Page 17 of Sugar Coated Lies
“No, no. That’s not it. I was thinking. Your question threw me. No one has ever asked me that. I’ve never even asked myself that. It’s always been clear that I’d take over the family business.”
“That’s nice. Stability, assurance. How do you feel about the pecan business?”
Again, no one has ever asked me that. Not even my dad. Her questions make me feel like I’m taking a test I know nothing about.
“I honestly don’t know how to answer. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
She makes a slight gasping sound. “I hope nothing bad. I was making conversation. You’re easy to talk to. I never meant to—I don’t know?—confuse you or overstep. I’m so sorry.”
“Relax, Everleigh.” Man, I really like saying her name. “I’m not upset. You haven’t overstepped. It’s been a nice conversation for me, too. You’re easy to talk to as well.” So easy, I think I can see why Benedict liked her. How can you not like someone who is so sweet and appealing? “Take your time with your presentation. College is important.” Now, I sound like my dad. “I’ll be at the farm working all day tomorrow, so we can meet when you arrive. Text me when you’re on your way so I can have everything ready.”
“Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent. And good luck. I hope you get an A.”
She lets out a small laugh. “Thank you. I truly appreciate everything.”
I can tell. “You’re welcome. See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. See you.”
I end the call with a sigh and mixed thoughts running through my head. Everleigh is a good person. I doubt she stole Benedict’s Amex. Nothing about her says thief. But it has been a year. People can change dramatically in a short amount of time. I did. Maybe she was desperate and needed the money. Maybe her friend used the card. Did Benedict do any digging? Did he get a name from American Express of who used it, any hard facts? Knowing Benedict, probably not. He’s too lazy to do more than is required of him.
Maybe I should hire a PI to uncover the truth. If I can prove her innocence, he’ll have to let go of his hatred toward her and leave her alone. It would make my life easier, considering how intertwined Benedict’s family is with mine. I wouldn’t have to keep her employment at the farm a secret.
Chapter5
Everleigh
“Wow.”The word leaves me on a sigh as I pull into the farm.This place is amazing.
I didn’t know what to expect. I visited a peach farm once when I was in elementary school on a field trip, but I barely remember it. I’d compare this to a winery or wedding venue.
The sign for the farm is beautiful, made of wood with the name carved in lighter wood. Square stone columns mark the entrance and large oaks line the long driveway. Rows of pecan trees spread across vast land on either side and split into rows of peach trees on the left. When the trail of old oaks ends, the road branches in three directions. To the left, it veers to a manufacturing-type building with what looks like silos. Ahead, two barns, one larger and one smaller, dominate the space, and to the right, a parking lot leads to a stone farmhouse with a wide front porch and rocking chairs.
Livingston Pecan Country Store.
“Wow,” I breathe again, certain I’ll be repeating that word a lot today.
I don’t see any signs for the offices, so I get out my phone and text Mr. Livingston. I’d sent him a text that I was on my way when I left class, but all he did was give the message a thumbs up.
Me: I’m here. Where should I go to meet you? I’m parked by the store.
He replies right away.
Mr. Livingston:Perfect. Come inside the store and someone will meet you.
Someone? Not him? Of course, not him. He’s an heir, and I’m a peon employee—a very thankful one, at that.
I straighten my dress when I get out of the car. A breeze flutters the bottom so high I shove my hands over the material, flattening it before my underwear shows. I wasn’t sure what to wear on my first day; I’m used to uniforms.
This floral button-down dress is the nicest I own. I’d splurged and bought it for Grandma’s funeral. She wouldn’t have wanted me in black. She loved bright flowers. Even though the coloring of this dress is more fall than summer, it’s better than jean shorts and a t-shirt.
My phone chimes with a text. I hurry to read it, assuming it’s Daire.
Sadie: Did you make it?
Me: Yep. All good. Thanks for checking on me. I gotta run, but I’ll call on my way home.
