About what? There’s so many things we need to say to each other—few of them pleasant—but Sterling was clear that I should avoid my family until we settle things.
“Malcolm, I’m busy.”
“Reading books?” he says with a sneer. Of course, he wouldn’t find any value in that.
“Editing books,” I correct him.
“Perhaps,” he hisses in a low voice, leaning forward, “you could go to work on a different story. The press is having a field day digging up dirt about Mom’s death. It makes us look bad.”
“It makes Dad look bad,” I say flatly.
“It makes all of us look bad.” He grips the edge of my desk until his knuckles are white. “You can’t just ignore this. We need to find out who leaked that story and get it under control.”
I already know who leaked the story. Sterling told Sutton and, well, Sutton doesn’t like me very much. I’m not about to tell Malcolm any of this. “We didn’t do anything wrong. Our father did, and he’s dead, so he can’t even pay for it.”
“You would have liked that, wouldn’t you?” Malcolm releases the desk and settles into his chair with a grim smirk. “What kind of daughter wishes her father had gone to prison?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?” I think of Trish’s mug. My bitch switch has definitely been flipped.
“I want you to give a damn about what’s happening to this family!” he roars. The other editor who skipped lunch looks up from her book with a frown before returning her attention to it. She clearly cares more about being interrupted than what we’re fighting about.
“Why should I?” I ask slowly and carefully. I want him to answer. I want to hear his shitty, self-serving logic from his own lips. It will make all of this easier.
“You aren’t the only one who stands to lose out if more damage is done. Ellie’s inheritance is at stake. Not that I expect you to—”
“Do not presume anything where she’s concerned,” I cut him off. “It’s not your place.”
“It’s not?” he repeats. “You can’t rewrite history, Adair.” He pushes to his feet, an accusing finger flying my direction. “You fucked up. You paid the price.”
“Is that how you sleep at night? Telling yourself that I deserved it? I’ve always wondered.” I’m on my feet now. My fingers twisting around Sterling’s clover charm like a talisman.
“We did you a favor,” he spits back, “and I’ve been paying for it ever since.”
“A favor?” I repeat. “Fuck you, Malcolm.”
I want to scream at him to get out. I want to threaten him. I want to tell him that she’s mine, and I’m taking her back. But I don’t want to see her dragged into the middle of this. I want to protect her from the worst of it. I always have.
“We all saw what you couldn’t,” Malcolm says in a furious whisper. “You were never cut out to be a mother. No matter what you thought. Where would you be now if we hadn’t dealt with your problem?”
His words aren’t the slap in the face he expects, even if they hurt. They are what I need to hear, however. Any doubt I had about fighting this—fighting them—dissolves into rock-solid certainty that I’m doing the right thing. I’m almost glad he came. Almost.
“Get out,” I say in a soft voice. There’s no point to yelling or screaming. I’ve spent most of my life kicking up a fuss trying to be heard. I’m done with that now.
I’m done with covering up my father’s lies. I’m done with pretending Malcolm isn’t turning into him. I’m done with ignoring the cracks in his marriage—the cracks in his wife. No more playing house, pretending to be the American success story. I don’t want any of it. I only want what’s mine.
“I guess I have to clean up this mess all by myself.” He shakes his head. “You’re a disgrace to the MacLaine name.”
“I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“Don’t forget that your daughter bears that name,” he says.
Not for long. Sterling and I haven’t discussed it, but I know he’ll agree with me. Ellie isn’t a MacLaine, she’s a Ford—and she’s going to escape all of this.
“Ginny said you wouldn’t help, but I didn’t believe her. I didn’t think you would stoop so low as to abandon your family. Well, consider it done. You don’t want to be a MacLaine, you’re out. But don’t you dare show up on