FOUR

Macalister wasn’t seated behind the desk like I’d expected. He stood with his broad back to me and appeared to be cataloguing the books on the shelf. While he was already a tall man, the walls lined with bookcases somehow exaggerated his height.

As if he needed any help looking imposing.

The library was warm colors. It had an old-world feel and a relaxed ease, but in his perfect black suit and tie, he looked out of place. At my entrance, he turned just enough to glance at me over his shoulder. “Shut the door.” I did as asked, my breath tight in my lungs. He gestured to a chair. “Have a seat.”

I lowered into one cautiously, my gaze never straying from him. I had the irrational fear that if I took my eyes off him for a single second, he’d use that moment to strike. It was a ridiculous thought. Macalister wouldn’t come at me physically. His attack would be subtle. He’d use precise, surgical words rather than his hands to undo me.

He didn’t sit behind the desk. Instead, he took the seat beside me, causing more alert to spike through my body. Perhaps he’d done it to dispel the power dynamic and try to treat me as an equal, but I highly doubted it. More likely, his goal had been to remove the barrier that stood between us yesterday.

He lifted a sheet of paper off the desk and passed it to me. “The situation with your family is more dire than we anticipated. This is a summary of their debt.”

I stared at the figures.

Disbelief slapped me across the face. My heart quickened until it beat so fast, blood roared in my ears. This couldn’t be right. I tried to read the page through the tears blurring my vision, but then it abruptly became easier. Anger flared and burned the tears up before they could fall.

Five million dollars had been deposited into their account, and it had only made a dent. I’d whored myself out for that money, and it wasn’t even enough.

My teeth ground together so hard, my jaw threatened to crack. I tossed the summary report bitterly onto the desk, not wanting to look at the figures another second, wishing I could make them go away just as easily for my parents.

Macalister noted my reaction before speaking. “You’re understandably upset. I was too when this was brought to my attention. They’ve been treading water, hoping for a lifeline to come save them. There was no other plan.” His tone was as dark as the black ink he used in his signature. “And that infuriates me.”

I’d always thought of anger as a blazing emotion, full of fire and urgency. But in Macalister Hale, anger was cloaked in ice. It was an arctic slide into freezing water, where relentless pins-and-needles slowly trapped and consumed everything.

“I had no idea,” I said quietly. “If I had—”

His eyes widened with surprise. “You misunderstand. I’m not accusing you. They shamefully kept this from you and your sister.” He set an elbow on the armrest closest to me, and his silver cufflink glinted. “It doesn’t change the situation, however. If something were to happen to your parents, their estate would be insolvent. You and Emily would have to liquidate the house, which wouldn’t be enough. You’d be left with nothing except the considerable credit card debt you co-signed with your parents.”

An invisible hand reached inside my body, and its furious fingers curled around my heart, squeezing to the point of pain. I set my palm flat against my chest. “I should have asked questions.”

“Yes, you should have.” His expression was plain, but not cruel. “A painful lesson learned.”

His gaze wandered over my face, not so much studying it, but tracing each line and curve. He examined me like a financial report he couldn’t get to balance. Frustrated and curious, and also intrigued. I dropped my gaze to my knees peeking out below my dress.

“I’ve set up an account in your name,” he said, “with enough money to cover your tuition for your final year at Etonsons, along with general expenses. Any single purchase above five thousand will require my approval, but you will have anything you need.”

Surprise drew my gaze back to him, but skepticism took over. I was terrified of what he’d want in return. “In exchange for?”

Macalister’s blue eyes blinked. “In exchange for you receiving a first-rate education. I’ve seen your transcripts and know you’re an exceptional student. I only want to see you achieve your full potential.”

I stumbled over his words before they truly hit me. “I didn’t give Etonsons permission to release my transcripts.”

It was the first time I’d ever seen amusement play out on Macalister’s face. His full lips lifted just enough to be classified as a smile. “Do you think that was difficult for me?”

“No,” I said dimly. I echoed what he’d told me at my interview in his boardroom. “There’s no problem big enough money can’t solve.”

