by Geneva Lee
“How close were you with her?” He squints as if trying to see me more clearly. Then he glances over to the servant’s staircase, his face momentarily puzzled, as if he can’t figure out why we’re here.
“I came in through the kitchen,” I explain.
“You came in through…” his words trail into a question. Maybe a few questions. “How do you know where the kitchen is?”
Malcolm MacLaine wants answers, but it’s too fun to dangle them over his head just out of reach. I’m not giving him the carrot, he’s going to have to jump for it. “I think if you try, you’ll remember me.”
There’s a pause as his head tilts, his eyes still narrowed as he studies my face. All he saw when I showed up for his father’s funeral was my Italian suit, my Breitling watch, my Aston Martin. He’s never bothered to really stop and look at me. He saw as far as he needed to see to deem me worthy of sharing his air.
“You’re…” He stops and stares at me.
Took him long enough.
“You were at my wedding,” he says.
Now we’re getting there.
“I used to come around here a lot,” I say as I start down the stairs, Malcolm at my heels. The truth is that I never spent much time with him back then. We’d been introduced, but he was busy learning the family business, which as far as I could tell back then, meant covering up sins with money and with a powerful family name. He didn’t have time to bother with taking out Adair’s trash.
“My father didn’t like you much.” He shrugs as though it’s not important.
“Your father never had much patience for the peasant class.” Especially if one of those peasants was dating his daughter.
Malcolm doesn’t deny it. He leans into it. “His opinion might have changed if you’d come back while he was alive.”
“I’m afraid I’ve never cared much for Angus MacLaine’s opinion.” I would have come back a year ago if I had.
“And mine?”
“There’s only one MacLaine I’m interested in,” I say, lowering my voice as we reach the floor below, “and if you don’t start keeping your opinions to yourself when it comes to Adair’s choices, then we’re going to have a problem.”
He blinks. “We are?”
“We are,” I say.
We’re back to the dance, debating our next moves. My gut says Malcolm will try to smooth this over. There’s too much for him to lose, and he’s never had the killer instinct his father had. I’ve watched the MacLaine family business dealings for years—in the newspaper and on television, through mutual business associates—Angus went for the throat. Malcolm wants the easiest path on offer.
“I want to buy your holdings in MacLaine Media,” he says finally. “How much?”
“Believe me, you can’t afford it,” I say. I might be convinced to sell if Adair asks me to, but I made certain it wouldn’t be that easy. Maybe I knew somewhere deep-down that I might fall for her again, and that’s why I put a check on myself. Luca and Jack have to be convinced to sell as well. They’ll never sell to a MacLaine. I made them swear. My holdings alone won’t be enough to keep the family empire under his control. Even if the company and its ownership are private, he still needs to control over 50% of voting shares in order to control the company’s Board of Directors.
“What about my sister? It sounds like you got what you wanted.” So much for him claiming she wasn’t for sale. He’d sell her body and soul right now if I handed him back the keys to his kingdom.
“I want Adair to be happy. If she wants to be an editor, let her. If she wants to have her own place, let her. You don’t own her.”
“And you do?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because you came here asking to buy her. You said you’d trade the company for her. Does she know that?”
“Yes,” I lie.
Now I have to find Adair before he does. I need time to explain my plan before she hears it from him. Blood may be thicker than water, but MacLaine blood runs hotter than whiskey. My only chance of keeping this under control is to be the first person she hears this from.“Your father liked to think he owned people,” I continue. “He was so obsessed with holding power over people that he never saw the bigger picture.”
“What’s that?”
“Power, wealth, control—none of it means shit when you’re dead.”
A muscle in Malcolm’s jaw ticks. “I think maybe you should leave.”
“There’s nothing I want here, anyway.”
“Really? You came back for a reason. Obviously, my father didn’t pay you off well enough,” Malcolm snarls.
So he doesn’t know what happened. That’s how meaningless I was in Malcolm’s eyes. I assumed Adair felt the same until recently. Now? I’m no longer sure. What I do know is that there is no amount of money or status or power that his son can offer me to change my mind now. I may love Adair, but I hate the MacLaines and I always will. “He didn’t pay me at all.”
“Is that the problem? Is that what it will take for you to leave my family alone?”
“That depends.” There’s nothing he can offer me, but I’m curious what it’s worth to him. “Are you lumping Adair into your family? She seems to have abandoned you.”
“Adair will come back. She’s a MacLaine.” He sounds so sure of himself. It’s the misplaced confidence of someone who hasn’t heard the word no enough in his life.
But I know two things: Adair doesn’t want to come back here and I won’t let her. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
“She understands that her family is the most important thing—”
“Don’t bother selling me the lies you’ve tricked her into believing,” I interrupt before I can hear more of his egocentric bullshit. “I’m going to help her see that she has more—that she deserves more—than being held down by the MacLaine name.”
“Adair will never burn that bridge,” he says. “Neither will you.”
