Chapter 6 Father's Hook

# Chapter 6: Father's Hook

Dinner with the Alberts was a master class in dysfunctional family dynamics. Albert Senior sat at the head of the table, Lucas to his right, Elliot to his left, and me beside Lucas—a strategic placement I suspected was Albert's doing. The dining room, like everything else in the penthouse, was designed to impress: a massive table of Italian marble that could seat sixteen comfortably, crystal chandelier overhead, floor-to-ceiling windows displaying the glittering city below.

"Claire," Albert raised his wine glass, "to your first week with us. I hear from Mrs. Chen that Elliot is already showing improvement."

Mrs. Chen, the housekeeper, had said no such thing—I knew because she barely spoke English and communicated with me primarily through nods. But I smiled graciously.

"Elliot is a remarkable student. His comprehension is exceptional."

Across the table, Elliot's expression remained neutral, but his eyes met mine briefly—a silent acknowledgment of our shared secret.

Lucas swirled his wine, studying the legs that formed on the glass. "Yes, my brother comprehends a great deal more than people realize." There was an edge to his voice, a subtle warning that raised the hairs on my neck.

"The Lafite agrees with you," Albert commented, watching me sip the wine that probably cost more than a month's rent at my old apartment. "You have a sophisticated palate."

"My father collected wines," I lied easily. "He believed education extended beyond books."

"A wise man," Albert replied, his eyes lingering on me. "Perhaps you'd join me in the cellar sometime. I have several vintages that might... interest you."

The suggestion hung in the air, its subtext clear. Lucas snorted quietly into his glass while Elliot focused intently on cutting his steak into perfectly equal pieces.

"I'd be honored," I replied, letting my gaze hold Albert's a moment longer than necessary.

The conversation drifted to business matters—a merger Albert was negotiating, a board member Lucas was concerned about. I played the role of attentive listener, filing away details that might prove useful later. Elliot remained silent throughout, responding only in nods when directly addressed.

As dessert was served—an elaborate chocolate creation the chef announced as "deconstructed forest"—Albert's phone chimed. He checked it with a frown.

"Excuse me," he said, standing. "I need to take this in my office. Lucas, make sure Claire has everything she needs."

After he left, Lucas immediately poured himself more wine. "And the puppet master pulls his strings from offstage," he muttered.

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"Lucas," I chided gently, "not in front of your brother."

He laughed without humor. "Elliot's seen far worse than my petty insubordination, haven't you, brother?"

Elliot continued eating his dessert methodically, not acknowledging the jab.

"You know," Lucas leaned closer to me, wine on his breath, "I've been trying to place where I might have seen you before. It's driving me crazy."

My pulse quickened, but I maintained Claire's composed smile. "I have one of those faces, I suppose."

"No," he said, studying me intently. "You definitely don't. Your face is... uniquely yours."

If he only knew how much I'd paid to ensure that wasn't true.

"Perhaps in Paris?" I suggested. "Did you study abroad?"

"Harvard Business School," he replied. "Never made it to Paris. Father doesn't approve of the French. Too much vacation time, not enough work ethic." His fingers brushed mine as he reached for the wine bottle. "But I'm certain we've met."

"I'm certain we haven't," I said firmly. "I would remember."

Elliot suddenly stood, notebook in hand. He scribbled something and placed it before Lucas: *She doesn't like you. Stop embarrassing yourself.*

Lucas's face darkened. "Shouldn't you be playing with your trains or something? The adults are talking."

Elliot stared at his brother for a long moment, then turned and left the dining room without another communication.

"Forgive my brother," Lucas said, refilling my glass without asking. "He lacks social graces."

"He seems perfectly graceful to me," I replied, deliberately placing my hand over my glass. "If you'll excuse me, I should check on him. He's my student, after all."

Lucas caught my wrist as I stood, his grip firm but not painful. "My father wants you. It's obvious. But I'm curious what you want, Claire Fontaine with the mysterious eyes."

I extracted my hand carefully. "I want to do my job well, Mr. Albert."

"Lucas," he corrected automatically.

"Lucas," I repeated, infusing the name with just enough coolness to establish boundaries while leaving room for future... flexibility. "Good night."

Instead of seeking out Elliot, I headed toward Albert's office. The door was closed, but voices carried through—Albert's and someone else's, their tone heated. I slipped off my heels and moved closer, ear nearly against the wood.

"—cannot afford another incident," Albert was saying. "The board is already suspicious after the Robinson affair."

