20
Adair
Present Day
I’m on my second glass of liquid courage before I see him. I remember the first time I saw Sterling Ford in a suit—a borrowed suit. It was the day of my mother’s funeral. He looked as out of place there as the suit had on his body. Gone are the days of wearing another man’s clothes. His tuxedo is tailored to his body, showcasing his broad shoulders. With the jacket buttoned, his torso narrows to a lean waist. Sterling had the body of a man years before any other guy I knew. Now? I can’t help wondering what it looks like beneath those layers of fabric.
He walks with the air of a man who owns the room. Heads turn in interest. The Valmont-Nashville philanthropy crowd is an incestuous bunch. We’re born together, grow up together, marry each other, divorce each other, and attend each other’s funerals. New blood usually comes by way the trophy wives unwisely imported from the ranks of professional sports cheerleaders and fashion models. In recent years, divorcees who managed to dodge the prenup have taken to being cougars with gusto. After a while, they all blend together, a pack of cougars and lions, divorcing one spouse while hunting for the next in the same pride. Once you’re in this crowd, you can’t escape.
I can’t imagine Sterling ever fitting in with us. He’s too jagged, his edges too roughly hewn to wedge into an available slot. I still can’t believe he’s here at all. He’d never hidden his distaste for the wealthy, a hatred that applied especially to me.
Ava appears at my side, following my gaze to him. “Did you see Sterling Ford is back in town?”
“I have eyes.” There’s no way I’m letting her see an ounce of my discomfort over his arrival. A West uses psychology like currency, gambling on instinct and doubling down on emotion. They collect reactions and meltdowns and make you pay the price later for showing your cards.
“You knew.” She studies me with interest. Ava’s too smart to not see through my detached façade.
I cling to it anyway. Shrugging my shoulders, I take another sip of champagne. “He’s in the middle of a business deal with my brother.”
She’ll find out about this anyway. My only chance at retaining the upper hand is to act unbothered by this as if there’s nothing unusual about my ex-boyfriend, a poor kid from New York, suddenly becoming a viable financial partner in MacLaine Media.
“If only your father could see him now,” Ava says, giving voice to the one thought I’ve not allowed into my conscious brain. It’s been there knocking on the gates, begging to be let in. Now she’s opened the door.
“My father was always more interested in money than the man behind it.” That much is true, at least.
She smirks, seeing through my indifference. We both know that my father gladly took money from anyone — new money, old money, blood money — it didn’t matter. But no amount of money swayed his opinion on a man once it was made. Despite years of charity events and holiday parties, he never trusted a West. Then again, vipers steer clear of their own.
“So, are you planning to saddle that bronco?” She strokes the rim of her rocks glass, watching him. She’d seen him as a potential notch on her bedpost years ago. I’m guessing that hasn’t changed. “I would.”
The confirmation is unnecessary and produces an equally undesirable visual.
“You have such a way with words,” I say, trying to ignore the image of Ava and Sterling dancing around my brain.
“You have a way of avoiding questions,” she says.
It’s as close as we’ll ever get to complimenting one another.
“There you are!” Poppy joins us, grabbing a champagne flute from a passing tray. “My mother is having a meltdown.”
“What’s new?” I ask. Malcolm has found Sterling and is introducing him to various guests.
“Everything is fine,” Ava promises Poppy. “And if it isn’t, it’s too late now. Have a drink and put some distance between the two of you.”
Ava has always been kind to Poppy, but everyone is kind to Poppy. Probably because Poppy can see the good in everyone. The two had roomed together in college for a couple of years. Poppy never minded the parade of men Ava marched in and out of their dorm room. Maybe that’s why Ava keeps her claws retracted when it comes to her.
Poppy spots Sterling with my brother. “There he is.”
“So was I the last to know he was back in town?” Ava demands, realizing Poppy isn’t surprised to see him either.
“I don’t see why you care,” I say.
“Sterling and I are old friends. Not all of us hold a grudge against him.”
“I’m not holding a grudge.”
“And the sky isn’t blue, I’m not a West, and Nashville isn’t in Tennessee.” Her wide smile is as feline as her ability to rub anyone and every thing the wrong way. Just like a cat, there’s no way to control her. She does as she pleases.
“Let’s go say hello,” Poppy suggests, linking her arm through mine.
“I don’t think” —
“If you want company, I’ll go,” Ava offers.
“I should say hello,” I say, reversing positions. The only thing worse than enduring Sterling’s presence tonight would be watching Ava plastered all over him. There’s not enough alcohol in the state of Tennessee to cope with that.
She snorts, raising her whiskey glass. “That’s what I thought.”
It’s not unusual for Ava to toy with someone, but she generally has a reason. When it comes to me and Sterling I have no idea why she cares.
Poppy
