Page 19 of Freedom’s Inferno

Lana

Charlie and I lingered by the appetizer table, nibbling on overpriced cheese. He looked stiff in his tux as he stood beside me, like he’d rather be anywhere else; his arms were crossed and his mouth pulled in a flat line. He was every bit the Charles Sterling I remembered from Yale. Negativity radiated off him like toxic sludge.

“You could at least pretend to look pleasant,” I whispered, spearing a cube of Manchego with a toothpick.

He grunted. “I don’t do pretend.”

I rolled my eyes, keeping my own smile bright for the benefit of anyone watching. “Fine. Then just stand there and let me talk. That’s Conrad Burton by the bar. One of the firm’s bigger investors. He’s old money. He donates heavily to Yale, so drop that if you get cornered. And over there? Sylvia Thornberry. She’s sharp as hell, and has a seat on three different boards. Richard always said she was one of the toughest to impress.”

Charlie didn’t follow my gaze. He plucked a grape from the platter and tossed it into his mouth.

“Are you listening?” I hissed.

“I heard you.”

Before I could press him further, Sylvia herself drifted over, holding a flute of champagne.

“Lana,” she said, resting a manicured hand against my arm. “My deepest condolences. Richard’s loss is felt by many.”

“Thank you, Sylvia,” I murmured, tilting my head just so, gracious and composed. “It’s been… difficult. But I’m so grateful for your kindness.” I shifted, gesturing to the man beside me. “I’m here with Charles Sterling, the other half of Blackwell Sterling.”

Charlie, that insufferable fuck, only offered the woman a curt nod. That was it. No greeting, no smile, no warmth. It took everything I had not to stomp on his toe with my heel. Disdain dripped from his very essence.

My stomach fell. Scrambling to smooth it over, I forced a laugh that sounded almost natural. “You’ll forgive him—he’s terribly shy. But I want you to know that Blackwell Sterling remains in steady hands.”

Sylvia studied us longer than was comfortable before excusing herself, drifting back into the crowd.

The second she disappeared, I rounded on him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What?” He popped another grape, bored.

“You can’t scowl your way through this entire evening. These people matter. They’re watching us.”

He leaned closer. “I hate these things. All of it. The fake smiles, the small talk, the sharks circling with dollar signs in their eyes. Pretending with them makes me want to put a bullet in my head.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, keeping my smile plastered for the benefit of anyone glancing our way. “You forget yourself, Charlie. My signature is all over the books because I handled a lot of the accounting. I know exactly how much money you’ve made off these people. Your price tag runs well into seven figures, so stop pretending like you’re better than this crowd. You’re one of them.”

His jaw worked, something dark flashing in his eyes, but he didn’t answer.

For once, I had the last word.

He stood at my side, looming and silent, the air between us simmering. I reached for another canapé I didn’t even want when the band struck up a waltz, strings swelling and voices dimming as couples began to drift toward the dance floor.

“Shit,” I breathed, throat constricting as half the investors Richard used to schmooze with swept their wives and mistresses out into the glow of the chandeliers.

The Blackwells had always been expected to make an appearance. The grieving widow and the brooding partner. If we lingered at the outskirts, it would be noticed.

Before I could say a word, Charlie turned his head, eyes narrowing at the crowd. Then he looked down at me, and something in his expression shifted.

“No,” I whispered.

But he was already holding out his hand. “You said it yourself, we’re on display. Might as well play the part.”

My heart gave a treacherous lurch. I wanted to refuse, but he was right. Eyes were already flicking in our direction. Reluctantly, I slid my hand into his.

His grip was firm and hot as he pulled me out onto the floor. The music wrapped around us, and suddenly I was in his arms, his palm pressing into the small of my back, his body commanding, and mine forced to follow.

“You hate these people,” I murmured, looking everywhere but at him.