"It's contained," replied the other voice—Winton Pierce. "The girl signed the NDA, took the money. She's no threat."

My breath caught. Were they discussing another victim?

"She's making noise about going to the press," Albert countered. "Your containment strategy seems flawed."

"Let me handle it," Winton said smoothly. "That's what you pay me for."

"What I pay you for is preventing these situations in the first place. Lucas is becoming a liability."

Footsteps approached the door from inside. I quickly retreated around the corner, heart pounding. A moment later, Winton emerged, his normally composed face tense with irritation. He headed toward the elevator without noticing me.

I waited until he was gone before approaching Albert's office again, this time knocking softly.

"Enter," he called, voice gruff.

I found him at his desk, tumbler of scotch in hand, tie loosened—a carefully orchestrated image of the burdened executive seeking comfort in alcohol and solitude. The vulnerability was calculated to invite female nurturing. I'd seen the tactic before.

"Claire," he said, straightening slightly. "Is dinner over already?"

"I wanted to check if everything was alright," I said, allowing concern to color my voice. "You seemed troubled when you left."

He gestured to the chair across from his desk. "Business complications. Nothing for you to worry about."

I sat, crossing my legs slowly, aware of his eyes tracking the movement. "Sometimes an outside perspective helps. I'm told I'm a good listener."

"Among your many talents, I'm sure." He smiled, taking another sip of scotch. "But I wouldn't burden you with corporate politics."

"Not a burden if I'm offering," I countered, leaning forward slightly.

Albert studied me for a moment, then stood and moved to the bar cart. "Drink?"

"Just a small one."

He poured scotch into a crystal tumbler, his back to me momentarily—the perfect opportunity. I quickly activated the recording contacts with a triple blink, capturing the room, including the wall safe I'd noted earlier. When he turned back, I was exactly as he'd left me, an image of patient attentiveness.

"Lucas giving you trouble?" he asked, handing me the drink.

I accepted it, allowing our fingers to brush. "Nothing I can't handle."

"He can be... persistent with beautiful women." Albert returned to his desk but didn't sit, instead perching on the edge closest to me. "A family trait, perhaps."

"Is it?" I smiled, sipping the scotch. "And here I thought I was hired for my teaching abilities."

"You were," he assured me quickly. "Elliot's progress is my primary concern. But I'd be lying if I said your qualifications were the only thing that impressed me."

The moment stretched between us, charged with implication. I knew what he wanted—what men like him always wanted. Power expressed through possession.

"Mr. Albert—"

"Albert, please."

"Albert," I corrected, standing to approach him. "I should be clear about something."

His eyes darkened with anticipation as I moved into his personal space. "Yes?"

I reached up as if to touch his face, then diverted my hand to straighten his tie instead. "I take my professional responsibilities very seriously. Elliot's education is my priority."

Disappointment flickered across his features, quickly masked. "Of course. I wouldn't suggest otherwise."

"Good." I stepped back, maintaining eye contact. "Because while I find you very... compelling, I wouldn't want to complicate our working relationship."

The calculated rejection accomplished exactly what I intended—transforming me from an easy conquest to a challenge. Albert's posture shifted subtly, the predator in him awakening to the chase.

"I respect your professionalism," he said, voice lowered. "Though I hope we can develop a... friendship beyond employer and employee."

I smiled enigmatically. "Perhaps. With appropriate boundaries."

As I turned to leave, he called after me: "Claire?"

I paused at the door, looking back over my shoulder—a pose I'd practiced in the mirror, knowing how it elongated my neck and highlighted my profile.

"Yes?"

He was watching me with undisguised hunger now. "If you change your mind about those boundaries, my door is always open."

I nodded once and left, closing the door behind me. In the corridor, I exhaled slowly, deactivating the recording contacts with another triple blink. The encounter had gone perfectly—I'd established myself as desirable but not easy, intriguing but professional. Albert would pursue me now, convinced it was his idea.

Men like him always wanted what retreated from their grasp.

As I headed back toward my quarters, I passed the music room and heard the haunting notes of Elliot's piano—Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata," played with such sorrow it made my chest ache. I paused, listening, reminded again that this silent boy was perhaps the most complex member of the family I'd come to destroy.

The first movement ended, and in the brief silence before the second began, I heard a voice from inside—low, rough from disuse, but unmistakably Elliot's.

"I know who you are," he said. "And I want to help."