“I’ll help her light the match and then I’ll pour gasoline on your funeral pyre. Don’t fuck with me.” I take two steps, bringing myself nose to nose with him. Adrenaline pumps through me. He thinks he knows me, because he thinks I’m like him: desperate to hold on to my wealth and my power. I took a risk coming back here, but the reward will be worth it.
Ginny waltzes past with a bouquet of freshly cut roses. She stops in her tracks when she spots us. There’s a moment of hesitation — panic flickers over her face — but just as quickly she’s composed and back to being a Stepford wife. “Why are you shouting?”
“It’s none of your business,” Malcolm snarls at her.
She winces but recovers quickly, lifting her chin in the air. Hatred burns in her dark eyes. Maybe she’s not as beholden to him as I thought. “What happens in this house is my business.”
“This is between myself and Mr. Ford,” he says a bit more gently.
But she shakes her head. “If it has to do with this family, then—”
“Ginny, when I want your opinion, I will tell you what it is!” he roars.
“Is that so? Then you can run the whole house!” She shoves the roses into his arms, petals falling to the floor from sheer force, and storms away.
“Maybe she should burn some bridges, too,” I say dryly.
“My wife is as loyal as my sister. I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand loyalty,” Malcolm says. “Foster kid. College drop-out. Discharged from the Marine Corps. Most of your file is sealed, which means you did something wrong.”
“All that work and the investigator didn’t tell you I was at your wedding. You need better people.” I flash him a smug smile. It looks like someone finally did his homework. He knows who I am — or what I let the world know about me, at least. Most of it is public record. Anyone can find out my mother is dead, and that I dropped out of school. That’s only part of the picture, though. No one gets to see the rest. They don’t get to know why I am those things, and they definitely don’t get to know how much of my true identity re
sides there.
“At least I have people. At least I understand the importance of family.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Malcolm. If you want to know the importance of family, ask a man who’s never had one. I know what it’s like to have no one, which means I can recognize a man who’s alone in the world, no matter how many people he surrounds himself with.” I edge closer to him and lower my voice so that he has to strain to hear me. It will make it all that much harder for him. “You’re mistaking loyalty for abuse. You don’t think of your wife, your sister, even your daughter, as anything more than possessions. That’s why you treat them the way you do, because they aren’t worth the upkeep. But objects can be lost, Malcolm. They can be taken.”
His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I’ve managed to shock him into silence. Even the great Malcolm MacLaine has no retort, no snide order, no cutting aside. I’ve found his weakest point and buried a knife into it. He wants to see the women in his life as commodities, investment pieces, and bargaining chips, just like his father. They’re not his family, they’re assets on a list.
And what happens when a sister stops falling in line with the conditions of being a MacLaine? Or when a wife shows her true colors in front of a business associate? What happens when an asset becomes a liability?
“Don’t worry. I’ll show myself out.” I leave him to piece back together the shreds of his worldview. He won’t get far. I came here to destroy the MacLaine family. Now I understand there’s no point in doing that. They destroyed themselves a long time ago, devoured themselves from within and left the rest to rot. All that’s left now is to root out their poison from this place, this city, and the woman I love.
I just have to find her first.
Adair
The Past
I could kill Poppy. First, she can’t take a hint and plans this stupid party. Then, she makes me open presents for an hour while Sterling apparently drank with Cyrus, and now, she brought up his present!
“But my dad’s out of town,” I say to him gently. “I thought you would stay the night…” I hope the implication is clear. My offer still stands. I wish he hadn’t been drinking, but I can’t exactly blame him. Plus, I’ve been pumping myself up for this all week. Poppy knows this. I confided as much to her when I decided I was ready to sleep with him.
There’s a long pause. Sterling stares fixedly at me without saying a thing.
“Sterling—” I begin.
“Don’t bother,” he slurs the last words. “I think I better go, Lucky. You have enough new toys to play with.”
“I don’t want those,” I coax, wrapping an arm around him and pressing my body against his. “Let me make it up to you.”
His angry look turns blank, like his processing time has slowed, then he shoots me a crooked grin. “That was the plan, wasn’t it?”
“It can still be like that,” I promise.
“How?”
“Follow me.” I smile and take his hand. We head out the main entrance and toward the pavilion, now empty and cold despite the gas heaters. Everyone really has moved inside. Instead of cutting towards the pool house directly, though, I head toward the pavilion.
“This your idea of private?” Sterling mumbles. “Where are the cameras in here, anyway?”
“There aren’t any,” I say brightly. If I can get him away from my friends long enough, I know he’ll come around. At least, I hope he will. “That’s why we’re here.”
He narrows his eyes quizzically, and for a moment the brooding stops.
The sides of the pavilion are still covered by roll-down canvases, tied together to form a temporary wall to keep the heat in—they’ll also keep curious eyes out. I undo a couple of knots and pull the canvas to the side. “After you, sir.”
“What am I? Alice headed to Wonderland?” He shoots me a sloppy grin, seems to think better of it, and replaces the look with a scowl.
“You’re not Alice. But I did plan on making a stop in Wonderland.”
He’s ducking through the opening, so I can’t read his reaction. If that didn’t cheer him up, probably nothing will.
