pickins around here, I tell ya.”
I exhale. I knew she wouldn’t listen.
She sticks her tongue out at me. “I used to strip and I turned out fine.”
“I know, I know, but she was really off last night and I’m not sure she’s cut out for this.”
Mara sighs. “She could like the attention. Some do it just so they can piss someone off, their daddy or an ex.”
I shake my head. “Just keep an eye on her.”
“Will do.”
Luis pokes his head in. “Hey, ladies, a Mr. Winchester from Birmingham, Alabama, is here to see Sugar. I told him you were talking, but he insists.”
Standing behind the barrel-chested Luis is a tall, wiry man with silver hair, small round glasses, and eagle-sharp eyes. There’s a flat, somber look to his face, and I get chills when we make eye contact. Sometimes you get a bad feeling about someone right away, and honey, I have one.
25
Sugar
“Miss Ryan, your father, Mr. George Mitchell III, passed away two days ago after a long battle with brain cancer. I’m sorry for your loss.”
The words land like little grenades in the small office, stifling everything for several seconds. Mara’s eyes are bugging out and her mouth is a circle of surprise. Even with the heat blasting in the room, I’m cold and rub my arms.
Mr. Winchester is seated in a straight back chair in the corner, his briefcase placed neatly in his lap and a rather flat yet displeased look on his face. I think it’s his why do I have to be in a strip club countenance.
“I haven’t seen my father in years.” My voice is thin, vibrating with emotion just under the surface. “A phone call would have been fine.”
He clears his throat and stares down at his briefcase, shuffling through some papers. “I’m the executor of Mr. Mitchell’s will. He’s left you a sum of money and I came here to let you know in person at his request. He left quite a few instructions and it’s my duty to carry them out.”
My heart rate doesn’t even kick up. “I don’t want his money.”
“Hush now. Don’t kick a gift horse in the mouth,” Mara hisses at me.
Mr. Winchester never bats an eye, just gives me another long look. “It would do you well to listen. In fact, I’m here today to give you plenty of notice. You’re required to attend the reading in April, along with his other beneficiaries—”
My stomach drops at the mere thought of going back to that small town. “His wife and real kids?” My lips flatten as my stomach drops.
He nods his head. “Yes, you have two half-siblings.”
Of course I do. I’ve briefly seen them in passing before. Nausea bubbles up inside me as a memory surfaces, one of seeing my father on the court square one Saturday afternoon, coming out of the historic Princess Theatre with his wife on his arm. His college sweetheart (from Vandy), she was coolly sophisticated in a way that screamed old money. I once imagined the rather hawkish-looking Mrs. Mitchell as the bad person who kept him from us, but really he was just a piece of shit. Two raven-haired twins, a boy and a girl, nearly the same age as me, tagged along behind them.
My hands tremble around the cup. “I want nothing from him.”
Mara blows out a breath and stands up to pace around the small office. She’s muttering to herself periodically, sending me pointed looks that practically scream, Are you nuts? “What in the blue blazes are you thinking, honey? This might be the way to pay for law school.” Her gaze implores me to listen. “You know I can’t help.”
“I don’t expect you to. I’ll borrow the money and pay it back later.”
She shakes her head. “You’ll be in debt for years. Vandy will be almost a hundred grand by the time you’re all done.”
Mr. Winchester pushes up his wire-rimmed glasses, studying me. “You have plans to be a lawyer?”
My chest tightens. “I do. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Mara lights up a cig, and the man physically recoils from the smoke. “Actually, Mr. Winchester, she was waitlisted by Vandy—and for no good reason.” Mara throws back her shoulders and sends a glare at the lawyer. “Personally, I think the Mitchell family might have had something to do with it since that’s where they went. I’m sure they’ve donated quite a tidy sum of money over the years, am I right?”
He stiffens. “I’m not at liberty to discuss things that are