Sisters by Choice Read online

  She woke twice in the night, checked on Mrs. Bennet and finally got up at four. She fed both mama cats, cleaned out the litter boxes, then dressed and was at the office before five. By six she’d left her jumbo sticky notes everywhere and was already unloading a shipment that had arrived after she’d left. Because it was always something, wasn’t it?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Heather hated herself for even going into the garage, but she had to know. Even as she told herself there was no way Amber would take stuff from the CK warehouse and sell it online, she shifted boxes and looked on shelves and behind old bicycles.

  Over the years the garage had turned into a giant storage area-slash-junk room. If no one knew where to put something, it went into the garage. Christmas ornaments butted up against a broken toaster oven that really should have been tossed ages ago.

  Heather poked through the most likely hiding spaces, knowing her mother wouldn’t be interested in making more work for herself. She didn’t find anything, which was both good and bad. She told herself maybe that meant Amber wasn’t stealing from her cousin’s company and she should be happy about that. The worry was either Amber was better at hiding her crime than Heather thought or Heather was a hideous daughter for even considering the possibility that her mother was a thief.

  She retreated to the house. She would assume her mother wasn’t stealing and accept she was an awful person. In a way the guilt would be easier to deal with than Amber’s life of crime. To be honest, if she had found out Amber was taking stuff from CK, Heather had no idea what she would have done about it.

  She walked into the kitchen and found her mother waiting for her. Guilt flared, making her stumble as she struggled for an excuse for what she’d been doing.

  “I was looking at the garage,” she managed. “In case, um, oh! The house being sold. We’re going to have to empty it. That’s going to be a big job. I wonder if we should have a garage sale.”

  Amber waved off her comment. “My mother isn’t going to sell the house. Come see what I’ve been doing. You’re not the only one who’s creative. In fact, any skills you have now, you got from me. God knows your biological father was useless.”

  She opened the door to their small craft room. “Look!”

  The space was a cross between a glorified closet and a tiny bedroom. Years ago Heather’s stepfather had installed long counters and shelves on the walls. There were bins for yarn and fabrics, drawers for all kinds of notions, and good lighting.

  When Heather had been little, she and her mom had often made things together. Amber had been the one to teach her to knit and crochet and even quilt. The two of them had haunted garage sales, looking for inexpensive lamps they could fix up and make pretty again, or items that just needed a quick coat of paint to be serviceable.

  Somehow all that had gotten lost, Heather thought. She supposed it had started after the divorce. Amber had been angry and bitter, and the closeness and fun had faded.

  Amber pointed to several pillows on the long table. “See what I did? I downloaded the CK logo onto a thumb drive, then took it over to that craft store on the mainland. They printed it out on fabric for me. It’s really cheap and easy. Then I made the pillows.”

  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.”

&n
bsp; “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.

  “You don’t know anything,” she said, moving to the other side of the island and picking up her drink.

  “That may be true.” Dugan turned on the stool so he was facing her. “But here’s what I do know. Maggie Heredia spent a few minutes online doing a little research on you and your company. She read a lot of posts from former employees who said you were a nightmare to work for. That your idea of collaboration is being told you’re amazing. Good people need to be challenged. Great people want to change the world. You don’t want anyone but yourself doing either.”

  “Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes. “That is total crap.”

  “Have you ever looked yourself up online?”

  “No. Why would I? And when would I find the time?”

  “You should make the time.” He put down his beer and leaned toward her, his expression oddly kind. “I find you totally adorable, but not everyone does. Want to know the real problem?”

  No, she did not, thank you very much. There wasn’t a real problem. There was just a stupid salesperson who wouldn’t know a real opportunity if it bit her on the ass. Only somehow Sophie couldn’t seem to say that and even though she didn’t want to, she found herself muttering, “What’s the real problem?”

  “You’re a control freak with a God complex. You don’t hire the right people for the job, so you’re constantly having to correct what they do, which feeds the mythology that you’re some kind of genius and the rest of the world can barely get by.”

  He raised one shoulder. “You got lucky at the beginning and you ran with it. You’ve made smart decisions, but now the company is just big enough that you can’t control it all. Worse, to grow the way you want, you’re going to have to give up even more control. And the hell of it is, you already know all this. It keeps you up nights. If you’re not in charge, then is CK really yours? It’s the Maggie conundrum. You want her because you know she’s the best, yet being who you are, you can’t possibly get her to work for you. Even if you did get her, you’d screw it up inside of a month. You can’t help yourself.”

  She felt her mouth drop open. His words battered her, exposing her greatest fears until she was totally naked before him. She wanted to run, wanted to scream, but she could only stand there waiting for the earth to swallow her whole.

  “Bear likes you,” he continued, obviously unwilling to cut her even the slightest of breaks and leave her alone so she could figure out how to counter his attack. “He’ll stick around maybe six months because of that, but then he’ll be gone. Which is too bad. I doubt you’ll ever find anyone better at what he does and sure as hell not on this island.”

  He straightened. “If you want more, surround yourself with the best and then get the hell out of their way. That’s my advice. Which is free, by the way.”

  “Free?” she shrieked, knowing she was being defensive and not caring. “Free? Who cares if it’s free? What do you know about me or my business or anything else? You’re no one. You know nothing. You live in this big house and you pretend you’re all that, but you’re not. You teach fucking yoga. You are nothing.”

  She wasn’t sure when she started crying, but suddenly there were tears and she couldn’t breathe and she hurt all over.

