Page 17 of Righteous Deceit

I don’t know anything about the man behind the mask, but something tells me belonging to a woman isn’t high on his priority list.

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Lincoln Tower sits smackdab in the middle of the Loop. When Charles was alive, I would visit weekly, and we’d stroll down the Riverwalk, coffee in hand, as we catered to mindless conversation, pretending our marriage was built on mutual affection and not a business strategy. I enjoyed Charles’s company enough, but I would see the looks we were given. The horrified expressions on passersby as we walked hand in hand. I was ashamed. If we had been in love, I imagine my self-reproach wouldn’t have existed because, in my heart, I would have known my love to be true. But that wasn’t the situation, so humiliation sat heavily on my shoulders when my husband would kiss me in public. Not because I think love should be held between age brackets but because the disgust aimed our way was always fired in my direction. Never his. He was a man, after all; why would he reject the idea of a younger woman? I, on the other hand, was the callous gold digger. Simple eye contact with a stranger would convey so much in so little time. Our gaze would catch, and they would strip away my self-respect. My worth was void in their silent opinion, and I wanted to scream at them to look deeper. Instead, I would smile politely and let my husband’s withered lips caress mine for a show he seemed to enjoy.

Today is the first time I’ve stepped foot in the Lincoln Tower since he passed over twelve months ago. It hasn’t changed. I could have closed my eyes and described it in vivid detail, and all these months later, I’d be scarily accurate.

“Mrs. Lincoln.” The security guard dips his chin, and I smile cordially as I glide past on my way to the bank of elevators. Moving to the last one, I push my thumb against the touchscreen. I watch as it turns green, approving my access.

The ride up to the very top floor is quick, and I readjust my coat as the doors open.

The receptionist stands as I enter. “Alessia, so nice to see you again. Mr. Lincoln is waiting for you. His office is…” She swallows uncomfortably.

“His father’s old office?”

She nods. “Thank you.”

I straighten my shoulders, approaching the large corner office overlooking the water.

My need to wear flat shoes instead of heels today lets my confidence slip, only slightly, but enough to make me pause before continuing. My ankle has healed well over the last few days, but I knew even my pumps would hinder my recovery, and I can’t afford that. Fighting with men in the family is always so much easier in stilettos. The added height and the poise a thin long heel offers screamsdon’t fuck with mefar more powerfully than the Louis Vuitton sneakers currently on my feet. CJ isn’t a made man, but he’s no less formidable. Add to that his fury over his father’s Will, the one he still refuses to accept, and I could’ve used the added confidence of my redbacks today.

Still, I hold my head high, tighten my grip on my Kelly clutch, and march into his office without knocking.

CJ is only five years my junior, which is why I was surprised when he accepted my union with his father without debate. After all, he is a businessman focused solely on success, and he, like his father, saw the advantages of such a merger. I only wish I could say the same for his brothers.

CJ watches my approach, hand cupping his cell as he finishes a phone call I interrupt with my entrance. He ends the call without preamble, standing to greet me with a kiss on my cheeks. “Alessia.”

“Am I interrupting?”

“Yes, but you don’t care about that.”

I smile sweetly. “Very true.”

He laughs, and I watch him unabashedly.

He doesn’t look like your typical billionaire's son. He’s dressed the part, his bespoke suit tailored to line his tall frame like a second skin, but the hair on his head—always a little too long—hangs over his forehead, and he brushes it back before shoving his tattooed hands in his pockets.

He’s handsome enough to turn heads and arrogant enough not to care. He has a good heart, but he’s dead-set on keeping every person in his life at a far enough distance that they’ll never know it.

But I know his secret.

And I think my friend Grace knows that same secret.

I also think CJ knows that Grace sees him a little better than everyone else, which is why he pushes her away harder than anyone else.

Grace Snow has been in love with Charles Lincoln Junior from the first time she saw him. Charles Senior employed her as head nurse for The Quest, but as he aged, CJ oversaw more of the Lincolns’ business interests. The Quest included. CJ introduced himself to my sweet friend, and she opened her heart right then and there. I tried to warn her that CJ was oblivious to feelings of affection and love, but she still refused to see it. It didn’t help that CJ fucked her. He fucked her and bailed on her and now avoids her like the plague. She thinks it’s her. But I know the truth. I know deep down my similarly aged stepson can’t look Grace in the eye, knowing what he does about her sister’s death while she lives on with hope.

CJ has a good heart; he just wraps it up in a detached demeanor that paints him as a villain.

He gestures to the brown leather sofa in the corner of his office.

“I like what you’ve done with the place.” I let my eyes drift over how different this office looks and feels in CJ’s space.

“Coffee?”

I check my watch. “I’ll take something stronger.”

The right side of his mouth tips up, and I consider that, once upon a time, my late husband was likely just as handsome as his son is now. Tall and broad. Chiseled jawline and dark and heavy brows that bring attention to the rich brown color of his eyes.

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