“What are you holding over him? He paid you off, but that wasn’t enough, was it?” I could feel people starting to stare, but I didn’t care. Sterling’s hand left my knee and slid upward, skimming along my thigh. White light exploded behind my eyes.
“Stop,” I gasped. I was so shocked I couldn’t form another syllable if my life depended on it. From the vicious turn Sterling’s smile had taken, that was his intention.
The waiter was using the distraction to slip away—and you could bet we’d never see him again if he did.
I was such an idiot, completely unable to control my mouth.
“You don’t want to leave quite yet, Gilbert.” Sterling’s tone was razor-sharp. Gilbert paused and looked back, his weak little brain susceptible to Sterling’s Jedi mind tricks.
“Don’t be offended by Harper,” Sterling said, leaning back in his seat and stretching his arms out over the table, a picture of ease. “She accuses me of lying at least a dozen times daily. I can set my watch by it. But this time she may have a point. We know you’ve been threatening her brother, and we’re here to tell you the game, literally and figuratively, is over.”
Another waiter passed behind Gilbert, nudging him with his elbow—a clear sign the staff had noted this interaction and it was time for Gilbert to move on. “Would you like to start with something to drink?” He practically spat the words at us.
“Scotch. Neat.” Sterling glanced at me. “And a Shirley Temple for the lady.”
“Hilarious. If you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do. Tell Cole next time he sends his sister to do his dirty work, I send Victor to do mine.”
“Victor? Is that your thuggish friend, because—” I was prepared to tell Gilbert exactly what type of reception Victor would receive, but Sterling silenced me with a finger tapping my knee, rhythmic and steady as a metronome.
“Of course,” Sterling said, shifting his focus back to Gilbert. “We wouldn’t want to interrupt your gainful employment since the less-than-gainful portion of your income is about to be severed.”
Gilbert’s eyes narrowed.
“My uncle, Senator Lane from the great state of New York, called me just last week. He has a particular bee in his bonnet about illegal gambling—something about it fueling petty crime and violence in the city. I, of course, sat down afterward and thought to myself: How could I, one helpless high school student, make a dent in a problem so massive?”
I glanced sideways at Sterling’s shrewd brown eyes tracking Gilbert’s every move. At the long, tan fingers he steepled together on the surface of the table, a gesture that on anyone else would seem cheesy and pretentious, but on Sterling transformed him into a conniving megalomaniac who could give 007 a run for his money. Sterling would crush poor Gilbert and he’d enjoy it. And because Cole was on the line, I decided to throw all my weight behind him.
“I remember when fire ants invaded my grandfather’s home,” I said. “Amazing how much fear those tiny insects can inspire in fully grown men. Especially when they crawled all over Cole and we thought he’d need an epinephrine shot to counteract their venom. Well, being a student of science, I researched and researched for hours. One solution was a slow-release poison that one member of the hive would unknowingly carry back to the others. It’s an elegant solution—using one tiny, insignificant bug to root out the entire hive. Cole liked that idea, too.” I paused, hoping my meaning was penetrating the irritated glare in Gilbert’s eyes. “And it worked. But that’s not to say I didn’t spend my days tracking down and annihilating any stray fire ants that wandered my way. I have a vengeful streak eight miles wide when it comes to my brother.”
Next to me, Sterling smiled. It was a subtle uptick in one corner of his mouth. Never did I imagine a moment of solidarity with that viper, but when our eyes met, it was there—an exploding burst of connection, clapping and rolling like thunder.
“An excellent metaphor, Harper,” Sterling all but purred. “I was so intrigued by the gambling conundrum that I called Uncle Howard. He’s not my real uncle, just a close family friend. And the attorney general. He told me the best way to root out petty crime is to find one specific criminal and prosecute them to the fullest extent of the law. He said it really doesn’t matter who you prosecute, as long as you crush them completely.”
I listened to Sterling in rapt attention—that family friend sounded exactly like the kind of career mentor I needed.