“Yes.” He was pleased I remembered. “Your coursework has been excellent so far, but I have some thoughts about your options for next semester.”

Of course he did.

“I am curious, though.” He leaned closer, like he was capable of holding a friendly conversation with me. “What is it about economics that appeals to you?”

I floundered. How was I supposed to put it into words? I had to give him an answer. “I . . . like variables.”

He paused. “Excuse me?”

“Math is precise.” I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear as I assembled my thoughts. “You always know the answer, where one plus one equals two. But in economics, everything can be equal and still not give you the answer you expect. The exact same product sold in a perfectly competitive market can be a boon for one company and a bust for another.”

I was aware I was speaking in simplistic terms to a man who was likely more intelligent than I was, but he made me nervous. At least I sounded coherent.

“Maybe their manufacturing costs are too high,” I continued, “or their marketing was off, or they’ve priced themselves too competitively. I want to know what’s causing it. I like finding the variable.”

Macalister made a noise of satisfaction, even as he shook his head. “You like puzzles,” he corrected.

“Yes,” I said. He wasn’t wrong. “I like a very specific type of puzzle.”

When a genuine smile expanded on his lips, he didn’t look quite so terrifying. He simply looked mortal. “I also like puzzles.” He tilted his head an evaluating degree. “How did you find your game theory class?”

The question was innocent, but a sixth sense of awareness tingled down my back. Like I saw the edges of a trap peeking out from beneath its camouflage but disregarded it. “It’s been my favorite one so far.”

Heat warmed his eyes. “It was my favorite as well. You’re so much like me, Marist.”

The shudder that clattered through my body was unavoidable. My name on his lips, coupled with the idea I was remotely like him, was too much not to react to. He watched my shoulders quiver, and his expression shifted like he was pleased. He enjoyed having such an effect on me.

My voice was timid when I wanted it to be strong. “We’re not alike.”

“You grew into a levelheaded young woman,” he said, “despite your financially inept parents, even as they spoiled you and your sister shamelessly. Like you, I grew up with enormous wealth and stayed sensible throughout it.” He listed them like bullet points he’d prepared ahead of time. “You speak directly. You do what needs to be done, even when it’s difficult. And most importantly, you understand when people need to be saved from themselves.”

I launched up out of the chair, literally running from what he’d said. I needed to put distance between us as quickly as possible. But I’d only made it a few steps toward the window when I heard his chair creak, announcing he’d stood as well.

Macalister’s voice was surprisingly hesitant. “I don’t say this to upset you.”

There was a table beside the window, and I set a hand on it for support while I tried to slow my ragged breathing. The glossy black and white pieces of the chessboard nearby were carved figures of art. I wanted things to be like that. Structured rules, clearly defined lines, and to know which team everyone was playing for.

I had to change the topic. “May I ask you a question?”

“Yes.”

The word came from just over my shoulder, and I closed my eyes. His proximity constricted every muscle in my body, turning me into one of the chess pieces at my fingertips.

“You don’t seem like the type of man to be friends with Mr. Lambert.”

His laugh was empty. “That’s a statement, not a question . . . but a correct one. I’m not, nor will I ever be, friends with Wayne Lambert.” He emphasized the word like it was revolting. “He’s just a means to an end.”

“You want to see Vance with his daughter.”

“Yes. Among other things.”

I swallowed a breath and opened my eyes, staring out the window at the manicured lawn that seemed to endlessly stretch for miles around the Hale house. “Such as?”

In the taut silence suspended between us, I felt his gaze fixated on my bare back, drinking in all my vulnerable, exposed skin. The library was cold, and Macalister was colder still, yet when he moved in, there was the dark heat of his breath. It washed down my back and drew a violent shiver from me.

His lips were right beside my ear. “Wayne Lambert is going to get me a presidential nomination to the Federal Reserve.”

Oh, my God, of course.

