Page 79 of Blacklist

“I don’t care what it is. I’m not going to sit around and be some pawn in my brother’s battle strategy. If he thinks we’re together, he’ll stay off both our backs. Then you can do whatever it is you’re planning and I…”

“What about you? What are you planning?” His eyes narrow. This arrangement depends on my answer.

I don’t have to be completely honest with him to sell the lie that I won’t interfere with his schemes. I know exactly the sliver of truth that will make him believe that I have a separate agenda. “I’m planning to escape.”

24

Sterling

Present Day

Malcolm MacLaine’s campaign office is located inside the historic Nashville Customs House. I imagine it helps grease the wheels of potential campaign supporters to meet inside the hallowed, if remodeled, walls of one of the city’s oldest institutions. The MacLaines have always campaigned on Tennessean tradition and family values. Few buildings feel as unchanging as those beliefs. Naturally, he’s found one.

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me,” Malcolm says when his secretary shows me inside.

“Of course.”

Our relationship is developing even more rapidly than I’d hoped. Malcolm understands who he is dealing with now. Or what’s at stake, at least. It’s almost been too easy to bring him to his knees. I’m not foolish enough to believe he’s down for the count though. It will take more to break him entirely. But it’s more than a little satisfying to wonder how his father would feel if he could see this. Angus MacLaine is rolling over in his grave as his children hammer the coffin of his dynasty closed nail by nail.

I take the seat offered to me, refusing a glass of bourbon with a wave of my hand. There’s no need to take one for appearance’s sake. Not anymore. He pours himself one anyway. If he’s not careful he’ll wind up like his father. Perhaps, he has better control over his vices. Angus never cared who he hurt as long as there were no consequences to his actions—it’s a trait both of his children have inherited by all accounts.

“I’ll level with you.” He unbuttons his jacket and sinks into his executive chair. He looks more at home here in downtown Nashville then he does pretending behind his father’s desk at home. This office is smaller and the view is mediocre. Soon, I have no doubt, he’ll take his father’s office in the MacLaine Media tower a few blocks away, which probably affords a spectacular view of the Nashville skyline. For now, he’s as he was. Less of a man than his father, by all appearances, but following blindly in his footsteps anyway. I’d seen him at the gala, pretending to be someone he’s not. His pockets are empty. We both know it. It’s amusing to think he’s going to level with me when we’re on different tiers entirely. That’s why we’re here. I’ve managed to elude his reach. Malcolm’s mistake is thinking that he needs to look down to find me when I’ve already snuck past him to a higher run. By the time he realizes, it will be too late.

“I need to buy back my family’s share of the company from you,” he continues. “We need to come to an arrangement.”

“I already named my price.”

“That is going to take time,” he tells me, “and there might be other interested parties. You aren’t the only one who bought into the company.”

“I assumed I wasn’t,” I say smoothly. If he only knew. “Have you spoken with Adair?”

“I don’t know what happened between you and her in the past,” he says, “but it’s clear that we’re going to have to come to another arrangement. I can’t force her to do something she refuses to do.” He doesn’t seem to understand why she’s not taking orders. The MacLaine men, obviously, haven’t gotten any less narcissistic in the last couple of years.

“I’ve always gotten the impression that Adair is quite pliable when the incentive is right.” Malcolm doesn’t wield the same control over her as their father did. Pointing this out will only whittle away a bit more of his confidence in himself. The trick with breaking something strong is to weaken it first rather than waste your energy smashing it outright.

“She hates you.” He stares at me as though willing me to disprove this. “I, on the other hand, like you. I wasn’t sure at first, but you might be just what the company needs—if we could come to an arrangement. A merger, perhaps. ”

I don’t flatter myself that he’s reversed his opinion of me. A MacLaine never thinks highly of anyone that’s not their own blood. He can’t find the information he needs to make a play. I made sure of that. I’m here because he’s feeling desperate. He’s no closer to figuring out who the other investors are—no matter what he says about their interest. Malcolm is so busy looking for other players, he doesn’t see that I’m the dealer. I fed him his hand. He can’t bluff me.

“You might be surprised about me and your sister,” I say to him. “We got a chance to talk at the gala.”

The phone on his desk buzzes, and his secretary’s voice pipes into the room. “Your sister is here.”

Right on time. It’s not a coincidence that I wound up here at the same time as Adair. I’d texted her this morning to set a date for our first public appearance as a “couple.” She’d told me she was busy—a meeting with her brother, she said. She’d think about it. Faking a relationship might have been her plan, but her hesitation tells me she’s questioning it. I hadn’t expected her to dangle herself like a piece of meat over my head, but now that I know she will, I can’t resist the opportunity. I won’t allow her to back out of our arrangement now.

“Show her in.” Malcolm watches me as the door opens. He’s trying to read me, but he doesn’t speak my language.

“You wanted to talk to me,” Adair says haughtily. She storms past me without realizing I’m there and plants her hands on the desk, sticking her round ass in my face in the process. My view instantly improves. “We have to have official meetings now?”

“When it comes to business,” he says in a warning tone.

“Everything’s business. I don’t see why we can’t just talk about it at the dinner table,” she says.

“It will have to wait, regardless,” Malcolm says, motioning to me.

She glances over her shoulder casually, freezing when our eyes meet. There’s a moment of confusion in those emerald orbs, quickly followed by accusation. She knows she’s been played. “Sterling!”

“I stopped in to chat with your brother.” Rising, I unbutton my jacket with one fluid motion. “But I confess, I really came to see you.”