Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Vivien
Spencer opens the door.
Audrey tosses him a smile as she enters, a flirty flash of bright teeth while simultaneously flipping back her glossy, dark golden hair like she’s walking onto a red carpet instead of old polished hardwood in an attorney’s office.
My fingers itch to push her back outside.
Instead, I ask the most important questions. “What are you doing here? Is Mother with you?”
She presses her manicured hand to her chest, her lips turning down.
“Is that any way to talk to your baby sister, in front of your . . . friend?” She bites her lip.
Her perfectly tinted, moisturized lip. She’s always put together, eyebrows perfectly shaped, makeup flawlessly natural.
Her hair is darker than mine, but we have the same blue eyes.
Half sister. Although once upon a time she was my baby sister and I loved her more than life. “I’m just surprised. Sorry. It came out harsher than I intended. Uh, this is Spencer. Spencer, this is my sister, Audrey.”
“Hi there.” She reaches out to shake his hand.
“It’s nice to meet you.” He grips her fingers for a split second and releases. “I’ll let you two talk. If you need anything, you know where to find me.” He raises his brows at me.
I nod, and then he disappears down the hallway.
I can’t believe we kissed. I can’t believe my sister interrupted us. Did she see anything?
It would have been hard to miss through the glass door. It’s been so long since I’ve been kissed like that, like all that mattered was his mouth and mine and disappearing inside each other. Who am I kidding? I’ve never been kissed like that.
God, he was good. How long until we can do that again? Or will he have regrets?
His door closes, and I pull myself together. I’ll think about all that later. Now, it’s time to face Audrey.
“Why are you here?” I ask again.
She shuffles closer to me in her pointy heels. “Oh, Vivi, I had to come make sure you’re okay.”
“Where’s mother?”
“Still in LA. She couldn’t travel because she’s still recovering from her facelift. But she is worried, and she insisted I come and see for myself that you’re all right.”
I almost laugh. “I am sure she is very worried.” About gaining control over me and my life.
She steps closer. “You haven’t been answering any of our calls.”
Time for a subject change. “How did you get here?”
She shrugs. “I drove.”
“You can drive?” The last time I was in LA, she relied on Mother to get anywhere.
She always said she didn’t want to drive, but I could never figure out if those were her words or if she was parroting Mother’s preferences.
Mom loves being in control of . . . anyone and everyone. Especially her kids.
Audrey straightens. “Yes, I can drive. I flew into Boston and rented a car.”
Okay, that’s surprising. Almost as surprising as the fact that she tracked me down here and actually expended effort without hiring someone else to do the dirty work.
“Where are you staying?” There aren’t any fine hotels and resorts in Surrender. Only the inn, which is definitely not up to her standards.
She bites her lip. “Can’t I stay with you? Where are you staying?”
My response is automatic. “No. Absolutely not.”
She frowns. “Why not? Where else should I go?”
I sigh. I wish I were heartless enough to throw her out and make her sleep in the car. I’m sure she got the nicest vehicle available. “I’m staying here, temporarily. There’s a guest suite upstairs, and there’s only one room, so you have to sleep on the sofa bed.”
“That’s fine.” Her words come out quickly. Too quickly.
My gut churns. They are up to something.
This is only the first volley, sending in Audrey.
Mother will inevitably be coming next. I thought I would have more time.
I don’t have the inheritance yet. She’s going to find a way to sink her claws into it and make it about herself, just like she’s done with every other part of my life.
And now Audrey may have witnessed me making out with the attorney.
Can they use that to cause problems?
I have to keep away from him as much as possible from here on out. Business only. And none of it within earshot of Audrey.
The thought of distancing myself from Spencer sets off an uncomfortable twinge in my chest.
I spin toward the stairs. “Come on. I’ll show you. Do you have a bag?”
“Yes.” She peers down the hall. “Can that man go get it for me?”
“That man is Spencer, and he’s not a bellboy. He’s a lawyer.”
“Doesn’t he have, like, staff? Lawyers make good money.”
“He’s an estate attorney in the middle of nowhere, not some corporate lawyer in LA.”
Her mouth twists, brows dipping. “So, what, he does everything by himself?”
“He has an office aide, but she works during the day.” Why do I even bother trying to explain things to her? You would think she was the out-of-touch-with-the-world celebrity.
