Reality of Love Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Marika Ray

  “Hello, Mother.”

  “¡Mi amor! Are you back to civilization?” Her voice was already putting me on edge. She sounded happy to hear from me when just a few days ago we’d been arguing over her butting her nose in my business.

  “Yes, Mother. I’m back at the apartment. I’ve got a lot of calls to make to get caught up. Opening day is in two weeks.”

  “Ah, well, it’s a good thing you didn’t hire Carl. Turned out to be a typical man. Not worth my time.” She sniffed.

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, that’s why I didn’t want to hire him for my restaurant. Not a good idea to mix business with friends and family, you know?”

  “Well, maybe if you’d given him a job he wouldn’t have been so cold with me.”

  I shook my head, thoroughly annoyed. “Sure, whatever you say, Mother. Listen, I’ve gotta go and make those calls. Talk soon?”

  “Oh, but wait! I was calling to let you know I won’t be in town for your opening. I was invited to go with Paul on a cruise. I couldn’t possibly turn that down.” She trilled out a laugh on par with a paper cut.

  The squeeze in my chest was more pronounced. “Mother, it’s my big opening. My own restaurant, remember? You have to be there!”

  “Don’t be dramatic, darling. I’ll come by and check out the place when I get back in town. Besides, Paul has some connections with a few magazines. Your old mother might still have it.”

  I took a deep breath and let it out, not at all surprised. Massive disappointment was a recurring theme in our relationship. “Okay. Good luck. Goodbye, Mother.” I hung up without waiting for an answer. There was no point.

  Slipping my heels off, I leaned over to lay my head on the armrest of the couch, my legs curled up next to me. I should have been calling my chef. I should have been heading down to the restaurant to see the new construction. There were a lot of things I should have been doing.

  But for today, I was going to ignore it all and wallow. I had no one in my life who cared if I accomplished those things or not. I’d had a chance to have someone who cared, but I’d pushed him away in order to get my restaurant.

  Growing up, I adored my mother with her pretty hair and fancy clothes, jetting around from one exotic location to another. But then the shine started to wear off with each school event she missed, each holiday we spent apart because she was too busy to come home. Then I started to catch on to the trail of boyfriends she brought in and out of our lives. The mean ones, the nice but boring ones, the slimy ones, the rich ones, and the ones who adored my mother but she dumped them when they no longer served her purposes. My mother was cold, only looking out for herself. She used people, including her own daughter.

  Not unlike what I’d become.

  Austin had accused me of being cold. I’d dashed his dreams in order to secure my own, which was the very definition of using someone and looking out for myself.

  I was my mother.

  And with that dark and ugly realization, I cried myself to sleep on the couch. Alone.

  “We’re just about finished with the tile in the bathrooms. From there, it’s just installing light fixtures and getting your decorator in here.” My construction contractor walked me through the space, my plans turned into a real, live restaurant. It was amazing to see the change they’d made in just two weeks while I was away. It helped that it had already been a restaurant when I bought the space, but we’d still had to move some things around to make it functional like I knew it needed to be.

  I should be jumping up and down like Lindsey the effervescent host. I should be giddy with excitement at how well everything was coming together. Or hell, even sweating like poor Dale with nerves about opening night being so close. But all I could think about was how much I wanted to tell Austin every little detail and have him wrap me in one of his signature hugs.

  I was coming out of my numbness. Anger at myself, anger at him, anger at the world in general was eating away at the despair I felt. Problem was, I liked the numbness. It was preferable over the guilt eating away at the edges of everything I did.

  I twirled around to march back through the kitchen and force my brain to focus on what still needed to be done. Of course, I didn’t see the box of paint sitting on the floor. Nor the paint bucket I kicked and knocked over.

  My contractor jumped into action and righted it before more than a half-dollar size of gray paint spilled onto the new wood floors. He hollered and another guy came running in with wet towels to mop it up before it ruined anything.

