Page 62 of Blacklist

It’s a non-answer. It’s also the best I can do without knowing why she’s asking the question.

Ginny laughs, the tinkle of it falling like shattered glass between us. “That’s funny, because Adair was in —”

“Oh! The salad,” Poppy interrupts. This time it’s not an innocent insertion. I don’t miss how she casts a furtive look at her best friend.

The waiters could not have timed it more perfectly. The table partners into private conversation as the plates appear before us. I murmur an absent thanks to the server, but never take my eyes off Adair. She shifts into protective mode, adjusting the face she wears for the world. She chats with Kai, returning to her futile flirtations. Their conversation continues through dinner. Luca feeds an ever-increasing stream of bullshit to Poppy, who drinks it up while Cyrus appears torn between amusement and disapproval. He’s never been able to decide what to do with Poppy: invest in her or take his chances on finding a better prospect. It’s clear his feelings toward her haven’t changed. Cyrus never loved Poppy Landry before. He doesn’t now. Love matters less than business alliances in Nashville. Still, there’s no rock sparkling on her finger. It’s worse because she loves him. Anyone can see it. What I can’t decide is whether or not she realizes he doesn’t return that love? It’s obvious to everyone else.

Luca’s drawling baritone interrupts my reflections. “And that’s when Sterling says ‘I’ll buy you a new Rolex, but you have to take care of the camel.’”

I turn my head to stare at him while laughter breaks out across the table. Maybe I need to pay more attention to what he’s spewing before his lies become a liability.

“It sounds like you two have had quite the adventures.” Adair doesn’t sound impressed. She quirks an eyebrow in challenge.

“We have,” I tell her. Let her wonder if they involve camels or not.

The main course arrives and I stare at the block of artfully arranged tofu drizzled with a thick, green sauce.

“What happened to chicken or steak?” I ask.

“All the entrées are vegetarian,” Poppy says. A glance around the table confirms that we’re all eating the same dish.

“This is an event for an animal shelter,” Adair reminds me smugly.

“There are some patrons who prefer a cruelty-free menu,” Poppy says. Her dark eyes round with concern. “If you want something else...”

I hold up a hand. “It’s fine. I’ll find something tasty to eat later.”

I keep my eyes on Adair as I speak. She turns away, her cheeks flushing.

The food is saved by the sauce and its warm notes of curry, pepper, and coriander. A hint of Kaffir lime blends delicately into it. It’s probably better than the boring chicken usually served at these events.

“I hope it’s okay,” Poppy says, leaning closer as I finish a bite.

“I love curry,” I say genuinely. “I ate a lot of it in London and Mumbai.”

Adair pushes away from the table so quickly that her chair nearly topples over. “I’m going to the powder room.”

She can’t cover that she’s visibly upset. I know why. I remember how she used to dream of studying in England—of living there. Instead, she’s been stuck here in Tennessee, and it’s all her own damn fault.

“I should go get ready for the auction.” Kai stands and places his napkin on the table. It’s obvious that he’s going to check on her. I’ll never understand all her little lapdogs or how they chase after her. Even after all this time, they don’t seem to care how she treats them.

“Kai is emceeing the auction tonight,” Poppy says, diverting everyone’s attention away from Adair’s dramatic exit.

“So how does this work?” Luca asks. “I see a little fur ball that I can’t live without and I have to outbid whoever else wants it?”

“No one actually takes pets home” she says, laughing as though this is obvious. She seems genuinely amused at the thought. “It’s all ceremonial. It’s sort of a runway show of animals combined with an auction.”

“No one adopts the animals?” I ask. I will never understand rich people. “Why not just ask everyone to write a check instead of all this trouble?”

And expense.

There’s a shared look among the Valmont heirs at the table.

“It’s nice for people to see where their money is going,” Ginny explains.

“The dinner encourages people to donate more,” Poppy agrees. “After, you get to take a photo with your pet before he heads back to the rescue.”

In other words, it’s a chance to seem benevolent to your peers. It hardly matters the motivation. Whether it’s the guilt of seeing poor, helpless puppies without a home or just to show off how good of a person you are compared to your neighbor, motives don’t matter. It’s another pageant of wealth and privilege. I wouldn’t be surprised if the evening ends with everyone donning masks and robes while chanting mystical incantations to the gods of banking and finance.