by Geneva Lee
I smile, hoping to reassure her, but she hides her face against her mother’s purse. Malcolm isn’t the only one angry that I left.
“Once we sell the house, we’ll be fine,” Malcolm says, adjusting his tie. I resist the urge to grab it and strangle him with it.
“But where will we live, and how will we even do it? Did you give him permission?” Ginny turns wild eyes on Felix.
“No,” Felix says firmly.
“The lawyers are working to remove Felix as Ellie’s trustee,” Malcolm explains. “It’s better this way. We’ll have control again. We’ll find somewhere smaller and build the family name into what it was once.”
And that’s when I realize why he’s doing this. I was wrong. Malcolm isn’t following the script anymore. He’s writing his own. He wants to make a name for himself, just like I do. That doesn’t make what he’s doing okay. Because even if he’s fighting my father’s crooked legacy, he’s doing it using the MacLaine handbook. He’ll bulldoze through each of us if we stand in his way. In his effort to free himself from our father, he’s become something just as terrible.
“We should talk about this later,” I say gently, still watching Ellie’s frightened eyes half-hidden behind Ginny.
Malcolm turns to me, his face full of pure hatred. “You aren’t part of this family anymore. There is nothing to talk about. Get out of our house.”
“No!” Ellie jumps out from behind her mother and runs to me, wrapping her tiny arms around my leg. “Don’t leave Auntie Dair!”
“See, how you confuse her by coming here?” Ginny accuses, grabbing Ellie’s shoulder to pull her off me.
I push her hand off and curl my arm protectively around the little girl. “Don’t.”
Ellie looks up to Ginny, tears swimming in her eyes. “I’ll be good, remember? Just like you said.” She turns her pleading to me. “I promised. I told her I would behave so you don’t have to leave again.”
“What did you tell her?” I ask Ginny in horror.
“The truth. That her Aunt left her and wouldn’t be coming back.”
“How could you?”
“I’m her mother. I’m all she needs.” Ginny yanks Ellie off me, but she kicks free and grabs hold of me again.
“Don’t leave me,” Ellie sobs against me.
I stare at my brother and his wife before turning my confusion to Felix. Finally, I look down to Ellie. Staying here can only make things worse for Ellie. At least, in the short term. But I realize now I have no choice. I can’t let Malcolm sell Windfall any more than I can trust them to put Ellie’s interests first.
Dropping to one knee, I wrap my arms around Ellie and look into her tear-stained eyes. Every ounce of me hurts, knowing I have to leave her here, even for a minute. “I have to go today, but I will be back for you. I will never leave you.” I reach up to draw a small heart on her chest. “I’m always here.”
She places a soft palm on my chest. “And I’m here?”
I choke back a sob. “Always.” I hug her tightly, closing my eyes to the venomous expression on Ginny’s face. “Felix will take care of you, and I will see you before you can even miss me.”
“Promise?” she says in her tiny voice.
“Don’t you dare,” Ginny warns me. “Don’t you dare say yes. You have no right.”
I release Ellie and she runs over to Felix. Standing, I nod to him and he picks her up. “Let’s go see about a cookie.”
Thank God for Felix and his cookies. I wait until they’re gone.
“I have every right,” I tell her. Ginny opens her mouth to argue, but I cut her off, “Tell her, Malcolm.”
The color drains from Ginny’s face and she spins to face her husband. “What does she mean by that?”
Malcolm squares his shoulders, ignoring her to glare at me. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“You’ll hear from my lawyers,” I say.
This actually makes him laugh. “You don’t have lawyers. The family does, and I think I’ve made it pretty clear that you’re no longer a member of this family.”
“I’ve lived in Valmont my whole life,” I remind him. “I know a lot of lawyers.”
“I will bury you with litigation,” he threatens me. “This will never see the light of day. You don’t have the resources to fight me for this house.”
“I don’t want the house,” I say softly. “I want what’s mine, and I know someone who has the resources to help me.”
