After my shower, Lucifer sat on the edge of my bed and meowed angrily, displeased we were behind the schedule he liked to keep. I did not like being summoned, and I glared at him as I made my way toward the bed. “All right, I’m coming.”
I’d barely lain down before he was beside me, turning in a circle to find the right spot to settle into, where he’d be irritatingly pressed to my side.
My phone buzzed with a text message.
Sophia: You up?
Me: Yes.
Sophia: Just left a party where everyone was talking about you.
Me: In a positive light?
Sophia: Oh, yeah. Everyone loves a bad boy who’s secretly a good man.
FOURTEEN
SOPHIA
DAMON LYNCH’S FUNDRAISING PARTY, which was masquerading as his sixtieth birthday celebration, was devouring my life. I didn’t have to plan every detail, as Macalister had authorized a budget, told me to hire a team of coordinators, and Mr. Lynch’s team said they’d send someone from the campaign to help, but I still had to run point on all of it.
I enjoyed this kind of work, but the pressure was intense. It was beyond important to me that I do a good job. If the party was a success, it was further proof to Macalister that I was a valuable asset and, oh, how I desperately wanted to please him. If I wasn’t thinking about the party, my thoughts were on the man in the office next door.
I’d gone down on him.
He’d given me an orgasm.
And now he wanted to pretend none of that had happened. Well, fine. I’d play his game, and I’d freaking beat him at it. Macalister could say whatever he wanted, but Monday morning after the auction, there was another white box on the table in his office waiting for me.
This dress was black with an asymmetrical neckline and a skirt that was shorter than the last one he’d given me, ending just above my knees. I didn’t have to change today, he’d explained.
“Tomorrow will be fine.” His voice was exacting, and electricity sparked down my legs. I liked how he gave me orders and disguised them as casual statements. It was better this way too. I was already wearing a silk blouse and a skirt, and tomorrow I could wear the right shoes and accessories with it.
After his gift had been opened and discussed, Macalister joined me on the couches, his coffee in hand, and I began to spill the first of my secrets. I started small. Things like how Janice in accounting didn’t get invited to parties anymore because stuff always went missing after she’d left. I worked my way up to telling him that Jared Nasbaum’s wife was having an affair with her personal trainer, as was Jared, and occasionally the three of them fucked each other at the same time.
Macalister’s eyebrow arched, and I pretended I didn’t find it sexy. “Does that make you uncomfortable?” I asked. “Knowing your head of credit financing sometimes sleeps with men?”
“No,” he said, his gaze tracing the HBHC logo on his mug. “The only news to me is they’ve moved on. It used to be their nanny.”
I grinned. “Really. I hadn’t heard that.”
He was quite the gossip, and it was surprising the things he knew. Nothing recent, of course, but like me, he’d collected a file on everyone in his head. Everyone, it seemed, but me. I hadn’t been on his radar before, but what about now?
“I’ve decided you’ll go with me to Aspen,” he said. “I have a vacation home there, and you’ll stay in one of the guest rooms.” To put a period on the end of his declaration, he set his coffee down with a loud thud, like a gavel banging his final verdict.
Inside me, there were fireworks, but I tried to remain calm. Anyone who was anyone in Cape Hill went to Aspen during Thanksgiving weekend, and I’d heard rumors of how amazing the Hale house was, but I’d never been. “You’re not taking Evangeline?”
His expression gave nothing away. “She’s planning to meet me there.”
“Mr. Lynch’s party is the week after,” I said. “Are you sure it wouldn’t be better if I stayed in the office?”
I don’t know why I said it. I wanted to go with him, if for nothing else but to be there when he met with DuBois the first time.
Macalister shot me a look that reduced me to a puddle. “I trust you can multi-task, Sophia. I need you in Aspen with me.”
As soon as his words were out in the room, it became volatile. They lingered in the air, dangerous and exciting. His eyes went wide then narrowed in displeasure, although it seemed like it was with himself.
“I think,” he continued, “we can both agree this first impression with DuBois will be everything.”
“Yes,” I said softly.
His icy blue eyes cut right to my heart. “I cannot overprepare, so you will travel with me, and we will use every available moment to practice for it.”
He was waiting impatiently on my approval, and how could I say no to him? “Okay.”
A faint smile lurked in his eyes, but then they turned serious. “I must ask a personal question.” He hesitated for a single breath. “Have you been tested for sexually transmitted diseases recently?”
My brain slammed into a wall. “What?”
“Last weekend, I overheard a conversation I found distressing. You and I have had sexual contact, so I need to know this answer.”
My face heated until it was on fire, both with embarrassment but also irritation. Macalister and I had fooled around, but it wasn’t like we’d had sex. Plus . . . was he implying I was careless and had caught an STD? “I, uh, haven’t been tested, but I’ve always used condoms.”
“Is that your only form of birth control?”
In my disorientation, I forgot this was none of his fucking business. “No, I’m also on the pill.”
His face didn’t change. It remained cold and detached. “For my peace of mind, you’ll take the afternoon to complete that testing, and bring me the results.”
My jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”
He looked irritated he had to answer me. “Yes.”
I couldn’t catch my breath and floundered for something to say.
“Have I upset you?” His gaze sharpened, studying me.
It took all of my willpower to force a natural look on my face. “Nope.” I was an adult, and this was an adult thing to do, right? “I’ll take care of it.”
“Good. That will be all, then.”
His dismissal made my blood boil, and I launched to my feet, eager to get the fuck out of his office. He was an emotional rollercoaster. One second I was on an exhilarating high, and the next he sent my stomach crashing to the ground.
On Tuesday, I wore the black dress with the asymmetrical neckline as I marched into his office, carrying the test results from the lab. Macalister was already seated at his desk, watching coverage of the markets on the television mounted to the opposite wall, the sound barely audible. I flung the paper down in front of him.
“Clean bill of health,” I said pointedly.
He picked up the paper and scanned the results then cast it aside with indifference. I was a heartbeat away from letting loose a groan of frustration, but then he opened a folder and lifted the top sheet, thrusting it toward me.