"I wouldn't move that if I were you," Donovan said as I waved my hand over my last remaining knight. "It's going to leave your queen vulnerable."

Oh, right. I could see it once he’d said that. It was Sunday afternoon, and we were sitting in the living room in front of the Christmas tree—me on the floor, him on the sofa. We’d have to leave in a few hours for the city, but first, at my request, Donovan had brought out a chessboard and was teaching me how to play more than just a basic game. I hadn't ever really attempted it seriously, but I’d thought I was better than I was. Apparently, chess is hard.

I moved my hand toward the nearby bishop, intending to pick it up, but stopped as he exclaimed, "If you touch that you have to move it."

"I want to move it." Didn't I? It was really the only move I had. He'd already captured most of my pawns. The coffee table was littered with dead white pieces, the board covered with strategic black pieces still in play.

“You might want to move it," he said, all smug and sexy. “But if you do, I'll have you pinned."

I looked innocently at my wrists. "You'll have me pinned? Is that a threat? Or the prize?"

He narrowed his eyes, which had gone dark with desire. "There is no place for seduction in chess, Sabrina." Despite his words, his gaze scratched down my torso, lingered at my breasts. "After, though. Definitely after."

"Then stop trying to tell me what moves to make. After will come a lot faster if you let me make my own mistakes.” And there it was. The move I needed to make. I saw it now.

"You said you wanted me to teach you.” His cell phone rang as I reached out to slide my rook.

I couldn't help it—I looked for his approval.

“Good girl,” he said, looking at the screen on his phone. "It's the Tokyo office. I have to take it."

"Tokyo? What time is it there?" I didn't really expect him to answer.

But he did. “Five o’clock Monday morning.” He hit the talk button and brought the phone to his ear. Then his conversation transformed into Japanese as he took his call, and I melted.

God it was hot when he talked in a foreign language.

He was hot no matter what he did. I was so completely smitten with him. So head over heels. So totally in love.

Without seeming to miss a beat in his call, he reached over the board and took the rook I’d just moved with his knight.

Fucker.

He could look that sexy, speak Japanese, and beat me at chess all at the same time. He’d better be planning to keep me. Because more and more, I wasn't sure how I could live without him. Wasn’t sure how I ever had.

The nature of the phone call seemed to intensify, requiring more of Donovan's attention. He stood to pace as he talked. I made another move on the board—probably a stupid move. I couldn't tell without his discerning commentary. I spent a few minutes after that trying to imagine the next moves, the way he said good chess players did. He'd move this. I'd move that. All the way to the end of the game. But I didn't have that kind of vision. I couldn't sit with it that long. And I wasn't good at guessing what he would do.

I never had been.

I looked up at him, one hand buried in his slacks pocket as he stood, muscles tense, in front of the window. He would need me later to distract him from the dilemma happening on the other side of the world. I would soothe him with my mouth, with my pussy. Let him find release inside me in whatever way he needed.

Right now, I couldn't help him.

I stood up and stretched, and headed down the hall to find the closest bathroom. When I came out, I could still hear Donovan on the phone so I wandered towards the opposite end of the house, studying the artwork that I hadn't really looked at during our tour.

"It’s you, Sabrina. I thought I heard you kids out here."

I turned around to find Raymond had stepped out of his study.

"Just me. Donovan's on the phone. Work. Of course." I peeked around him as discreetly as possible. The study was the one room I hadn't seen, and I was curious by nature.

Raymond’s brows lifted. "That works out perfectly, actually. I've been meaning to talk to you. Alone. Won't you step into my office?"

Goosebumps ran down my arms despite the sweater I was wearing. Nothing good could come from a conversation that Raymond Kincaid wanted to have with me alone.

But as I said, I was curious by nature.

"Sure thing."

I stepped into the study with my back straight and my head held high. Whatever happened in here, I reminded myself, Donovan was not Raymond Kincaid. Raymond could say what he wanted. It meant nothing about my relationship with his son.

The office was impressive, but not my style. The walls and furniture were all completely done in mahogany with leather accents. His desk was oversized and ornate, gold filigree lined the scrollwork on the edges and the legs. The shelves overflowed with books that looked old and as if they'd never been cracked open. Showpieces. Probably a lot of first editions and out-of-print collector’s pieces. There was a faint smell of cigars and cologne—a scent Donovan would never have worn. Too strong. Too musky. All of it was very masculine and rich. Boastful. Arrogant.

I was such a judger.

No. I wasn't judging. I was preparing.

"Have a seat. Please." Raymond gestured to the chair in front of his desk rather than the intimate seating area by the fireplace. It was a move that established authority. One that put me in my place.

Next, he'd pull out his checkbook, wave it around.

I could see his moves. Maybe I wasn't so bad at chess after all.

I took a seat, crossed my legs. But I wasn't vulnerable. He didn't have me pinned like he might've thought.

"Is this where the rich financial mogul offers the lowly girl from the wrong side of the tracks some exorbitant amount to stop seeing his son?" I said it with a smile so that we could play it off as a joke. If I needed to.