“Sterling Ford?” he guesses. “Who do you think is selling the company back to me? He’s only looking out for himself.”
“What?” I can’t process what he’s telling me. Why would Sterling give up his interest in MacLaine Media now? I had to stop him. I have to explain what’s really at stake.
“You know what kind of man he is,” Malcolm says. “I knew the moment I met him. He’s ruthless, cold, manipulative. He would make a better MacLaine than you do.”
I calmly walk to where Felix placed my boxes when he took Ellie to the kitchens. Picking them up, I carry them to join the box on the table. It’s a little awkward, but I can’t leave them behind. Not now. Not when I know he’ll throw them out before I can come back for them.
When I reach the door, I fumble for the handle, barely opening it while Ginny and Malcolm look on.
I’m two steps out the door when Malcolm calls after me, “There’s nothing you can say to change his mind. The deal is done.”
I don’t bother responding to him. I need to leave before he realizes he let me walk out of this house with everything I need to destroy him. He thinks there’s nothing I can do to change Sterling’s mind about selling the company? We’ll see about that.
27
Sterling
I’ve lost my mind. It’s the only way to account for what I’ve just done. Stepping out of Laird & Wharton, I ignore the cellphone buzzing in my pocket. It’s probably Sutton trying to talk me out of signing the initial documents again. I can’t blame her. If I told myself two months ago what I’d be doing today, I might have kicked my own ass.
“Mr. Ford.” Cameron Laird, my new lawyer, rushes out, clutching a folder. “You left this. It has your copies of the initial documents. Once we receive final signatures, we’ll be able to move forward.”
I take the folder from her and tuck it under my arm. “Thank you, Ms. Laird. I’ll wait for your call.”
“May I call you Sterling?” she asks. She brushes a blonde strand of hair from her eyes and tucks it behind her ear. It’s the only thing about Ms. Laird that’s out of place. Everything from her no-nonsense black pant suit to her simple diamond earrings and carefully styled hair presents a business woman. It’s why her question is so surprising.
“My friends do,” I say.
“Sterling, as your friend,” she begins, planting a hand on her hip, “Not as your lawyer, can I ask you if you’re sure? I don’t want to see you make a mistake. You’d make more going through a private broker to find an accredited investor.”
“This isn’t about money,” I say to her.
“I thought everything was about money.” Her crimson lips purse into a bemused smile. “If it’s not about money, it must be about love. You’re a fool if you go through with either option.”
“Believe me, I’m a fool if I don’t.”
She checks her watch. “I need to get back to my next appointment. I’ll be in touch.” She takes a step and hesitates. “Think it over.”
I nod, knowing there’s no way she or anyone else is going to convince me to take another course of action. I bought into MacLaine Media to undermine it. It’s what Angus and Malcolm MacLaine deserved. They still deserve it, but I can’t go through with my plan without hurting Adair. So, I don’t have any other options, and I have no interest in carrying around this albatross any more.
My phone rings for the third time, and I slide it from my pocket. It’s time to face the music.
“Where have you been?” Sutton demands as soon as I answer.
�
�I was in a meeting.” I continue down Market Street, pinning my phone against my ear with my shoulder so I can dig out my keys.
“Tell me you didn’t just sign away millions of dollars.”
“I didn’t.” It’s the truth. I haven’t signed away anything. Yet. “Who told you I did?”
“Luca told me where you were going,” she says.
“Why are you talking to Luca?”
“Because he doesn’t avoid my calls!”
I frown. I’m going to have a chat with my best friend about my kid sister. I know Luca enjoys having her around, but it’s dangerous for her to get too close to a DeAngelo.
“You know what that family did,” she continues. “Not just to you. They’re terrible. They don’t deserve a second chance.”
I stop a few feet from my Aston Martin. “I’m not giving them a second chance.”
I can’t expect her to understand this. She’s too young to have experience with this world. Before I can tell her that, a shadow casts itself in my path. I look up and meet an unwanted, but familiar, set of eyes set into a muscular six foot three inch frame.
