No Regrets (The Ferrari Family Book 2)

by Hazel Parker

  I leaned forward. Now we had hope.

  “Don’t get your hopes up, kid, because what you’re asking is something that’s going to have a far less greater chance of working than what I thought you were originally asking for. But there is an old family friend who I think has a brother that lives out near you. Or at least, somewhere in NorCal. He’s got a daughter that’s smoking hot, just graduated with, I don’t know, an economics degree or something, something with numbers and money, so she’s a smart cookie. I mean, you’re asking me to scrape the bottom of the barrel here—”

  “Can’t hurt to ask,” I said. “I mean, do you even know this girl’s name?”

  “Not at all,” Nick said. “I mean, fuck, I barely know my friend’s last name, let alone her first name. So this is the kind of thing that’s more of a fairy tale than an actual chance. But I can ask.”

  “It’s not like we’re asking Grandpa to become president of Germany or anything crazy.”

  “Understood. Explain to me again exactly what you want to say? Because understand that what we’re asking for, there won’t be lawyers. The people we’re dealing with, they have an honor system. And they can abide by that because if you break the honor system…”

  He didn’t need to finish his words for me to get the hint. I fully understood the implications.

  “But they live up to what they promise. So as long as it’s established upfront, they’ll abide by it.”

  “Understood,” I said. “Basically, I need an assistant at work. That’s genuine, no bullshit. So I hire this woman to Ferrari Wines to help me with paperwork, with administrative tasks, and so on and so forth. While there, we ‘develop’ a romantic relationship, and things move so fast that I propose to her in under a year. After that, we get married, we live happily ever after...until Grandma and Grandpa pass away. We collect the inheritance, we mourn, we grieve for a bit. After, say, nine months or so, we say that the emotional toll of the death hurt our marriage and we won’t work out. She leaves Ferrari Wines with twenty percent of my share of the inheritance, which I’m sure will be a shitload of money.”

  Uncle Nick nodded in confirmation.

  “I get the remaining eighty percent. She gets to leave wealthy and connected, I get my share and my freedom back. I think it’s a win-win.”

  Uncle Nick nodded before laughing.

  “You know, it’s funny, for as pissed off as your father made me, in some ways, I am eternally grateful that he knocked up your mother and had you four.”

  I needed to chug more than a little alcohol after hearing Uncle Nick saying it like that.

  “Our parents were the same way with us as they are with you. Kids, marriage, stable life. But the minute that your parents had you, it’s like they didn’t care what Frank and I did anymore. We’re in the will, and we don’t have to look over our shoulder to see if something else might be happening. So, really, kid, you are the equivalent of an arranged wife.”

  Oh, Uncle Nick.

  I couldn’t stop laughing at that, especially since my mood had been greatly elevated by the realization that there was a potential outcome.

  “So, I suppose your alternative if you can’t stand my friend’s niece or you can’t find your own pussy to put a ring on would be to ask your brother to knock up Izzy so the grandparents know there’s another generation of Ferraris coming up the ranks.”

  “I don’t think we have to worry about that,” I said, cognizant of how much PDA the two of them could produce. “But I’d rather just make sure all ducks are lined up on my end.”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “I will ask and cover my bases elsewhere. But understand, I am not getting my ass caught in the line of fire right now. Maybe in a year, when things have cooled down, if need be, we can talk. But for right now—”

  “I got it,” I said. “She is attractive, though, right?”

  “From what I can remember, yeah,” he said. “I can ask for a photo if you’d like.”

  I had asked the question at first in the hopes that I could see a photo.

  But then I thought about it. Uncle Nick’s definition of attractive was pretty much the same as mine—it’s not like he went for a very different style of woman than I did. And even if he did, Uncle Nick knew me well enough not to troll me with someone unattractive.

  “Let’s have it be a surprise,” I said. “It’s more fun that way, and who knows? Maybe real love will blossom.”

  The two of us looked at each other in silence for a moment before we burst out laughing at that notion. Neither of us had had a relationship longer than several months, as best as I could tell, and I saw no reason for that to change anytime soon. Sure, someone like the Polozzi chick might make me fantasize about “a long time,” but then a long time would actually pass, and it wouldn’t work out.

  But, hey, there was always the possibility, I supposed.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Uncle Nick said. “In the meantime...let’s go gamble some, shall we?”

  “You don’t have to ask me twice,” I said, finally feeling like I could relax.

  There was now a defined, real pathway to getting my fair share of the inheritance, and it wouldn’t have to put any of us in much danger of being discovered.

  And maybe, seriously, you’ll get real, long-lasting love.

  If that’s even possible for you.

  Chapter 6: Chelsea

  One Week Later

  It was Friday afternoon at Polozzi’s, and one thing seemed disappointingly apparent to me.

  I was not going to see Brett the sommelier ever again.

  It had gone just like so many other solid guys had seemed to go. It was fun, there was hope, and then there was letdown. At least Brett had had the courtesy not to break my heart by having sex with me and then never calling me again.

