by Geneva Lee
Faith in myself? Like he had faith in me? I can’t keep my disbelief from falling out of my mouth. “Are you serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” He blinks like he’s genuinely confused.
I resist the urge to scream at him that he knows exactly why I can’t take it for genuine advice. He’s the one who’s walked back into Tennessee like nothing changed when everything has. He’s the one who left without a goodbye. He’s the one who made me question everything I thought I knew about myself.
“So, will you donate to the shelter or not?” I say bluntly. I need to get out of here. I’m falling into old habits. How, after all this time, can it feel this comfortable to talk to him? He’s made it clear he has an agenda that involves my family’s company. I have no idea how. Maybe some consultant told him it was a good buy. Maybe he did it on purpose. I don’t know, and I can’t trust him to tell me. I asked when he came to dinner—and his answer? Those two little words have been rattling around in my brain ever since.
For you.
I try not to think too hard about what he meant by that. I do my best to ignore his answer, but it’s always there scraping and clawing and trying to get out of my brain and into my heart. I can never allow that.
“Why don’t you support the shelter?” he asks.
“I do.”
“I mean, if they need money, then you must be able to…”
Is he fishing for information? Does he really not know what position our family is in?
“I have a responsibility to several charities.” That’s actually true, which makes it an easy lie. I can’t afford to give more. Not until my inheritance shows up in my ever-dwindling bank account. If there’s even going to be an inheritance. Harding and my brother haven’t been very forthcoming with how much to expect. For now, I think I’m supposed to be grateful that there’s a roof over my head.
“What do I get out of it?” He slides onto the bar stool next to me. Zeus sits between us, looking back and forth at our faces with interest. The woman who loved him and the man who saved him. If only my relationship with Sterling could be so simple.
“Why did my brother invite you to dinner?” I blurt out the question.
His lips flatten though he’s surprised by the change in topic. “He knows I hold stock in MacLaine Media. He’d like to buy it back, I think.”
I weigh this answer. Maybe Malcolm is pretending like we have the money to pay it back. Maybe Sterling doesn’t know how badly into debt our father drove the company before his death. Either way, I know Malcolm doesn’t have a way to pay him. If that’s what’s keeping Sterling around, telling him the truth could free us both. “We don’t have the money to buy your portion.”
Sterling stares at me for a moment as if trying to make sense of my remarkably honest answer. He studies my face, his eyes sweeping down me in a way that’s both familiar and unsettling.
“I know that,” he says after a moment.
“So we’re going to be truthful then?”
“You started it.” He shrugs as though he doesn’t care either way. I’m not going to waste the chance to get more answers.
“If you know that he can’t pay you, why play along?” I ask.
He waits a moment as if considering his answer. “He’s not offering money.”
My heart skips a beat as if it knows the answer already. “What is he offering?”
“You.”
“Me?” My lips move, forming the word but there’s no sound. I’ve been silenced, cut out of the deal, and turned into a pawn by the man who claims me as his sister and the man who broke my heart.
“A merger, if you will,” he says. “Your family’s reputation and connections in exchange for keeping the stock in the family.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper as I begin to understand what he means by keeping it in the family. “What does he think this is? The nineteenth-century?”
Malcolm thinks he can arrange my marriage and I’ll just throw on a veil and comply? I’m not a mail order bride. He can’t just force me to take a husband to save the family business.
“And you’re considering his offer?” I accuse. For a second, his mask slips and the pain there says the things he should have said years ago. About us. About the future. About what we were. Then it’s gone.
“Did you really think I was?” The mask is back in place. The stage show has concluded. Whatever vestiges I thought I saw of the Sterling I once knew disappear, replaced by the smug prick that’s been investing in my life like I’m just some prize to collect.
Four years ago, I waited for him to prove me wrong about him. Now I know better. When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.
And my brother? I can’t keep turning away from who he is becoming. He thinks he can sell me? There’s gonna be a pool party in hell before I let any man control me. But why not let them think they can? According to Harding, there is at least three major parties who bought into MacLaine Media. If I can keep Sterling at bay and trick Malcolm, I’ll have time to find the other investors, buy them out, and regain a majority hold over the company. Malcolm will be forced to come to me and Sterling won’t be able to buy the love he gave away.
“Support the shelter,” I say to him, “and I’ll do it.”
He clearly doesn’t expect this response. “You’ll do what?”
“I’ll go along with Malcolm’s insane plan.”
“You’ll marry me?” he says in disbelief. “Look, I’m not exactly on one knee. I didn’t say I was going to accept his offer.”
The words pierce my skin, hitting the wall I’ve raised once more around my heart, and bounce off me.
“I know that,” I snap. “But I’m not stupid. There’s a reason why you’re letting Malcolm believe you’d be interested in his offer.”
“And you expect me to tell you?”
“I don’t care what it is. I’m not going to sit around and be some pawn in my brother’s battle strategy. If he thinks we’re together, he’ll stay off both our backs. Then you can do whatever it is you’re planning and I…”
“What about you? What are you planning?” His eyes narrow. This arrangement depends on my answer.
