Sisters by Choice (Blackberry Island #4)(57)

Amber smiled. “I’m going to talk to Sophie about these tomorrow. They’re going to sell really well, don’t you think? The colors are so bright and pretty.”

Heather stared at the pillows. They were about eighteen inches square, done in a plain muslin, with the CK logo right in the middle. There was a rainbow of colors and the pillows looked all right. It was just—who would want CK logo pillows in their house?

“I’m thinking she should charge fifty dollars,” Amber said happily. “I’ll get half of that at least.”

“Half?”

“It’s my idea.”

“Yes, but the pillows have to be made. Sophie’s profit on a single pillow isn’t going to be twenty-five dollars.”

“Oh, well, we’ll work out something. This is going to be a great moneymaker.” She put her arm around Heather. “With your grandmother being so selfish and Sophie treating us like employees, we’re going to have to make sure we’re taking care of ourselves. There’s no one to rescue you, Heather. You have to remember that.”

While the advice had merit, Heather couldn’t escape the irony of it coming from her mother.

“I wish you’d marry someone with money,” Amber said, walking over to pick up one of the pillows and admire her work. “Not that there are a lot of rich guys on the island. Dugan has something going on but he’s too old for you.”

“And he’s dating Sophie.”

Amber brushed that bit of news away with a flick of her fingers. “You’re younger. That always wins. You were dating that guy in high school. His parents only own a grocery store, which isn’t real money, but maybe you could get back together with him.”

“He’s away at college.”

“So text him. Heather, seriously, you’ve got to be willing to do the work. Before I knew what a loser your stepfather was, I put in the effort to land him. Let me tell you. It turned out to be a waste of time, but the point is I did the work. You should learn from that.”

Amber stroked the pillow. “Even just ten dollars a pillow would add up. If we could sell what, five hundred a week? A thousand?” She laughed. “I could tell my mother to shove her sorry house and get something really nice. And a new car.”

“You just got a new car.” Heather told herself not to think about how the down payment had depleted her savings account.

“No,” Amber corrected. “I bought a used car. I’ve never had a new car. I’d like one. I’m going to talk to Sophie in the morning.” Her smile faded as her eyes narrowed. “This is my idea, Heather. Not yours. I’ll be the one benefiting from it.”

The unfairness of the comment hit Heather like a slap. She took a step back, opened her mouth, then closed it. She shouldn’t be surprised and yet she was. Painfully so.

“You always are, Mom,” she said, her tone bitter. “You always are.”

  Staring out at the view of the Sound from Dugan’s family room didn’t help Sophie’s mood—nor did the fact that she had nine adorable kittens in her house. Even a 10 percent spike in weekly sales, probably thanks to Elliot’s targeted marketing, did nothing to calm her down or restore balance.

“I can’t believe it!” Sophie fumed for the eighth time. She turned to glare at Dugan. “I hate her. Hate her!”

Dugan sat on one of the stools by the large kitchen island. His posture was relaxed as he picked up the beer he’d opened when she’d arrived. Her own drink—she couldn’t even remember what it was—sat across from him. She should probably go sit down and chug whatever alcohol there was. It might help. Or she could just throw something out the window.

“I was perfect,” Sophie said, her voice slightly above conversational level. “Did I tell you that?”

“You did.”

“I told her about the damn school districts. I offered her a relocation package.” Sophie paced toward him. “I showed her house listings. I said it was her department and she could have free rein.” She planted her hands on her hips. “I gave that bitch free rein and she didn’t take the job.”

Dugan’s eyes crinkled slightly as if he was trying not to smile.

“What?” she demanded. “You think this is funny? It’s not funny. It’s awful. I hate her.”

“Then it’s good she’s not going to work for you. It’s tough to have an employee you hate.”

She glared at him. “You’re not helping.”

“You don’t want to be helped. You want to be pissed and find a reason that has nothing to do with what really happened. You want to blame her and be the victim, then go on doing what you’ve been doing all along with the occasional pause to wonder why both you and your company are stuck.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” she told him. “None of that is true. Although I am the victim and she just passed up an amazing opportunity.”

“Sure she did.” He sipped his beer again.

She paced to the window and back, stopping a little closer to him. The smug I know something you don’t know attitude was so annoying, she thought, wondering why she’d ever thought he was good-looking. Because he wasn’t. He was a sanctimonious dodo head who did yoga. Or Tai Chi. Big whoop.