  I blew out a breath and shook out my hands. I needed to get my shit together before I ruined everything. “Lo siento...” I mumbled.

  My contractor threw me a cautious look. He was probably scared to walk me through lest I wreak my havoc on anything else he’d just finished.

  “Everything okay?” He looked like a guy about to stick his hand in a snake pit. Cautious and ready for things to get ugly.

  I blew out another deep breath and willed the burning behind my eyes to cut that shit out. Nodding, I attempted a smile. He lurched back, eyes wide.

  “Um, you have a little something...” He motioned toward his eye. I frowned and reached up to my own eye, not feeling anything. There was a mirror on the wall behind him, so I leaned closer to see what he was talking about, only to find my black winged eyeliner had traced a new line up on my eyelid, making me look batshit crazy. Great. Two weeks of a makeup artist and I’d forgotten how to do my own makeup. I tried to scrub the line off my lid, but succeeded only in making it look like dark eyeshadow. Today’s look was emo apparently.

  As if my failed makeup was the straw that broke the camel’s back, the burning behind my eyes intensified to the point I could no longer out-breathe it. I spun in my contractor’s direction and wrapped my arms around his waist.

  He stiffened and kept his hands out to the side, refusing to touch me.

  “I’m just having a hard time right now, you know?” I sniffled into his chest. When I realized he wasn’t hugging me back, it made me think of Austin and how this must have been how I acted when he tried to hug me. That made me cry harder.

  He started walking backward, one faltering step after another. Still, I didn’t unlock my arms, just shuffled after him, burrowing my face into his chest harder. I needed a hug, goddammit.

  “Ms. Fierro. You must let go. I have work to do. Please.”

  His quivering voice broke me out of whatever parallel universe I was in. I was hugging strange men, forcing them to give me comfort. What brand of crazy had I become?

  I immediately released him, my face blazing. I couldn’t look at him, instead studying the floor like the psychotherapy drugs I needed would suddenly appear there.

  “Lo siento, I’m so sorry...” I grabbed my handbag and left in a hurry, breathing in muggy New York air on the sidewalk like I’d run a marathon.

  Out of nowhere, a black cat came around the side of the building and walked right in front of me, rubbing against my leg like he was trying to scrape off bad luck. For the love of all things holy, today was not my day, fate was not on my side, and the universe was conspiring against me. I wasn’t as superstitious as my mother, but a black cat in the middle of the concrete jungle? I’d take it as the sign that it was.

  With people rushing by me in every direction, I stood stock-still, coming to terms with my life. I needed to make things right. I needed to quit being like Mother. I wouldn’t be her. Couldn’t live the rest of my life like her. And the only one who could stop that eventuality was me.

  Without giving my doubts a chance to rear their ugly heads, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed my old friend, Jon Paul, from culinary school. He was an interesting man and I was sad to say I hadn’t kept up with him all that much since we graduated and went our separate ways. Hopefully he’d still remember me.

  “Jon Paul? It’s Elle Fierro. How are you?”

  There was a slight pause during which I physically cringed over not being a better friend. “The infamous El Jefe is calling
me? To what do I owe the honor, my dear?”

  Oh, thank God, he remembered me.

  “Well. To be honest, I have an opportunity for you, but first, I need to apologize.”

  “This sounds interesting. Do go on.” He sounded like he was trying not to laugh.

  “Yes. I need to apologize for not being a better friend. It’s come to my attention that I may not be the best at reaching out. Not super warm and friendly, you could say.”

  At that, he burst out laughing, the giant belly laugh a little over the top if you asked me. I was trying to apologize and here he was laughing at me. The black cat kept rubbing itself on my leg, much to my irritation.

  “Oh, Elle, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh at you, but that’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one. I love you, girl, but warm and cuddly you’re not.”

  It stung a little to hear his honest opinion. I figured I deserved it, though. Maybe if I was slapped in the face with it enough I’d learn my lesson. It was sounding more and more like I’d been on the path to becoming my mother for quite some time.

