The Redemption (Filthy Rich Americans 4)

“I have no need for a temp. My assistant will be back tomorrow.”

Rosa had no idea what to do. She glanced around the office as if looking for help. “They said your assistant quit.”

“Excuse me?” I froze.

Once again, she glanced around like she wished someone would swoop in and save her. “The woman who placed me, she said your assistant called this morning and quit.”

Displeasure heated the marrow of my bones, some of it self-directed. I’d underestimated the level of anger Sophia held toward me.

“I see. Forward my calls to my cell,” I said. “And reschedule today’s meetings. I’ll be out the rest of the day.”

I’d planned to do this later, but she had forced my hand.

In sharp contrast to mine, the Alby home was only a decade old, even though the family helped found Cape Hill more than two centuries ago. As Stephen Alby’s business had grown, so had his assets, and they’d upgraded to this rambling mess of a house. It had a turret and two separate entrances, leaving my driver guessing which one to pull up in front of.

He chose correctly, and a housekeeper asked me to wait in the living room as she checked to see if Sophia was taking visitors.

I perused picture frames on the bookcase, the Alby family in various locations across the globe, and my gaze landed on the one in London with Tower Bridge in the background. Sophia looked so much younger that this had to have been taken during the Olympics. Her smile was bright and wide as she stood beside her mother. Stephen stood on the other side of Colette, and I noted the pattern in the pictures.

It was as if Stephen refused to be near Sophia.

I didn’t have time to dwell on the uncomfortable idea.

“Mr. Hale? She’ll see you. Follow me, please.”

Sophia’s bedroom looked exactly as it had in the video last night, with one major exception. The window seat was bare, and the stunning orchids I’d given her were nowhere to be seen.

She sat upright on her bed, above the covers and pillows stacked behind her back, wearing jeans and a Columbia University zip-up sweatshirt. Her hair was back in a ponytail, and if she was wearing makeup, it was a minimal amount. While I preferred how she looked when she was done up and in a dress, her casual appearance still made my pulse quicken.

Her gaze narrowed as she spied me lurking in her doorway. She didn’t ask me to come in, but when she turned off the television she was watching and gave me her full attention, it was enough of an invitation to propel me into her room and shut the door.

“I understand you’re upset, but I will not allow you to quit.”

She smirked, and if we were in any other situation, I would have found it incredibly appealing. “You honestly think you still get to tell me what to do?”

“There’s another woman sitting at your desk. Your point has been made.”

“My point?” She let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re a businessman, aren’t you? I’m out. We had a deal, and you broke it.”

“I altered it,” I corrected. “Your goal was for me to put the spotlight on Damon, and I will uphold that. But we’ll use my method and timetable.”

Outrage dripped from her words. “And you just decided that without me.”

My gaze moved off her and out the window to the shore in the distance. “I’d like to point out that you’ve made decisions without my knowledge.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” Frustration clouded her expression. “I signed you up for a bachelor auction.”

I turned and gave her a hard look. “You believed you knew what was best for me, and I feel the same about this.”

“Except the decision I made for you could be undone. The one you made? It can’t.” She sneered. “Natasha said it’s already with the printer.”

I frowned and approached her bedside, causing her eyes to widen, and I didn’t enjoy how she shirked back into the pillows. It reminded me of the retreat she’d made in my kitchen the first time I’d attempted to kiss her.

I softened my tone. “Don’t misunderstand. This was not easy for me, and I did not make this decision lightly. I’m aware I should have told you sooner.”

She looked dubious. “Was . . . that supposed to be an apology?”

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. I’d plotted this conversation in my head on the drive over, and I’d veered off course the moment I’d stepped inside the room. “Yes.” I pushed the words out. “I am sorry.”

“You didn’t tell me because you worried if I found out, I’d go directly to DuBois.”

“Yes,” I admitted.

I’d done what was necessary to ensure the outcome I wanted, but the amount of shame I felt about it was surprising. I’d known the moment she’d named Damon I couldn’t reveal him. Not only for the damage it could cause me, my family, and my company, but because her strike against him needed to be tactical. Surgical.