by Geneva Lee
“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 hands it to me.
I’m guessing the first beer at a party is an auspicious offering in these parts, so I don’t refuse. Instead, I deliver it to Cyrus.
“Very impressive.” He sizes me up for the hundredth time since I met him on my first day. I can never quite tell what he thinks of me. I don’t fit with his usual crowd, but he keeps inviting me to these things anyway. “We have to keep you around. Where’s yours?”
I guess I’ve proven myself useful again. “Not my thing.”
Cyrus arches an eyebrow like he can’t make sense of this answer but doesn’t press me on it. A second passes before his face splits into a grin. “You can DD then.”
“That’s why I’m here.” I force a smile that I’m guessing comes off as a grimace. He doesn’t notice. I’d said no when he first asked, agreeing only after he promised it wasn’t another frat thing. Then he’d used the magic word: Adair. She’s going to be here along with the rest of his group. It’s been a month since her mother’s funeral. Maybe she’s pulled her head out of her ass by now. I suspect not, considering Cyrus told me she dropped out of Valmont. It’s not like she needs or even deserves my pity. She’s been a bitch at every opportunity—a bitch who can’t take it when I dish out exactly what she’s been serving. But I got a front row seat to the shitshow she calls her friends the last time I saw her. I doubt any of them have been checking up on her. Not genuinely, at least.
There’s no sign of her, though, which means I’m stuck with Cy. I have no idea if I’m expected to play wing man or babysitter. “So, what’s the plan?”
“For tonight? College?” He responds seriously like he’s considered both.
Curiosity gets the better of me. Cyrus Eaton, who I’ve come to find out is the heir to a fucking hotel empire, doesn’t need to think too far ahead. Given that every morning he wakes up he’s surprised that he has classes, it shocks me to consider he might have done exactly that. “College, I guess.”
“New one every night,” he informs me with a grin that might suggest he’s joking. I know he isn’t. I’ve already come home to a sock on the door a couple times. He’s been kind enough to drive them down to his family’s hotel in Nashville since I complained about sleeping on the common room couch.
“That’s ambitious, mate.” I follow his eyes to the throng of people, wondering if he already spotted his prey for the night.
“Not up for the challenge, Ford?”
His words ricochet off me without hitting their mark. It’s not the first comment he’s made about my lack of bunk buddies since school started. He suspects I’m gay. I’m not, but it amuses me to let him wonder. He doesn’t seem bothered by it. Still, he tests me every chance he gets.
“Look, I know these girls. Half of them are still in prep.” Cyrus moves closer to me as if anyone could hear us in here.
“For fuck’s sake, Cy. Did you drag me to a high school party?” I thought I’d left that particular brand of drama in New York. It’s one of the few things I don’t miss about my hometown. I have friends there, but my school didn’t cater to the likes of people like Cyrus and his crew.
“They’re legal, and half of them go to school with us. Beer doesn’t discriminate, my friend,” he advises me, dropping an arm around my shoulder. “The best part is that they’re all looking to screw their daddies.”
“I think we’re a little young to be their daddies.” I’ll play along with his game for now. I don’t have anything else to do at the moment.
“Metaphorically speaking,” he clarifies, spreading his hands in surrender. “They’ve been told their whole lives that they have to marry up, marry well, marry rich, and then they’ve been forced to attend the same polo matches and charity fundraisers and schools with the same rich assholes for years. It’s their own incestuous mating ritual.”
“Aren’t you one of those rich assholes?” I can’t help but point out the obvious. Cyrus Eaton was born and bred in Valmont on a family estate to parents who inherited one of the world’s largest luxury hospitality chains. I’m fairly certain he hasn’t so much as washed a dish in his life. Cyrus was born with an inheritance larger than any income I’ll ever make even if I had started knocking off banks from the cradle.
“Unfortunately, I am,” he says. “But you aren’t. This time of year new guys are like blood in the water. They can smell you.”
