Mistake: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance

by Lauren Landish

  I looked down at the stereotypical boxes of Chinese takeout in the bag in my hand, and wondered just what I was doing here. If I were back in Los Angeles, I'd be dressed up, ready to hit the clubs or maybe just find one of the never-ending parties that dotted the landscape. My night would end sometime around sunrise with at least one woman in bed with me, maybe more.

  But you were a miserable asshole then, a little voice said in my head. I'd come to hear that voice more and more often since meeting Krystal, and knew that most people called it a conscience. I wasn't really sure if that's what it was, considering I'd never heard it before. I didn't know if I was worthy of having such a term applied to any part of my thought processes, but so far it had been honest with me. Face it Julian, you've had more peace and better sleep over the past few weeks than you have since childhood.

  "Yeah, but whose fault is that?" I muttered under my breath. "John Castelbon's dumping of Mom did a lot more than just get him some fresh pussy. And you know, like father, like son."

  The voice in my head didn't have anything to say to that, and I looked down at my bag of food again. Still, I was trying, and talking with Kimberly was one of those things that I didn't just tolerate, but I was kind of looking forward to.

  I searched around for the buzzer box at the front door for a good two minutes before I realized the building didn't have one. It was that sort of place. I pulled out my phone again, and re-checked Kimberly's text messages. I saw I had missed one. Third floor, apartment 304.

  Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I tried the front door to the building, finding it open and unlocked. I made my way up the stairs, not trusting the elevator that looked like it had last been maintained maybe sometime around the time I'd been born. It was more difficult than I'd imagined, I'd stopped by Quads before coming over. The staff was nice, and the manager was willing to let me get a workout in. Since I was coming off of nearly two weeks with no weights, I knew I'd be sore the next day, but that didn't stop me from blasting a squat workout. The endorphin rush of getting that last squat when your back is on fire and your legs feel like they're going to explode is better than any of the so-called recreational drugs I've sampled. Not that I was ever a drughead or anything. I actually hadn't touched anything for over two years.

  Either way, by the time I reached the top of the stairs, my heart was thumping and my calves were burning again. Oh yeah, I'd be using the bathtub back at the apartment for a good soak, that was for sure.

  I found the door to 306 and knocked, waiting for a response. It took Kimberly a minute to respond. "Yes?"

  "It's Julian, Kimberly," I said, trying to stand in front of the fish-eye security peephole. "I've come bearing chicken and shrimp."

  "And fortune cookies?" Kimberly asked through the door. I heard the chain and locks on the inside disengage, and the door opened a few inches. "Because if you don't have a couple of fortune cookies, I'm locking you out and calling the police."

  "I have four cookies, you can have them all," I replied, laughing. "But I'm only giving you halfsies on the shrimp."

  "Deal," Kimberly said, opening the door wider, letting me inside. I walked into what I could only describe as a computer geek's paradise. The small living room was dominated by a huge four panel workstation, along with a tower computer that glowed like a Japanese street racer's car."Wow, this setup is insane." I said, looking at the custom made case. It was big, around the size of a small refrigerator, and was made of brushed aluminum. "This thing looks like it should be powering the U.S.S. Enterprise" I said, as I squatted down to take a look.

  I shook my head and got up, backing away slowly. A rule I learned from a tech geek that I'd hired to clean up some official records of me in California, never, ever, fuck with their equipment. It was kind of like Krystal with her culinary equipment, I thought. "I'm impressed. Krystal said you were a computer genius, but this I wasn't really expecting."

  Kimberly crossed her arms over her chest and nodded. "Yep. Built the whole thing myself. It's a little expensive, but with my work it's necessary."

  "Cool. So does your computer ever start asking for Sarah Connor?" I joked, sitting down on the floor next to the only other piece of furniture, a cheap coffee table. Kimberly stuck her tongue out at me, and sat on the other side, letting me take out the food and divide it between us. For about five minutes we were in a relatively comfortable silence as we enjoyed the food.

  I was halfway through my portion of lo mein noodles when she sat her chopsticks down and looked at me. "So how was your first day in Chicago without Krystal?"

