The Deception (Filthy Rich Americans 3)

He straightened and strolled toward me, finally understanding. Excitement and mock outrage painted his expression. “Are you blackmailing me, Marist Northcott—soon to be Hale?”

“Of course not.” I spoke it syrupy sweet. “I’m trying to enter into negotiations with you.”

He went to sit beside me, but we were interrupted. The quick rap of knuckles against wood wasn’t much of a warning. We only had time to turn and look at the door before it swung open, and the temperature plummeted.

Macalister’s suit was as dark as a black hole. He swept into the room with furious eyes, and when he discovered me resting in Royce’s bed, a scowl hinted at his lips.

“I came to check on Marist,” he announced, “and see if she was settled.”

His gaze zeroed in on me, and I wanted to shrink beneath the covers. I hadn’t seen him since we’d struck our deal, and somehow that absence made this moment more awkward. It verged on terrifying.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“Good. I’m pleased you’ve decided to stay with us.”

The way he said us made it sound like he actually meant me. I frowned. “I haven’t decided anything yet.”

Royce didn’t say a word, but the subtle shift in his posture gave away his displeasure. I was sending mixed signals, wasn’t I? Saying I wasn’t sure I was going to stay while I was nestled in his bed?

And I was the first girl he’d allowed here.

I put my hands down on the mattress and used them to push up, attempting to sit straighter in the bed. “It makes more sense for me to keep living here.”

“It does,” Royce said quickly.

“But I won’t stay . . . if someone gives me a reason to leave.”

Perhaps Macalister would think I was talking about her, and I was . . . but I also very much meant the warning for him.

He gave a short nod. “There’s no risk of that happening. I’ve been quite clear with everyone, including the staff, about the boundaries.”

I had no idea what that meant but didn’t want him to elaborate. His presence in the room shattered the warmth and closeness Royce and I had built, so I wanted him gone as quickly as possible.

“You came to check on Marist,” Royce said flatly, “which you’ve done. Is there something else you need?”

He sounded like he wanted his father gone more than I did.

Macalister’s hands hung loosely at his sides, but I didn’t miss the way he curled his fingers, balling a hand into a fist of tension. “Yes.” He leveled his penetrating gaze at me. “Alice has asked I pass on her apology to you.” He spoke it like the language was unfamiliar to him. “She is quite sorry.”

Royce’s mouth dropped open. “Are you fucking serious?”

“No.” Instinctively, my hand came up, signaling to stop. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not ready.”

Surprise and irritation mixed on Macalister’s face, like he was upset I wasn’t willing to accept this grand gesture he’d been forced to make on her behalf. “She confirmed her intent wasn’t to kill you.”

Royce’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “Well, that’s great.” His shoulders were tense, his posture adversarial. “Her fake apology means nothing. The only person it matters to is you. I guarantee she isn’t saying it because she feels bad. She’s only apologizing because you demanded it.”

An apology meant admitting you were wrong, and that mistake gave him power over her. She’d told me before she and Royce were Macalister’s greatest failures. They didn’t submit to him like everyone else did.

Now she had to.

Macalister pretended his son didn’t exist and kept his focus locked on me. “You’re a reasonable person. You understand sooner or later you will have to deal with the situation so we can all move past it.”

Move past it? My blood simmered hotly in my body. “Sooner or later, huh? I choose later, then.” I drew in a deep breath, filling my voice with as much power and finality as possible. “If there’s nothing else—goodnight, Macalister.”

Oh, he didn’t like the way I’d spoken to him one bit and hated how he couldn’t do anything about it even more. He was a burning glacier, raging fire trapped under thick ice. He cast a final look at me before he went, and it was so dark, it opened a void inside my stomach and threatened to swallow me whole. But I kept my face neutral, holding firm as he strode to the door and pulled it closed behind him with an angry thump.

My first night in Royce’s bed didn’t lend itself toward decent, restful sleep. I was a light sleeper, but he wasn’t, and although his snores were relatively soft, I tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable or keep my mind quiet.

It amazed me how quickly he drifted off after turning off the light, totally relaxed to share a bed with someone else, even when he’d said he’d never done it before. If anything, I should have been the one more familiar with it. Emily and I had been close growing up, and I’d often snuck into her room and climbed into her bed. We’d stayed up late to whisper about cute boys and gossip.