“You can’t prove anything,” Gilbert snapped. Without another word, he turned and left our table. He was rattled—that much was clear from the too-quick steps he took across the room toward the kitchen.
“I thought I told you to keep quiet,” Sterling said. “It’s a very fragile line we’re walking, trying to intimidate him into confessing but not into running. Not when Cole’s fate still hangs in the balance.”
He was right. I replayed my words in my mind. “Well, you could have cut me off if it was that out of line—like you did last time.”
“You enjoyed that?” He leaned closer, propping one elbow on the table right next to me. My entire body lit up at the memory of his hand sliding up my thigh. It was probably the only thing that could have shut me up when I got going—which I didn’t care to contemplate under the undivided scrutiny of the boy who missed nothing.
“No, of course not,” I said. “If we’d agreed to a structured strategy beforehand, other than me keeping quiet, maybe I wouldn’t have started blurting things out to keep you on course.”
“I don’t think anything could induce you to control yourself.” He met my eyes. “Please don’t mistake that for a criticism. The ant story was a masterful touch.”
“A page from your book,” I said. “Not that your ego needs any more fattening up.”
He laughed. “Actually, your steady diet of insults has put it back into fighting shape.”
I was still deciding if that was sarcasm when a waitress returned with two Shirley Temples and set them down in front of us. Sterling frowned and turned his glass slowly on the table, examining it like you would a poisonous elixir.
“Is that true about your uncle?” I asked. “Attorney general?”
Sterling nodded. “You have another crime to prosecute?”
I shook my head.
“What is it?” he asked. “You look uncomfortable again.”
“It’s just—impressive,” I said. “Sometimes I think that’s the job I’d like to have one day.” I tried to make it sound casual so I didn’t give Sterling ammunition to mock me. But when I looked up, his gaze was thoughtful.
“Given your rules and the rest of what I’ve seen—how you tap-dance around them?” He tipped his head to the side, studying me. I braced myself for the bite, but he simply nodded. “I think you’d be quite good at that.”
The waitress appeared, interrupting what might have turned into an actual conversation between the two of us. “Are you ready to order dinner?”
“Yes,” Sterling said. “You’re doing a fantastic job, but we’d like a few more words with your colleague, Gilbert.” He slid a folded bill across the table in her direction.
The waitress blinked and looked back over her shoulder.
“He asked me to trade,” she said quietly. “But I’ll see what I can do.”
“Excellent,” Sterling said. “We’d like two hanger steaks. Well done—and I mean burned to a crisp. That should take at least twelve minutes for grilling alone, right?”
The waitress nodded. “Two steaks, well done.” She headed back toward the kitchen.
“Is that why you have your rules?” Sterling asked, the moment she’d disappeared. “They’re like the laws you’ll get to uphold and prosecute one day as an attorney? Because maybe legislation would be more your forte—you could create an entire nation of obedient Harpers.”
His tone was light, but that didn’t fool me. His hawkish gaze observed my every movement. “What are your Rules about? I’ve been dying to know ever since I set eyes on them.”
“I’
ve never told anyone that.” How could I, when they’d started with one of my last memories of Mom?
“Your secret is safe with me,” he replied.
“Says the boy who threatened to publish my Rules if I didn’t do what he said.”
“That bluff was called ages ago, Harper.” He said my name softly, like a secret. “Really think about it—other than the Mini Cooper, have I done anything all that bad?”
He was right. All the chaos and confusion of the last few weeks really amounted to the two of us just grappling for the upper hand. I took a deep breath.
“When Cole was little, he was really wild, climbing on things, jumping off the monkey bars. It drove my mom crazy. So she told me that it was my responsibility to look after Cole—that it was Rule Number 1. Since I was always the practical one. All the Rules followed after that.”
“Well, that explains Rule 1, and why you’d hit me with a car to stop Cole from stubbing his toe. What about the rest? Your rules contain some astonishingly specific instructions for living.”
