Blacklist

by Geneva Lee

  I don’t know what he meant by it. It’s not like he’s been beating down my door begging for another chance. Every moment I spend with him only leaves me feeling more confused, because until that night in the hall, I wasn’t sure I meant a thing to him.

  And Sterling?

  He’s my line in the sand—the defining moment of my life. Nothing was the same after I met him. There’s no forgetting him. My mother once told me that you never stop loving your first love. I asked her if she was still in love with the first boy who stole her heart. She’d just given me a sad smile. When Sterling left, I wondered how I would feel if I saw him again. Now I know.

  I hate him—and the thing I hate the most about him is that part of me doesn’t hate him at all.

  “I’ve been thinking. Maybe you two should talk. Really talk,” Poppy suggests. She holds up a hand before I can reject this idea. “Hear me out. There’s a lot you two left unsaid.”

  “He doesn’t deserve it. I don’t owe him anything,” I shoot back.

  “I’m not saying you do,” she says quickly, sensing my volatile mood. “It’s just that if you think he came back because of you — if you think this thing with him buying into your family’s company has something to do what happened between the two of you — then you need to get it out in the open.”

  “He made his decision about us a long time ago.” I don’t need to remind Poppy about what happened. Sterling left after he blew up my entire world. Now he’s back playing some sort of game and acting like he didn’t inflict any damage years ago. “He should be begging me for forgiveness.”

  “Maybe you should tell him that.”

  I shake my head. ”Why should I have to tell him anything?”

  “Because he obviously doesn’t get it. It’s the fatal flaw of men: obliviousness.”

  “He doesn’t seem very oblivious to me.” I flashback to Sterling advancing toward me in the hall. My body had synced to his in that moment, moving in tune with him. I’d retreated because I knew he would chase me.

  The pantry door cracks open and Cyrus pops his head in. “What are you two doing in here? Everyone is looking for you.”

  My stomach flips, even though I know he means Poppy. As confident as I feel I can’t deny that each passing second is filing away at my already frayed nerves.

  “We were just having a chat,” Poppy says cheerily, as though we don’t have a care in the world, and whispering in pantries is perfectly normal behavior for grown women.

  “Are you two ready to rejoin civilization then?” he asks.

  I open my mouth to say yes, but Poppy picks this moment to tattle on me. “Adair is dreading Sterling’s presence.”

  “Traitor,” I mutter.

  “It’s completely obvious,” she says defensively. “Plus, Cyrus needs to look out for you when I’m needed. Right, darling?”

  “Of course—” Cyrus wraps an arm around her waist, “—when I can take my eyes off you.”

  “Do you two need a moment alone in the pantry?” The last thing I need is to be party to their particular brand of affection. It’s so sugary, I feel like I should stir it into some tea.

  “Sorry.” He doesn’t look the least bit like he means it. Cyrus always has something to prove when it comes to his feelings for Poppy. Tonight is no different. “Honestly, Adair, we’re all adults now. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

  Poppy clears her throat and he changes course. “Naturally, I’ll step in if necessary.”

  “Thanks.” I swallow back a sigh. I’m so tired of my friends trying to protect me. “But I can take care of myself.”

  “Still…” Cyrus leaves the offer hanging. He kisses Poppy. “I’ll see you out there.”

  “Why does everyone always assume I need help?” I grumble as soon as he’s gone.

  Poppy grabs my shoulders. “It doesn’t matter if you need our help. Our friendship isn’t merit-based. We’re going to help because we’re your friends. End of story.”

  “When did you get so bossy?” I ask.

  “When you decided to get whiny,” she tells me. “You’re stronger than this. You always have been. Sterling coming back was unexpected. I don’t blame you for being shaken, but now it’s time to dust yourself off and remember who you are.”

  “But,” I begin.

  “If ifs and buts were candy and nuts, we’d all have a Merry Christmas,” she stops me.

  I can’t help laughing at this. “What does that mean?”

