Malcolm is busy boasting about some recently received network rating to a group of older men. Sterling couldn’t look less interested.
“And the campaign?” an older gentleman asks. I think he’s a local land developer. He’s definitely someone that knew my father, and clearly he wants to be certain a MacLaine is in the Senate. It’s easier to buy a vote when you know a man.
“We’re still on track,” Malcolm assures him, chancing a look at Sterling.
It’s a mistake. Sterling appears not to notice, which is how I know he does. Nothing gets past him. The fact he’s pretending proves the information is valuable.
“Poppy. Adair.” Sterling greets us as we reach them. It’s as much a greeting as I expect, his eyes travel over me. Unlike a moment ago, he doesn’t hide his naked interest. He shows that, taking a step closer like an animal marking his territory—a sign of his claim over me to the other men.
Poppy nudges Cyrus closer to me, obviously sensing I need an intervention. Our eyes meet for one uncomfortable moment. I wish she would stop forcing him on me. It’s hard to forget past mistakes when they’re always near you, and it’s especially difficult to do during the reunion from hell.
Malcolm continues his discussion with my father’s old associates. No doubt he’s busy securing more campaign contributions. It won’t be hard. A MacLaine sat in the State or U.S. Senate for the last two decades—up until daddy got sick. There’s a vested interest among Valmont’s elite to get one back inside as swiftly as possible.
“You look lovely, Poppy,” Sterling says to her. He glances at Cyrus. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so.”
Poppy bites her lip, torn between her nature and our friendship. Nature wins out and she gives Sterling a hug. “Thank you for supporting the shelter.”
“It’s a good cause,” he says smoothly, still focusing all his attention on them. “But what is this for exactly?”
He holds up the paddle he was given at the door. My own is tucked safely in my clutch.
“The auction,” Poppy explains. “It’s how we’re raising money tonight.”
“What are we buying?” Sterling asks.
“Souls, I hope.” A striking man I’ve never met joins us, his smile as dark as his eyes.
“That’s not the best joke to make with this crowd,” Sterling warns him. “You don’t want to give them ideas.”
“I don’t believe we’ve met.” Poppy steps forward and introduces herself. It’s just like her to make friends.
“Luca,” he says, lifting her hand to his lips. “Luca DeAngelo.”
Cyrus stiffens at the gallant gesture. It’s not like him to be jealous. Usually, he thinks far too highly of himself to worry that he might lose her. But he’s staring at Luca like he’s a threat.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she murmurs, looking startled but delighted. It’s not like her to be so easily charmed by a stranger. Cyrus places a hand on the small of her back, a subtle reminder that she’s his and unavailable.
She recovers instantly, moving closer to her boyfriend. “We’re doing this to raise money for the Valmont Animal Shelter,” she explains. “They brought some animals here for adoption to the highest bidders.”
“We’re bidding on animals?” Luca shoots Sterling a poison-laced look.
“It’s for a good cause,” Poppy says quickly. “Funding has been cut recently. The shelter is going to be forced to reverse its no-kill policy unless we can do something.”
“How noble.” Luca doesn’t sound like he believes this. I’m not entirely certain what kind of a man takes issue with raising money for homeless dogs, but I’m not surprised he found Sterling.
Poppy stumbles for something to say before looking across the room. “Oh, there’s Kai! I need to make certain he’s ready.”
“I’ll go with you,” I volunteer. It will be good to see a friendly face.
“I will only be a second,” she says, dismissing me without realizing that she’s leaving me to fend for myself with the boys club.
It’s going to be a long night.
21
Sterling
I’ve had dinner with Taliban insurgents a couple hundred feet from me. They were still more comfortable than sitting at this table. It’s your typical black-tie affair. Too many utensils. Several bottles of wine with price tags that top the gross national product of a few developing nations. Artfully carved pats of butter. How the hell did I wind up here? Despite Malcolm’s attempts to the contrary, Adair has managed to secure a seat across the table, leaving me sandwiched between Poppy and Luca. I have an angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other. It should make for an interesting night.
Adair is absorbed in conversation with Kai Miles—a bit too focused to be believable. I don’t miss how she brushes his arm and laughs at everything he says. Given that Kai is gay, I know it’s a show she’s putting on for me. She thinks she can make me jealous, and I can’t help enjoying the attempt.
“So you two are old friends?” Poppy asks, nodding at Luca. Her ability to innocently turn simple small talk into a loaded question never ceases to amaze.
Luca smirks at me over the rim of his wine goblet. “Do you want to tell the story or should I?”
Interpretation: do I want them to know the truth or a lie? This is Luca’s specialty: concocting wild fables on the spot. I never know what to expect when he opens his mouth. I only know it won’t be anywhere near what happened. It’s useful when you’re under-cover and amusing when you’re bored.
“You tell it better than I do,” I say with a meaningful nod. Permission granted.
“Sterling saved my life,” he begins.
This ought to be good.
“Did he? He saved