I’ve met a few of these girls he’s talking about. I have no doubt that they could rip me to shreds.
“That simple, huh?” I ask.
“You don’t even have to try.” He tips his head to the side and I look over in time to catch a few girls gawking at us. “First of all, you’re fresh meat and every woman here knows it, and you look like you could rip someone’s fucking arms off.”
“That’s a turn on?” I’ve known men who could do just that. I didn’t see them as role models.
“To a girl who’s spent half her life at country clubs and debutante balls, it is,” Cyrus explains. “It’s unfair. The rest of us have to rely on our charm.”
“You’re in serious trouble then.”
“Come on,” Cy prods me. He is not letting this go. “Call one or they’re all mine.”
I’m not here for that, but there’s no way I’m going to explain to Cyrus why I came. He’s not gonna back off until I’ve made a match and what else do I have to do with Adair a no-show? I scan the room, stopping when my eyes lock with a pretty black girl who looks familiar. It takes me a second to place her. We’d met at the funeral, but I don’t remember her name. Her fuchsia lips part in invitation, her body angling toward me slightly across the space. “Who’s that?”
He follows my gaze to her. “Darcy? This is her place. She’s—”
“I think I’ll go say hello,” I cut him off before he can dispense more well-meaning advice. He stalks off in the opposite direction to begin his hunt.
I like Cyrus despite my reservations, but I’m not stupid enough to believe we’re friends. As his roommate, I hold some interest for him. He’s already talking about renting a house with Money and some other guys next year, though, and there’s no way I’m signing up to live in that viper pit. Not that I could afford it, anyway.
“Hey,” Darcy says, fanning her black lashes at me, as I approach. “Sterling, right?”
She remembers me? Maybe Cyrus isn’t so far off in his estimation of my fresh meat status. “Darcy.” She preens when I say her name, sticking out her chest which is already on display in a low cut, canary-yellow dress that hugs her curves. “Thanks for inviting me.”
It seems like the right thing to say to the hostess. Her smile widens even as she feigns humility. “Of course. I don’t even know half these people. Honestly, it’s nice to see a friendly face.” Her hand closes over my arm, long, manicured fingers squeezing it slightly. She bites her lip a little before pulling me toward the kitchen. “You need a drink!”
“I’m the designated driver,” I say, latching on to the excuse Cyrus gave me.
Darcy shakes her jet-black ringlets, annoyance marring her face. “That is just like Cyrus. He doesn’t have friends, because he treats everybody he meets like employees.”
“It’s not like,” I stop her before she gets the wrong idea. “I volunteered. So you two aren’t friends?”
“Sorta. Me, Money, Adair—we’re more like business partners. He can’t treat us like shit because we’re…” She trails away, her eyes wide like she’s almost spilled some secret. “How about a bottle of water?”
“Sure,” I agree. She didn’t need to finish that sentence. I know why Cyrus treats them differently. They’re rich. I’m not. At least, Darcy Palmer tries to be a little classier about it. But she’s aware of my rank in the food chain as much as she’s aware of her position at the top.
Darcy bypasses the mammoth fridge in the kit
chen and leads me down the hallway. I don’t bother to ask where she’s taking me. I would need a map to find my way around this place, so I stick close to her side. Away from the crowd, I can smell her spicy perfume, a scent so intoxicating she could be a walking opium den, and made stronger by how closely she saunters next to me. Every few steps she brushes against me. Cy was right, I expect any minute now, she’ll begin to circle me and zero in for the kill. I won’t have to do any work at all.
