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She heard him whisper “Liar” just as she hurriedly severed the connection.
This time he didn’t ring back. But before she could set foot out of bed, Adrian slipped into her room.
“What did Callum want?”
She wasn’t telling him that his boss, her nemesis, had asked her on a date. “Nothing to do with you.”
Adrian looked sick. “Sis, please be nice to him.”
Adrian’s anxiety reinforced her own worry that if she annoyed Callum he’d take it out on her brother. But there was a limit to how far she’d go—and Adrian had to know that.
“Be nice?” She loaded the meaning. “What are you asking me to do here, Adrian?”
“I mean be polite.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Nothing more. I don’t want to lose this opportunity to get a good reference.”
She hated the idea that Adrian thought she’d jeopardize his work. Was that how bitter she’d become?
Miranda crossed her fingers under the bedclothes. “I did some catering for Callum. We were talking about that.”
His expression cleared. “That’s great. So you’ll be doing more work for him?”
“I didn’t say that,” she said hastily.
“I told him you were a good chef—that you were wasted at The Golden Goose.”
“The Goose is convenient.” Miranda fixed her brother with a narrow stare. Adrian must have told Callum about her dream to run her own catering business. At least that meant her fear that Callum had been able to read her like an open book had been…relatively baseless. “What else did you tell him?”
Her brother spread his hands. “Nothing. I swear.”
She studied him as she swung her legs out of bed. “Okay, I believe you. Now scoot—I want to get dressed.”
But he lingered. “Uh…when will you give me that money?”
“I’ll go to the bank today.”
“Sis…” He hesitated, then said in a rush, “Can you add another couple hundred quid?”
She paused in front of the wardrobe. “More money? When you still haven’t repaid me the fifty pounds I lent you last week?”
He all but ran out of her room. “We can talk about it when you’re dressed,” he said over his shoulder.
Adrian had made breakfast by the time she got to the kitchen. Miranda drew out one of the pine chairs that Flo had sewed yellow-and-white-checked gingham covers for and stared suspiciously at the spread on the table. Scrambled eggs. Bacon. Mushrooms. Toast. Marmalade. Her favorites. “Is this a bribe?”
“No.” But he looked sufficiently guilty for her to frown at him. “I took Mum her food on a tray.”
“So now it’s just you and me.” Miranda sighed as she sat down. “Okay, explain to me why I should pay another cent to sort out your friend’s problems. Hasn’t he got family of his own?”
Adrian turned a dull red that clashed with his freckles. “It’s not for a friend. It’s for me.”
“A new pair of shoes?” she asked snippily. “You know I’m saving. Can’t this wait?”
“No.” He looked down at his plate for long seconds. When he looked up, Miranda was shocked at the desperation in his expression. “I’m in trouble.”
All her worst fears crowded in. “Tell me.”
“Last Monday night—”
“When you went out with your friends?”
He nodded. “I borrowed a car from work, but I crashed it—hit a concrete pillar in a basement parking lot as we were leaving a club.”
Horror filled her. “Everyone was okay?” The pounding of her heart slowed at his nod, and relief seeped through her, turning her limbs weak. No one had been hurt…or worse. “Were you drunk?”
“No.” He looked shaken. “I never drink and drive.”
She relaxed enough to fork a mouthful of food into her mouth. “So get the car fixed.”
“I’ve already had it repaired—and borrowed money from my friends to pay for it. But the amount was more than the original quote—that’s why I need more money. And they’re pressing me to repay them.”
I don’t have any more money. Not for this. Miranda bit back her wail of despair, as the extent of his deceit struck her. “You lied to me.”
