Derek stiffened. "What?"
"Yeah," I continued, "and it seems to me, you would've figured this out…" My voice rose. "…considering that I'm standing right here,withthe guy you're accusing of stealing my car."
Derek gave a derisive snort. "Yourcar?"
I hesitated. Now, this is where things got dicey. The whole estate, including the Porsche, was in some sort of legal trust. But Iwasallowed to live in the house, and yeah, use the things associated with it, so I didn't see the problem.
The car was stored in the garage below the guest house, just like the silverware was stored in the kitchen. As long as I put everything back when I was done, it was never an issue. I mean, I drove my mom's car all the time, and no one gave me grief aboutthat, did they?
As if sensing weakness, Derek gave me a smug smile. "Well?"
He could smile all he wanted. I wasn't going to back down, not this time. I lifted my chin. "Yes.Mycar, which means it's none of your business."
Derek gave a bark of laughter. "Sothat'sthe defense?"
"No defense is needed," I told him, "since no crime was committed. So just forget it, okay?"
"Forget it?" he repeated.
Next to us, Cassie chimed in, "Yeah. Just like you forgot her birthday." Under her breath, she added, "Ass-hat."
Derek's mouth tightened. He turned to Cassie and said, "I got her something, so stop harping on me, alright?"
Cassie crossed her arms. "Oh yeah? What'd you get her?"
Derek's gaze shifted to Joel. "I'm still working on it."
Well, that was rich. Was Derekstilltrying to act like that whole painting stunt was for my benefit?
I told him, "Don't bother. I don't want anything painted."
"Forget the painting," Derek said. "We're talking about the Porsche." His voice rose. "And you let that dickweed drive it? What the hell were you thinking?"
Joel's voice cut through the noise. "Hey,dickweed. If you're pissed about the car, you can deal with me, not her."
As thankful as I was, I couldn’t agree. After all, Joel had only driven the car as a favor to me, because I couldn’t drive a stick.
I turned and gave Joel a pleading look. "Thanks, seriously. But no one has to deal with anything, okay?" I turned back to Derek and said, "Besides, you're leaving anyway, right?"
Derek gave me a thin smile. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Yes. I would, actually."
"Well, forget it," he said. "I'm not going anywhere. Not 'til the cops show up."
I made a sound of frustration. "But whywouldthey? It'smycar."
"Wrong," he said. "It belongs to the trust."
I threw up my hands. "You know what? Fine. I hope the copsdocome. And I hope they make a big, ugly scene, so you can explain to the whole world why I'm not allowed to use something that my own dad left me."
I almost felt like crying. Maybe it was the alcohol. Or maybe it was the fact that I'd been dealing with too much of this over the last few months.
Derek's voice softened. "Stop exaggerating. We let you live there, don't we?"
Heat flooded my face. Not for the first time, I felt like some imposter, bumbling around in a mansion that wasn't my own. Trying not to show my humiliation, I said, "You're notlettingme do anything. It'smyhouse."
Derek smiled. "Is it?"
