Page 14 of Blacklist

Everything went to hell so fast that I still don’t know what happened. I don’t know why she’d gone upstairs, either. A girl like her probably doesn’t hate crowds. I imagine they part for her—that people bow down as she passes. There had been hundreds of people stuffed into that house, drinking and dancing and being generally stupid. That’s not my scene.

“I wasn’t doing anything wrong.” It’s out of my mouth before I even know I’m going to say it.

She turns vacant eyes on me. “What?”

Why do I have to bring this up now? “Upstairs. Tonight. I got lost.”

It’s a stupid lie, but it sounds less dumb than telling her the truth.

“I didn’t say you were.” She’s already lost interest, returning her focus to the view from the window.

“You implied it.” All I need is one uppity bitch to decide I’m up to no good. Yeah, I have a scholarship but good things are rarely permanent, in my experience. One wrong move and it’s back to New York for me. I wouldn’t mind, but it would kill Francie.

“You aren’t a member.” She says it like this explains her behavior.

“Neither are you.”

“You made that point earlier,” she says dryly. She squirms in her seat until she’s facing me. She relaxes against the door. Her hair fans out over the window glass, glinting red like little sparks in the light of passing cars. “I don’t even know who you are.”

“I thought Southerners were supposed to be polite,” I mutter. If she’s going to be rude, I can dish it right back. I might not have much experience with her type or college frats or small-town America, but I’m all stocked up on surliness.

“Where are my manners?” she scoffs with a hollow laugh. “I’m Adair MacLaine and you are?”

“Like the journalism school?” I ask, caught off-guard by her last name.

“And the senator and the media conglomerate,” she says sourly.

“Cheer up…” I stop before adding princess again. She’s got enough going on. “You’re lucky. You’ll never have to work a day in your life.”

Does she even know how easy she has it? Apparently not if she’s going to sulk about having a last name that’s so important it’s carved into stone on a two-hundred-year old university building.

“And you think I want that?” Anger flashes in her face, her cheeks flaming as brightly as her hair. It’s the second time tonight that I’ve made her blush. Now I know two ways to get a rise out of her.

I like it a little too much, so I egg her on. “A little.”

“You don’t know me at all.” The ferocity in her tone says she means it.

“No, I don’t,” I admit, deciding that given the circumstances I should play nice. “I’m Sterling.”

She doesn’t respond.

“Sterling Ford,” I add.

No response.

So now we’re back to not speaking to each other. I’m being punished. At least I’ve taken her mind off where we’re heading, even if I’ve replaced worry with fury. My eyes skim over her reflection in the rearview mirror so she won’t know I’m looking at her. That’s when I notice her lower lip is trembling. Maybe I haven’t distracted her as much as I thought. “Adair.” I try her name out and find I like how it feels on my tongue. “Look, I’m sorry I was a jerk.”

“Was?” she repeats.

I can’t argue with that, but I’m not going to explain myself. She’s behaved just as poorly as I have. She might have a get-out-of-jail-free card but that’s not enough to excuse her every sin. She jumped to conclusions earlier. She says she doesn’t want her family name but she still acts like I’m beneath her. So, yeah, I can be nice. For now. The circumstances require it. But I’m reserving final judgment on Adair MacLaine.

“Thank you.” This time her gratitude is small and tinged with apprehension instead of being forced.

“It’s no problem.” I wonder if she’s thanking me for driving or for talking to her. The truth is I don’t know how to distract her, because there are things I should say to her before we get to the hospital. I should tell her that it’s going to suck — walking into the hospital. I should warn her that there’s no way to brace herself for the possibility that her life might change forever tonight. An ache I haven’t felt in a long time settles on my chest.

For a split second, I consider turning the car around and driving in the opposite direction. Driving until she’s so far away from here she forgets where we were headed. I want to give her the beautiful oblivion no one gave me.

Instead, I lie to her. “It’s going to be okay.”