  I had spent more than a few days closing the store and lingering around, hoping to see Brett dipping into a nearby bar or restaurant. But the scene had never really repeated itself. What had he been doing that day?

  And for that matter, what had he meant when he said his future was sealed if he wasn’t referring to being married or engaged? He was available, but...what, did he have a prison sentence coming up? Was he being forced to move somewhere else for a new job?

  I spent far longer thinking about it than I cared to admit. I guess you could say I was desperate for a spark in my dating life, and the appearance of a spark had made me do everything I could to get it back, even if said spark had just...vanished.

  My phone rang in my desk drawer, temporarily pulling me away from my self-pitying thoughts about Brett and dating in the area. I didn’t really feel like answering it, but I only had an hour to go until closing time. I could suck work up for another hour.

  I pulled open the drawer and saw my dad’s name across the caller ID. He had gone on Monday to what he said was a furniture convention, but he’d never really specified anything about it, only saying it was in Las Vegas at one of the smaller hotels.

  “Hey, Dad,” I said.

  “Hey Chelsea, are you at the store?”

  He sounded a little hurried and concerned. He didn’t sound like he was in a rush, but this wasn’t a casual catch-up conversation.

  “Yeah, it’s only four over here, why?”

  “I’m coming in to the store. I need to talk to you about something important,” he said. “Just stay there, even if it goes past closing time. You can obviously close up the shop—actually, why don’t you go ahead and do that? If there are no customers in, close, and if there are, just make clear it’s closed once they leave.”

  “OK...is everything all right?”

  The last time a conversation like this had started, I had learned that my mother had died.

  Actually, no, murdered.

  But that was a detail I didn’t like to reflect on because of how traumatic it was. That was a detail best left buried with her. My father was more than happy to also not discuss it in further detail. As far as he was concerned, my mother
had died. The how didn’t matter as much as the what.

  “It’s fine,” he said.

  He wasn’t exactly convincing, but I’d heard him sound a lot worse. I—somewhat—relaxed.

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  He didn’t even give me the chance to respond. And just like that, whatever relaxation I had felt vanished with the snap of a finger.

  * * *

  Perhaps the biggest surprise of my father’s arrival was that when he walked into the back office of the store, he didn’t look haggard. He didn’t look depressed. He didn’t look like the world had crushed and grounded his spirit into specks of dust.

  In fact, he almost looked...excited.

  “Sweetie,” he said when he saw me with my door open.

  I stood up, walked around, and greeted him with kisses on the cheek as we always did.

  “Is everything all right?” I said. “You made it sound like something terrible had happened.”

  “Is anyone else here?” he said.

  “I mean, we’re still op—”

  I didn’t even finish before he went and shut both the door from the main store to the back office and my personal office space. He also shut all the other doors, even though no one else was in there. He had me sit back at my desk and pulled up a chair, leaning forward as if what he was about to say had to be so quiet, not even someone else in the same room would have heard.

  “I got a call from one of the investors in the store,” he said. “You have to understand, Chelsea, this investor...yes, he’s a business investor, but it goes a little beyond that. I’ve tried to keep you away from it so you could have a stable life, but I’ve—”

  “Dad,” I said. “I’m in my twenties, not my preteens. I’m not stupid.”

  I didn’t want to elaborate out of respect for my father’s attempts to keep me sheltered from the more unusual and inexplicable parts of his life, but I knew from how his gaze shifted from that of an actor’s to that of a father’s that he understood I could not be protected any longer.

  Not that I probably could have before anyway.

  “Go ahead. Get to what you were going to say.”

  “All right,” he said. “I have a proposition from a client that is so far along, it has actually come to me in contract form. I will say this once—have an open mind. It is unusual, but it is worth listening to.”

  What in the world…

  “The offer is to have you become employed as an office assistant for a well-known, respected, wealthy man here in the Bay Area,” he said. “You would continue to do much of the same work as you do now, just in a different environment than the family store.”

  Wait for the “but…”

  “But, that’s just a cover for what this is really about.”

  My father paused and looked down at the ground. I tried to be empathetic to the notion that he was opening this side of his life to me voluntarily for the first time, but my impatience was making that awfully damn difficult.

  “This is about making sure that this wealthy man finds a wife,” he said. “You will have to pretend to fall in love with this man and get engaged within six months of starting at this new company. And you will then have to be wed within a year of the start date, so within six months of the engagement. In exchange for doing this, you will receive a very generous yearly salary, plus you’ll get to live a luxurious lifestyle—all expenses paid, free vehicles, no rent, yachts and the occasional private plane, and so on.”

  I didn’t have an immediate visceral reaction. I was mostly just stunned this type of thing actually happened in real life—I wasn’t sure that my body was capable of generating a real response. I thought marriages of this type…

  “Good news is, this isn’t a deal for life. The contract is set to end dependent upon when two senior citizens pass away. Morbid, yes. But I cannot provide any details about why for now.”

  So...they get murdered? Or what?

  “But once this is all over, you will get fifteen million dollars in the divorce settlement.”

  If my jaw could stretch far enough to hit the floor, it would not have been enough. Fifteen. Million. Dollars?