And I can’t be less interested. She’s beautiful, her confidence arresting in its ease. Darcy Palmer isn’t afraid to show that she wants me, and I feel like a first-class prick for not wanting her back. The truth is that girls like her and Adair and the rest of Cyrus’s feminine counterparts just don’t do it for me. After the initial attraction, I can’t get past the money. I have no interest in pretending I belong here among them. It’s just some perverted sense of duty I feel to Adair, or the version of her I drove to the hospital. She’d been a somewhat decent human being on the way. I’d wanted to watch out for her. Every time I’ve seen her since, she’s been vying for the Biggest Bitch of the Universe title. No matter how many times I tell myself we’re nothing alike, I can’t accept it. I hadn’t seen her fear on that drive. I’d felt it burrow into my stomach coming back to hurt me like an abusive, old friend. Adair and I might not be anything alike but there’s no denying that I know her in a way none of the others can. Because despite all our differences, I’ve been in her shoes.
“I never let anyone come back here. Cook would kill me if she found me in her space,” Darcy says, drawing my attention back to her where it belongs. She guides me into a second kitchen, smaller but more practical than the one currently swarming with co-eds. Opening the fridge, she grabs two bottles of water. “But it’s not like we can talk out there.”
She twists the cap off one and holds it out to me.
We might be different but she’s not treating me like the dirt on the bottom of her shoe. If I was as smart as the scholarship committee deemed me, I would focus on her. It’s not like I’m looking for forever. Maybe Cy is on to something with his plan to take advantage of the opportunities. What man in his right mind would pass up Darcy?
“What’s your major?” she asks.
“Finance.” I have a mind for numbers. Francie calls it my secret weapon. It’s what got me a perfect score on the SATs math component and into Valmont.
“Oh.” Darcy must be good at math, too, because I see calculation in her eyes. “What do you plan to—”
“There you are!” A whirlwind of black and white rushes into the kitchen and grabs Darcy’s hand.
“Ava,” Darcy says through gritted teeth, tugging free of her grasp. “You remember Sterling.”
Ava pauses long enough to breathe a simpering, “Hello.”
“We were talking.” Darcy begins backing her toward the hallway. I half-expect a voice over to begin documenting the natural phenomenon occurring before me as the two powerful females engage in a ritualistic dance.
Over me.
How the fuck did I wind up here?
“I need you,” Ava says meaningfully.
“Can it wait?” The civility does little to hide the tension between them.
“Not if you want your parents’ bedroom to remain off-limits,” Ava informs her. “But if you want it redecorated with some random dude’s bodily fluids, by all means, continue.”
“Shit!” Darcy whirls toward me. “I need to take care of this.”
“You want help?”
“No, we’ve got this.” Darcy digs her fingernails into Ava’s upper arm and drags her away, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be back.”
I couldn’t be more grateful for fate’s intervention. It’s a helluva lot easier than letting her down gently. Something tells me she wouldn’t take that very well. This is my chance to make a clean break. Cyrus is off on the prowl. Darcy is distracted. It’ll only take a few seconds to request a car on my phone’s app. Putting distance between myself and them isn’t just smart, it’s necessary. These people have nothing to lose. One wrong move and I might wind up with nothing just like my father. I need to go, I decide as I leave the kitchen. The back door beckons me from the doorway to the staff kitchen. Two steps and I’ll be on my way back to reality. I make it one before I turn to head toward the fray.
15
Adair
“You’re going out?”
I pause at the door to my closet and take a deep breath. I don’t need to see my brother’s face to imagine the look of disapproval etched across it. He’s worn a similar look since our mother’s funeral. He arrived in Valmont and took over when it became clear daddy wasn’t up to the task of planning a memorial. He can’t disapprove of how our father is handling the situation, so instead he disapproves of me.
“I thought that’s what you wanted. You told me I couldn’t stay home forever.” In truth, I’ve been trying to get out of this party all day. I’m not ready to act like my life is normal again, but I can’t let Poppy down. She’s going to worry herself to death over me.
Fleeing the security of the closet, I toss a dress on the bed and do my best to act calm. That is getting harder by the day. Every move I make is analyzed, assessed, and found wanting. But I haven’t been given any other options. No one allows me to help. No one allows me to have a voice. The black-sequined bandage dress might be a little much for a Valmont house party. Then again, so am I.