  “You can’t live your life wondering about the future or the past. There are no buts about it. You are Adair MacLaine, and whatever mistakes you’ve made, Sterling made the bigger one when he lost you.”

  “Seriously, what did you do with my best friend?” It’s like she’s a different person since she came back from Paris.

  “I can’t help it,” she confesses. “I don’t like seeing you like this.”

  “I just don’t understand why he came back,” I say softly.

  “Yes, you do. He came back because he’s still in love with you.”

  “That doesn’t explain why he’s trying to ruin my family,” I say.

  Poppy arches an eyebrow. “This is Sterling. Of course, it does.”

  She has a point. Sterling might love me. Sterling might be back for me. But there’s no denying that he’s not here looking for a happily ever after.

  18

  Sterling

  “Why do I always wind up in a tuxedo when I spend time with you?” Luca asks, messing with his black tie as we enter the Alumni Club’s ballroom that evening. “You’re a terrible date.”

  “Stop doing that, dear.” I brush his hands away and playfully adjust it for him, earning me a scowl. His mood is hot and cold as usual. He didn’t exactly love filling the last chair at the MacLaine table for the evening. “You love tuxedos.”

  “It’s not the suit that bothers me. It’s the fact that I have to spend all night listening to rich people talk about how rich they are,” he says, disdain dripping from his words as he surveys the crowd.

  “You’re rich,” I remind him.

  “I know. That’s the point.” He turns his withering stare on me, lowering his voice. “I also enjoy rock climbing, I paint, and, oh yeah, I kill people. Being rich is the least interesting thing about me.”

  “Perhaps you should bring your interests into the conversation more,” I say dryly.

  “That would go over well,” he mutters, forcing a smile as we pass a couple.

  “You might get a few new contracts.”

  “I only work for the family now.” He sighs. “I miss the good old days.”

  Before I can remind him of the number of times he was in the crosshairs during those good old days, a familiar face spots us. There’s a moment of hesitation as the woman in the black lace dress studies me, trying to place where she’s seen me before. It’s been easier than I expected to blend back into Valmont. Very few members of our old crowd recognize me at first glance. I’m not surprised she does. Her head twists away, moving to whisper in the ear of the platinum-haired woman in a gold-sequined gown next to her. They’ve both changed considerably, but I recognize them from their predatory gaze. After all this time, Ava West and Darcy Palmer still scent fresh prey when it walks into a room.

  They are day and night next to each other. Ava’s once dark hair is now bleached platinum blonde, but her porcelain skin and sharp eyes are the same as when we first met. Her crimson lips curl into a wicked smile as she begins to speak to the group of men clustered near her. Darcy has pulled her tight ringlets away from her face, showcasing her regal cheekbones and full pout of a mouth.

  Whatever Ava says to the men sends heads swiveling in our direction. Cyrus doesn’t look surprised to see me, but Montgomery West and Oliver Hawthorne do.

  “I get the feeling you’re being summoned,” Luca says as Ava wags a finger in my direction.

  There’s a reason he’s with me tonight that has nothing to do with filling a seat. “Ready to m
eet the rest of the blacklist?”

  For the first time this evening, his answering smirk is downright jubilant. “Lead the way.”

  Our welcoming committee watches as we walk toward them.

  “Sterling Ford, as I live and breathe!” Darcy Palmer abandons her poise and hugs me. Not to be outdone, Ava follows suit and adds a full-mouthed kiss for good measure. Malcolm nods hello as he continues his conversation with a few other business types. Money lingers nearby looking slightly bored. He doesn’t bother to acknowledge our arrival.

  “You finally dragged your sorry ass back to Valmont.” Ava leans into me but her gaze skitters to Luca. She’s never been one to hide. She hunts in plain sight. “And who is this?”

  “Luca,” he says before I can introduce him.

  “Ava West.” Her hand flutters out to him and he takes it graciously, planting a kiss on it. “A gentleman!”

