"Mr. Russell," Crew said, arms crossed over his chest, expression dark and flat. "How kind of you to finally join us."
He tried a grin but it died, his familiar cockiness gone. "I'm sorry about running like that." He directed his apology to me. "I couldn't do anything and I heard someone coming so I knew you'd be okay." Randy swallowed, clearly uncomfortable facing the four people in the kitchen who glared at him with accusing eyes.
I waved off the protective flare of anger that made the kitchen feel like doomsday for the paparazzo photographer and sighed. "Just tell us what you have," I said.
Randy's eyes flickered to the counter beside me, the pile of cookies Mom just made. And this time his grin was real. "I'm starving."
His arrogance knew no bounds, apparently. Mom gestured for him
