for?"
"I was doing it for myself."
Was that good? Or bad? With my heart in my throat, I said, "Really? Why?"
"Because it's my responsibility, not Mason’s."
I blinked. "Sorry, what?"
"The show," Brody said. "It's not his job. It's mine – which means he doesn't fire anyone without my say-so."
"But…" I bit my lip. "You stuck up for me."
"Wrong. I stuck up for myself. Big difference."
As the distinction hit home, heat flooded my face. Yes. It was a big difference. Huge, actually.
And now I felt so ridiculous, I could hardly stand it.
Of course, I understood what Brody meant. From what I'd seen of Mason, he'd be all too willing to steamroll over anyone to get what he wanted, so it only made sense that Brody would need to push back just as hard.
Even so, this latest news was a serious blow to my hopes – and to my pride, too, if I were being totally honest.
And now I couldn’t help but dwell on the other thing I'd learned on Saturday – first from Waverly and then from Mason.
It was a biggie.
Willow was Brody's sister.
But I was still hoping – and maybe praying, too – that there was some reasonable explanation for Brody not telling me about Willow himself.
In my best-case scenario, Brody and I made up, and I got the chance to ask him nicely why he'd neglected to tell me something so important.
But now, judging Brody's demeanor, the opportunity for niceness was fading fast.
With growing humiliation, I realized that my left hand was actually starting to tremble from holding up the plate of cookies for so long in the same position.
Reluctantly, I looked down at my pathetic peace offering. Cookies, what a joke. Still, I really had made them with the best of intentions.
It hadn't been a simple job either.
All of my baking stuff was still in storage near Michigan State – my grandmother's mixer, the mixing bowls, the cookie sheets, everything to make perfectly wonderful cookies.
The stuff was too far away to retrieve in a day, especially with no vehicle. So yesterday afternoon, I'd taken a ride-share to the nearest shopping center, where I'd purchased everything to make homemade cookies at a house that wasn't my own.
I'd even called my mom to get my grandmother's cookie recipe, since I didn't know it by heart. In hindsight, it was shocking that she'd had it at all. The whole time I'd been growing up, she'd never made cookies, not even once.
It wasn't a big deal. I mean, I didn't expect her to stay home and bake or anything, especially when she'd preferred to save her calories for booze and bar snacks.
Great.
Now I felt foolish and depressed.
Oh, screw it. I lowered the cookies to hip level and said to Brody, "Hey, can I ask you something? Why didn't you tell me you had a sister?" I searched his face for clues. "In fact, why didn't you tell me anything about your family?"
With a tight shrug, he replied, "Maybe it's a sore subject."
"You mean because of everything that happened with your parents?"
"That – and what happened with you."
With me? "But wait, I don't get it."
"Yeah. You don't. So let's make a deal. You want the bonus, right?"
It took me a moment to realize what he meant. "You mean for finishing the show?"
"Right." He reached into the front pocket of his jeans. "I'm gonna pay up. Right here, right now." As he spoke, he pulled a check from his pocket.
He set the check directly on the plate of cookies.
I asked, "What are you doing?"
"You want the money?" he said. "There. I'm paying you to leave." His jaw clenched. "And not come back."
My heart sank, and I felt the first sting of tears.
It was in this godawful moment that the familiar white SUV pulled into the driveway. As I turned for a better look, Roy emerged from the driver's side – with his camera.
Oh, my God.
He pointed the camera straight in my direction, even as I felt the color drain from my face.
I could only imagine how I looked, standing there like a total idiot, holding the plate of cookies in one hand and Brody's cell phone in the other. As I stood frozen in place, a runaway tear slid down my cheek, making me feel doubly pathetic.
With both of my hands full, I couldn't even wipe at my eyes, not without drawing further attention to my lack of composure.
Desperately, I looked down. As I did, my gaze landed on the personal check, lying face up on