Nikolai Koltsov. If you’re going to happen upon a member of the Semsynovey Bratva on the street, he’s the one you want. You’re unlikely to walk away from an encounter with any of the other Koltsov brothers. Ink swirls on every exposed inch of his skin from the neck down, like the rest of his family. At least, the ones I’ve met. A lick of blond hair is slicked back from his face, the sides of his skull buzzed closely to reveal more tattoos. He crosses his arms, the seams of his blue suit jacket straining against muscles he built during his teen years when he was in and out of prison.
“Hey, I have to run,” I say to Sutton, not daring to look away from him. I hang up, ignoring her protests. “It’s been a long time.”
“And many miles.” There’s only the slightest tinge of an accent in his words. He spent nearly all his life in America, but his family business is conducted so frequently in Russian that the accent lingers.
“To think we both wound up here,” I say. “Unless this isn’t a coincidence.” It’s best to play dumb to give myself time to think. The worst thing I can do is draw the small 9mm I carry under my arm. There’s no way Nikolai isn’t armed, and he’s likely as fast as I am.
“Not a coincidence,” he says, “as I think you already know.”
Trust a Koltsov to see through my bullshit. My index finger twitches. “What is it then?”
“A courtesy call,” he says.
This, I’m not expecting. I blink. Noah seemed pretty sure the Koltsovs planned to kill me. Knowing what I do about the Bratva, I was inclined to agree.
“You’ve been named by an informant.” He picks a piece of lint off his cuff, displaying four different crosses etched into his knuckles. “Normally, we would kill you.”
I raise my eyebrows. This is definitely not going like I expected. “But it’s my lucky day?”
“We’re in your debt,” he says.
“You are?” I search my brain for any reason why the Koltsovs would owe me shit and come up empty-handed.
“Some of us,” he says. “Not all my brothers agree on this point, but they’re willing to turn their heads, if you disappear. At least, until this matter is resolved.”
“And how long will that be?” I ask tightly.
“Weeks. Years. Who knows?”
“I can’t disappear,” I say. “But I have no interest in hurting your family. You have my word.”
Nikolai brushes his lip with his thumb, shaking his head. “Unfortunately, your word doesn’t mean much. No offense.”
“None taken.” I can appreciate the business side of this arrangement. “If I don’t go?”
“I’m afraid my brothers are very impatient. They’ve been learning a lot about you the past few weeks,” he says. “They think they can provide strong motivation for you to change your mind.”
“What kind of motivation?”
“Your family is here in Tennessee, right?”
“I wouldn’t advise you to go after my sister,” I say coolly. I make a mental note to get Sutton on a plane headed somewhere tropical within twenty-four hours.
“No, we respect a brother’s love for his sister, but there are others you care for. Your blood, if you will,” he says. “Your father, this woman, Adair MacLaine, and your—”
“I’d stop if I were you.”
“And if I were you,” he says, leaning closer, “I’d leave town. I hear London is lovely this time of year.”
“London is hot this time of year,” I say flatly.
He chuckles as he takes out a pair of sunglasses and slides them on. “Not as hot as hell, Mr. Ford.”
* * *
Afternoon Nashville traffic is heavy on the best days, a parking lot on the worst. Today, it’s somewhere in between: an agonizingly slow conveyor belt of cars. I slam my fist against the horn in frustration and the guy in front of me flips me off. For a brief second, I imagine getting out of the Vanquish, dragging the man from his shitty Kia, and pummeling him until the raging frustration churning inside me subsides. I force my attention away from him, gripping the steering wheel in a death lock, and spot an empty parking spot ahead. Laying on my horn, I rev the engine, nudging forward until I’m on the guy ahead’s bumper. I can see him cursing at me, but I just honk again until he moves forward. It takes a few minutes, but gradually I get close enough to swerve into the spot, nearly scraping my front end against the Kia.
I jump out, ignoring the number of people who’ve rolled down their windows to yell at me. I peel off my suit jacket and toss it in the back. I start running, remembering only then that I’ve left my gun holster on. My 9mm knocks against my rib cage and I ignore it. The Eaton is only seven blocks north. That might be five minutes in running shoes. In Berlutis, it takes me ten.