  That wasn’t just a shitload of money. That was a “retire and live young and free for the rest of your life” money. That was the kind of money where you could have a family of ten and still live in great comfort. Of course, there was some serious risk; it would require a great deal of sacrifice in the next few years, but still…

  Fifteen million dollars.

  I wasn’t even sure I had fifteen thousand dollars saved up. Now, a number of such magnitude greater…

  But just because my body had gone slack didn’t mean that I was ready to just eagerly sign my name in blood.

  “Now, to be clear, another part of this deal is that no one outside of this room can ever know what we just said,” my father said. “And even more than that, you will learn things that I cannot be privy to. If it is discovered, Chelsea, that you shared this with anyone, you will lose...everything.”

  The hesitation...the heaviness of “everything”...the intensity of his stare...I knew he didn’t mean I’d just lose my job and my car.

  “You’ll have to sign more non-disclosures and contracts than I think I have ever signed in my life if you agree to this. But the option is there. What do you say?”

  What in the world could I say?

  “This is not a joke?”

  “No.”

  Well, there went that potential train of thought. If it wasn’t a joke...and my father had come in after being gone for a while to do that…

  “And you know nothing more?”

  “I have literally told you everything I know, Chelsea,” he said. “And to be frank, I don’t want to know anything more. Obviously, as things get public, I will learn them through observation. But this is a need-to-know world. And I don’t need to know everything.”

  Well, as much as my father’s, uh, honor could be admired, I guessed, I needed to know a whole lot more than what I was getting. Was I being married off to a guy my age? Or to some Hugh Heffner whose mom and dad just couldn’t kick the bucket? Was I going to lead a normal life, or would I constantly be a target for some random mafia mobsters?

  It wasn’t even just that these were hard questions. It was that this was a universe of possibilities and concerns I hadn’t ever imagined I’d have to raise. It was one thing to think about having kids someday, knowing that I wouldn’t have to do it right now; it was another to ask “would you allow yourself to be married off to a stranger for fifteen million dollars and keep up the charade for a few years?”

  “I…” I eked out. Not much more came for many moments. “I need to think about it.”

  “Understandable, but I need an answer by tomorrow night.”

  “What?”

  “Things move quickly in this world, Chelsea, and the people pulling the strings here didn’t get where they were by being indecisive,” he said. “I will say this, even though I’m not supposed to. In the world I know, I don’t know a lot of super old men in the spot I just described. There are quite a few families with men your age, but I don’t think it’ll be some fat grandpa you’re marrying. But I can’t say for sure.”

  If that was supposed to be reassuring, it barely was. If my father didn’t know…

  “Think on it and get back to me,” he said. “And please don’t wait until tomorrow night to decide. The sooner you can decide, the better. OK?”

  Funny how we go from asking if I’d give myself up to marriage to a complete stranger, a sort of prostitute for marriage, to then speaking in a sweet voice like, oh, right, I’m his daughter.

  My dad stood, nodded, and left the office.

  “Glad to hear the numbers are good, sweetie, keep up the great work,” he said as he left, as if he somehow had to put on a show for people wondering what was going on in here—and by people, I mean probably one employee coming back for coffee.

  As soon as he left, I went straight to the do
or and shut it, then leaned against it. Was this real life? Or was I about to realize I’d fallen into some sort of bizarre reality TV show?

  No. It was real. My father didn’t joke around. Not especially after my mother had been murdered. Even in casual conversation, he didn’t laugh or crack smartass remarks often. He was friendly, but serious.

  So...if this was real…

  My phone buzzed. I walked over to see Amanda had texted me, asking me where I was. I had forgotten we were going to get drinks. I typed out, “Be there in a few, work ran late,” but paused before sending it. I couldn’t talk to her about this. I couldn’t talk to anyone about this.

  Money for marriage...I mean, really?

  But on the other hand, if I was marrying into wealth...it felt a little fucked up to think in terms like this, but if there was wealth, maybe the family that had earned that wealth was of a higher caliber than I was used to. Maybe the person I was being married off to was not some ugly, fat, awkward guy who had his parents arrange something for him, but instead, a young stud who simply needed to appeal to grandma and grandpa for some reason. It was probably too much of a hope, but why shouldn’t there be the possibility of it being something good?

  On the other hand, though, was it really worth sacrificing the next few years of my life on a complete gamble? The money was nice, but if the guy turned out to be a real psychopath or a real asshole, or even if he just turned out fine but wasn’t in any way romantically or sexually attractive, those were some prime years I was giving up.

  But fifteen million…

  I couldn’t decide tonight. The thought was far too overwhelming, far too ridiculous. I needed to sleep on it.

  I grabbed my things and headed out of my office. I didn’t make eye contact with my father’s office as I left, fearful that doing so would drag me into a long round of conversation. I made a beeline to meet up with Amanda, who already had a cocktail waiting for me.

  “Girl, where have you been?” she said with a smile. “I’ve been sitting here by myself for about twenty minutes. The entire staff must think I’m an alcoholic!”