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
