His gaze snapped back to me. “Let me come with you.”
He didn’t bother to deny my accusation. My spine hardened, either with pride or vindictiveness or both, and I pushed back from the table. “No.”
He followed me up, and his voice edged toward frustration. “Marist, please—”
“This is your own doing. You keep me out of your business, so I’m allowed to do the same.”
He frowned and desperation ringed his eyes, but I refused to waver. I couldn’t rely on Royce to save me. I’d have to do it myself.
As I marched out of the dining room, he fell into step at my side, not arguing or attempting to slow me down. We both knew his father was waiting for me.
It was fitting the library was on the second floor. We climbed the stairs and ascended toward Mount Olympus while I, the mortal, mentally prepared as best I could for my audience with the god Zeus.
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.