For one moment, I stand there, hands shoved in my pockets, and stare at all these pieces of her.
A different life flashes before my eyes. A little house with a covered porch and a wicker swing, somewhere far from here. Adair is tucked under a blanket on it, reading, I’m next to her with a book in my hands, and everything is right with the world. Some people want to believe in fairy tales. Those aren’t real. I believe in real. I want us to be real.
I shake off the sentimental bullshit. It’s not doing me any good to sit around and fantasize. That’s not what got me this far, and it won’t get me where I’m going. She’s not here. I shouldn’t be surprised. It was a long shot, no matter what Jack said. Adair has never felt at home here. It’s not the first place she would run. I used to know exactly where she would go. The trouble is that I don’t know where that place is anymore. Or do I?
She ran to me. She came to me. And for a few hours, I’d gotten everything I wanted.
Adair MacLaine’s trust. Her desire. Her love? Maybe.
It gives me hope that we can get past this misunderstanding, but can I ever admit that’s not what I came here for? All of this was part of my plan. I wanted her to trust me, to love me, to want me. I didn’t plan on wanting her back.
Some things don’t change. That’s why she’s not here. I knew she wouldn’t be. She always wanted to leave this life behind. Was leaving me behind the first step in finally doing that?
What life does she want?
The publishing house. She wants to be an editor. It’s the only concrete thing I know she wants. I whip out my phone, trying to remember the name. Bluebell or something like that. A quick search reminds me. Bluebird Press. That’s the publishing house her father left her. The one she got a job at without mentioning her last name. It might have seemed conniving a month ago. Now I see it as a means of survival. Maybe her brother blew that, but if I know Adair, she’s not going to give up on her dream that easily. She might not be there now, but I can sit out front and wait for her to show up tomorrow, or the day after, or however long it takes if she keeps avoiding my calls.
I’m halfway down the hall and on my way back to Nashville when Malcolm finds me. He’s abandoned his suit in favor of a pair of khakis and a button-down with its sleeves rolled to his elbows. That’s as casual as he gets. He holds out a hand. “Security informed me you were here. I thought you might have come to see me, but…”
I don’t bother fumbling for an excuse as to why I’m down the hall from his sister’s room. Malcolm has plenty of people stroking his fragile ego, I don’t have to bother. There are more important things for me to focus on at the moment. “I’m looking for Adair.” I slide my phone into my pocket. “Have you heard from her?”
“Not since this afternoon,” he says coolly. He studies me for a moment, but seems to come up short in his analysis. It’s the dance we’ve done since the beginning, turning circles around one another and waiting for the right moment to strike. I’m done with the sidestepping. It’s time to upend his perfect, if false, reality.
“That’s right,” I say, taking a step closer. “She told me about that.”
“She did?” He’s surprised. I guess he doesn’t have much experience with people confiding in him.
I smile widely and begin to walk away. “Adair tells me most things.”
“You two have gotten close.” Malcolm follows me as swiftly as his pride will allow.
He still hasn’t put it together. He doesn’t remember meeting me before. He doesn’t recall how his family tried to ruin my life. If I ever had a moment’s doubt about destroying him, it’s gone now. He deserves whatever he gets. There’s no need to hide now. I pause near the stairs down to the kitchens. “We’ve always been close.”
“How close were you with her?” He squints as if trying to see me more clearly. Then he glances over to the servant’s staircase, his face momentarily puzzled, as if he can’t figure out why we’re here.
“I came in through the kitchen,” I explain.
“You came in through…” his words trail into a question. Maybe a few questions. “How do you know where the kitchen is?”
Malcolm MacLaine wants answers, but it’s too fun to dangle them over his head just out of reach. I’m not giving him the carrot, he’s going to have to jump for it. “I think if you try, you’ll remember me.”
There’s a pause as his head tilts, his eyes still narrowed as he studies my face. All he saw when I showed up for his father’s funeral was my Italian suit, my Breitling watch, my Aston Martin. He’s never bothered to really stop and look at me. He saw as far as he needed to see to deem me worthy of sharing his air.
“You’re…” He stops and stares at me.
Took him long enough.
“You were at my wedding,” he says.
Now we’re getting there.
“I used to come around here a lot,” I say as I start down the stairs, Malcolm at my heels. The truth is that I never spent much time with him back then. We’d been introduced, but he was busy learning the family business, which as far as I could tell back then, meant covering up sins with money and with a powerful family name. He didn’t have time to bother with taking out Adair’s trash.
“My father didn’t like you much.” He shrugs as though it’s not important.
“Your father never had much patience for the peasant class.” Especially if one of those peasants was dating his daughter.
Malcolm doesn’t deny it. He leans into it. “His opinion might have changed if you’d come back while he was alive.”
“I’m afraid I’ve never cared much for Angus MacLaine’s opinion.” I would have come back a year ago if I had.
“And mine?”
“There’s only one MacLaine I’m interested in,” I say, lowering my voice as we reach the floor below, “and if you don’t start keeping your opinions to yourself when it comes to Adair’s choices, then we’re going to have a problem.”
He blinks. “We are?”
“We are,” I say.
We’re back to the dance, debating our next moves. My gut says Malcolm will try to smooth this over. There’s too much for him to lose, and he’s never had the killer instinct his father had. I’ve watched the MacLaine family business dealings for years—in the newspaper and on television, through mutual business associates—Angus went for the throat. Malcolm wants the easiest path on offer.
“I want to buy your holdings in MacLaine Media,” he says finally. “How much?”
“Believe me, you can’t afford it,” I say. I might be convinced to sell if Adair asks me to, but I made certain it wouldn’t be that easy. Maybe I knew somewhere deep-down that I might fall for her again, and that’s why I put a check on myself. Luca and Jack have to be convinced to sell as well. They’ll never sell to a MacLaine. I made them swear. My holdings alone won’t be enough to keep the family empire under his control. Even if the company and its ownership are private, he still needs to control over 50% of voting shares in order to control the company’s Board of Directors.