Lambert had been a megadonor to the president’s election campaign, was a staunch supporter, and a close friend. It’d be easy for him to whisper a favorable word in the president’s ear. And Macalister had plenty of experience. He ran the second largest bank in the country and was scandal-free. He would likely sail through the confirmation hearing.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that this was what he desired. Being the head of HBHC was great, but there was far more prestige and control at the helm of the Federal Reserve. Overseeing the entire U.S. banking system and maintaining interest rates was ultimate power. It was the pinnacle of his career; he couldn’t ascend any higher.

“Oh,” I breathed.

“I think it’s only fitting,” his tone was distant thunder, quiet but full of power, “since my family helped build the Fed, that I should sit on its board.”

Yet another thing he felt entitled to, simply for being born.

And Macalister would mine Mr. Lambert’s connections in multiple ways. They could be equally useful to Vance, who was eyeing a career in politics.

“I’d wish you luck,” I said, “but I doubt you’ll need it.”

I could hear the smile in his voice. “No, I won’t.”

I didn’t get a moment to catch my breath before the mood in the room changed. It shifted and turned darker, as if the air knew his motives.

“This dress you have on,” Macalister’s tone dipped and veered toward seduction, “I like it very much.”

Before I could react, a single cold fingertip kissed my skin and skated like a whisper down my spine. It was barely a touch, but I jolted away from it, sending my hip crashing into the side of the table.

The chess set rattled and teetered, and the tallest black piece with a cross at the top of its crown toppled over onto its side, rolling toward the edge of the table. I grabbed it instinctively to stop it from falling and unleashed my tongue. “I didn’t give you permission to touch me.”

“You’re right, you didn’t.”

Was that supposed to be an apology? I was trapped between him and the table, and genuine fear snaked through my body. Royce had installed a lock on my door. Emily had said Macalister believed he was entitled to everything, including people. And he’d purchased me like property. He probably believed he had every right to my body, and I’d been so fucking foolish—

“I shouldn’t have done that.” He abruptly stepped back. “Forgive me. It won’t happen again.”

I clutched the game piece so hard, the sharp edges were uncomfortable in my grip. A little over a year ago, I’d stood in nearly this spot while Royce touched me the same way, yet the difference was staggering.

“You’re . . . shaking.” Macalister sounded surprised. “Are you afraid?”

There was no hesitation. “Yes.”

He asked it when he already knew the answer. “Of what?”

“Of you.” I risked a glance over my shoulder and found him looking, of all things, perplexed.

“There’s no need to be scared,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

But couldn’t he see he already had? He’d driven a wedge between Royce and me, and for what reason?

It was like he could read my mind, and his expression went hard. “I only want what’s best for everyone involved. You were too attached.”

I said nothing, because there was nothing to say. I couldn’t argue. He’d seen me nearly break down last night as Royce had walked out on me.

His command was delivered in a firm tone. “Turn around and look at me.”

I filled my lungs with air, turned, and forced my gaze up over his suit and serious face until I met his icy eyes. In a different setting and with another personality installed in his body, Macalister Hale could be irresistible. He had nearly everything already. Looks, smarts, money, and power. And he was young too. He didn’t look fifty, even though he was, and he seemed decades younger than the other CEOs topping the Fortune 500 list.

His calculating gaze scrutinized, searching for my flaws and weaknesses and probably finding them in spades, but I didn’t dare look away. I gripped the chess piece tightly in my fist and stared back. Was this who Royce would become in twenty-five years?

What if it took him less time to harden into cold, unmovable stone?

What if he’s become his father already?

Macalister was dark everywhere except for his pale eyes. “Someday, you’ll see how I saved you. You may even thank me for what I did.”

Fucking doubtful.

Yet the scariest thing of all was it looked like he truly believed what he’d said. He imagined himself my savior.

I couldn’t stand still under his inspection another second. I opened my hand and looked down at the figure in my palm. The carved black piece was intricate and beautiful.

“Would you like to play?” he asked.

“No, thank you.” I didn’t want to spend any more time in this library than was necessary. “I don’t know how.”

This idea offended him more than anything else I’d ever done, and he scowled. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not,” I said quickly. Was this really that impossible to believe? My sister hated games. My father didn’t have time for them, and my mother only played cards. “No one ever taught me.”