“Rule 1 wasn’t enough,” I said. The words just tumbled out, as if they’d been waiting to escape for eight hundred years. I had to make this boy understand, even if it cost me. “Two days after she died, Cole fell out of a tree and broke his arm. Because my dad didn’t realize that tree houses were also subject to building codes.” I could have lost them both in the same week. Cole could have broken his neck instead of his arm.
“Ah, I get it now,” Sterling replied. “The tree house rule did catch my eye.” He leaned forward across the table. “I’m sorry about your mother. I get it now—the Rules. Why you needed them. But—” His voice trailed off and he looked away. I waited for him to finish, but seconds ticked past in silence. “I get it,” he said. “My dad puts pressure on me. To perform. To achieve. So I do exactly what he wouldn’t want. That’s probably as self-defeating as hiding from life behind those rules. The two of us, Harper, maybe we need to meet somewhere in the middle.”
He finally looked at me again as he uttered those last words. A shiver scuttled down my spine when our eyes met. He knew what it felt like, the relentless simmering of parental disappointment. What would it be like to meet Sterling halfway—to let my Rules slip away? I’d be free, but also unmoored, drifting out to sea. Where anything could happen.
I sucked in air, just to make sure I still could. My fingers clutched the seat of my chair.
“I’ll stick with my Rules, thank you,” I said briskly. Sterling blinked and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms across his chest.
The spell that had been cast between us shattered. But I wouldn’t let myself regret it.
“And I need to focus back on Rule 1. Where is Gilbert?” I asked, shifting in my seat to put some distance between Sterling and me, and so that I could better watch for Gilbert to emerge. “I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of your barbs. He won’t last much longer. And I can’t believe how gleeful I sound about that. Never thought I’d find someone even more my enemy than you are.”
“Now why would you say that?” Sterling asked.
I rolled my eyes, realizing how stupid it was to drop my guard with him even for a second.
“I’m not your enemy, Harper,” he said. “Would I be here if I was?”
“Yes. You’ve made it more than clear you do nothing without a motive, including playing nice. Maybe all this is just to get me to drop my guard, Mr. Alligator.”
“Well, that last part may be true.” He leaned back in his chair. “But yes, you’re quite correct. I’m never nice without a motive.”
“Oh,” I said, as the pieces slid into place. I’d just told him my deepest secret and all the while he’d been plotting something. How could I be so stupid? “You want something in return for your help. This is just a little show of force—make me realize how powerful you are, how you could help me as long as I help you first.”
“It sounds so vulgar when you put it that way.”
“I defy you to find a way to put it that isn’t vulgar. Because it is, down to the core.”
“Hear me out before you pass judgment.”
“Lemme guess,” I said. “You want my outlines. And a free paper or two.”
“Oh, we’re way past that,” he replied. “And this school isn’t quite as unpalatable as the others. I’ve got my academics under control.” His forehead creased in exaggerated concentration. Then he held up a finger like he’d just had an epiphany. “I need a favor from you, Harper. You know, an exchange of assistance between friends? And I want you to know I’m the kind of person who repays favors sometimes even in advance of services rendered.”
I hated myself for blushing a little at his choice of wording. “What kind of favor?”
“I can’t tell you that,” he said. “Not yet. But one day soon I’ll come to you, and I’ll ask a favor. And you’ll comply.”
“What is this, The Godfather?” I was trying hard not to laugh, especially because Sterling seemed so serious while saying these ridiculous things. It was the first shadow of an imperfection in his ultracool facade. “You almost had me for a minute, pretending we’re friends. You know what you’re after or we wouldn’t be here. Just tell me, and then I’ll decide if this is worth it.”
“Or you turn around and see it is worth it.”
“No,” I told him. “I decline.”
“No?” Something akin to surprise flashed through his eyes.