  “Yeah, so I’ve heard. I’m sorry. Really, Jon Paul. You were my closest friend in culinary school and I’ve neglected to keep in touch since. For what it’s worth, I really regret that. And if you’ll let me, I’d like to be a better friend now. In the future. Well, all the time.” I quit talking, needing to gauge his reaction to know if the sentiment was coming out right. I’d never tried to apologize like this or make someone be a friend of mine again, so I could have been going about the whole thing wrong.

  His voice was soft. “Elle. Thank you for apologizing, but it’s okay. I’ve met your mother, remember? I get it. And I’m happy to be your friend. Now, in the future, and all the time. We’re good, honey.”

  The pain in my ribs eased a bit and I took a full breath. “Thank you.” The black cat quit using me as a scratching post and sauntered off to find a new victim. I just hoped it stayed out of the street.

  “So, what’s the opportunity?”

  I smiled, feeling slightly better now that I was making amends. My heart was still crushed knowing Austin was gone forever, but releasing myself from the guilt over my involvement in his disappointment was underway and that felt good. “I know an incredible new, young chef looking for a job. He’s going to be a household name, I guarantee it. And you can be the one to mentor him. I don’t want him knowing I pulled the strings, but you’d be a fool not to hire him.”

  Jon Paul only paused for a second. “Wow, I’ve never heard you sing anyone’s praises before, so this guy must be the real deal. I actually do need a chef for a new restaurant I’m opening in Santa Monica next month. I have a few candidates already, but I’m happy to include your guy in the interview process.”

  “Excellent, thank you. Just remember to keep my name out of it, okay?”

  “You got it, Elle.”

  16

  Austin

  I unbuttoned the top button of my dress shirt and ripped the tie off my neck, throwing it into the car. It was hotter than balls already this early in the day. Sinking into the driver’s seat, I scrubbed a hand over my face. Goddamn, that was an awful interview.

  As I waited for Bertrand to get back to me, I’d applied for several jobs at local restaurants with several call backs. The pickings were slim, but desperate times and all that. I’d pulled into the parking lot of the first restaurant full of hope this morning, only to see the signage to the restaurant had changed, one letter not lighting up as it should. It was an unfortunate electrical error that had me interviewing at Black Anus this morning. If that wasn’t a sign of my current status, I didn’t know what was.

  I’d gone from Hollywood reality star to interviewing as a kitchen assistant for a rectally challenged steakhouse.

  I had another interview that afternoon at a Red Lobster, which I knew if I got, would just about kill Abi, seeing as how I’d be frying up cute little shrimp all day long. Maybe I could convince the restaurant to put my squid recipe on the menu. Although I doubted they rewarded creativity in the kitchen. More like get it out fast and cooked all the way through so no one gets sick.

  My cell phone rang while I was driving, a number I didn’t recognize. Hoping it was Bertrand calling me back, or maybe one of his associates, I pulled over and took the call, my heart hammering in my chest.

  “Austin Cox speaking.”

  “Hello, Austin, this is Chef Jon Paul. How are you?”

  “Good, thank you. What can I do for you?”

  “I was given your name, and once I put in a few calls to find out about you, I decided I couldn’t waste another minute before giving you a call. I have a restaurant opening in Santa Monica next month and I need a sous chef. The job is yours if you want it.”

  A huge truck whizzed by me and rocked my little car on the side of the road. I wasn’t sure I heard the man correctly. It sounded like he was offering me a job on the spot. He must have taken my silence as hesitation because after a pause, he kept talking.

  “The cuisine is a nice California fusion, but we’re still nailing down the menu offerings. If I get you on board fast enough, you can collaborate with my executive chef to get some say in it. I have a nice salary package I can send over via email if you’d like to take a look before making a decision. But I would need you in the area as soon as possible. What do you say?”

  “I-I say thank you! Yes. I’d love to come work for you.”