His focus fell to the piece in my hand before returning skeptically to me. Behind his eyes, he seemed to be considering something, and a feeling of unease grew in my chest.

“Then I’ll teach you.”

My pulse sped tumbling along. “No, that’s all right. I don’t—”

The words died as he held up a hand to silence me. “The piece you’re holding is the king.” He spoke it heavy with meaning. “When he cannot escape the threat of capture, the game is over.”

My mouth went dry. Was he implying he was the evil king and I’d captured him? I hurried to set the piece down on the board. “I’m sure there are things you’d rather be doing than teaching me a board game.”

His eyebrow arched so high it was a miracle it didn’t knock down the chandelier. “Chess is a sophisticated game of strategy and tactics. You will enjoy it very much.”

If he was going to be my partner? Again, fucking doubtful.

He wouldn’t be dissuaded, even when I’d made it clear I didn’t want to play. He didn’t care, knowing he’d get his way. As he picked up the board and carried it to the desk, I stood rooted to my spot and looked longingly at the door. As long as I was here, I had to follow his orders. There wasn’t a way out, but perhaps I could get something for my misery.

He wanted something, but I did too.

“I want a job at HBHC,” I said.

He was arranging the board and paused, his fingertips still on a figure of a horse’s head. “Excuse me?”

“Royce doesn’t have an assistant. I was thinking I could be his until my semester starts.”

“No.” He didn’t bother to consider it. He just resumed his task, as if it were that easy to shut me down.

“I need something to do, rather than sit around the house all day, waiting for Alice to summon me.” Like I’d done today.

This time when he paused, he wore his irritation like his expensive suit. “It wouldn’t look good to have you working for him. If you need help occupying your time,” his tone threatened, “I’ll find something for you.”

I kept my voice soft and pleading, not wanting to challenge him. “You could call it an unpaid internship.”

His irritation climbed to the top of the bookshelves. “Why would you want that?”

“Experience,” I choked out.

Oh, I was going to have to get much better at lying if I was going to survive the Hale family.

Macalister’s jaw set. “That’s an acceptable answer, but it’s not your reason. Tell me now before I lose my patience with you.”

I went with a vague version of the truth. “Royce shuts me out to the point I don’t know who he is. You had me move in so we could get to know each other better, but he’s at the office so much . . . I thought this could help.”

What it would really do was help me figure out what Royce was planning. I’d have total access to his schedule, see who he was meeting with and talking to. I had no qualms about spying on my fiancé to discover all the secrets he wouldn’t tell me.

Macalister ran a hand over his jawline. “You understand you’ll be around him the majority of your day, and at the house in the evenings, in addition to all the events and obligations he has.”

“Yes.”

He didn’t smile with his lips, but it lurked in his eyes. “Royce won’t like that.”

“No,” I said, “I don’t suppose he will.”

He straightened abruptly as if it had been settled. “I will allow this on two conditions.”

My hands hung at my sides, hidden in the folds of my skirt, and I bunched my fingers into fists, bracing for impact.

“First, because you two will be working so closely and living together, I think a little distance is needed. You’ll refrain from physical contact except when it’s necessary. For instance, if you’re in public and some display of affection is required, that’s acceptable. But there’s no need for it in my house.”

I knew it was coming, that Macalister would forbid Royce and me from any kind of physical relationship. It was the next logical step in splitting us apart, and a small part of me was relieved by this constraint. Royce was masterful at seduction, and now his best tool of manipulation had been shelved.

But a much larger part of me mourned the loss of it. The only time Royce and I truly seemed to connect was when I acted on my feelings. I’d waited so long, just barely gotten him, and already he was being taken away. It was unfair, but so much of my life was right now I was growing used to it.

My voice was hushed and uneven. “All right.”

Macalister nodded, pleased. “My second condition is we play a game of chess together here every night.”

My heart ground to a halt. “For how long?”

“Until you beat me.” His grin was downright evil. “Do we have a deal?”