Love Handles (Oakland Hills #1)(96)

He put his arm around his sister and guided her back towards the kitchen. “You better sleep here tonight. I tore up the condo’s guest bathroom before we left.”

“And she’s next door,” April said.

Hopefully.

Mark was standing, pot in hand, by the kitchen table. “The macaroni and cheese is ready.”

“Like, from a box?” April asked, crestfallen.

“That’s my boy.” Liam slapped Mark on the back just as he noticed the images flashing across the TV. He froze with one hand resting on Mark’s shoulder.

“Hey,” April said. “Isn’t that Annabelle Tucker? What is that thing she’s—sorta—wearing?”

Liam stared at the screen, stepped closer. Then he smiled, happiness swelling up in his chest. “Fite,” he said. “The Bev version.”

Trixie whistled. “Holy moley.”

“Nice,” Mark said, staring at the TV, blushing.

That’s my girl. Licking his lips, Liam reached into his pocket. “Time to chat with my friends at Target again.”





Chapter 24

That same evening, on the other side of the San Francisco Bay, Bev toasted Rachel with a flute of champagne. “Here’s to Fite. I couldn’t have done it without you.” It had been a long couple of weeks, but Annabelle had outdone herself. Fite wasn’t going out of business for a while.

Rachel tapped her glass against Bev’s and sipped, eyes on the laptop propped open on the conference room table. The TMZ headline read: “A-TUCK FITES THE POWER.”

“I never imagined wearing a hoodie quite that way,” Rachel said.

Bev clicked on the photo to enlarge. To make the headlines they needed, Annabelle had worn a small Fite sweatshirt zipped up around her hips like a skirt, lavender hiking boots, a navel ring, a Fite bra—and nothing else.

Rachel poured herself another glass. “Is she wearing underwear?”

“Yes,” Bev said. “See? Right there. Plenty of underwear.” I have not corrupted an innocent sixteen-year-old. Her idea. Her idea.

“Oh, got it. Same purple as the boots.” Rachel looked dazed. “You told her to do that?”

“I asked her to wear Fite. She—improvised.”

Rachel sucked down her second glass of champagne. “Damn. Just—damn.” She slammed the glass down on the table. “You’re not what I expected.”

Bev wasn’t surprised Rachel was depressed, just that she wasn’t trying to hide it anymore. She got out the shopping bag under her chair and took out her package. “I got you something.” The frame was two by three feet, wrapped in heavy brown paper and bubble wrap. “To show my gratitude.”

Rachel stopped in the middle of pouring a third glass and frowned. “You got me something?”

“I know you didn’t like being the fit model, but you did it anyway. I’m convinced it made a difference—”

“Not the way ‘A-Tuck’ wears it.”

“—and it will make a difference,” Bev continued, “now that Target and Macy’s and Sports Authority and whoever is coming to us. We’re ready for them.”

Glass in one hand, Rachel picked at the tape holding the package together. Bev handed her a pair of scissors and set down her own glass to watch.

“It’s a picture?” Rachel banged her glass on the table, hand shaking, to tear the paper off the glass more quickly. When the image was exposed, her face, flushed from the champagne, faded to gray. “Where did you find this?”

Bev leaned forward to study the enlarged photograph. “He looks so happy. I wish I had known that side of him. Or any side, really.”

Rachel threw her an enraged look over her shoulder. “Where? Where did you get this?”

“Here,” Bev said. Rachel scanned the walls of the conference room for clues, but Bev said, “No, here in the building. In his rooms upstairs.”

Rachel glared at her then turned her attention back to the photograph. “Of course. Your building.” She pushed the frame towards Bev, tears in her eyes. “This is your property.”

Bev didn’t move. “No, that’s a gift. I’m sure you’d like to keep it.” She looked down at her grandfather and Rachel embracing and happy in a living room she didn’t recognize. “I know you loved him. You don’t have to pretend anymore. All right? You don’t have to pretend.”

Rachel poured herself another glass, gazed down at the photograph with a tiny smile in the corner of her mouth.

Then she looked at Bev, the smile gone.

“Go to hell,” she said.



“What do you mean, she’s not here?” Liam asked.

Blocking the doorway of Ed’s old house, Kate chewed gum and glared.

“She has to be.” He looked at his watch. “It’s past eight. When did she go out? She’s not answering her cell.”

Kate snapped her gum, narrowing her eyes. “Are you f*cking with me?”

“Not at the moment.”

“That explains the broken window.” Her upper lip curled. “You didn’t know she’d left. Well, nice try, but we’re not afraid of you. Or anything else.”

She started to close the door, but Liam stuck his foot inside and braced it open. “Broken window? Left when?”