  “Excellent! Why don’t you give me your email. I’ll send you further information and then call me when you think you’ll be in town and able to start.” Jon Paul wasn’t messing around.

  “That sounds wonderful. Thank you so much.”

  We ended the call soon after and I sat for quite a while, trying to come to terms with what just happened. My mind was scrambling with all that had to be done. I needed to get out of my apartment lease, pack all my stuff, find a place in Santa Monica, petition the court for guardianship.

  Oh, and find a way to grab that ol’ bastard Bertrand by the lapels and give him a kiss on his shiny almost-bald head. He’d come through for me in an incredibly short period of time. He was my new best friend and didn’t know it yet.

  I immediately ached to call Elle and tell her she’d been right. I did have talent, just like she said, and I could make my passion my career. I flipped my phone over and over in my hands, debating whether to call her. In the end, I put my phone in the glovebox to prevent falling for the temptation in a moment of weakness. She wanted nothing to do with me. I had to let her go.

  So with hope dancing in my chest where my heart had been, I drove home to break the news to Marcos. Things were finally looking up.

  Two Weeks Later

  “I’d like to propose a toast.” I lifted my beer in the air and waited for Marcos and Abi to join me. When their glasses joined mine, I continued. “To new beginnings, to our future successes, and to always being family no matter where we live.”

  “Hear, hear!” Marcos replied whole-heartedly.

  “No matter what,” Abi whispered, tears in her eyes as she took a sip of her soda.

  Thankfully, they were happy tears now. Today was my first official day as her guardian. The court had quickly granted me guardianship when I submitted my hiring papers, along with a copy of the new lease I had on a two-bedroom apartment in Santa Monica, right off the 10 freeway. It wasn’t fancy, by any means, what with the view of Southern California traffic, but it was a start. We’d be together and that’s what mattered most.

  Marcos had gotten the job at the real estate firm in San Francisco, so he was moving tomorrow as well. It was sad to see our apartment all packed up, considering we’d been roommates since we left the dorms at nineteen. This was simply our time to grow up and move on. We both had promising careers ahead of us and lives to build.

  “I can’t believe we’re all splitting up.” Abi, out of all of us, had the most to be sad about. While I’d miss Marcos like a phantom limb, I had the excitement of my career taking off
to distract me. Abi would be saying goodbye to Marcos—he’d been like an older brother to her growing up—our mom had just passed away, and now I was taking her away from the only town she knew along with all her friends. But in true Abi form, she pulled herself up out of the dumps and looked at the bright side. “Hey, at least I’ll be in smog and traffic for the last two years of my childhood.” She crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at me.

  Marcos jumped in and beat me to it. “Hey, just don’t get messed up in those SoCal boys. Don’t be won over by their surfboards and floppy blond hair.”

  “Don’t worry. I have locks on her windows,” I joked.

  Abi pouted, but didn’t look very upset. She’d gone to some high school dances with dates, but hadn’t had a boyfriend yet. I’m sure that would be a barrel of laughs when we crossed that road.

  After we gave our orders to the server. I got their attention and got serious. “I meant my toast, you two. We’re family. No matter where we live, let’s make a pact to remain tight. You with me?”

  Marcos clapped me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. Brothers for life.”

  Abi sighed dramatically. “Ah, such a beautiful bromance.”

  “Shut up, Abilene, you’re stuck with us.”

  Abi beamed right back at me and all was right with my world.

  Well, except for the fact I’d gone numb in that empty space in my chest where my heart used to beat. I’m sure that wasn’t healthy, but I’d take it over the crushing pain I felt when Elle first walked away from me.

  I’d dreamed about her almost every night the last two weeks, which was both a heaven and hell. Considering we were on opposite ends of the country, the nightly visit made me feel like she was still next to me, her scent and her lips still ghosting across my skin in the middle of the night. Then I’d wake up and hell would begin as my brain realized she was gone, nothing but elusive fragments of an overactive imagination.