The Deception (Filthy Rich Americans 3)

And Macalister’s irritation. “You appear to be waiting for someone else.”

Royce’s expression was impossible to read when he was in profile. “We are.”

It sounded as if Macalister had taken his seat. “Vance is flying with the Lamberts.”

“I know. It’s not Vance.”

Out the window, a steel gray Aston Martin prowled into one of the spaces beside the airport hangar, parked, and the lights turned off. The man stepped out, wearing a navy suit, a camel colored coat, and a pair of aviator sunglasses. I didn’t need to see his eyes to know how confident he felt as he pulled his suitcase from the trunk and marched toward the jet.

His arrogance rivaled Royce’s, and it made sense. He’d become the king of Cape Hill Prep the year after Royce had graduated.

“Tate,” Macalister said. “I wasn’t aware you were joining us.”

“Hope that’s not a problem, sir. My family isn’t flying out until tomorrow, and Royce said you had space.”

“It’s fine.”

As Tate moved down the aisle toward Royce, he came into view. The sunglasses had been tucked away in a pocket, and he pulled off his overcoat.

“I say it every time we see each other,” Macalister said abruptly, causing Tate to freeze, “but when are you going to get serious and come join us at HBHC?”

As Tate finished pulling off his coat, a slow smile widened on his lips. “Ascension is good to me.”

“Is that so? I would be better.” Macalister had said I, and not we, as if he were the entirety of his massive company. His tone was barely disguised disgust. “Where do they have you now, loans?”

Tate turned back to face him directly. “Wealth management.”

“We both know you’re better than that.”

“Thanks, but I like New York.”

If he was nervous saying no to Macalister, it didn’t read in his body language. Perhaps it was why Macalister seemed to respect him. Alice had told me Macalister was only interested in something when he had to chase it.

“You’re putting off the inevitable.” Macalister’s voice sounded as close to friendly as he could manage, but the threat was laced inside. “Sooner or later, you’ll be working for me.”

Tate laughed it off. “If you say so, sir.”

I exchanged a look with Royce. Did Tate know what was in the works? Had Royce shared any of his plan with his best friend? The shake of Royce’s head was so subtle, I wasn’t even sure if it was there, but a thrill coasted through me.

I was the only one he’d confided in.

Tate joined us in the back section of the plane and dropped down in the seat across from me. His dark-eyed gaze swept over me in appraisal. “Marist. Long time, no see.”

It made me feel like an intruder, when it shouldn’t have. He’d known Royce better than I had for years. Although, was that true? Royce had shared the real part of himself with me, and likely no one else. Time didn’t automatically make you closer.

A dark voice in my head reminded me the same was true with Emily. We’d been best friends our whole lives, and yet she’d kept things from me.

“Hi, Tate. It’s nice to see you again.”

He smoothed his palm down his tie in a gesture that was meant to seem innocent, but I suspected he’d done it to draw attention to the way his fitted shirt emphasized his broad chest and hinted at toned abs.

Playfulness warmed his eyes as he caught me watching. “I bet it is.”

I blinked and shot both him and my fiancé an unamused look. Royce had said nearly the same thing to me when we’d met in the library last year. “Did they teach you that line in school? Like, being cocky is the same thing as being charming? Because it isn’t.”

Tate grinned, his gaze darting between me and his best friend seated at my side, whose hand was laced with mine. “Sure seemed to work on you, though.”

Heat warmed my face and probably tinged my cheeks pink. Oh, it had. I’d told myself I’d hated Royce’s cockiness, but if I were honest, I found it undeniably appealing. I turned my gaze out the window as I heard the attendant retract the steps and close the cabin door.

It didn’t take long before we were rolling down the runway and the engines carried us up into the sky. Royce and Tate chatted about politics and business, discussing the latest mergers and shake-ups in New York, and who had been poached from one house to another. It was the closest to gossiping I’d heard my fiancé do.

There was an ease and confidence to them both as the private jet sped toward the luxury vacation homes awaiting us in Aspen, and I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of irony for the man sitting across from me.

As the only black student in a sea of white at Cape Hill Prep, Tate could have been classified as an ‘other.’ But the only color that seemed to matter at our school was green, and the Isaacs had a lot of it. His parents were ultra-successful attorneys, and their son had been universally loved by all. He may have looked different than his friends, but he wasn’t.