The Restaurateur

by Aubrey Parker

  “No. I just want to know if you could.”

  His jaw slides to one side. His eyes have hardened. “The inspection contingency expired three weeks ago.”

  “Financing contingency?”

  “Two weeks ago.”

  “What if you just walked away? Said you didn’t want to do it? Called the bank and told them you no longer wanted the loan?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “What’s the answer, Mateo?”

  There is no sound at this table. Or, I’d swear, in the entire restaurant.

  “Okay, yes. If I had any reason to cancel a big deal I’ve been planning toward for years — if I wanted to welsh on your father and leave him high and dry with a ton of expenses and only my earnest money to pay for it — I could walk away.”

  “And then my father could sue you.”

  “You started this game, Elizabeth.” His voice finally matches my confrontational tone. “So, let’s consider that one, too. Fine; your father sues me. He wouldn’t have a chance against my lawyers, and he’d spend a fortune trying. Is that what you want to hear?”

  “I don’t want to hear any of this. I’m just—”

  “Just what? Accusing me of keeping it from you?”

  “All the time we spent talking about what we both want, it never came up. I just find that interesting.”

  “Ah. Okay. You are accusing me. So now what? I call your dad and say, ‘Sorry, Damon. No longer interested. Call your lawyers and good luck, ha-ha’?”

  “I told you, I don’t want you to do anything. It’s just that we never—”

  “This is all academic? You just wanted to poke me.” Mateo shakes his head. “Why the hell did you think I didn’t mention it, Elizabeth? Because it’s ridiculous. People don’t walk out on stuff like this. Not at this stage. Sure, it’s possible, but technically, I could also walk into the chef and smack him around, so we don’t have to pay for our dinner. What do you think, El? Should I go in there and do it?”

  “You’re overreacting. I was only asking a question.”

  Mateo nods. “Uh-huh. A question with a really sharp edge. Tell me something, since we’re suddenly being so honest. You said you trusted me with your family’s property. I was an honorable and worthy successor. Did you ever believe that, or was it just more of your bullshit?”

  “What do you mean, ‘more of my bullshit’? What other bullshit are you referring to, Mateo?”

  I hear the clank of silverware, then look over to see that the two tables to the right have stopped eating and are looking at us. They see me watching, and their eyes dart back to their meals.

  “Lower your voice,” he says.

  “Answer my question.”

  “Please. You didn’t trust me from the start. When all of …” He searches, frustrated, for a word, then simply throws his arms up to indicate our table, our meal, me, “… this began, we just pushed some obvious truths aside. The deal was on the table, and we had a fun thing going. We could shove all the other shit into the corner, but it never stopped lurking there. You think I’m an arrogant cock. You think I’m bulldozing my way past Damon, and that I pulled a fast one on you. I’m a rich prick, come to steal your homestead. And if you need more proof, now there’s this: I didn’t lay out the incredibly complicated, costly, illegal, and downright rude option of killing the deal at the eleventh hour. Is that about right?”

  “I just wanted to know!”

  “What do you say, Sherlock? Now that you’ve gotten me to rat out my evil plan, should I do it? Give you what you want?”

  “This isn’t what I want!”

  Damn you, Blake.

  Curiosity didn’t just kill the cat. It got the cat into a big-ass fight for no reason.

  “Right,” he says.

  That single word kills the round. Mateo crosses his arms and waits.

  But my blood is pumping. I don’t like to be accused. Fuck him if he thinks I’m going to let him bury me with a judgmental final word.

  “What about you, then?” I ask. “It sure must be easy for you to judge me and my motives, way up there on your high horse. Do I want you to cancel anything? No, I don’t. A deal is a deal, and it’s what my father wants. But did you ever even consider it? Was it ever an option to back out of the deal and let us keep the mountain? Obviously, it’s the wrong choice. But was it on your radar, even for a second?”

  “Of course, it wasn’t an option! We have a contract, Elizabeth!”

  “You had escape clauses when we first got together!” I blurt. “Contingencies you could have used to stop it!”