  I choke back a laugh. It’s his most unlikely cover yet. Of course, Luca always knows how to charm the ladies. Malcolm doesn’t look as thrilled at his presence. No doubt he recognizes him. He clears his throat and Ava takes a step away from Luca. It’s clearly a warning and a response. Still, the two keep a measured distance from one another. Why is Ava taking orders from him?

  “You’re saving me a dance,” Darcy says.

  “I’m not much for dancing.”

  “You’ll dance if I want you to,” she informs me, then glances to Luca. “You will, too.”

  His hooked grin says he doesn’t mind at all. “Find me when the music starts.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.” Her head tilts, her dark eyes appraising him with a little more interest. I know what she sees: the Rolex, the expensive tux, the money. She grabs Ava’s elbow, nearly spilling her champagne. Ava starts to object but Darcy doesn’t let her. “Excuse us, we need to make the rounds.”

  “What was that about?” Luca asks under his breath.

  “You’re blood in the water, my friend,” I explain. “Every woman will be circling you by the end of the night, trying to get a taste.”

  He frowns. “Was that part of your plan? Bring me along as a distraction?”

  “I told you I needed your help.”

  “I feel so used,” he says dryly, snagging a glass from a passing tray.

  “I’m sure you’ll get over it,” I say, noticing Malcolm’s eyes have followed Ava across the room. I can’t stop myself. “Lost your wife?”

  “I have a headache,” Malcolm explains, touching his temples gingerly. “Ginny went to look for aspirin.”

  “Here.” Money pulls a flask from his jacket and offers it to him.

  “Whiskey and wine are a terrible combination,” Malcolm says.

  “I can find Oliver. He’ll have something harder.”

  “I imagine he will. His brother always had the good stuff in college,” Malcolm says fondly as though the good old days of pharmaceutical drug abuse are happier times.

  “Oliver!” Money calls, waving him over. “Got anything for a headache.”

  “Seriously?” Oliver asks, creasing his eyebrows.

  “I know you do.” Money turns to Malcolm. “He could always hook up the Beta Psis. Xanax. Fentanyl. Bennies.”

  He produces a bottle from his jacket. “Man, that was a lifetime ago.”

  “You helped drop many a pair of panties,” Money says.

  “Rex was the same. We used to call him Cupid.” Malcolm takes the pills Oliver doles out for him.

  “I would have thought your bank accounts were enough to do that,” I say dryly. Oliver’s gaze slides uneasily to me.

  “Nobody got hurt.” Even he doesn’t believe the lie he’s telling.

  “It was just for fun.” Money punches my shoulder. “You were never much for fun, were you, Ford?”

  “I guess not.”

  “I never did see why my sister was so into you.” He leans closer, the sharp sting of bourbon on his breath.

  “Money, don’t you have a date or someone to bother?” Malcolm says, his voice rich with warning. The stroll down memory lane is over.

  If Money is distressed at his exile, he doesn’t show it. He shoves the flask back in his jacket and lurches to his feet, throwing an arm around Oliver. It’s not a surprise that any of them enjoyed recreational drugs back in the day or that they shared them with their conquests. I’d seen what those drugs did, though. Watching them stride away, carefree, I make a mental note to add one more name to my list.

  19

  Sterling

  The Past

  Some party this is turning out to be.

  “You’re so pretty, even when you’re all funny looking.” Adair is blabbering, but now I know for sure she’s been drugged. There is no way she would ever say that on purpose, but it’s nice to have confirmation. I don’t mind knowing the truth. I grab her glass and sniff it while she blabbers something mostly incoherent about being a designated driver.

  “Not tonight,” I inform her. What the fuck am I getting myself into with this girl? A torrent of rage bursts out of me, half -directed at her for being stupid enough to get drugged, and half-directed at whatever asshole did it.

  I don’t have a choice. Adair might be able to take care of herself normally, but not in this state. Plus, there’s the fact that someone at this party did this. I have no idea who. Are they looking for her now? Waiting for the moment when she’s finally vulnerable? I crouch beside her, unsure what to do. One thing is clear. “I can’t leave you like this.”