  "Well, it wasn't really my first whole day," I replied, slurping up another bite of noodle. "Just since this morning."

  "You know what I mean, wise ass. Sheesh, I can tell what she likes in you."

  Kimberly's words caused me to almost choke on my noodles, coughing slightly to get the last bit down. "Sorry, hit a pepper," I said, covering myself. "But yeah, I know what you mean. I enjoyed it. After shopping like I told you, I went over to Quads. Nice place over there, I think I could make that a regular spot. I'm going to be sore tomorrow though, but the good kind of sore. How about you? I mean, how was your day?"

  "Normal stuff. Some coding, some data collection, stuff like that. In fact, I have a couple of programs running now while we're eating, doing some work for me."

  I looked over at the computer, which was pretty silent considering the size, and looked back. "What is it that you do anyway? I've been in town for weeks, and the most I can get is that you're into computers and jiu-jitsu, which normally don't mix. I think Krystal mentioned that you're a purple belt like her one time."

  "I am, although I'm a bit higher up than her, I've got one stripe. I'm a bit of a jack of all trades," Kimberly replied. "I build of systems for people, usually high end systems for graphic designers or video editors. I do a little data mining, analysis, and a bit of hacking. All legal on the hacking, of course."

  "There's legal hacking?" I asked, surprised. "What is that?"

  "Companies pay me to try and hack their systems. If I can, it shows them where the flaws are in their systems, and ways they can defend against it. It's actually my most lucrative line of work since there's always new ways to hack, new protocols and new programs with holes coming online every day. That's what I'm doing on my system right now, using some of my cracker programs to probe an auto maker, see if I can get into their database. If I can, I put a marker inside their system and then e-mail their corporate security to tell them where to look, and what I did, which is tracked automatically by my computer."

  "Crazy" I said, finishing off my lo mein and going on to my half of the General Tso's chicken.

  We continued talking, mostly about her and her work and her love of jiu-jitsu for the next hour or so, until the sun was down and the food was all gone. "Thanks for the dinner," Kimberly said as she polished off her third fortune cookie. She'd left the other one for me, happily enough. "Now, can I ask you a few questions."

  "Shoot," I replied, laying back. My legs were starting to stiffen up, and my stomach was filled to the point of nearly discomfort. "I'll answer what I can."

  "How do you feel about Krystal?"

  The question stopped me in my tracks, and I looked down my body at Kimberly. She was sitting cross legged, her chin in her hands with her elbows on the table, looking at me with a look I hadn't seen from someone in a long time. It wasn't judgmental, but it was interested, and at the same time discerning. I knew I couldn't bullshit her, she'd see right through me. "Damn, you picked a tough one right off the bat, didn't you?"

  "I'll admit it's a lot tougher than asking about what I do for a living, but I think you can understand why. No offense, but I'm not really interested in knowing how much you squatted today."

  "Four fifty for four reps, last set," I replied, grinning. "But damn. What can I say?"

  "That you're nuts about her, and that despite her being your stepsister, you have a major thing for her," Kimberly said. "I've seen it in your face
and your voice the entire time you've been here, Julian. It's also why I think you're actually trying to change."

  I grunted and sat up, keeping my legs in front of me to minimize the twinges of pain. "I'm not a good guy, Kimberly. As my buddy in Los Angeles told me before I came out here, I'm an asshole, although a seemingly charismatic asshole. If I were a good guy, I'd leave Chicago, and not tell her how I feel about her. I'd keep her from getting dirtied by my presence and my life. Instead, I'm here, and the most I can do is not put a move on her as much as I want to. So I'm all sorts of asshole."

  "You're changing yourself, which takes guts and heart," Kimberly replied. "I wouldn't call that being an asshole."

  "Yeah? Well being an asshole is in my DNA. I've been an asshole to every woman I've ever been with, and done more harm than good my entire life. If I hooked up with Krystal the way I wanted to, I'd just do to her what Johnathan Castelbon did to my mother and to me. I may be an asshole, but I do have my limits. I'll save her that pain if I can."