  Blood drains from my face. I stop my hand from moving, but it wants to rise to cover my mouth — a futile attempt to keep words already spoken from leaving me. I shouldn’t have said that. Not in a million years.

  Quieter — almost sinister — he says, “So this is about you.”

  “Well? What of it? Maybe I want to know! Maybe it bothers me!”

  “Maybe what bothers you?”

  I stand up, furious. Diners turn to look again, and this time nobody is hiding their stares. “That you’ve made your choice! That you made it from Day One, and never even remotely considered changing it!”

  “Sit down.”

  “Well?” I demand, not sitting.

  I get a look of pure scorn. It’s the look Mateo used to give me before we hooked up. If he’s accusing me of never changing my mind about him, he’s got some nerve. Because I see that stare and can almost read: Bitch. Deep down, that’s how he must think of me.

  “What the crazy everloving fuck are you talking about, Elizabeth?”

  “You’d choose the mountain over me, wouldn’t you? If you could only have one, you’d pick that goddamn rock!”

  He squints as if I’m speaking Chinese. He rises to meet me, and in his eyes, I see defensiveness. Hurt. The anger I’ve provoked, now at its boiling point.

  “I’ve been trying to buy that mountain for three years. It helps me instead of just bitching, bitching, bitching! Of course I’d pick it over you!”

  I hear his words. I know I’m at fault. I know that I’ve just picked a big old ugly fight, and all Mateo has done was to lash back. I swatted a lion and he swatted me. But his words, whether they’re my fault or not, cut me to the bone.

  I want to take it back. I want to take everything back. Let him buy the land. Let him keep whatever secrets he wants to keep. If he wants to lie, cheat, and steal right in front of my face, then let him do that, too. Just please let me unhear what I’ve just heard.

  But he hasn’t backed away. His face hasn’t softened. He’s just staring at me, daring me to reply. I pushed him too far, and now I’m going to pay.

  I try to hold my dignity. I say, “You don’t mean that.”

  And Mateo, furious, says, “Which one am I sticking with?”

  At the next table, an old woman puts her hand to her mouth. Everyone is watching. Everyone is listening. I want to stand strong, but I’m breaking inside. I was the bitch here; I started this fight. But he must see what this is doing to me. I’m not all cast iron. He knows, doesn’t he? He’ll back down, seeing how much this hurts?

  “I’m sorry,” I say. It comes out simpering. Disgusting. Weak. But I was wrong and now I want out. No matter what, I want this to end.

  A man whispers to his wife nearby. Probably saying how pathetic I am.

  “At this point, Elizabeth,” Mateo says, “I don’t give a shit if you’re sorry. I’m sick your selfish, childish attitude – sick of you and this whole goddamned thing!”

  I feel my eyes moisten. I don’t want to feel what’s already become a dagger in my chest, but damn this emotion; I’m feeling it anyway.

  I watch Mateo for long enough to see his face change, as he realizes what he’s just said. How I truly feel, and what he’s done to me.

  Then he reaches for me and says my name, but screw him.

  I’m already gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  MATEO

&nbs
p; I KEEP TRYING TO CALL her, but it’s like I’m calling a different person. I’d be happier if she sent my calls to voicemail and she never replied. But Elizabeth answers almost every time. She answers as her old self, the version that guards the gate so that no one can bother the sensitive woman inside.

  I get nothing but jabs. Nothing but cold bitch.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I didn’t mean it. It’s just that we’re so new and the mountain … well, it wasn’t fair to put me on the spot like that. I’ve been dreaming of this place and what I want to build for three years.”

  I want her to fight me. Instead, she says, “You’re right. It wasn’t fair. I had something that got to me that night, and I sprung it on you. I said a stupid thing.”

  “I wouldn’t choose the mountain.”

  “I see. You’d choose me. You’d throw it all away for some woman you’d been sleeping with for a month. That’s not sensible, Mateo. Don’t be stupid.”

  “I … I mean … I think I can have both.”

  I want to smack my palm to my face.