“Exactly what value have you added? I had Gilbert’s license plate. My PI would have tracked him down eventually. I told the ant story that rattled Gilbert into leaving. All you’ve done is tag along and try to make me take a backseat. Tell me, Sterling, what have you done that I couldn’t have done on my own?”
He leaned forward across the table and motioned for me to do the same. I did. We were tipped together, practically brushing foreheads, our body language perfectly mirroring the amorous couple across the room. Once we were close, very close, Sterling whispered, “I arranged safe transport home.”
He inclined his face toward the window, where a hulking figure stood just outside the door. I couldn’t be sure without seeing his face, but the massive, burly shoulders looked like they belonged to Victor, the brawn to Gilbert’s questionable brains. He hadn’t been there when we walked in, which meant Gilbert might have called him in response to our interrogation. I slipped down lower in my seat, as if that would hide me from pending violent intimidation.
“You don’t think—you don’t think he’s here for us? Because we’re asking questions?” My eyes felt like they were going to pop right out of my head.
Sterling shrugged. Was he prepared to leave me here to face some thug unless I capitulated to his absurd favor?
“This is extortion. Crass, even for you.”
“Relax, sweetheart,” Sterling said, reaching over and giving my hand a slight squeeze. “Of course I’ll deposit you safely at your door regardless of what you decide. Not that this is a date or anything.”
I twitched in my chair at the mention of that word, and he smiled mercilessly.
“I’ve given you the extended preview of my services. Now’s the time to pay or get the hell out of the theater. Do you accept my terms? I know you’re good for your word.” He pulled out a folded piece of paper and I immediately recognized the horrible cheat sheet of my Rules. He made an exaggerated show of skimming through it. “I count at least twenty-five rules that address the importance of follow-through and honesty. Even if you’ve been flying a little fast and loose with them of late.”
His smile was saccharine and sickening.
I nodded. I never would have anticipated the perils of confronting Gilbert. I needed someone in my corner who understood the inner workings of the criminal mind. Someone like Sterling.
“Fine,” I said. “But just to be clear, these are the terms: not only will you tell me what you know, you’re going to help me fix this. Cole will be completely exonerated.”
“Even though he did
it?”
“Yes.”
A waitress appeared and placed two blackened steaks in front of us. “Can I get you anything else? Some ketchup?”
“On steak?” Sterling frowned at me before smirking up at her. “How charmingly proletarian.”
The waitress either had a world-class poker face or had no idea what that meant. Her smile didn’t falter. Not one bit. “Is that a yes?”
“That’s a no thank you.”
“I’d love some,” I told her. “Thank you.”
“No reason to suffer those lengths just to irritate me,” he said. Then he pulled out his phone and set it on the table. It was open to the New York Times. “Good thing you brought your book. It appears this installment of Cole’s debacle is over.”
It’s not like I wanted to talk to him, but it was just plain rude to ignore me like that. The waitress set the ketchup on the table in front of me and I left it sitting there. Of course I’d asked for it just to annoy him, but having him recognize that fact had taken all the fun out of it.
“You wanna tell me the rest of what you know?” I asked. I’d eaten the vegetables off the plate, but my steak was untouched.
“Trade?” he asked. He hadn’t eaten one bite of his veggies, and he lifted his plate toward me. The least I could do was let the meat on my own plate go to use. But instead of digging in like Cole would have, Sterling put his elbow on the table and propped his chin up on one hand. He watched as I took a bite of grilled cauliflower. I ate slowly so I wouldn’t drip butter on my chin or do something else horribly uncouth.
“How much do you know about illegal gambling?” he asked.
I shook my head. “You mean bookies and stuff? Just what I’ve seen in movies.”
“Well, it’s far more pervasive than most people realize, and it’s not always as clear-cut as in the movies. Sometimes it presents like a casual wager between friends. No harm, no foul, right? But that’s just the gateway into bigger things. Cole met Gil. They share a love of sports statistics. And lacrosse. That led to a few illegal bets that seemed casual, at first.”
Why I Loathe Sterling Lane Page 17