coffee I’m going to fetch him this summer. “Working on a movie set? I think it’s amazing.”
“Really?” she asks. “Because it feels like a bribe.” I frown, stubbornly resistant to her ruining my fantasy, and she sighs. “Come on, Aubrey. This is Donald Camden we’re talking about. Our parents’ archnemesis. He doesn’t have our best interests at heart.”
“Archnemesis?” I almost laugh, but…she’s right. My father talked about Donald Camden constantly when I was growing up, always with a note of bitter resentment: Donald won’t return my emails. Donald says Mother’s decision hasn’t changed. Donald says it doesn’t matter that Father wouldn’t have wanted his children disinherited. All that matters is that he didn’t put it in writing. “So what are you saying? That Mr. Camden’s trying to get rid of us?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. It’s what I’ve been saying, remember?”
“But why?”
Milly taps a finger on her chin. “I don’t know. But it’s interesting that he can’t, isn’t it?”
As usual, I feel like Milly is three steps ahead of me. “Huh?”
“Clearly, if it were up to him we’d already be gone. He wouldn’t need to dangle a plum job. He’d just have us fired. So whatever’s going on around here, Donald Camden and Mildred Story aren’t in sync this time. He can’t send a you know what you did letter and be done with it.” She peers into the mirror to smooth her hair, a small smile playing at her lips. “Which is kind of satisfying, isn’t it?”
“So, what?” I ask. “Now you think Gran did invite us?”
“No. Just because she’s willing to let us stay doesn’t mean she brought us here.”
I sigh. “You make my head spin, Milly.”
She grins and loops her arm through mine, pulling me toward the bathroom door. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.”
Two days after lunch with Donald Camden, Mildred Story still hasn’t bothered to grace us with her presence.
It’s four o’clock on Friday, an hour before it starts getting busy at The Sevens, which is what passes for a sports pub at Gull Cove Resort. I’m a busboy here, and it’s not the worst summer job I’ve ever had. Especially since it comes with free food.
“What’s new, Jonah?” Chaz the bartender asks as I slide onto a stool across from him. Chaz isn’t nearly as much of a dick as the nickname implies. He’s an okay guy, actually, although he has a thick, dark, mountain-man beard that I’m surprised passed the Gull Cove Resort dress code. “You want the special today?”
“What is it?”
“Shrimp linguine.”
I nod vigorously, and Chaz taps on the iPad in front of him. “You’re in luck,” he says, squinting at the screen. “No waiting. The kitchen just made an order for a customer who changed their mind. Someone will bring it by in a sec.”
He turns and starts pulling glasses from a low shelf, arranging them in neat rows on the bar. The Sevens is a mix of high-tech and old-school; the televisions that line each wall are the biggest, most high-definition screens I’ve ever seen, but the interior of the restaurant is all dark polished wood, recessed lighting, and leather chairs. The bar is massive, propped up by two pillars on either end, with seating all the way around. Summer staff usually starts congregating here around four-thirty to eat, but I’m always hungry way before then.
“First one here, as usual?” asks a dry voice behind me.
I turn to see Milly in her work uniform: a black cocktail dress, black apron, trendy black sneakers, and dark-red lipstick that must be mandatory, because every waitress who works at Veranda—Gull Cove Resort’s fine dining restaurant—wears the same shade. Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail, her lashes thick with dark mascara. Or maybe she just has a naturally intense eyelash situation happening at all times.
“I like the food,” I say, eyeing her warily as she slips onto a stool beside me. Other than the ferry ride and that weird lunch with Donald Camden, Milly and I haven’t spoken much since we got here. Which is exactly what I thought she wanted, so I’m not sure why she’s sitting next to me all of a sudden.
The television in front of us is turned to CNN for a change—Chaz likes to get the news in before he’s forced to make it all sports when happy hour starts—and Milly’s eyes flick over the reporter on-screen. “Some investment banker’s been arrested for fraud again,” she says, a little louder than necessary. “Seems like