I don’t have to be completely honest with him to sell the lie that I won’t interfere with his schemes. I know exactly the sliver of truth that will make him believe that I have a separate agenda. “I’m planning to escape.”
24
Sterling
Present Day
Malcolm MacLaine’s campaign office is located inside the historic Nashville Customs House. I imagine it helps grease the wheels of potential campaign supporters to meet inside the hallowed, if remodeled, walls of one of the city’s oldest institutions. The MacLaines have always campaigned on Tennessean tradition and family values. Few buildings feel as unchanging as those beliefs. Naturally, he’s found one.
“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me,” Malcolm says when his secretary shows me inside.
“Of course.”
Our relationship is developing even more rapidly than I’d hoped. Malcolm understands who he is dealing with now. Or what’s at stake, at least. It’s almost been too easy to bring him to his knees. I’m not foolish enough to believe he’s down for the count though. It will take more to break him entirely. But it’s more than a little satisfying to wonder how his father would feel if he could see this. Angus MacLaine is rolling over in his grave as his children hammer the coffin of his dynasty closed nail by nail.
I take the seat offered to me, refusing a glass of bourbon with a wave of my hand. There’s no need to take one for appearance’s sake. Not anymore. He pours himself one anyway. If he’s not careful he’ll wind up like his father. Perhaps, he has better control over his vices. Angus never cared who he hurt as long as there were no consequences to his actions—it’s a trait both of his children have inherited by all accounts.
“I’ll level with you.” He unbuttons his jacket and sinks into his executive chair. He looks more at home here in
downtown Nashville then he does pretending behind his father’s desk at home. This office is smaller and the view is mediocre. Soon, I have no doubt, he’ll take his father’s office in the MacLaine Media tower a few blocks away, which probably affords a spectacular view of the Nashville skyline. For now, he’s as he was. Less of a man than his father, by all appearances, but following blindly in his footsteps anyway. I’d seen him at the gala, pretending to be someone he’s not. His pockets are empty. We both know it. It’s amusing to think he’s going to level with me when we’re on different tiers entirely. That’s why we’re here. I’ve managed to elude his reach. Malcolm’s mistake is thinking that he needs to look down to find me when I’ve already snuck past him to a higher run. By the time he realizes, it will be too late.
“I need to buy back my family’s share of the company from you,” he continues. “We need to come to an arrangement.”
“I already named my price.”
“That is going to take time,” he tells me, “and there might be other interested parties. You aren’t the only one who bought into the company.”
“I assumed I wasn’t,” I say smoothly. If he only knew. “Have you spoken with Adair?”
“I don’t know what happened between you and her in the past,” he says, “but it’s clear that we’re going to have to come to another arrangement. I can’t force her to do something she refuses to do.” He doesn’t seem to understand why she’s not taking orders. The MacLaine men, obviously, haven’t gotten any less narcissistic in the last couple of years.
“I’ve always gotten the impression that Adair is quite pliable when the incentive is right.” Malcolm doesn’t wield the same control over her as their father did. Pointing this out will only whittle away a bit more of his confidence in himself. The trick with breaking something strong is to weaken it first rather than waste your energy smashing it outright.
“She hates you.” He stares at me as though willing me to disprove this. “I, on the other hand, like you. I wasn’t sure at first, but you might be just what the company needs—if we could come to an arrangement. A merger, perhaps. ”
I don’t flatter myself that he’s reversed his opinion of me. A MacLaine never thinks highly of anyone that’s not their own blood. He can’t find the information he needs to make a play. I made sure of that. I’m here because he’s feeling desperate. He’s no closer to figuring out who the other investors are—no matter what he says about their interest. Malcolm is so busy looking for other players, he doesn’t see that I’m the dealer. I fed him his hand. He can’t bluff me.
“You might be surprised about me and your sister,” I say to him. “We got a chance to talk at the gala.”
The phone on his desk buzzes, and his secretary’s voice pipes into the room. “Your sister is here.”
Right on time. It’s not a coincidence that I wound up here at the same time as Adair. I’d texted her this morning to set a date for our first public appearance as a “couple.” She’d told me she was busy—a meeting with her brother, she said. She’d think about it. Faking a relationship might have been her plan, but her hesitation tells me she’s questioning it. I hadn’t expected her to dangle herself like a piece of meat over my head, but now that I know she will, I can’t resist the opportunity. I won’t allow her to back out of our arrangement now.
“Show her in.” Malcolm watches me as the door opens. He’s trying to read me, but he doesn’t speak my language.
“You wanted to talk to me,” Adair says haughtily. She storms past me without realizing I’m there and plants her hands on the desk, sticking her round ass in my face in the process. My view instantly improves. “We have to have official meetings now?”
“When it comes to business,” he says in a warning tone.
“Everything’s business. I don’t see why we can’t just talk about it at the dinner table,” she says.
“It will have to wait, regardless,” Malcolm says, motioning to me.
She glances over her shoulder casually, freezing when our eyes meet. There’s a moment of confusion in those emerald orbs, quickly followed by accusation. She knows she’s been played. “Sterling!”