“It’s just that I slipped outside already, and I think I hurt my ankle. I’m not sure I can carry all the bags. I had to get the people at the airport to help me and—”
I tune her out and walk toward the door, holding out my hand as I pass her. “Where are your keys?”
Twenty minutes later, I’ve lugged her three giant bags upstairs to the apartment, and she has been yapping at me the entire time.
“Will you put that over there? Make sure the handles are up. This is so rustic. It’s quaint, I guess.
What’s wrong with the bathroom? That is the tiniest fridge I have ever seen. Why didn’t you stay at the inn?”
“It was full. The power got knocked out in a neighborhood and . . .” I stall out. I don’t want to tell her about Beverly’s house or the theater.
How will she use it against me? Maybe not Audrey herself, but she’ll tell Mother.
I have been keeping the details of the inheritance and the related duties under wraps from everyone.
Only Daphne and I have all the details, but there’s no way Audrey won’t be able to piece together some of it while she’s here.
It’s inevitable. The whole town is talking and speculating, and I am obviously involved in the theater and will be moving into Beverly’s house when it’s ready, which is going to be really soon.
She’s going to figure it out. Most of it anyway.
“And there weren’t any rooms at the inn, so Spencer was kind enough to let me stay here for a bit.”
“What are you doing here, anyway? Mother thought it might have something to do with her stepmom passing away.”
Of course she does. “What does it matter? How did you even know I was here?”
“There was a mention in the local paper about an event you’re doing this weekend. You know Mother has a Google alert thing set up. So I came out here and asked around at the diner. Imagine my surprise when they said you are staying here, with some rando attorney.”
I have to tell her something. I settle on a partial truth. I might as well tell her what she’ll hear around town anyway. “You know Beverly owned The Palace. Now that she’s passed, someone needs to manage it.”
“Why do you have to do it? Didn’t she have other people to do that? Did she leave you the whole theater?”
I push myself to my feet. “I am too tired for all of these questions. Come on. Let me help you pull the bed out.” Because there is no way I am telling her everything, and there’s no way she will be able to figure out a couch bed on her own.
Daphne pops her head into the office. “You are not going to believe this. We’ve almost sold out.”
I look up from the computer where I’ve been trying to make sense of quarterly business taxes and payroll. “Really?”
She strolls in and plunks down in the chair across from me, propping her boots up on my desk, and crossing her feet at the ankles.
“If I force my brothers to bring dates, I think we’ll be there.
You should have seen the line when we opened up for the printed advance tickets. Half the town was waiting.”
The seat creaks and squeaks as I lean back. “Now we just have to make sure Graham shows up.” The first part of the task, selling the tickets, was easy. Easy-ish.
It’s getting Graham out of his house and into the theater and staying put that’s got my heart racing and my blood pressure rising.
What if he doesn’t care about the appropriation of his life’s work? What’s to stop him from just . . . not showing up?
“Are you sure this is going to work?” I’ve asked this question at least 367 times.
“It’s going to work.” Daphne has uttered those words at least 378 times.
“What if he doesn’t show?”
“He’s going to show.”
I lean forward. “But what if he doesn’t?”
Daphne blows out a noisy breath, sending a strand of dark hair flying. “Then we try again. And again. And again until it works. If all else fails, I have a pointy object.”
“You do?”
“Well, I have a real sharp knife. It’s in my kitchen. I use it for slicing tomatoes and forcing men to my will.”
I drop my head in my hands. “The people in this town are going to think I’m crazy.”
“They already think you’re crazy, but they like it. They’re bored. We’re all nuts here. This is the most excitement we’ve had since one-eyed Bob tried to beat up Jerry with a balloon full of chewed-up gum.”
“What?”
She points at me. “Exactly.”
“I wish I had your confidence.”
She shrugs. “Fake it till you make it. Where’s Princess Buttercup?”
When I introduced Daphne and Audrey earlier, Audrey did the limp noodle shake for a half a second and said, “I love your look, it’s so casual, like you don’t even care. I wish I could get away with that.”
Then Daphne said, “That’s probably the best backhanded compliment I’ve ever been subjected to.”
So, they’re bonding.
I tilt my head toward the door. “She’s cleaning the bathrooms.”
Daphne’s brows lift. “Really? Her boots were stilettos, and her sweater looked cashmere.”