Page 38 of Blacklist

“Miss?” Cara asks.

“She’s going to dinner upstairs,” I inform her.

It’s time for this to stop. If that means making a scene and shaming Malcolm into being the father I expect him to be, then so be it.

“Felix is setting a place for you, too,” I tell Poppy. “Will you stay?”

So maybe I need a little backup to wage this war.

She reads between the lines. “Of course. You can give me more brilliant ideas to sell my mother on the theme. Malcolm won’t mind?”

“I’m sure it’s just another one of daddy’s old buddies. Malcolm is trying to sort out the family estate.” I may have filled Poppy in on the funeral, but I left out the details of the will. It’s not that I don’t trust her with them, it’s that I know she’ll worry. Knowing her, she’ll try to get the money from her parents to help us buy back the stock we lost. It doesn’t matter if she’s my best friend, a MacLaine doesn’t take charity.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I brought guests to dinner,” I announce, unable to keep a smug smile from spreading over my face as we enter the dining room with Ellie in tow. The arrogance oozes out of me when Malcolm’s guest turns to greet us.

“I don’t mind,” Sterling says from his place at the table.

I can’t think of anything to say in response.

“Oh fuck,” Poppy murmurs next to me. Clearly, she’s not been rendered speechless.

“Auntie Poppy, you said a bad word.” Ellie’s voice is hushed with surprise at her angelic idol’s faux pas.

Poppy scoops her from my arms, and I’m too surprised to stop her. “Yes, I did. How silly of me.”

She carries the girl to the opposite side of the table, sitting next to her in two of the available seats and leaving the seat next to Sterling empty.

She said it best.

Fuck.

13

Sterling

I have her attention. Adair MacLaine is on the hook, and I’m going to enjoy watching her wriggle.

“We started without you,” Malcolm says without a hint of apology.

It had been clear to me when we started the soup course that Malcolm hadn’t invited Adair to dinner. He had assumed, like the privileged asshole he was, that she would simply be there. I was annoyed earlier. Now? Seeing her sort through several stages of surprise makes her late arrival worth it.

Poppy does her best to appear oblivious as she deposits Malcolm’s daughter into the seat across from mine. I know she recognizes me. I expect Cyrus told her I’m back in town. It’s neither good nor bad to see her. Her presence is just a distraction for Adair. Still, while I’ve never hated Poppy, her ability to stay politely neutral annoys me. She’s always been a diplomat, more concerned with keeping the peace than standing up in her friend’s defense.

She seems to have flourished. Jetting off to Paris, wearing haute couture, she’s become the Valmont stereotype. Unlike her, Adair is in jeans and a t-shirt, her attitude as fiery as her hair—until she saw me. This Adair is at odds with the woman at the funeral. She reminds me of the girl I met years ago. The question is: which one is the real Adair? Does she even know?

I turn back to my meal, confronted by curious, round eyes. The little girl is hardly tall enough to see over the table. From here, it looks like two wide blue orbs hanging over a soup bowl. I wink at her and her eyes scrunch up with a smile.

“Why don’t you eat some soup, love?” Poppy suggests, nudging a spoon into her tiny hands. The girl looks down at the bisque and her face screws into a grimace.

“What is it?” she asks in her tiny voice.

“Lobster. Just eat it, Ellie,” Ginny snaps.

Ellie drags her spoon through it but doesn’t take a bite. “I want dinner not wobster.”

My thoughts exactly. I’ll never understand why rich people have to eat in courses for hours.

“It’s coming,” Poppy promises her.