Raymond barely reacted, but he did react. I wouldn't have noticed if I wasn't watching as carefully as I was, but since I was watching him so carefully, I saw the slight jerk of his eyelid, heard the soft catch of his breath as he sat down across from me.

Then he let out a hearty laugh. "Amusing. Amusing." He straightened the calendar pad on the corner of his desk.

Everything on the desk’s surface, I noticed now, was straight and tidy. In its place. I wasn't so sure he liked things clean or immaculate though, so much as he liked the look of the lines and right angles. The room was full of both.

“With Donovan just in the other room…" he said, in continued amusement.

Maybe I'd been wrong about his motives. I wouldn't be upset if that were the case.

He looked up suddenly, his brows furrowed, eyes inquisitive. "What would be an exorbitant amount? Half a million? A full million?”

My stomach sank. Even knowing this was where it had been leading, I'd hoped I was wrong. Not so much for my sake, but for Donovan's. He knew his parents were terrible, but wouldn't it be nice to find out that they weren't?

I didn't answer Raymond. I couldn’t. It was too degrading.

“A full million could go a long way,” he prodded. "Could pay for all of your sister’s students loans. Get her set up real nice after she graduates."

He'd checked into me.

Well, I didn't have to ask where Donovan had gotten his stalking genes. I gritted my teeth and nodded as I inhaled slowly, reminding myself it wasn't cool to punch out a seventy-year-old man. If I even could—he seemed to be in pretty good shape for his age.

The shittiest part of it all?  That he thought his son’s happiness was only worth that much. I'd been around their kind of money long enough to know how fast a million dollars ran out. I’d felt Donovan's love long enough to know it ran deeper than money could buy.

I laughed now. It was all I could do if I wasn't going to beat him up. "I think by definition, exorbitant means there isn't an amount you could name."

Raymond studied me carefully. I could see he was forming the next bid, wondering if two million would do it. Or three. Even despite what I'd said.

Whatever he saw in my face eventually brought him to the conclusion that I was telling the truth. "I wondered as much,” he said.

It felt powerful. Like I had check.

I wanted checkmate. "And even if there were an amount, you would be hard-pressed to convince your son to let me go."

Raymond nodded knowingly. "That's not surprising. Donovan likes to marry for love. Susan and I—we get along, don't get me wrong. But we both understood the reason the practice of marriage was invented. It's a social arrangement. It shouldn't be based on emotion or tied to sentimentality. It's meant to protect her assets and mine, and those of our heirs. You can understand why I would therefore be concerned about you. You would be the mother of our grandchildren. While I would prefer a more suitable wife for him, we certainly cannot dictate whom he spends his life with. It didn't hurt to try."

"Wait—that's it?" I was reeling, disoriented like a fish pulled fresh from water. I couldn't keep up my own reactions to his revelations. First, that he and his wife had a loveless relationship—which I could've guessed—but for him to admit it was something else entirely. Then, to hear his outdated stance on marriage, and finally to arrive at the conclusion: ‘oh well’ he’d tried?

And Donovan and I weren't even engaged!

"I'll certainly recommend that Donovan choose otherwise if he asks. But he won't.  A decade ago, I'd have told him there is nothing wrong with having a marriage for propriety and a mistress on the side. Prince Charles did it. Now even he is married to his mistress." He might as well have said, ‘what is the world coming to?’ The subtext was evident.

"Yeah, no. I could not stand to be a mistress." This was the oddest conversation to be having with my boyfriend's father. "And Donovan wouldn't stand for that either," I added with certainty. "And we are not –” engaged.

I stood up and rubbed my sweaty palms along my leggings. I didn't want to talk about this anymore with him. After this weekend, I actually could begin to see a future with Donovan. Long reaching winters, and summers, and chess games, and children.

But those were conversations to have with him. Not his father. Not because it was best for the future of the family name.

"You're welcome to leave anytime," Raymond said, rising to his feet. "I've said my piece."

And I'd said mine. I nodded, unwilling to say thank you for whatever this had been.

As I turned to go, my eye was caught by a series of plaques on the wall by the door. They were honorary plaques that had been given over several years to an organization I recognized—A Brighter Day. I stepped closer to examine one.

“This is from the president," I said in awe.

Raymond came up behind me. ”Ah, yes. We are very proud of what we've done with A Brighter Day. Donovan has been very involved since high school.”

"You must be. What kind of organization is it exactly?" I was only interested because Donovan's name had been attached to it. And obviously the organization was a big fucking deal. Plus, the man really needed to brag more, assert his authority.

"It's a series of foundations," Raymond explained. "They address a variety of different issues, each one tailored to a specific need. There is one that helps children prone to asthma that live or go to school in areas near freeways, which studies have shown can increase asthma attacks. Another provides free education to coal miners who are searching for another line of work."

So Raymond wasn't completely terrible after all. No one ever really was, I was learning.

"Another provides scholarships to kids with exceptional IQs, particularly those who have graduated early, and are seeking help to bridge the gap to Ivy League schools since those universities don't generally provide full rides. Another—"

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. "That one," I interrupted. "What's the name of the scholarship foundation?"

I already knew the answer. I could already see this move. It was a move I should've seen so long ago.

”The MADAR Foundation.”