I forced myself to act natural, jamming my fork into a pile of linguine. “No, it’s fine.” I pulled my lips back into what I hoped looked like a bliss-soaked smile. I wanted her to take my comment at face value and not hear the subtext hidden beneath. “Sometimes it’s still hard to believe I’m going to marry him.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. You’re both young, but at the same time, it’s kinda undeniable you’re in love. It’s a fairytale the way you look at each other—it made everyone jealous at Royce’s promotion thing, you know. We all want what you have.”
I shoved a forkful of pasta into my mouth so she wouldn’t hear the huge gulp of air I’d just swallowed. What she thought was a fairytale romance was only a carefully crafted lie.
For the next twenty minutes, I ate silently while Sophia prattled on about work and her parents’ remodel of their second home in Barcelona. I waited until she’d spent enough time talking about herself that she was relaxed and comfortable before I made my first move.
I crossed my arms and leaned my elbows on the table, tilting my chin down to my chest. My voice was quiet and secretive. “Can I tell you something?” Then I uttered the phrase she wouldn’t be able to resist. “And it needs to stay just between us.”
There was a spark in her eyes. “Of course. What is it?”
I hesitated for effect. “I don’t know if Royce is going to take over for Macalister when he retires.”
It was as if I’d just said her credit card was declined. “What?”
I pushed my hair back behind my ear and leaned even closer, like I was worried someone might overhear. “I’ve been working as Royce’s assistant, just until school starts back, and I’m beginning to see how he is at the company. I thought Macalister was grooming him to step up as CEO one day, but instead of giving him more responsibilities—Macalister seems to be taking them away.”
Confusion continued across her face. “Why?”
I lifted my shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe he can’t cut it? Maybe Macalister thinks he won’t be any good as CEO. That’s kind of the feeling I get from the executive suite. No one’s comfortable with Royce being anything more than a figurehead.”
It was a total and complete lie.
My time at HBHC had been brief, but so far, Royce had seemed dedicated, competent, and valuable. And everyone, except for his father, loved him. There’d been meetings that ran long where I’d had to fake fires for Royce to put out, only so he could use it as an excuse to get on to the next meeting.
Perhaps I should have felt bad, but I didn’t.
This was only fair.
Five years ago, Royce had told a simple lie, and the effect had been catastrophic. It was poetic I was doing the same, right down to using Sophia Alby to do it. At least, if my plan worked.
“But,” she asked, “if Royce doesn’t succeed Macalister, then who? Vance?”
I shook my head. “He doesn’t want it. I don’t know what Macalister, or the board, is planning to do.”
“Wow.” She collapsed back in the booth, the information overpowering her. “That’s crazy.”
“I know, right? But promise me you won’t repeat it.”
I hoped what I was asking was impossible for her. She’d always been such a gossip. With any luck, she’d go home and tell her father, who’d spread the rumors of instability at HBHC far and wide.
Sophia had been Aphrodite, but today I needed her to be my Hermes—messenger to the gods.
“I promise,” she said. The corner of her mouth lifted into a sardonic smile. “Who would I tell?”
Everyone.
She’d tell everyone.
While I waited for the black Mercedes to pull up, Sophia and I Instagrammed our lunch date. We projected the image of two new best friends, pressed tight together with huge smiles, but it was fake and hollow. She had to feel that way too, at least a little. We were just using each other to get what we wanted.
Business contacts in a shared space.
It was irritating to sit in the back seat of the car as the driver took me back to Boston, when all I wanted to do was drive and think about what Sophia had revealed. She had to be wrong. She wasn’t the all-seeing Oracle, and just because Royce hadn’t dated anyone last year didn’t mean he’d stayed celibate like me.
When I got back to HBHC headquarters, he’d just finished up his lunch meeting, and I followed him into his office, shutting the door behind me.
“What’s up?” he asked as he thumbed through emails on his phone. “I’ve got to leave for another meeting in ten minutes.”
What was he talking about? His schedule on Tuesdays after lunch was one of the only times he actually got to spend more than twenty minutes at his desk. “With who?” I asked lightly. “I don’t have it on the calendar.”