  “It’s irrelevant. You should own the mountain. My father is getting tired of tending it, and I don’t have the resources to build what I want to. I’m not just saying what you want to hear. I’ve come to my senses. This is right, by any logic.”

  “Elizabeth …”

  “What?”

  “You’re mad at me. I don’t blame you.”

  And I really don’t. I’ve been playing our fight over and over in my head. I even told Evan about it, word for word. We both agree that she was picking a fight, that she was looking for trouble. Evan was on my side through the entire recounting, though he stopped when I told him I said I’d choose the mountain over Elizabeth – something that still gives me chills to recall saying. But it got so much worse. I twisted the knife. Looking back, I knew I’d hurt her. I knew she was putting on a front to keep from losing it as I humiliated her with all those people watching. And still I went on, my ego loud and proud.

  Which one am I sticking with?

  I’m sick your selfish, childish attitude.

  Sick of you and this whole goddamned thing!

  I hate myself right now. I didn’t mean it. I was upset. I flew off the handle. The fact that she started it means nothing. I was the one who finished it so decisively.

  I want her to be furious. I want her to yell and scratch and claw and bite. But instead she’s maddeningly calm: businesslike, just the facts.

  “I’m not mad at you, Mateo. I just think there’s nothing more to say.”

  “But—”

  She hangs up.

  Sometimes, when I call, I get distant, arm’s-length Elizabeth. She’s like a robot broker, with no emotion. Sometimes I get bitchy Elizabeth. She won’t yell at me for what I said, but she yells at me for everything else. I’m a pushy asshole again. I’m dragging my feet in terms of nudging the bank to finish the financing. When the contract finalizes, and I officially own the land, she yells at me for wasting her time.

  “Our business is over. Why do you keep bothering me?”

  “Please, Elizabeth. Just meet with me. Meet me on the mountain.”

  “Why would I go there? I have no reason to go there.”

  “Then name a place. I’ll come to you.”

  “My schedule is pretty full right now.”

  “Please.”

  “Fine. Friday. 2 PM.”

  “That’s tomorrow.”

  Nothing. So I say, “Pacific or Eastern?”

  “Pacific.”

  “I have an appointment I can’t cancel. If I had some notice, I could cancel anything else.”

  “So now this is my fault?” she snaps.

  “Saturday.”

  “You said to name a time. I did. Now you can’t make it.”

  “Okay,” I say, scrambling to flip through my calendar. “I’ll cancel it.”

  “You said you couldn’t.”

  “I will. For you.”

  She scoffs. I’m sure she’s rolling her eyes.

  “So now you just cancel appointments. Who does that?”

  “I can reschedule.”

  “How is that fair to the other person? Do you run your business that way?”

  Now she’s getting under my skin. I try to focus on the goal, to remember that we’re good together even though I sort of want to kill her right now.

  “Tomorrow,” I say. “2 PM Pacific. Tell me where.”

  “Tokyo. There’s a little sake bar near—”

  “Tokyo? You just said Pacific time! Are you trying to pick a fight?”

  “I’m just trying to schedule an appointment you seem desperate to have. Are we on or not? Are you going to betray your other appointment and meet me at 2 PM tomorrow at the saki bar?”

  “Elizabeth, I—”

  “Hang on,” she says, sounding annoyed.

  I wait. She must be searching her calendar for other appointments. But it goes on for a long time. A very, very long time. I say her name, louder and louder. Eventually, she picks up, and I say, “What the hell?”

  “You’re still here?” she says.

  “You told me to hang on! I assumed you were finding us another time!”

  “No. My room service just arrived.”

  And the line goes dead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  MATEO

  “YOU HAVE WHAT YOU WANT,” Caspian says. “So, what’s your problem?”

  I’m sitting on the all-white couch in Caspian’s all-white home office. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the San Francisco bay. His furniture is art. Several doors circle the edges, and I’m pretty sure one of them is a bedroom.