  “Then don’t.” Despite her condition, I hear the plea in her voice. She wants to be saved, even if I’m the one doing the saving. I brush a lock of copper hair from her forehead. She’s going to be trouble. Scooping her into my arms, I barely stand before she goes limp. “Fuck! Adair!” I shake her but she doesn’t stir. Her chest moves just enough to let me know she’s still breathing. “Fuck!”

  I’m not sure how someone so small is so heavy. I manage to pry open the back door without dropping her, my eyes never leaving the slight movement of her chest. I’m not sure what to do once I’m inside. I can’t leave her, but I can’t carry her into a party like this. She’s breathing. All I can do is ride this out until she wakes up. I’d rather not do that here, though.

  “If you’re up there, I could use some fucking help,” I say to the ceiling. Francie’s the religious one. I’m not even sure I’m asking right.

  “Oh my God!” A shrill English accent answers my prayers. The girl she came here with—Poppy—rushes over to me. “What happened?”

  “I found her like this,” I tell her. I don’t need her jumping to any unwarranted conclusions about how I wound up with Adair passed out in my arms.

  Poppy shakes her head like this doesn’t make sense. “She wasn’t going to drink tonight.”

  “She should’ve stuck to that plan,” I say dryly, “especially, since somebody slipped her something.”

  “Should we call the police?” She clutches her chest and looks around wildly as if she expects a villain to appear twirling his mustache. The movement sends her stumbling on her heels.

  “She’s not in any danger as long as someone keeps an eye on her. I’ve seen this before.” We might not have had mansions to crash in New York, but I’d been to my fair share of parties. Poppy isn’t going to be much help, but I imagine Adair has handmaidens or some shit. Surely, there’s someone capable of taking care of her. “She’s going to feel like shit in the morning, though. Can you get her home? Is there someone we can call?”

  Her head shakes so fast she nearly falls over. “Her dad will kill her, and all our friends—”

  “Are here drinking,” I finish for her. Of course, they’re all hitting it hard while I get stuck babysitting their queen bee. “Where was she going to take you when this was over?”

  “Oh! Adair has the keys to her family’s pool house. You could take her there!”

  “Isn’t there a gate?” I’d been to the MacLaine estate for her mom’s funeral, and I couldn’t see how I’d
make it past the security, especially not while sneaking princess back onto the property.

  “I know the access code,” Poppy says, “I can go with you. I’ll stay with her.”

  “No offense, but you’re hardly in a condition to take care of her.” She’s not exactly sober, and I have no idea how much she drank. There’s no way I can just leave Adair like this.

  “If you think that I’m going to let you take my unconscious friend away without any supervision, then you’re an idiot.” She plants her hands on her hips for emphasis. Her stance might be more impressive if she wasn’t hammered.

  “Calm down, Wonder Woman,” I stop her. “I’ll help you get her there, but I’m just going to stick around if you don’t mind.”

  “Let me find Kai.” She dashes back to the party, and I hope she doesn’t take too long. Adair is practically snoring in my arms. A couple partygoers pass us on their way out to the pool, eyeing me curiously. No one stops to ask if she’s okay or even questions me. Given that half the people here are too drunk to walk, I guess it’s not that weird. Still, I can’t stand to think what might have happened to her if I hadn’t come along. Even though I don’t like Adair, there’s no way I want someone touching her. Not without her consent. Not at all, if I’m being honest. All the times I’d seen this back in New York, the poor choices leading to a blackout were usually voluntary. The guys I knew there didn’t go in for unwilling participation. And fucking with someone’s friend or little sister got you your ass beat—or worse. That’s the code I live by. I don’t have a problem if a girl throws herself at me or if she wants to go. Sex doesn’t have to be some type of religious experience in my book, but this shit isn’t cool.

  Poppy reappears with the guy who was with them earlier. He takes one look at Adair and panics. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine,” I repeat. Drunk people can be so paranoid. “But we should get her somewhere quiet and comfortable. She’s going to have one hell of a headache when she wakes up.”