The One Who Loves You (Tickled Pink #1)(11)

This is possibly the first thing we’ve seen eye to eye on in twenty-nine years.

“I don’t know, but I’m claiming the chemistry room.”

“You cheated! You looked and made sure it didn’t have any dead animals in it, didn’t you?”

“No, Phoebe. I asked some local last night if it was set up with those gas thingies, and when she said they’re still attached but she doesn’t know if they work, I decided one of us needs to make sure Carter doesn’t take that room, or he’ll try to turn on all the gas thingies and either asphyxiate all of us, or he’ll burn down the whole school. I watched those recycled eighties public service warning videos in grade school about doing chemistry without a teacher, and I know he did too. He knows how to burn the school down. We all do.”

I tilt my head at her. “And that would be a bad thing?”

“Phoebe.”

My phone dings with a notification before I can lie to her and tell her I was kidding.

Text failed. No service.

I grimace.

I can’t do my job while on administrative leave if I can’t get freaking cell service, and I can’t work my way up to CEO of Remington Lightly if I can’t do my job while on administrative leave, and I also can’t tell Fletcher to go to hell with his blackmail threats if I can’t see his latest threats, and if he thinks I’m ignoring him, Oprah only knows what he’ll do.

My life in New York might already be over.

And that has my chest tightening worse than it did when I lost my Louboutins to the Lake of Doom.

Tavi lifts Pebbles and cuddles her, giving me the same look Mom always does when I talk about taking the shortcut and sleeping my way to the top. “Don’t make that face. You’ll get wrinkles. You’ll be making that face enough anyway if Gigi’s in charge of determining when we’ve all become better people. Gag me with a solid silver spoon.”

Wow.

I think I’ve actually missed my sister.

I glance at the kitchen again to make sure Anya’s still occupied and not listening in on us. “Why is Mom here?”

Tavi makes a face that’ll give her wrinkles.

“Seriously,” I whisper. “I know Gigi has to be threatening to tell the world about Dad’s latest mistress to keep him here, and we all know Carter’s being threatened with being cut off from his trust fund, but why did Mom come?”

Mom, aka Margot Lightly, was born in Iowa, moved to New York to be a Broadway actress, and was waiting tables and getting rejected for role after role when Dad, aka Michael Lightly, aka the original version of my lazy rock-star-wannabe brother, fell in love with her and swooped her away to his fancy Upper East Side life. I came along a year later, and Mom’s been trying different side businesses ever since.

Her luxury-accessories line has lasted longer than anything except for her tarot-card addiction. While it doesn’t make her the kind of money being a Lightly makes her, Gigi couldn’t prevent her from getting a massive settlement if she finally decided to divorce Dad.

The truth’s ugly sometimes.

Tavi shrugs. “Maybe she’s here because she loves Gigi?”

Anya bustles out from the kitchen as I’m giving my sister the no, that’s not it look.

“Here you go, Tavi,” Anya says. “One vegan, sugar-free caramel macchiato with steamed oat milk. Did you want me to go get you some broccoli? We don’t have any beets or a juicer, but I could totally dash to the store to get you some broccoli.”

I do not want to know what’s all over Tavi’s feed that’s making people offer her beets and broccoli at eight in the morning.

Nor do I want to know just how wrong that macchiato is when Tavi almost spits it back up as soon as she sips.

Not that Anya will notice.

You have to watch just right to catch Tavi’s true feelings, and they’re revealed in the pause mini grimace eye twitch before she visibly swallows and beams up her biggest fake smile, which is brighter than the spotlights at a Levi Wilson concert in Madison Square Garden.

“Yum. Perfect. Just the right hot.” She beams at Anya. “And that’s so sweet of you to offer broccoli! But this will be plenty. Thank you. Actually, I do have one question I would love to ask you.”

“Oh, anything.” Anya shifts in place like she doesn’t know what to do with her hands. Or her legs. Or her whole body. “I know everything there is to know about Tickled Pink. Happy to help.”

“Do you have Wi-Fi? I would simply adore the password, since I haven’t been able to check my socials since we got here.”

Anya freezes.

Hard freezes. Like, you can see both her shoulder devils arguing with each other and also her heart going stone-cold still in panic.

Tavi and I lock eyes.

Gigi didn’t.

Except she did.

She told everyone in town to not let us have access to the Wi-Fi.

Probably until we earn it.

“Did, um, you still want a macchiato too, Ms. Lightly?” Anya says to me.

I shake my head, and not because I saw the telltale signs that my sister will be feeding her drink to the nearest houseplant, and I’d rather have caffeine withdrawal than drink sludge.

Mind made up.

I know how this game works, and I don’t care if I’m not in Manhattan anymore. I will play this game until it’s dead, or until I am.