I follow him through and we come out exactly where I planned, on a path winding between a garden and the garage. Sterling is walking ahead of me already, too far ahead.
“Stop!”
He turns slowly in the darkness. “What now?”
“That path has motion-activated lights. They’re wired into the security system.”
It takes him a moment to understand what I’m getting at. “Who lives like this?”
“Everyone I know, unfortunately.” I point to the tall hedge that walls the garden. “It’s through here.”
“Your Wonderland has a lot of gates, Lucky.” Before I can go any further, he grabs me and spins me into his arms.
For a second, I consider fighting it. I give in, instead. My body molds to his. I taste the sharp sting of whiskey on his tongue as a greedy hand moves from my hip to my ass. His fingers fiddle with my short hemline before dipping under it to fondle the curve of my buttocks. I’m so lost to him that it takes me a moment to process what he’s doing—it feels too good. I’m painfully aware that he’s touching me in places I usually only dream about. The floodlights wake me up, and I feel a cold rush of air against my bare skin.
Yelping, I jerk my skirt back over my ass. We must have stumbled back far enough to trip the lights, which means we’ve also tripped the security system. I reach for his hand to grab him and get him out of here, but he refuses to move.
“Now I can see you,” he says silkily. He yanks me back against him, and I realize just how strong he is. I can’t fight it. Not that I want to. This is what I wanted tonight. Just maybe with less cameras.
“We shouldn’t,” I murmur as his hand slips between my legs, bypassing the scrap of underwear I wore as a nod to propriety and dipping deep inside me. “Sterling!”
“Ask nicely.” He kisses my neck.
“Not here.” My eyes shutter despite my objection, my core clenching around his probing fingers.
“I didn’t hear a question,” he says.
“Can we please go to the poorhouse?” I pant, trying not to moan.
His tongue flickers along my earlobe. “Why? What do you want to do there?”
“You know what,” I snap impatiently, but I can’t seem to break free of him. It feels too good.
“I need you to say it, Lucky.”
“So we can sleep together,” I whisper, feeling heat explode on my cheeks.
“Like a nap?”
I groan and it morphs into something guttural as the pad of his thumbs finds my ticking center. “Fuck. I want to fuck.”
He pulls aways, still kneading me, and raises an eyebrow.
“Will you please fuck me?” I pant. I’m not just ready. I’m bursting.
Sterling withdraws his fingers and lifts them to his lips. He sucks each one, a slow smile spreading over his face. “Lead the way.”
I don’t waste any time dragging him towards the hedge.
“My dad has tried to fix this hedge a dozen times,” I explain. “He still hasn’t figured out why he can’t.” I give Sterling a wink and step sideways through a gap in the hedge wall. A couple of branches snap as I pass, just like they always do. “Alright, you can come through. Make sure you don’t get poked in the eye.”
I hear a wordless grumble, followed shortly by an ouch, but Sterling manages to force his way through. He takes a second to shake off the foliage and look around. “It’s a garden,” he says, surprised.
My mother’s garden. I don’t tell him. That’s not what tonight is supposed to be. Of course, nothing tonight has turned out how I wanted.
“I hope you’re not too drunk to climb through a window,” I say, pointing to the pool house, which forms one of the garden’s four walls.
“All this to avoid your own cameras?” he says, incredulous.
“Exactly.”
The big picture window overlooking the garde
n can’t be opened, but the one through the kitchen does. I push it up, straddle the bottom of the sill, one leg at a time, and I’m through.
“Welcome to Wonderland.” I say triumphantly. “Now we can be alone.” I give him a sexy smile, but I doubt he can see it through the darkness.
“Too bad I only rate the pool house,” he says, his dark silhouette coming towards me.
Good. He’s joking. We might be able to rescue my birthday after all.
“We’ll see about upgrading you next time,” I tease.
Our bodies collide awkwardly in the darkness, but as soon as he touches me it doesn’t matter. I cover his lips with mine, and he responds instantly, hungrily. I explore the stubble along his neck, planting kisses and slowly making my way towards his chest.
“I suppose lights are out of the question?” he says with a deep purr.
“If you want there to be a sequel,” I say, pausing to nip his earlobe before continuing, “we’d better not.”
“Whatever you say, Lucky.” He puts both hands on my hips and spins me away from him. His hands are greedy on my body, and his stubble scratches along my neck as he kisses me there.
“Oh, that’s nice,” I moan, rolling my head onto his chest.
“You know exactly how hot you are, don’t you?” He sighs before planting kisses on my shoulder.
“Do I?” I whisper, melting into him.
His hands slide up slowly from my hips toward my breasts, which tighten in anticipation. Sterling’s fingers glide over the tight points of my nipples and pinch slightly. The other hand wraps around my neck, and I gasp as he turns my head to the side and kisses me again.
There’s nothing but him. I feel the bulge in his jeans against my ass, and I don’t have to tell my body how to respond. I collapse backward into him, needing him to touch every part of me. My hands search for his body in the darkness, but he swats them away. He’s in control. That’s clear. I’d argue, but I have no complaints.