The concierge pauses as I dash into the lobby, dripping from my impromptu jog in the southern heat. “May I help you, sir?”
But I’m already to the elevators. I punch the up button a couple times, calling over my shoulder. “I know where I’m going.”
A couple waiting nearby move slowly away. The doors open and the passengers start to exit, freezing when they find me sweaty and waiting to board. I move to the side and slip in once it’s empty. No one tries to board with me. Inside, I consider taking out my gun. Nikolai threatened Adair. That much I know. But it felt more like an ultimatum than an imminent threat. I won’t relax until she’s in my sights, though. Her hall is quiet when I arrive, and I’m forced to consider what to do if she doesn’t answer. She could be at the publishing house or out with Poppy, but I wouldn’t know that. She’s not exactly answering my calls.
I bang on her door until I hear an annoyed “I’m coming” from inside. The relief is instant at the sound of her voice. She throws open the door—hands planted on her hips, hair spilling over her shoulders, feet bare—and opens her mouth to chew me out.
I don’t have time for that.
She’s in my arms in a split second. By the next, my mouth is on hers. Her palms flatten on my chest, but instead of pushing me away like I expect, her fingers grab hold of my shirt to pull me closer. She presses closer, her body molding to mine. No matter how much time passes—no matter how much she changes—we have always been and will always be a perfect fit. My hands slide under her ass, lifting her in one smooth motion and spinning us inside her suite. I kick the door closed behind us. The kiss deepens, as though we’re both searching for something we lost inside each other. When we finally break apart, Adair’s lips are swollen red and her forehead dewy.
“What was that for?” she asks breathlessly.
For being alive, I think. I decide it’s best not to say this out loud. I rest my forehead against hers. “Because I needed to kiss you.”
“Need, huh?” she murmurs.
“It’s the best word I’ve got. They haven’t coined one yet that encompasses the exact feeling. I suspect it’s because no one has ever loved anyone
this much before.”
“You love me?” she says.
“You know I do.” I steal another kiss, just so I can taste her again.
“I wasn’t sure you knew.”
“You didn’t put up a fight,” I say. I can’t bring myself to let go of her.
“You had the element of surprise working in your favor.” She studies me for a moment, her eyes scanning my disheveled appearance. “What happened…?”
“It’s a long story.” I loosen my hold on her a little. Then, I notice the mess in her living room. “What the hell happened here, Lucky?”
“Nothing,” she says quickly, pulling free from me. “I picked up some things from Windfall. I’ve been going through them.” She starts scooping things off the floor and dumping them into open cardboard boxes.
My eyebrow curves into a question mark. It doesn’t look as much like organization as it does the aftermath of a hurricane. “Looking for something?”
“Yeah,” she says absently before shaking her head. “I mean, not really. Malcolm… you know what? It’s a long story, too.” She stops her harried cleaning and turns on me. “Did you offer to sell Malcolm your shares of MacLaine Media?”
This wasn’t how I planned to have this conversation with her, but judging from her tone, she already knows. “I told him to make an offer.”
Adair closes her eyes, her hands gripping the back of a nearby chair. “Why would you do that?”
“I didn’t say I would accept his offer.” I cross to her, carefully stepping over the papers, books, and photographs strewn across the navy carpet. “In fact, I planned to reach out to another potential investor.”
Her eyes snap open. “Who?”
“Isn’t it obvious? You.”
Adair continues to stare at me, jaw unhinged as she processes this. “Me?”
“It’s what you’ve always wanted: control.”
“Over my life. Not the company.”
“You might not like it, Lucky, but you’re a MacLaine. That company belongs to you as much as it belongs to him. You want control? Take it. Refuse it. I’m putting it in your hands,” I say. “You get to choose what to do with it. You’re every bit as much a MacLaine as Malcolm is. Your father shouldn’t have made you feel otherwise.”