My brother’s powerful body fills the doorframe, his dark eyes narrowing on the dress. There must have been more meetings with the board, because he’s in a charcoal suit. It looks like he’s had a day. His shirt is untucked and wrinkled, tie loose around his neck—his outfit as tired as his wary eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean then?”
“You dropped out of school, Adair,” he reminds me.
“For a semester.” I cling to that fact like a life preserver. Most people thought daddy had forced me to go to Valmont. The truth isn’t that simple. Now that mom’s gone, I need to get as far away from Tennessee as possible. I considered staying enrolled, but there was no way I could concentrate on schoolwork and get the grades I’d need to transfer schools. It’d be only a few more months until I leave this world behind me and make my own way. Only a few more months until I’m more than Angus MacLaine’s daughter and Malcolm MacLaine’s little sister. Only a few more months until I escape this hell for good. I’m not stupid enough to believe I can escape the family name, so I’m going to use it to get into my dream school: Cambridge. I’ll make the MacLaine name my own by putting an ocean between me and them.
“I just expected you to be a bit more serious about your future.” Malcolm’s words are a slap in the face.
He’s got no idea how serious I am about my future. Just because I’m not lining up to be some idiot’s trophy wife or perfecting my political aspirations like him, he assumes I’m worthless. “What do you want me to do? You won’t let me help with the company. Or attend board meetings. Daddy acts like I’m a little girl. He wants me to stay here forever, being hopelessly dependent on him—or, at least, his staff. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t let me screw a lightbulb into an empty socket.”
“So, instead you’re going to screw half of Nashville?” he counters, a dangerous edge taking hold in his voice.
To a man who obsesses over his public image, there can be no greater horror than a slutty sister. The truth is that his concern is never to protect me only to control what people think of me.
“Maybe I am.” It’s the right button to press to get a rise out of him. Now if I just hit it a few more times, he might self-destruct and leave me alone for the night.
“Christ, Adair. We live in this town.” The message is clear: what would people think if Adair MacLaine is spotted drinking and dancing and enjoying herself a month after her mama died?
Exactly what they already think: that I am a spoiled heiress who has nothing better to do than blow through my trust fun
d. No one in Valmont has any reason to think otherwise. My father’s name might be held in reverence by the people living here, but the courtesy doesn’t extend to his wayward daughter. Malcolm only started caring what people thought of me when he began maneuvering toward the Tennessee senate. He’d spent his years at Valmont turning weekend frat parties into the stuff of legend. If only people knew the truth about this family.
People assume the MacLaine children haven’t worked a day in our lives. All we do is work. Our father’s love isn’t free. Everything we have costs something. I’ve no idea what price I’ll pay to leave Valmont behind. I have to do it, though. Get out, make connections, and hope like hell I can find a way to support myself abroad. The small inheritance I got from mama, the pittance left from her family fortune, isn’t going to get me far. But anywhere is better than here.
Malcolm knows that. We’ve never seen eye-to-eye, mostly because he was born with a penis, which seems to afford him slightly more privileges in our family. I, on the other hand, have worked for every dime, every ounce of affection, every chance I’ve gotten. Daddy grooms Malcolm to take his place at MacLaine Media, in the government, even here at Windfall. I’m only brought out for special occasions—a trophy to be displayed at parties and then placed back under lock and key. My brother is the heir to the empire, shaking hands and having drinks. He’s being handed the family legacy on a platter, and no one—especially not his baby sister—is going to compromise that.
“Worried I’m going to cause a scandal? Simmer down, bro. All publicity is good publicity.” I just want him off my back. “Did you forget how you spent every weekend when you were my age?”
“I didn’t forget,” he says quietly. “I grew up. Maybe you should, too.”
I want to throw my head back and scream. “Double standard much?”
“Things are different. Mama is gone. Someone has to be the lady of the house.” He couldn’t be more condescending if he climbed onto a ladder and yelled at me from the top rung.