  “You don’t get to say what you said to me,” she told him as she picked up her handbag and ran toward the front door. “You don’t get to say anything.”

  He caught her before she made it to her car. His strong arms pulled her to a stop. She swung at him, desperate to get away, but he wouldn’t let go.

  “I’m not trying to hurt you,” he told her. “I’m trying to get through to you so I can help. Do you know how frustrating it is to see everything you’re doing wrong and have you not listen? Dammit, Sophie, I’m trying to show you how to stop shooting yourself in the foot.”

  “Oh, please. You? Help me? Nothing in my life can be healed by downward dog, Dugan. We’re not dealing with the same sort of problems. You have no idea what I do in a day. Help? No, thanks.”

  “You need to stop talking before you destroy everything,” he told her.

  She looked at him and saw the good humor was long gone. She wasn’t sure what she saw in his eyes, but it was dark and angry. She thought maybe she’d hurt him, but she wasn’t sure she cared. Not now when she was raw to the bone.

  “You think you know everything,” he said, his tone grim. “Guess what, Sophie. You don’t know shit. I have one more piece of advice, which I’m sure you won’t take. Next time, before you decide you know who I am, you might want to do a little research of your own.”

  Research? “On what?”

  He released her and started back toward his house. “Look me up. Dugan Phillips. Then we’ll talk.”

  The front door closed, leaving her crying by her car.

  He didn’t matter, she told herself as she climbed in and started the engine. She hated Maggie and she hated him and maybe everyone else. The world was stupid. All of them. Especially Dugan. Asshole. He was some slimy asshole and she never wanted to see him again.

  * * *

  “Sophie!” Heather stepped back to let her in, all the while trying to keep the surprise out of her voice. “Did I know you were coming by?”

  Sophie hugged her as she stepped into the living room. “Your mom asked me to stop and see her on my way home. You didn’t know that?”

  “I guess not.” Amber hadn’t said anything, which wasn’t exactly unusual. Sophie was family, after all. But it seemed odd she hadn’t said anything all through dinner.

  “I’ll go get her,” Heather said. “Do you want anything? Diet soda or, um, anything else?” Because except for water, there really wasn’t anything else. Coffee, but seven forty-five at night didn’t seem like coffee time.

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  Heather hesitated. Sophie seemed quiet tonight. And pale. Heather started to ask if everything was all right, then wasn’t sure if she should. Before she could decide, she saw her mother heading toward the living room, several of her CK logo pillows in her arms.

  “Is she here? Good. I want to show her these. The more I think about them, the more I know they’ll be big moneymakers.”

  Heather winced at the thought. She’d been working with Elliot long enough to have learned that marketing and sales weren’t as simple as they seemed. Building something did not ensure there would be customers to buy said thing. Consumers were picky—especially when buying something that wasn’t a necessity. Find money for milk for your kids? Absolutely. Spend fifty bucks on a pillow with a company logo? Unlikely.

  “You have to take initiative,” her mother told her. “You can’t wait around for someone to come along and take care of things.”

  Heather stared at her, wide-eyed. What was she supposed to say to that? “Duh” seemed the most appropriate, but wasn’t really a good idea.

  Sophie had made herself comfortable in one of the overstuffed chairs. Actually, Heather noticed, the chair was a lot less overstuffed than it had been a few years ago. Now it was only lumpy and tired-looking. Like the rest of their furniture. But replacing anything wasn’t a priority. There was the issue of moving, assuming they still were. She was starting to wonder if her mother was right. After weeks of silence, maybe Grandma had changed her mind about selling the house.

  Amber spread out the pillows on the coffee table. “I made these,” she said. “Aren’t they nice? The different colors. I di
dn’t use an expensive fabric because they’re samples and I was using my own money. For the company, you’ll want something really nice, but it has to wear, too. I’ll let you figure that out.”

  Sophie looked confused. “Figure out what?”

  “How to manufacture the pillows. They’re my idea, so I know I get a cut of the profits. I’m thinking fifty percent but we can negotiate.”

  Sophie looked from the pillows to her cousin and back. “You want me to sell these?”

  “Not these. They’re mine.” Amber smiled. “Of course if you want to reimburse me for the materials and pay me for my time, you can have them.”

  Sophie frowned. “We’ve tried selling CK logo pillows and they didn’t go over well at all. We ended up having to use them as a gift with purchase. It’s too bad. I thought they were a good idea, too. But the customers didn’t agree.”

  Amber’s shoulders slumped. “But I made these. I bought the material and everything. You have to sell them to your customers. Maybe you were doing it wrong before. Maybe you’d be better at it now.”

  “Pillows don’t sell. Most people don’t put throw pillows where they sit on a daily basis and when they decorate, they don’t use logo pillows.” She paused. “We have a throw that does well. Linens might be interesting. We’ve never done anything with linens.”

  “That’s my idea, too,” Amber said quickly. “You can’t have it.”

  “Mom!”

  Amber waved her off. “Don’t interrupt. I mean it, Sophie. The linens are my idea. Don’t think you can steal it and not compensate me.”

  Sophie looked more confused than upset. “You do realize an idea is meaningless until it’s brought to market. There are research costs, marketing costs. A vendor has to be found, samples ordered. It can take months and then in the end, no one buys it.” She turned to Heather. “Do you think I’m too involved with the company?”

  Heather had settled on the floor. Now she wished she’d chosen the sofa, by her mom, so it would be easier to get up and run.