“I stopped in to chat with your brother.” Rising, I unbutton my jacket with one fluid motion. “But I confess, I really came to see you.”
My honesty is so surprising she stands in shocked silence long enough for me to cross the few steps to her. I act without hesitation, knowing that even a moment’s pause will blow this. Before she processes my proximity, I curl a hand around her waist, pull her to me and crush my lips against hers. The kiss lasts longer than I intend. Maybe because I caught her off-guard, so she doesn’t fight it. Maybe because I hadn’t expected to enjoy it as much as I do. I know she’s poison, but she tastes like honey, and I linger on those sweet lips. When I break away, her mouth falls open.
“There’s no point keeping it from your family,” I say to her. “They’ll know soon enough.”
Knitting my fingers through hers, I turn my attention back to Malcolm. He looks like he’s already planning the wedding.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t wait until tonight to see her,” I say.
“You two have plans?” He looks to her for confirmation.
I step in before she can conceive a cutting remark in response. “Yes, we have an official date this time. I’m afraid it’s going to be a little less extravagant than a gala, Lucky.”
The corners of her eyes narrow ever so slightly. The lie. The old nick name. I’m pressing all her buttons and she’s got to go along with it—but Adair has always been an excellent liar. She slips into the deception with ease, gesturing to her causal outfit. “I’m not even ready yet. I look like hell.”
She’s wearing jeans that cut off at the ankles, a worn-in pair of Converse sneakers, and a soft, cotton t-shirt with a deep v-neck that reveals a satisfying amount of cleavage. She doesn’t look like hell. She looks like the devil transformed into a woman come to tempt me.
“You look perfect.” I mean it. “It’s a surprise, remember? We’ll have to run by my place for me to change though.”
“You should’ve done that instead of wasting your time coming all the way over here to see me,” she says, her words as sweet as arsenic-laced sugar.
“You aren’t happy to see me?”
I don’t miss the slide of her throat as she swallows back whatever biting remark she wants to make. She pops onto her tiptoes and kisses my cheek. Unlike our earlier kiss, this one is so full of venom, I swear it stings.
“I have to talk to my brother,” she says to me. “Let’s meet up later.”
“I’m sure it can wait.” I wrap my hands around hers and look to Malcolm.
“There’s no rush.” He’s lapping this up. I could get him to agree to almost anything right now. Sealing a union between my company and his, by way of marriage, not only keeps the family business in the family, it also costs nothing more than selling his sister’s soul. Something he values a lot less than his bank account.
“Are you sure?” Adair asks, clearly looking for an out.
“I should head home early. Surprise Ginny,” he suggests.
“Good idea. You have to keep the romance alive,” I advise him. There’s no way Malcolm is going home to his wife. Not at 4 o’clock on a Tuesday. Not when his regular room is waiting at the Eaton—a little tidbit Luca discovered when digging into the affairs of Mr. Randolph, the hotel manager.
“I was supposed to help her with Ellie, but I’m sure she’ll understand. I’ll text her and let her know you’re coming home.” Adair whips out her phone before he can stop her. Apparently, I’m not the only one who knows about his Tuesday night extracurriculars. I might loathe her, but I do admire her. She’s backed him into the corner in five seconds flat, punishing him in a way that’s almost Shakespearean. “There. Now she knows you’re leaving the office early! She’s going to be so excited.”
“Thank you,” Malcolm says in a strained voice.
“No prob
lem.” She hooks an arm through mine. “We should be going.”
“We’ll discuss this further another time,” I say to him.
“Yes, we have a lot to talk about.” He moves around the desk and shakes my hand, his fingers closing over it tightly and holding it in place. “Take care of my sister.”
“I’ll keep an eye on her.” That’s a promise I’ll make good on. If her stunt with her brother proves anything, it’s that she’s too slippery to let out of my sight.
“Let’s go.” She tugs me toward the door. As soon as it closes behind us, she starts to pull away but my grip on her hand tightens.
“We’re not done selling this,” I whisper, tilting my head toward his secretary, who’s watching us with eagle eyes.
“Have a nice night, Barb,” Adair says, snuggling against me.
Our act is starting to wear me down. Pressed this closely to my body, I smell her perfume—tart and sweet just like her. I have to resist the urge to lift her into my arms and carry her to the nearest empty office. I want her splayed across a conference table, thighs around my neck, screaming my name. I want her to know exactly what she’s been missing. I want it to be even harder when she loses me this time.
Instead, we continue to the elevator and as soon as we’re safely inside, she yanks her hand away.
“What was that about?” she demands.
“We need to sell this. It has to look real. I thought you wanted your brother to believe that we’re in a relationship.”
“I did,” she says, quickly adding, “I mean, I do. You just could’ve warned me that you would be here.”
“This was more natural.” I lean closer. “A romantic gesture.”
She stares up at me, her lips waiting to be kissed. Then she blinks and moves quickly to the other side of the compartment. “You’re lucky I didn’t slap you.”
“Now why would you do that?” I ask.
“Because you kissed me,” she reminds me.
“I knew you wouldn’t slap me for that.”
