Page 45 of Blacklist

My brother’s powerful body fills the doorframe, his dark eyes narrowing on the dress. There must have been more meetings with the board, because he’s in a charcoal suit. It looks like he’s had a day. His shirt is untucked and wrinkled, tie loose around his neck—his outfit as tired as his wary eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean then?”

“You dropped out of school, Adair,” he reminds me.

“For a semester.” I cling to that fact like a life preserver. Most people thought daddy had forced me to go to Valmont. The truth isn’t that simple. Now that mom’s gone, I need to get as far away from Tennessee as possible. I considered staying enrolled, but there was no way I could concentrate on schoolwork and get the grades I’d need to transfer schools. It’d be only a few more months until I leave this world behind me and make my own way. Only a few more months until I’m more than Angus MacLaine’s daughter and Malcolm MacLaine’s little sister. Only a few more months until I escape this hell for good. I’m not stupid enough to believe I can escape the family name, so I’m going to use it to get into my dream school: Cambridge. I’ll make the MacLaine name my own by putting an ocean between me and them.

“I just expected you to be a bit more serious about your future.” Malcolm’s words are a slap in the face.

He’s got no idea how serious I am about my future. Just because I’m not lining up to be some idiot’s trophy wife or perfecting my political aspirations like him, he assumes I’m worthless. “What do you want me to do? You won’t let me help with the company. Or attend board meetings. Daddy acts like I’m a little girl. He wants me to stay here forever, being hopelessly dependent on him—or, at least, his staff. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t let me screw a lightbulb into an empty socket.”

“So, instead you’re going to screw half of Nashville?” he counters, a dangerous edge taking hold in his voice.

To a man who obsesses over his public image, there can be no greater horror than a slutty sister. The truth is that his concern is never to protect me only to control what people think of me.

“Maybe I am.” It’s the right button to press to get a rise out of him. Now if I just hit it a few more times, he might self-destruct and leave me alone for the night.

“Christ, Adair. We live in this town.” The message is clear: what would people think if Adair MacLaine is spotted drinking and dancing and enjoying herself a month after her mama died?

Exactly what they already think: that I am a spoiled heiress who has nothing better to do than blow through my trust fund. No one in Valmont has any reason to think otherwise. My father’s name might be held in reverence by the people living here, but the courtesy doesn’t extend to his wayward daughter. Malcolm only started caring what people thought of me when he began maneuvering toward the Tennessee senate. He’d spent his years at Valmont turning weekend frat parties into the stuff of legend. If only people knew the truth about this family.

People assume the MacLaine children haven’t worked a day in our lives. All we do is work. Our father’s love isn’t free. Everything we have costs something. I’ve no idea what price I’ll pay to leave Valmont behind. I have to do it, though. Get out, make connections, and hope like hell I can find a way to support myself abroad. The small inheritance I got from mama, the pittance left from her family fortune, isn’t going to get me far. But anywhere is better than here.

Malcolm knows that. We’ve never seen eye-to-eye, mostly because he was born with a penis, which seems to afford him slightly more privileges in our family. I, on the other hand, have worked for every dime, every ounce of affection, every chance I’ve gotten. Daddy grooms Malcolm to take his place at MacLaine Media, in the government, even here at Windfall. I’m only brought out for special occasions—a trophy to be displayed at parties and then placed back under lock and key. My brother is the heir to the empire, shaking hands and having drinks. He’s being handed the family legacy on a platter, and no one—especially not his baby sister—is going to compromise that.

“Worried I’m going to cause a scandal? Simmer down, bro. All publicity is good publicity.” I just want him off my back. “Did you forget how you spent every weekend when you were my age?”

“I didn’t forget,” he says quietly. “I grew up. Maybe you should, too.”

I want to throw my head back and scream. “Double standard much?”

“Things are different. Mama is gone. Someone has to be the lady of the house.” He couldn’t be more condescending if he climbed onto a ladder and yelled at me from the top rung.

“I’m not a lady.” I stomp out of the room to prove it before he can stop me.

* * *

I take the Mercedes G-Wagon, because it’s my current favorite, and daddy is too drunk to notice it’s gone. Back in my prep days, I might have walked, ensuring I could easily stumble home. The West estate is only a half a mile away on the opposite side of Magnolia Lane. But Poppy is stuck in the dorms and needs a ride. I don’t blame her, given that Ava is readying her house to play host, and Poppy can’t stand being stuck in enclosed spaces with Cyrus. When I pull up to campus, she’s waiting on a short brick wall. I whistle appreciatively when she climbs in wearing a black and white striped romper. She’s knotted her glossy black hair near the haltered neckline.

“You look amazing!”

“I have made a major decision,” she says as I wait for her to buckle up. Then she turns to me with an expression she usually saves for serious matters like celebrity break-ups or PETA campaigns. “I’m back on the market.”

“You were off-the-market?” I ask.

“Not officially. But I was looking more than seeking. I’m done waiting around. I was hung up on Cyrus, but he’s never going to make an actual move. Why waste this?” She flourishes her hand like a game show hostess announcing the big prize.

This is exactly the girl power I need to channel after my confrontation with Malcolm. It’s time to take back our social lives. Mama wouldn’t want me to sit around in my room. She’d want my days to be full of diamonds. And I could do that. Live for her, soak up what there is to love about Tennessee before I make my escape.

“Okay, but big favor. Can we pick up a friend?”

“You don’t waste time,” I tease as she points me in the direction of a boys dorm down the street.

“It’s not like that,” she says.

“Off-the-market?” I ask.

“We’re shopping at the wrong stores,” she says meaningfully.