Why I Loathe Sterling Lane

by Ingrid Paulson

  If I ever spent a night with him—or with anyone—it would be a decision arrived at together. Discussed and weighed and measured, with defined parameters and commitments. Never like this—at the whim of that spoiled, gorgeous boy who thought that his dazzling smile and a few mumbled words of affection addressed to my father would be enough to win me. The mere idea of it made my blood boil.

  That little bit of rage was all it took to switch me into overdrive. I was going to tell Sterling Lane exactly what I thought of him and his sadistic games. I hurtled out the door of my dorm, walking at a pace that would smoke most professional speed walkers. As I went, I rehearsed my speech in my mind, the scathing way I’d rebuke him for even conceiving of this favor in return for his paltry aid. He’d done nothing I couldn’t have done myself.

  It was a ten-block walk to the hotel, and I flew across town in less than fifteen minutes—including brief pauses at two traffic lights.

  A bellhop held the door open as I approached. I poured right in, charging through the baroque, overdecorated lobby, brimming with spindly antique chairs and even more brittle patrons.

  I pressed the elevator button.

  While I waited for the elevator, I slid the heels out of my bag and put them on. I would look dignified, if nothing else, while I made Sterling Lane regret the day he assumed too much. Sure, those two times we’d kissed had been incredible, and the second time, I’d been the one to ratchet it all into overdrive. Perhaps that was why he thought I would be receptive to this. Ultimately, there were probably worse things in the world than an evening with Sterling Lane. In the attraction category, at least, it would be hard to do better. It wasn’t like I was religious or had some other reason to wait. And I was curious—in a purely academic way, of course.

  But never under the auspices of this favor—that was coercion. Never under his thumb. Never. Never. Never. I would be his openly acknowledged equal or I wouldn’t play this game at all.

  I stood there for a moment, weighted down by my oversize bag and fully disgusted by the turn my thoughts were taking. What if I was wrong? What if this was some grand gesture, like Kendall suggested? The thought set my nerve endings on fire. No matter what happened in the next five minutes, there was a very good chance I’d spontaneously combust.

  The elevator doors opened, but I let them close again. I watched my reflection in the shiny copper doors. I ran my fingers through my hair and adjusted the neckline of the dress. No matter what Sterling threw at me, I was ready to face it. He was the one who should be on his guard, not me. I’d more than demonstrated that I would retaliate tenfold for any wrongs committed against me.

  I pressed the button again, took a deep breath, and stepped inside. The antique machinery climbed so slowly I could have pulled myself up faster with a pulley and a hand crank. My shoes pinched. The dress was too loose. And too tight. In all the least appropriate places. I should have put on less makeup. It looked like I was trying too hard, thanks to Kendall.

  Room 804 was all the way at the end of the hallway, marked with a shiny gold plaque. It must have had some view of the river and the hills beyond. It was the only door at that end of the building, so either there was a storage closet sucking up space or it was a massive suite of rooms. Only Sterling would book something so ridiculous.

  I knocked on the door and it opened immediately.

  Sterling Lane was standing there. Hair trimmed, shirt starched, slacks pressed. Tie front and center, straight in a Windsor knot.

  “You got dressed up for nothing,” I told him. “You have grievously misjudged this situation. Meeting in a hotel room? Let’s get one thing straight, Mr. Manipulator. I’m not sleeping with you. I don’t care what you say about me.”

  I could tell he was surprised by the way his hand flew to the knot of his tie, adjusting it like it could get any tighter.

  “Blackmailing dates?” a deep voice murmured. “A new low, even for you.”

  I jumped, and Sterling grinned a crocodile smile.

  “Hardly,” he replied. “She’s elevated me to new heights.” He took a step back, grabbing my hand.

  “You never fail to entertain, sweetheart,” he whispered as he towed me into the room.

  It was a living room—two uptight little white couches surrounded a narrow coffee table. In the corner, an older man in a crisp business suit was sitting at a table typing on a laptop. I’d stumbled into an entirely different scenario than I’d been envisioning.

  The man looked up, his gaze traveling down to our clasped hands. He was way too interested in us for my comfort.

  “Well, well, could it be it has a heart?” the man shot back.