  When Caspian came through that door earlier, I caught sight of what I think was a blonde tied to the bedposts. That would be his wife, Aurora. I’ve only briefly met her, but I’ve seen them out plenty. She’s a sweet woman, tall and rail-thin, adorable, far better than Caspian deserves. Apparently, this is a game they like to play. An equal-opportunity thing. I’ve seen LiveLyfe video of Aurora meeting here with her friends to make charity pitches, and every once in a while, you can hear tied-up Caspian grunting hungrily from the same room.

  It’s hard to focus on Caspian. I keep imagining her back there, strapped down, gagged, and naked, waiting for him. I should at least go in and make my greetings. It’s the polite thing to do.

  Nice to see you again, Aurora.

  Mmm.

  Have you and Caspian had a good summer?

  Mmm!

  Caspian sits across from me on a chair, more a throne than a recliner. He’s in a black suit, white shirt, and a powder blue tie that even from here has a silky sheen. His blond hair is moussed and immaculately combed, slightly long in the back. He has a hero’s iron jaw. I wonder again why he’s the one I chose to talk to about Elizabeth, but unfortunately, I think I already know. It’s because he’s a bastard who has managed to make a relationship work.

  Maybe I should go into the bedroom and ask Aurora.

  Aurora, does Caspian still bring you flowers?

  Mmm-hmm.

  Would you be mad at him if he accidentally said his company was more important to him than you? Would you forgive him?

  Mmm. Mmm, mmm-mm.

  I don’t know whether I want Caspian’s unhelpful scorn or his sympathy. Both are terrible choices.

  He crosses his legs. The room is silent. He asked the last question, and it’s my turn to speak. He doesn’t mind quiet, even if it’s clear that I wish he’d continue. Silence makes people uncomfortable. Discomfort makes him happy.

  “I don’t know that it’s what I want,” I finally say. “That’s the problem.”

  “Of course it’s what you want. The Syndicate has had to listen to you go on and on about your ridiculous mountain since the group was formed. Through the whole Anthony and Alexa affair, it’s all you talked about. I lobbied to have you kicked out. You’re insufferable. You don’t want the woman, or you would have chosen her. It’s that simple.”
>
  Under my breath, I say, “Why did I come here?”

  It’s supposed to be rhetorical, but Caspian answers.

  “You’re here because there’s nobody in the world better than me at taking what I want. Your problem is that your motives are unclear. Even to you. But you can’t settle. You’re spineless, telling yourself you want one thing, then pretending to want another.”

  “What is the other thing I want in this scenario?”

  Caspian laughs.

  “Elizabeth. She’s what I want.”

  “Why?”

  “Now you doubt me, after thinking you know it all?”

  Caspian brushes lint from his knee. “Oh, no. I know. I’m asking you why you want her.”

  “Because …” But it’s not something I can articulate.

  “See, that’s the problem. It isn’t what that drives us. It’s always the why behind it. Attaining a thing means nothing if you don’t know why you want it. Consider my company. GameStorming. You know about the Einstein module?”

  “For education.”

  Caspian nods. “Why did I build it?”

  “To make money. Schools spend state money, and there are a lot of them.”

  “I’ll clarify: Why did Einstein take the final shape that it did?”

  “Something to do with Anthony and Alexa. I know you were trying your best to shove your way into their deal with Evan from LiveLyfe.”

  “Similar. But no. I have new designs on Alexa, now that she’s partnerless.”

  “Why did it take the shape it took, then?”

  His blue eyes dart sideways, toward the bedroom door.

  “Not for Aurora.”

  “Shh. Don’t tell her.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I know that revolutionizing education is her thing, and I know what you did once you were together, using Einstein. But it was happenstance, not on purpose.”

  “Nothing is happenstance.”

  “Do you expect me to believe you changed the entire course of your business to make Aurora happy? I know she’s in there right now, Caspian. Tied to your bed, naked, like a slave.”

  “And with a butt plug in her ass,” Caspian says. “Wearing a gag. When we’re done, I’ll go in there and lightly flog her. But I’d never do anything to my wife that she doesn’t desire; that’s the point. There are things we all need that are hidden deep, and while some are pleasant to polite society, others are not. There are many forms of affection, Mateo. Many different colors of love.”