All-American Princess - Maggie Dallen Page 0,3

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“Girls.” Our father clearly got the gist of what was happening on our end because his voice sounded weary.

Tess raised her voice so he could better hear. “I was just telling Lila how happy I am with this new arrangement. Lying and manipulating isn’t my strong suit.” Unlike you, she mouthed. She added a saccharine sweet smile for my benefit.

And Daddy thought she was the mature one.

“Tess, you have plenty of strengths,” our father said. As always, he leapt to placate daughter dearest.

“Exactly,” I said with a smile just as fake as hers. “Like babysitting me, for example. Whatever would we do without you?”

“That’s not the only reason I’m here,” she snapped as her lips curled up in a sneer that I was pretty sure matched my own. Neither of us were happy when Daddy put her in charge of me. At best, it led to nonstop bickering. At worst, the cops were called because of a prank gone wrong.

In my defense, that only happened once, and how was I supposed to know that Tess’s shellfish allergy was that severe?

“Tess, I was just telling Lila that this won’t be for long,” my dad said, all of the exhaustion gone from his voice now that the ever-perfect Tess was here to save the day.

“I don’t mind if it is. I like it here in Pinedale; it’s charming,” Tess said sweetly. Too sweetly. I shot her a glare, and her answering smirk had me fighting the urge to smack her.

I wouldn’t because she would totally hit me back—trust me, I knew this from experience. The girl might be bookish and meek, but she threw a mean right hook.

Of course, Daddy didn’t know that. He thought Tess was the good one. Ha!

“That’s great, ladybug. Hey, while you’re there maybe you could keep an eye out for some good investment property.”

“That’s a great idea, Daddy.”

That’s a great idea, Daddy. I mouthed the words back to her with an admittedly immature pout before puckering up my lips, pretending to kiss his butt.

It may have been immature, but it was true. Tess was the ultimate kiss-up.

Tess was also the nerd in our family—the one who voluntarily went to school for some boring business degree, and whose wildest dreams included working for my father as a business analyst.

I also wanted to work for my father, but I was going to be a star, thank you very much. What was the point of having a Hollywood emperor as a father if I couldn’t become an A-list celebrity?

Of course, Tess didn’t have A-list looks, so maybe she was just being realistic. Still, she could have found some career that didn’t involve being super pretty. She could have gone into fashion or makeup or something. Or maybe even been a screenwriter or a producer. They could totally look like dogs and still be powerful in L.A.

Instead, Tess crunched numbers. Happily.

Sometimes, she seriously made me sick.

“There’s some land for sale near the MacMillan ranch, actually,” Tess said, her eyes lighting up in a way that made me groan. It meant she and our father were about to go off on a conversation about boring business that had nothing to do with me.

I reached for my clutch purse that was sitting on top of a stack of boxes. The rest of the boxes would arrive in a couple of days, but it was up to me and Tess to do our own unpacking. “I’m out,” I said.

“Where?” Tess called.

I paused by the door. “I’m going to check out this charming new town of ours.”

She sneered.

“Bye, Daddy,” I called out.

“Bye, Princess.”

I heard his reply as I shot out the door and down the narrow, depressing staircase. Our apartment was above the hardware store, and the family that owned it were our landlords. Tess was the one who’d rented the place, and when I’d stepped in and cringed at the décor—or rather, the lack of décor—she’d given me a tedious lecture about how hard it was to find a rental at such short notice and blah blah blah.

Whatever. All I knew was there were some things that needed to be addressed before I would unpack my belongings. I’d rather stay in that one dumpy motel on the outskirts of town than live in a place that had mouse droppings on the floor and fluorescent lighting in the bathroom.

The hardware store shared the same awful lighting—no surprise there. I cringed a bit as I eyed the sea of plaid and denim that congregated near the