Sirens wailed in my head. Too easy. “That’s it?”
His pale eyes were glittering enigmas. “I imagine it will make you uncomfortable.”
I swallowed an enormous breath. On the surface, this didn’t sound terrible, but I understood what I was up against. Negotiations were a game to Macalister, and he was always thinking two moves ahead. He didn’t play unless he was confident he was going to win.
“No.” I set my hands on my hips, letting my body language reinforce my defiance. “I’m not renegotiating. You hold up your end of our deal, or I’ll tell everyone what she tried to do to me.”
It was subtle, but Alice flinched, and it was the first movement she’d made since I’d come in. She’d been such a statue, I’d nearly forgotten she was there.
Macalister hardened and gave me a lethal look. “That would be very unwise.” He glanced at his wife, giving her a nonverbal reassurance, and then set his oppressive attention back on me. “I don’t believe you’ve thought it through. It’s been more than a month since that night, so there’s no evidence to support your claim. It would be your word against ours, whereas we’ve never changed our story.”
My pulse quickened as his words sank in, and he wasn’t finished either.
“If you were to go down that foolish path, my legal team would spin you as greedy and desperate for attention, and that’s the story that will become the truth. You’ll be nothing but a tiny bump on my road to the Federal Reserve, Marist.” He put one foot in front of the other, and as he approached, he grew ten feet taller. “It wouldn’t stop there, though. I’ll take everything away. To use your analogy, if you try to touch my business, you’re likely to lose a hand. Or at least your fucking house.”
It was so rare that Macalister swore, it gave his profanity the strength of a nuclear weapon. His bank owned my parents’ house and all the debt they’d accumulated over the years. We had no money to fight back if he came after us. Everything I had was his.
Even my fiancé.
Macalister’s words and his face full of domination squeezed me as a thousand ropes wrapped around my body and pulled taut.
Perhaps I looked like I was about to be sick, because he issued a low sigh of frustration and turned slightly human. It was shocking, but it was as if he didn’t enjoy causing me discomfort. When I’d first moved into his house, he seemed to live for it. All those nights spent losing to him at chess . . . God, I couldn’t go back to that.
Whatever terrible uncomfortable thing Macalister had planned, it wouldn’t last forever. I’d rather deal with it now than give up control. Nothing could be worse than that. But on principle, I couldn’t accept his first offer. I had to counter with something.
“One round of chess,” I said. “If I win, I can leave whenever I want.”
Oh, he liked this idea immensely, and I was counting on it. He was so sure of the outcome, he’d forgotten completely I’d won the last time we’d played. I wasn’t confident I could do it again, but it was better than nothing, and one of the only games I could play with him and ensure it was fair.
Excitement etched his face. “If I win?”
“Then, I accept the terms of your renegotiation.” I sipped in air, trying to remain calm. At least I was going in with my eyes open, prepared to lose. “But if we play, you agree not to tell Royce about any of this. Especially the other night.”
“That moment was between us.” His smile was downright evil before he turned to look at the bookshelf beside the wet bar. “I believe there’s a set on the top shelf.”
Meaning he expected me to fetch it.
My feet moved as if the rug were made of thick mud, but I went to the bookcase and pulled down the wooden box with a checkerboard pattern on top, making the pieces rattle inside. When I turned to face him, he pointed to the circular table at the center of the chairs.
There was an uneasy familiarity as we sat across from each other and set up the board, but things were markedly different, besides just the location. There was Alice seated between us, watching but not moving or speaking, like she’d fully become the robot I had sometimes wondered if she secretly was.
Macalister picked up a black and a white pawn and put his hands behind his back. His shoulders shifted as he moved the pieces around between hands, and when he was convinced I didn’t know where the white pawn was, he nodded. “Choose.”
I pointed to his right side.
He brought his arm forward, turned his palm upward, and uncurled his fingers to produce the black pawn. There’d be no first move advantage for me today, and I took the piece from him, turning the board so the black side was mine.