Page 58 of Blacklist

“Windfall? What the fuck does that mean?”

“This is Windfall, the MacLaine estate,” she explains.

“You name your houses?” Kai asks. I’m glad he said it for me. Rich people must have too much time on their hands.

“Of course.” Poppy sounds as if she can’t find anything wrong with this. “My house is so boring. My father’s English, so he went with Landry Court. He wasn’t even trying.”

“That was Darcy’s house, right? What’s its name?” Kai asks as I park the car near the guest house. It’s bigger than my brownstone in Queens. I can’t imagine why a visitor would need two thousand square feet of their own just for a visit.

“Las Palmas.” I can hear her eyes rolling even though it’s too dark to see. “At least they were a little more creative with their name. Of course, if it was me I’d call it the hen house.”

“The hen house?” I repeat, sure I heard her wrong.

“Yes,” she says indignantly. “It makes sense to name it after Hennie’s. Las Palmas sounds like it belongs in L.A. or Miami.”

I share a look with Kai, who’s helping me carry Adair inside, while Poppy continues our education in the ways of the Valmont elite.

“Hennie’s?

“Hennie’s Hot Chicken. The Palmers own the entire chain. Darcy’s mom is Henrietta Palmer.”

She might as well be speaking in tongues for all I understand of what she just said.

“I’ve never heard of hot chicken,” I say honestly as we haul Adair into a room.

“It’s a Nashville thing,” Poppy explains, supervising the entire process of delivering her best friend to bed. She stuffs a pillow under her head. “Wouldn’t the hen house be cute?”

“I guess,” I say absently. It’s a little surreal to go from a party to a discussion of the merits of estate names, all while caring for a girl I hate.

Kai doesn’t suffer from the same degree of whiplash regarding our circumstances and begins battering her with questions about hot chicken. I barely pay attention. I’m too busy studying the rise and fall of Adair’s chest. There’s no reason to think she’s in danger, but someone has to keep watch.

“Now I’m hungry,” Poppy says. “Let’s go check the kitchen.” She flies from the room like our work here is done, but Kai hesitates at the door.

“Want anything?”

“I want to stay with her,” I tell him.

“Good idea.” He glances toward Adair, his brows furrowing. “She’s going to be okay, right?”

“Yeah.” It’s enough to reassure him, so he takes off after Poppy.

With them both gone, I look uncomfortably around the room. There’s no way I’m climbing into bed beside her. If Adair wakes up, she’ll probably clobber me to death with the bedside lamp before I get a chance to explain what happened. Even sitting on the bed feels wrong. All she’s had about me since the minute we met are wrong ideas. I can’t keep fucking explaining myself to her. In the end, I grab a pillow and make a spot on the floor, close enough that I can hear her breathe.

20

Adair

Present Day

I’m on my second glass of liquid courage before I see him. I remember the first time I saw Sterling Ford in a suit—a borrowed suit. It was the day of my mother’s funeral. He looked as out of place there as the suit had on his body. Gone are the days of wearing another man’s clothes. His tuxedo is tailored to his body, showcasing his broad shoulders. With the jacket buttoned, his torso narrows to a lean waist. Sterling had the body of a man years before any other guy I knew. Now? I can’t help wondering what it looks like beneath those layers of fabric.

He walks with the air of a man who owns the room. Heads turn in interest. The Valmont-Nashville philanthropy crowd is an incestuous bunch. We’re born together, grow up together, marry each other, divorce each other, and attend each other’s funerals. New blood usually comes by way the trophy wives unwisely imported from the ranks of professional sports cheerleaders and fashion models. In recent years, divorcees who managed to dodge the prenup have taken to being cougars with gusto. After a while, they all blend together, a pack of cougars and lions, divorcing one spouse while hunting for the next in the same pride. Once you’re in this crowd, you can’t escape.

I can’t imagine Sterling ever fitting in with us. He’s too jagged, his edges too roughly hewn to wedge into an available slot. I still can’t believe he’s here at all. He’d never hidden his distaste for the wealthy, a hatred that applied especially to me.

Ava appears at my side, following my gaze to him. “Did you see Sterling Ford is back in town?”

“I have eyes.” There’s no way I’m letting her see an ounce of my discomfort over his arrival. A West uses psychology like currency, gambling on instinct and doubling down on emotion. They collect reactions and meltdowns and make you pay the price later for showing your cards.