Page 6 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
“Sybil,” Archie says while slowly lowering himself to the sofa and slouching into the cushions. “I need you to call me ASAP. We’ve got asmallissue with the beach house.”
I donotappreciate his smugness when he says small. He’s called me that a thousand different ways, a thousand different times: short stuff, silly, little girl, extra baggage.
But I exhale and gather my confidence. Archie is trying to intimidate me, but until he talks to Sybil or his dad, he’s got no proof that he belongs here. Meanwhile, I’ve got Sybil’s email with all the specifics of when and how Mom can take possession of the house.Today. Right now.
And that’s what I’m going to do. Take possession of what’s rightfully mine…er, Mom’s. I don’t have another choice. I’ve got nowhere else to go.
I march around the L-shaped couch and stand in front of Archie. My hands are on my hips before I can stop them. I learned long ago this makes me look bigger, like a puffer fish.
“You need to go.”
Archie swings his legs to the floor and sits up, his green eyes narrowing like a cat ready to pounce on its prey. “I own this house. You’re the one who needs to go.”
I’m relieved he’s still sitting so that I can look down on him instead of the other way around. “Your dad signed it over to my mom as part of the divorce settlement. It’s not your house anymore.” I hold back saying,it’s not like you paid for it in the first place.
Without a word, Archie stands, hovering over me for half a second before walking away. He climbs the stairs, two at a time, and I wonder if I should follow him to make sure he’s going to pack. I opt instead to finish my task and wipe up the red spots on the couch and rug before they set.
While I blot the stains, I think through what my next move will be if Archie doesn’t come back with his bags packed. There’s a good chance he won’t if what he said is true and he still owns the house. Maybe Mom got her info wrong about the dates of the transfer...but that means Sybil had the wrong info, and I can’t believe that’s true.
Either way, I don't have anywhere else to go, so I'm sticking to what I know. And what I know is that Sybil said the house would be Mom’s today. I have the email and the door code to prove it.
I just hope that’s enough to get rid of Archie.
Chapter 4
Archie
Where does Piper Quinn get off showing up out of nowhere claiming this house belongs to Cynthia? And when did she grow into her eyes and gain some curves around her butt and waist? And why am I even thinking that my annoying stepsister is kinda hot?
That’s not what’s important here. I should be focused on one thing and one thing only: This beach houseismine.
That’s the fact I repeat over and over as I rush upstairs to find the proof. Dad signed the house over to me two years ago. My name is on the deed. More importantly, I’m the one who’s lived here, not Dad. He only used it to hide his girlfriends from Cynthia, then he used me to hide the house from Cynthia.
Of course, my wicked stepmother already knew about the house. My twin sister, Frankie, and I lived here with our mates, Dex and Rhys, while Dad lived with Cynthia and Piper in Beverly Hills. We were never one big happy family. We hardly ever saw each other. Frankie and I were too busy fake-surfing on “Surf City High” and real surfing when we weren’t filming the show, and Dad was too busy with his new family to pay much attention to Frankie and me. Which was fine. I had no interest in being“family” with the woman who’d broken up my parents’ marriage or her daughter.
This house, though, is part of the life I’ve built in LA. I’ve lived here, off and on, since I was sixteen. Dad’s got no business giving it away.
When I get to my room, I’m so cheesed off, I trip over my open, unpacked suitcase. With a curse and a healthy dose of paranoia, I glance over my shoulder to make sure Piper didn’t film that, too. Relieved she’s not behind me, I check my desk drawers for the quitclaim deed Dad presented me one day with instructions to, “say you bought the house from me, if anyone asks.”
I thought that was sketchy, but I don’t ask a lot of questions when it comes to Dad’s business. I put the pieces together, though, when Cynthia filed for divorce a few months later on grounds of adultery—the only grounds that, according to their pre-nup, allow her to get anything should they split.
By that point, I’d already learned Dad had cheated on Cynthia, using the beach house whenever we were traveling. It wasn’t hard to figure out that he was trying to hide as much of his wealth, and as many of his assets, as possible from her. I don’t like Cynthia, but I wanted no part of Dad’s scheme. Frankie and Rhys had already moved out, so I made the hasty decision that Dex and I should follow.
We moved into a crap apartment. I immediately regretted moving out of the beach house, but my pride—and Dex—wouldn’t let me go back. Even though Dad didn’t know I’d moved out, I figured a silent stand against what he’d done was better than no stand at all. And Dex didn’t want to deal with the hassle of moving again, especially since we were traveling to surf competitions most of the time, anyway.
But the beach house stayed in my name. In fact, most of my stuff stayed here. Including, apparently, every piece of paper Idon’t need. I’d forgotten how much I’ve crammed into the desk drawers over the years—or even why. I sort through old receipts, contracts, and fan letters, shoving each back in the drawer they came from as soon as I see it’s not the deed.
I know I’ve put it somewhere. I just can’t remember where.
The closet is the next likely place, so I open the doors and step inside. I hardly ever go in here. Everything is too neat.
Suits and dress shirts I never wear—Dad insisted I needed them—hang in color-coordinated rows. A few jackets and parkas—in case I go somewhere cold—have their own section. And glass paneled drawers hold ties I have no idea how to tie, but I thought looked cool with the suits my personal shopper had picked out.
And on the shelves above is the plastic file bin Frankie made me get to “organize” my stuff. It’s possible I put the deed in it because the desk drawers were too full.
Minutes later, I find the legal-sized papers shoved between file folders at the back of the box. “Yes!” I yelp before sending a mental thank you to Past Archie, who decided to try his hand at home organization.
Future Archie reckons he should give it another try, but Present Archie is only interested in sending Piper on her way, so he leaves the bin and its papers strewn across the closet floor.
