The Last Good Liar (Carolina Kisses #3) - Sylvie Stewart Page 0,5

and not caring. Or she’d braid my long red hair into intricate updos and crowns in her cheerful sunroom with the gaudy yellow flowered furniture while I told her about the annoying girls at school or books I was reading.

Despite my love for Camille and her crazy ideas, however, I don’t think the male review notion will come to fruition.

“I came back to let you know we might have some D & Ds.” I hook a thumb toward the dining room.

Never has a woman defied age and gravity like Camille hauling her ass to the dining room on the heels of my announcement. And my ass is right behind her. There’s no way I’m missing this.

But I’m disappointed when we enter the room to find that Rayna already has one of the teenagers by the front of his shirt while the other two have disappeared. I consider Rayna as one of my few friends, but that girl needs to focus more on her kick-ass cooking instead of horning in on Camille’s territory.

Natalie stands to the side in her lederhosen and white collared shirt biting her thumbnail and watching the scene with consternation. Part of me wants to tell her she’ll never graduate from Friedrich, the oldest von Trapp son, if she doesn’t grow some lady balls, but I don’t really give a shit if she’s not willing to put in the work.

“You think I slaved over that cooktop for you to steal from me?” Rayna’s voice is a growl through her clenched teeth, and I’m guessing the little twerp of a criminal is shitting his pants right about now. Rayna is a fucking ray of sunshine most of the time, but if you get her back up or mess with her food, watch out.

“Now, Rayna, put the poor boy down.” Camille adopts her little-old-lady tone, and I can’t help the evil twist to my smile. Looks like we’ve got ourselves a good-cop/bad-cop situation here. Excellent.

But my joy is abruptly shattered by my mother’s voice cutting through the action. “Miranda, a word, please.”

Dammit!

The woman may be a nightmare, but I do enjoy the lifestyle afforded me by living under her roof. I know I could move out—money isn’t an obstacle—but I can’t cook, I loathe change, and my parents’ house offers the perfect space and amenities to carry out my Frocks and Fantasy photo shoots in complete privacy. And, besides, my parents are never there. Except this week, unfortunately.

I give her my attention for the time it takes to mutter, “Not now. I’m working,” before turning back to see Rayna release the little prick with a dangerous scowl.

“Yes, now!” Winona’s voice rises enough to catch the attention of any customers who aren’t watching the little Law & Order reenactment playing out on the far side of the dining room.

Making sure she notes my eyeroll of dissension, I follow her to an empty booth and sit on the far side to make sure I still get a view of the drama. I’m so distracted, in fact, I almost miss her bombshell of an opening statement.

“The Altmans want you to join them for a weekend at their house in the Outer Banks in two weeks. And before you ask, no, your father and I aren’t invited. Just you.”

My head snaps back and my full attention shifts to her. “Why would they want me? I don’t even know them.”

This triggers pursed lips and a beleaguered sigh from my mother. “Don’t pretend to be stupid, Miranda. They have their eye on you for Haines, and I don’t have to tell you how important it is to make a good impression for the sake of this deal. I won’t tolerate you making a mockery of us and our business.”

All I can do is laugh. “You seriously expect me to whore myself out like a mail order bride for some stiff with a butt chin so you can make more money?”

Her expression sours as if she’s just bitten down on something rotten. “I’d never be that crass about it, but yes. Don’t act like you don’t enjoy the money you speak about with such disdain.”

“Who doesn’t love money?” I toss a hand out between us. Although we both know I have my own trust funds she can’t touch, as well as the money I make working—in addition to my various investments and the fees from my Instagram she doesn’t need to know about.

Since she can’t threaten me with poverty, she goes straight for my one vulnerability. “If