Love Handles (Oakland Hills #1)(19)

“You could have asked Mom for one.”

“None of the other fifth graders wore bras back then,” she said. “I would have been teased even more than I was already.”

He snorted. “You won’t be able to wave around a doctor’s note when you’re the boss. Everyone depends on you.”

“I know all about that, believe me. You think little kids take care of themselves?”

“It’s different, Bev. How would you feel if I told you I thought I could be a better preschool teacher than you, tomorrow, without any training or experience?”

She closed her eyes and rubbed her thumb along the edge of the cell phone. “Maybe you could,” she muttered, feeling in her heart the little-sister worship she’d struggled with all her life.

“No, Bev, I couldn’t. I’d suck at it. And you’d suck at managing. You know why? Because you hate conflict. You’ve been avoiding me since last year, ever since you found out I broke up with Julie. And I’m your brother—you think I didn’t notice? You think I was too busy to notice my little sister didn’t reply to my emails?”

She flinched. “I just couldn’t believe it. She was so cool. And she really loved you.”

“You can’t avoid people when you’re the boss. Especially over crap like that.”

Bev let her mind drift away, past her view of the L.A. glare, far from the stink of the manicurist’s acetone wafting out through the doorway. Inside the restaurant her father was probably getting restless, eager to return to his new wife who wanted to produce more satisfying offspring. “I’d better get back to Dad. I kind of abandoned him.”

The phone was quiet for a moment. “Letting Ellen or outside management take over is the nicest thing you can do for everyone there,” he said. “From what I hear, they need expert help. Not you.”

But she barely heard him. Her thoughts had fled north. “Thanks for the advice, *.”

He let out a short laugh. “We done here?”

“Please. Get back to work.”

They clicked off. Bev wandered slowly back inside to where her father was scowling at the chaos of tortilla, aluminum foil, and rice on his plate.

Anderson took the phone from her. “He knock some sense into you?”

Bev sat down, reached for her cup, then froze. “Not exactly,” she said, realization growing. Her gut knew it first, and her heart swelled, filling her chest with pressure. She looked up into her father’s concerned scowl, surprised with herself, and felt a grin spread across her face.

All these people—from her family to her ex-boss to the damnably imperious Liam Johnson—thought so little of her.

Well, to hell with them.

“I’m driving up to San Francisco tomorrow,” she said.





Chapter 5

Bev sat in the hard chair across from Ellen’s empty desk and inhaled slowly through her nose, telling herself she had nothing to be afraid of. She looked at her watch. Exhaled slowly out of her mouth. Two minutes, she’d said. Almost thirty minutes ago. The drive up from Orange County had taken seven hours, two more than expected, and she’d come directly to the Fite office in San Francisco eager to get her conversation with Ellen over with. Her nerves were intermingled with exhaustion and hunger and thirst. She should have stopped for an early meal first, and the thought of a tall glass of iced tea was driving her mad.

Should she get up and go look for her aunt? She lifted her bag to her lap and confirmed her water bottle was still empty. She organized the gum, pen, cell phone, and notebook again. Took out the cell, scrolled through her contacts, glanced over her shoulder at the door, reaffirmed her ringtone and backdrop settings, put it back in the bag next to the wrinkled pack of spearmint sugarless. She had already eaten off her lipstick seven times and worked a thread loose on the hem of her blouse.

There was no reason to be afraid of her mother’s sister. Ellen wouldn’t be happy to hear the deal was off, but she’d adjust. And in time, the family would have the opportunity to develop a closeness they hadn’t had in Bev’s lifetime.

Ellen strode into the room and dropped a binder the size of a late-model microwave oven on the desk.

No big deal.

“Please tell me,” Ellen said, clipping the ends of her words as she eased herself into her chair, “that I misunderstood your little message.” She fixed Bev with a laser gaze.

Bev tried to keep her posture casual, but her long, awkward legs twitched like a gazelle, ready to bolt across the urban savanna out to her RAV4. “I am sorry, Ellen. I know you must be very disappointed.”

Ellen held up her hand, the white tips of each French-manicured finger reminding Bev of Elmer’s glue. “Sorry? Please,” she said. “You went back to your boring little life and starting thinking this one would be more exciting. Right?”

“That’s not—”

“You got to dreaming of yourself as someone glamorous and special,” she continued. “Your own fashion company! Wow! What a bomb!”

Bev’s anxiety turned cold. “That is not it.”

Ellen made a disgusted noise in her throat. “I don’t have time for this.” She shoved a paper towards her. “Here’s my final offer. Take it, or I walk.”

“You what?” She flinched inwardly at the anger in Ellen’s smooth, beautiful face, then slowly reached for the paper.