“Thank you,” I uttered automatically, dropping down into the seat.
Royce said nothing. He sat and plunked his phone face-up on the table beside the silver charging plate. I braced for Macalister to say something about how disrespectful that was. Phones weren’t allowed at the dinner table in my house . . . but here everyone had theirs out, resting beside their silverware like it was a required utensil in their place setting.
A woman I hadn’t met before, but who was clearly part of the Hale household staff, entered from the kitchen and served us salads. Alice first, then me, and then the Hale men in order of seniority. It was stilted and formal, and so uncomfortable it stretched my skin tightly. No one else seemed to feel it, though. In the silence, they readied their forks and began eating, oblivious to my discomfort.
“Marist. How did you find your first night here?” Macalister’s icy gaze locked onto me and refused to let go.
“It was fine, thank you.” I despised how weak my voice sounded. Silence followed, dragging painfully, and I felt compelled to fill it. I forced a bright tone. “How was your day?”
It was like I’d just asked him what color money was. He simply stared, making me wince and my skin stretch tighter still.
“It was fine,” he said finally. His attention left me so he could stab his fork into his salad, and then he focused on his youngest son. “I volunteered you to Lambert’s team for the Marblehead race at the end of the summer. One of their crew members broke a hand, and I told him you would help out.”
Vance blinked. He struggled to process the information but failed to conceal the dislike from his boyishly good-looking face. It wasn’t the sailing that bothered him. The Hales were the founding members of the Cape Hill Yacht Club, and Vance was an experienced helmsman. He had plenty of racing trophies to prove it.
No, I suspected it was Wayne Lambert who was giving him pause.
Mr. Lambert was the CEO of a giant pharmaceutical company. He had a very large and very New York personality, only moving here in the last decade so his daughters could attend Cape Hill Prep. Foul-mouthed and hot-tempered, he had one of those booming laughs that made a room go awkwardly quiet. He was loud in everything he did. And he was new money.
Which meant he was the polar opposite of Macalister Hale.
The two CEOs of Cape Hill seemed unlikely to be friends, so I had to wonder what was going on. Macalister wouldn’t put up with Mr. Lambert without a good reason.
“His daughter is also on the crew,” Macalister added. “Alice and I discussed it and feel she would be a good companion for the anniversary celebration.”
Vance’s pointed gaze swung toward Alice, and I couldn’t help but think about the last time I’d seen them together. She’d been on her knees, her hands fisted in the undone sides of his tuxedo pants and his dick buried in her mouth.
Her expression toward her stepson now was tepid. “Royce’s party was one thing, but this is huge. HBHC is turning one hundred and fifty years old, and you’re a Hale. You have to bring a date.”
Royce interrupted the wordless conversation going on between his brother and his stepmother. “Which daughter? Lambert has two.”
“The older one,” Macalister said.
“Jillian,” Alice said at the same time.
Royce turned his attention to his brother. “Be careful. She’s a stage-five clinger.”
Vance arched one eyebrow. “You dated her?”
“Yeah, I think ‘date’ would be too strong a word.” The amused look on Royce’s face froze, as if he just realized his fiancée was sitting right beside him while he was talking about fucking someone else.
Was I supposed to care about this? Because . . . I didn’t. It certainly wasn’t news to me that he’d been a player, and besides—he’d betrayed me. I wasn’t supposed to care about him.
He stared at me anxiously, not sure how I’d react.
I shrugged a shoulder. “Good luck, Vance. Last I heard, she has a boyfriend.”
A scoff came from the end of the table.
Macalister’s gaze was an avalanche. Cold, terrifying, and beautiful. “That doesn’t matter. When he asks her,” he turned his head so he could decree it directly to Vance, “and he will ask her—she’ll be pleased to trade up to a Hale.” His eyes turned smug. “They always are.”
If I’d been standing, the arrogance in his tone would have knocked me over, but he was wrong. My sister Emily had no desire to trade up to a Hale. She’d been promised to Royce for years and did everything she could to get out of it, including getting pregnant.
Alice set her fork down and picked up her phone. “Since we’re discussing the anniversary, I have a mockup of the invitation to show you.” She tapped the screen a few times before presenting it to her husband.
Disdain flooded his face. “This isn’t serious. A masquerade party?”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “This is what you asked for.”
“I believe I asked for something memorable and sophisticated.” He set her phone down and pointed at the screen. “This isn’t elegant, it’s a junior prom.”
Alice tossed a lock of her blonde hair over her shoulder, crossed her arms, and rested them on the table, leaning forward. “This will be elegant, I promise you. It will still be black-tie.” Her posture was confident, announcing she wasn’t going to be deterred. “You can’t be memorable unless you go over the top. Otherwise, it’ll just be another bland corporate party, indistinguishable from all the others. You want this to be an experience, one people will be talking about for the next one hundred and fifty years.”
Macalister wasn’t sold, but as he leaned back in his chair, it was clear he was considering what she’d said.
“When people think their identity is obscured, even somewhat,” a sly smile graced her lips, “they let go of their inhibitions. Think about the guest list. Wouldn’t you love to have an evening where everyone has their guard down?”
My mouth dropped open. She’d just offered Macalister one of the things he valued most. The highest commodity in our elite New England town.
Information.
It’d be his best opportunity to learn all the secrets Cape Hill was desperate to conceal.
His gaze sharpened on his clever wife, and genuine delight flashed through him. He wasn’t on the fence about her theme anymore—he was in absolute support of it.
“I trust your judgement,” he said. “You understand how important this event is to me and my company.” He paused as the temperature of his voice plummeted. “I’m sure it won’t just meet my expectations—but exceed them.”
It was like he’d just barely left of the “or else” threat at the end of his statement, and I swallowed hard on Alice’s behalf. She didn’t seem affected, though. Either she felt confident in her abilities or she’d been married to him long enough she was used to it.
“Speaking of expectations,” his attention returned to me, and I struggled not to squirm in my seat, “after dinner is over, I have some items to go over with you. We can discuss them in the library.”
Royce asked it before I could. “What items?”
His father’s cool gaze turned to his oldest son. “Things that are none of your business.”