  “Grew one just last week, in fact. Maybe there’s hope for you, too.” Sterling pulled me forward. “Harper, the shark in the suit is Uncle Howard. Don’t let his smile fool you—anything you say can and will be used against any future transgressions.”

  “You’re still mad about that?” Uncle Howard replied mildly. “Next time you lie about stealing your mother’s car, don’t leave your wallet in the backseat.” His focus shifted to me. “Oh, the stories I could tell, Harper.”

  My eyes cut to Sterling in time to see his ears turn pink. It seemed his car prank was in part inspired by his own past.

  “Uncle Howard, the New York attorney general?” I asked. My heart started to pound. This couldn’t be happening—good things like that didn’t happen to Harper the Hag. “It’s so nice to meet you. When Sterling told me about you, I looked you up. Your handling of the Landsberg case was nothing short of brilliant.”

  “Thought you’d like to meet him. Although when you hear his five-hour replay of that Landsberg case, you might change your mind. Who knew embezzling could be so boring?”

  The man rolled his eyes, but with affection rather than true irritation.

  “That was so rude,” I whispered.

  “Fine,” Sterling said, squeezing my fingers. “I apologize.”

  As he said it, the double doors across the room opened and a man strolled through. He was taller than Sterling, but had the same chiseled features and razor-sharp brown eyes. The same wavy brown hair, even if it was speckled with gray. Like Sterling, he clearly missed nothing, and it took a fraction of an instant for his gaze to zero in on me.

  “I must be hearing things,” the man said. “Sterling didn’t apologize when he deposited his mother’s car in the Hudson. Either the hotel is incinerating around us or the rehabilitation continues.” He flashed a huge handsome grin that was alarmingly identical to Sterling’s, except lacking the self-satisfied little curl in the corners. “Is this really her? I’ve been looking forward to this, Harper. Can’t believe the changes in him. He’s passing all his classes—even talking about majoring in history. Any other tricks up your sleeve—raise the dead? Levitate?”

  I was queasy as all three men turned and looked at me. And I was oh-so-glad I’d worn heels. I felt minuscule standing there with the two of them, and I couldn’t fathom why Sterling had brought me here to play conquering hero when I’d done nothing to rehabilitate Sterling Lane except fight back.

  “I’m afraid Sterling drained me of all my powers,” I said, willing my voice not to shake. “I’m fresh out of miracles.”

  A cell phone pinged and Admiral Lane glanced at the display. “I need to take this one. I apologize for the interruption. I’ll only be a moment.” He winked at me and I was astounded by the similarity between father and son. “Now that he finally cares what someone thinks, I look forward to watching him squirm. The stories I have to tell. Prepare yourself for seventeen years’ worth of pent-up parental frustration.”

  “I look forward to it, sir,” I said. And I meant it.

  “I think I’ll sit this one out,” Sterling muttered. “Let the three of you amuse yourselves while I hit the bar.”

  I didn’t think his father heard the last part, but I couldn’t quite be sure. His father disappeared through the double doors, his posture every bit as crisp as the khaki slacks and whit
e button-down shirt he was wearing.

  “I like your dad.”

  “Good,” he said. “He likes you, too. I knew he would.”

  “Care to tell me what this is all about?” I asked. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m looking forward to making fun of you at dinner. But you’ve been a little light on the details of exactly what this favor is.”

  “Figured I’d just steamroll you into going along with it.” He hadn’t loosened his grip on my hand, and now he towed me across the room, toward a closed door.

  Uncle Howard glanced up from his laptop screen. “Where are you going?”

  “The bathroom,” Sterling replied, pushing me through the open door.

  “You’re going together?” Uncle Howard was laughing now. And my face went bright red.

  “Yep,” Sterling said. “She has aquaphobia.”

  Whatever Uncle Howard said in response was muffled by the click of the bathroom door as it slid into place.

  Sterling moved closer, and his chest brushed mine. Then he put his hands on my hips, lifting me up onto the vanity. He stood there, right in front of me, planting his hands on either side of me.

  He leaned in to kiss me but I turned my face away. “You’re not as hot as you seem to think,” I lied. “You can’t distract me. You have to explain first.”

  “How about after?” His lips grazed my neck, and I was about to relent—because honestly, Sterling Lane was inconveniently good at a great number of things. This most of all.

  “After what, exactly? Because after that summons, I was pretty sure you expected a lot more than I’m prepared to give right now.”

