information gave him more leverage over us.

Mr. Burrows set down his water with a thud, the ice tinkling against the glass. “Well, she’s loyal, and you can’t buy that.”

Macalister’s attention snapped to him. “There’s no problem too big that money can’t solve. You, of all people, should know that.”

Mr. Burrows reacted as if his boss had slapped him across the face rather than just verbally. He sank back in his chair, and I doubted he’d say another word the rest of the time he was in the room.

Macalister’s focus crept back to me. “He’s not wrong, though. I respect honesty and loyalty, as both are difficult to find these days. Do you feel you would make a good wife?”

Alice had told me to control my hands, so I resisted the urge to tuck my hair behind my ear. “I don’t know how to answer that, other than to say I would try my best.”

Macalister nodded. “Well, that’s all we can ask of someone, isn’t it? Thank you, Marist. Please shut the door as you leave. The board and I have a lot to discuss.”

TWELVE

THANK FUCK THE OFFICE HALLWAY WAS EMPTY when I left the boardroom. I put one hand on the wall to lean on, and the other in the center of my chest, and willed myself to keep it together. A million emotions churned inside me.

Relief it was over. Proud I’d survived. Fear at what I’d revealed. And, most of all, anger. All that preparing, and it had been pointless. I’d been ambushed by the questions.

I took a moment, sucking in air to steady myself before launching down the hallway toward Royce’s office. There was no assistant to stop me, and his closed door wasn’t going to either. I seized the doorknob, turned it, and stormed inside.

He was alone in his spacious room, typing on the keyboard and his gaze fixed on the computer screen. The other monitor beside him scrolled real-time data from the markets.

“Did you know?” I demanded, startling him. My voice cracked and lost its power. “Did you know what he was going to ask?”

Concern had Royce shooting out of his seat. He came to me, pushing his office door closed with one swift hand and sweeping me into his embrace with the other. His tone was hushed and soothing. “It’s okay.”

“The fuck it is!” I glared up as he loomed over me, taking up all my space. “I just told a room full of men that—oh, let’s see. I’m a virgin. I’ve given hand jobs to you and Richard Shaunessy, whose father asked for the names, by the way.” My stomach flipped over on itself as I declared the worst part. “And I masturbate nearly every day.”

“You do?” Lust pooled in his expression. “That’s hot, Marist.”

“Royce.” I was in no mood. Didn’t he see how serious I was about this? His comment only made me angrier. “This might be a game for you, but it’s my fucking life.”

He stiffened. “I’m sorry, you’re right.”

“Some of them are my father’s coworkers, and his boss.” I twisted out of his arms, needing distance. I didn’t want his touch to disarm me. “And you didn’t answer me. Did you know?”

His expression glazed over, and he hesitated before speaking. “I had an idea, yeah.”

I had to stare at the ceiling to drain back my tears of frustration. “You should have warned me.”

“I wasn’t allowed.” I could hear how torn he was. He’d at least wanted to tell me. Did that count for something? “If I had prepped you, they would have known, and then they wouldn’t have believed any other answer you gave.”