Page 4 of Safe With Me
“What’s wrong, bean?”
Mrs. Louella would be soproud– I never missed a beat, never glanced over my shoulder as Elizabeth exclaimed over how blue the blue sweater was.
“Woke up with a little bit of a migraine.” I hadn’t had one in two years, but Elizaeth was a constant headache, so it wasn’t a complete lie. I waved my own coffee in a circle. “Caffeine and protein, and I’ll be right as rain.”
He considered me a moment longer, gave a quick nod, and launched into the day’s need-to-know. We had a big order prepping for Worsham Farms, as well as a significant delivery. Heat lamps and bulbs needed to be restocked with the first major cold snap headed our way soon. I scribbled a couple of notes as he droned.
Footsteps fell behind me, Elizabeth rearranging the light ring and camera, and a chill clawed up my spine. I kept my head down, letting my hair fall forward. Daddy stopped listing items and grinned at my sister. “Hey, angel.”
“Hey, Daddy.” Heels clicking on the hundred-year-old wood floor, she leaned her forearms on the counter, arranging herself for the best camera angle, better to give her YouTube channel what they wanted. Her gaze rested heavily on my cheekbone. “What do you have for me and Hannah today?”
For me and Hannah?
Was she kidding?
“Let me see the list, Han.” She reached for my notebook, light flashing over the vintage diamond cocktail ring on her right ring finger. My hold tightened on the journal edges, a reflexive instinct. Her eyes narrowed a moment, then she smiled. Oh, hell, I should have simply let go. She’d spin that ugly on a video for sure. Her smile morphed into a pout, and she glanced back at the camera, breaking the fourth wall with an exaggerated eye roll before she snagged an order book and pen from beside the antique cash register. “All right, Daddy, what’s up today?”
Shaking his head, but with an indulgent smile, Daddy launched into his spiel once more, like Elizabeth would actually carry out any of the needs-done today. It was all for show, all for her channel. Her social media endeavors tickled him, so we went through this charade on the regular. Of course, Elizabeth portrayed him in an unfailingly positive light, plus he didn’t field the email for the store.
All the emails from Elizabeth’s fans about him were overwhelmingly appreciative.
No one sent emails calling him a jealous cow . . . and worse.
Refusing to bite my lip with the camera on my face, I focused my attention on my journal, outlining the same square over and over, imprinting the black ink deep in the paper. Talking to Daddy again about the whole mess flitted through my mind, but the store wasn’t mine. When Daddy retired or was gone, it would pass to the three of us, the way it had passed to him and his daddy and uncles before him.
The Niche, the pretty, more-than-farming shopping section, with high-end clothes, local crafts, and farm-based merchandise? That had been my idea, but even it wasn’t really all mine. I’d lovingly crafted it, nurtured it to fruition, and Elizabeth had run with it on the channel.
At first? The local attention had been amazing, bringing in people from Thomasville, Tifton and even Valdosta.
But conflict drew views.
And Elizabeth? Well, she was Daddy’s angel, right?
And someone had to be the villain.
Gracie’s husband Andy had been smart enough to see the pitfalls, so Gracie and her kids had never appeared in any of Elizabeth’s videos. Andy hadn’t fallen prey to being one of Elizabeth’s “hot local farmers,” either, like Tate and Christian Baker and Park Bell. Mama loved the channel, loved the attention, gushed over Elizabeth, knew how to turn on the same charm Elizabeth did. My sister’s friends sure weren’t going to chance being seen in the wrong light.
So that left me.
Ultimately, I’d stopped talking when the camera was around, and apparently, even that could be tied up into a Hannah-is-the-evil-bitchy-jealous-sister bow.
The emails to the store were bad enough. Then the fans had discovered my personal social media . . . and my DMs. Those had morphed into the landscape of nightmares.
Once Daddy walked out to the back lot to supervise Max and the guys, I sucked in a breath and approached Elizabeth, who’d finally packed the camera and light away and was now deeply invested in going through all the new arrivals in The Niche.
“Elizabeth, I don’t want to be seen on the channel anymore.” I pushed the words out with quiet authority.
She looked bored, didn’t look at me as she continued sorting clothes, disrupting the neat piles because someone else would clean up the mess she created along with her image. “You signed a release.”
Maybe if I pitched my voice in the same no-nonsense way Andy talked to her. “Elizabeth, I’m serious.”
She lifted her gaze then, a hard glint in her eyes, and wrinkled her nose. “You signed a release.”
Fury burned a hole in my chest, reaching up to wrap hot fingers around my throat. “I’m going to talk to Scott Barlow.”
A delicate little snort puffed from her lips, and she lifted an airy hand, completely unintimidated by me or the idea of a lawyer. “Go ahead.”
I couldn’t breathe. She was my sister, I was telling her how her work was affecting my life in massively negative ways, and she didn’t care.