  “I would never do that.” He sounded so shocked as he pulled back and cupped my face in both hands. “Never. My father wanted to meet you. I told him everything about us. How you changed me—changed everything.” He paused. “Sure, it started off as a rivalry thing—God, you pissed me off—but then it changed. I had to show you I could keep up. It wasn’t enough to just know it myself. You were—are—the first big crush of my life.” Sterling looked me straight in the eye as he said it. So confident, so unafraid to just put it all out there, like Kendall had said. “So when I told the admiral, he wanted to meet you. Tonight we have dinner with him and Uncle Howard. My grandmother, too. But I figured next Friday it could be just us. Then we’ll, you know, see where it goes.” He shrugged.

  My head was spinning. Sure, I’d known it was a possibility he’d meant what he said in the headmaster’s office. But this was over and above what I’d ever imagined. He’d even invited the attorney general here to meet me. Me. It was the most thoughtful gesture I could ever imagine. My hands pressed themselves flat against his chest, then clutched the fabric of his shirt, wrinkling the freshly pressed cotton. There was a pretty good chance I was never letting go.

  “What about no second dates?” I asked.

  “You broke your Rules,” he said with a self-satisfied smirk. “And look how great it worked out. You get all this.” He motioned to himself with one hand. “Figured I’d give it a shot.”

  “I broke some of them, and only because it was an emergency,” I told him. “I’m still the same. You haven’t changed me. You realize that, right? We’re still a disaster, and I’m pretty sure I still hate you.” But as I said it, my hand broke rank and slid around his neck, guiding his face to mine. “I’m still the same,” I repeated. “I haven’t changed.”

  “I’m counting on it,” he said. “All uptight and erratic. Anything less than full-blown Harper and I’m likely to get bored. Let’s say we agree to disagree? All the time, but with a few notable exceptions. Like, say, in bathrooms. Or Parker’s bedroom.”

  Those memories were about all I could take. I grabbed his tie, right by that trim little Windsor knot, and yanked him forward. A jolt of adrenaline shot through me when his eyes widened in surprise.

  Nothing was as exhilarating as catching Sterling Lane off guard.

  I kissed him, curling my hands into his hair until there was no way he was ever getting away. His hands slid around my waist, holding me so close I could barely breathe.

  “I’m counting on you for some discreetly dismissed felony charges in the future,” I said. “And some horribly smug little smiles.”

  “They’re all yours,” he murmured.

  My eyes were closed, but I could still feel his smile as his lips found mine again.

  Even though it might seem like I’d given in, that I’d let that lazy, spoiled boy corrupt me, ruin me, I hadn’t. I knew it in my heart. In the way the Rules were back, arranging themselves in balcony seats to watch the remainder of the show.

  All but one. Rule 538 was conspicuously absent, and I knew it would stay that way.

  Because at the end of the day, changing my mind wasn’t against the Rules. Neither was dating, or being locked in a bathroom at the Saint James Hotel kissing a boy with liquid trouble coursing through his veins. I could still be me, and he could still be him, and we’d figure out what we’d be together.

  And I would know.

  Because I loathe Sterling Lane.

  Every bone in that perfect body.

  Acknowledgments

  This book would not exist without the support of my amazing critique group. Martha, Heidi, Whitney, and Veronica, thank you for pulling me through and making me laugh when I need it most. I am eternally grateful to the Entangled team for taking a chance on Sterling. The amazing Kate Brauning, who has tirelessly read and commented, and her guidance has taken this project to the next level. I was no longer alone in Harper’s head! Last but not least, thank you to my husband and children for putting up with me when I’m living inside a book for weeks at a time. I couldn’t chase this dream without your sacrifices and support.

  About the Author

  Ingrid Paulson does not, in fact, loathe anyone. Although the snarky sense of humor and verbal barbs in Why I Loathe Sterling Lane might suggest otherwise (and shock those who think they know her best). Ingrid lives in San Francisco with her husband and children and enjoys long-distance running, eavesdropping, and watching science documentaries. She has always loved books and writing short stories but was surprised one day to discover the story she was working on wasn’t so short anymore. Valkyrie Rising, a paranormal girl-power story, was Ingrid’s first novel. Expect another humorous contemporary romance to join the list soon.

  www.ingridepaulson.com

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