I should be thinking about Adair, about forcing Malcolm to make a deal with the devil, planning how to humiliate one of them at the gala. Instead, my thoughts are with the little girl thrust into the family rivalry. Where the child is concerned, there’s probably always drama. I know what it’s like to be caught in the middle between warring parents, even if I never sat at fancy dinner tables with too many forks while my parents argued bitterly about having to put up with me. But I do know what it’s like to want to crawl under a table and hide—to hope you turn invisible. Maybe it’s not the same for her as it was for me but I saw the look in her eyes when her mother and father apologized for her existence.
I know what it’s like to be unwanted.
“What are you doing?” Adair’s voice breaks into my thoughts.
I turn to her slowly. She’s regrouped and climbed back atop her pedestal, but her haughty demeanor feels forced. There was a time when she ruled over this house. Her reign is drawing to a close, and judging from the fear she’s trying to hide, she knows it.
“Looking for the family silver,” I tell her. “You know I have sticky fingers. All these years, I’ve been waiting for a chance to get at it.”
Her lips flatten to prove she’s not amused. “What are you doing here? Back in Valmont? Surely, you’ve moved on from petty theft.”
“Investing.” If she wants to play coy, then we will. “I’m diversifying my portfolio.”
“Suddenly, you’re interested in telecommunications?” She doesn’t buy it, but I never meant her to. I want her to see me coming. I want her to dread it.
“Communication is the future, Lucky.”
If looks could kill, Adair MacLaine would be facing murder charges by morning. I’m the only person whoever called her that. Now even I don’t get that privilege.
“How can you even afford—” She stops mid-sentence. She didn’t mean to voice this question out loud.
“Of course, that’s what you’re wondering. How did I become wealthier than you?” I circle around her. She might be on her home turf, but I’m the one in charge. “How did Sterling Ford, the boy who couldn’t compete with your trust fund, buy into your father’s company? Isn’t that what you really want to know?”
She doesn’t answer immediately. Her silence echoes in the empty space around us, louder than anything she can say. In the end, she whispers, “I never asked you to compete with the trust fund.”
“No, you didn’t.” That’s the problem. She never even gave us a chance.
“Is that what this is about? You have a lot of nerve acting like this is my fault.”
“Oh, it is.” I take a step closer, savoring how she backs away. It feels so good that I continue herding her, until she’s flattened against the wall. There’s no where for her to run. No escape. Leaning closer, I press the palms of my hands to the wall, caging her to the spot. I want to know her attention on me is absolute. “You had a choice to make. Did you make the right one, Adair?”
She chokes on her denial. “I never—”
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s unbecoming to make a bed you refuse to lie in?” She still wears the same perfume, notes of magnolia—honey-sweet but hiding a subtle tartness—bloom in my nostrils, awakening memories I’d locked away.
“I’m not interested in being a lady,” she whispers.
I’m close enough to kiss her. Her body strains toward mine despite her pretense that she hates me as much as I hate her. There’d be no fight if I unbuttoned her jeans and slid a hand down her panties. My hand drops to her hip, on board with this plan. Adair stills in expectation, not moving to stop me. I slide the tip of my index finger along her waistband.
“That’s probably wise,” I say. “You were never any good at it.” My head angles, drawn to the curve of her neck. I pause before my lips touch her skin, lingering in the temptation of her scent, feeling the heat of her this close to me. For a moment, her green eyes search mine looking for the answer to some unknown question.
“Why did you come back?” It’s no longer an accusation on her tongue.
I know what she wants to hear.
I hate that it’s the truth.
“For you.”
14
Sterling
The Past
This isn’t what I imagined when Cyrus invited me to an off-campus house party. When he drove toward Adair’s neighborhood, I had realized this wasn’t going to be some college gathering. The gated entrance is open when we arrive, thrown wide to welcome us to the Garden of Eden. Ferns and palms clutter the grounds, their midnight-green shadows cast by precisely placed lights, and lush trees line the path. It empties into a small parking lot, already half-full of luxury vehicles. Cyrus shows me inside, stopping for hugs and high fives every few feet. He introduces me to everyone who stops us, but I’m too overwhelmed by the size of the place to remember any of them.
“Let’s grab a drink,” he suggests, nodding past the packed living room that’s so full I can’t even see furniture.
I glance over my shoulder at the crowded kitchen that looks like it’s straight out of Architectural Digest. The stale smell of spilled beer and the clashing colognes from overheated bodies doesn’t match the polished quartz countertops and stainless steel appliances. The crowd swallows Cyrus and I’m left searching for his blond head among the other party-goers. Behind me, a grunt catches my attention. I shift to see two guys hauling a keg into the middle of the room. Perspiration drips down its aluminum sides as some genius tries to tap it and fails.
“Let me.” I shove the idiot away before he winds up wasting half the beer. A few twists and turns and it’s ready to go.
“Thanks!” Said idiot fills a Solo cup and