  Kim sighed and stood up, going over to her computer. She tapped a power switch on her screen, and minimized what she was doing with her main program, sending it off to one of the other three screens, which went black. "I think it's time you learned this. Come over here."

  Chapter 12

  Krystal

  "Allez Cuisine!"

  Marc Dacascos was a lot smaller than I thought he would be, and his acting was hammy enough I could understand why he never really got much traction with his movie career past B movies and kung fu flicks. Still, with the clock starting, I put it all out of my mind, and sprinted up to the stage with Shannon. My first job was to help her get at least a few pounds of ground lamb, while she got the ground beef. It was a hamburger battle, and I was worried. For all of Shannon's skill and the Alinea team's abilities, ground meat was perhaps the weakest of our chances against the Iron Chef. Hell, the man owned a hamburger restaurant that was named the best in New York according to the Zagat guide!

  "Get back, get that tartare going," Shannon said as I scooped my second double handful of ground lamb into my bowl. I could hear the tension in her voice, and I knew she was thinking the same thing I was. With one of the rules being that we had to have a gourmet hamburger up in front of the judges within the first twenty minutes, we were in trouble.

  I got back to my station and scooped out the meat for my tartare, setting it aside to combine with the other ingredients later. Then I rushed over to the produce area of the stage, getting mint, lime, lemons, capers, shallots, and Shannon's secret, gherkin pickles. Shannon would add quail eggs later on top when they were on the plates.

  One of the key differences between fine dining and home cooking is in your cuts. Your average home cook, when they read chop, starts going to town like a killer in a slasher film, often with as big a knife as their cutting board allows. While it's a lot of fun and gets the work done seemingly quickly, the result is inconsistent cuts, pieces of all different sizes, and tastes that vary.

  A professional chef, on the other hand, cuts precisely, and knows exactly what chopped means. It's an actual measurement, with the industry standard being half inch pieces.

  A fine chop, which I was doing, is quarter inch pieces. A mince is finer than that. You get the point. Also, we use just the right sized knife for the job. Since I was cutting mint, shallots, and other things like that, I worked with a small knife, not much larger than a paring knife, getting my cuts exactly what they needed to be.

  I worked quickly before sautéing the shallots in butter. While a tartare is normally a raw dish, raw shallots or onions can be a bit abrasive for a lot of people. By cooking the shallots through, it added a nice hint of sweetness while still keeping the texture. Once those cooled, I mixed it all together, massaging the whole mass together into something that would be an awesome meatball if I cooked it. By adding the pickles though, it would be somewhere between a tartare and a cerviche, which is what Shannon wanted. I threw the whole bowl into the fridge to keep it cool while we moved on. "Chef! Clear!"

  "Get over here then!" Shannon yelled, and I was on to my next assignment.

  The entire battle was stress from minute one. I was glad that we'd done practice run-throughs, because nothing from a normal service could have prepared us for what that one hour was like. The rush, the ad-hoc decisions, everything was different from the well-oiled machine that is a normal dinner service at Alinea.

  Adding to the stress was the camera crews, the judges, and everyone else around us. I almost elbowed a camera man in the face at one point as he shoved his camera over my shoulder while I was working on preparing daikon radishes for another dish, and turned without him expecting it. You'd figure after ten years of doing the show the cameramen would be on their toes, but it seems even the best can get caught off guard at times.

  Plating was a crazy situation too. Normally, I knew exactly where to put everything. Instead, for the battle we were bringing prepared ingredients to Shannon who was making the first plate for us, then having us duplicate it based off of her initial example. I could hear Smith muttering to himself as he copied Shannon's sauces on the third plate, smiling while he did so. "Madness. This is madness!"

  It was an old joke in the Alinea kitchen, after a particularly overly dramatic line cook quit in the middle of a service. I hadn't been there at the time, I'd still been in High School, but the joke carried on through the years.

  "One minute remaining!" the overhead announcer said, and we somehow doubled our speed, just getting the last plate done as the final five seconds were counted off. I tossed my now empty bowl into the sink and threw my hands up, all of us elated that the hour was over.

  "Great job team," Shannon said, clapping us all on the back. "Now we see just how the judging goes."

  Julian

  "Tell me what you know about the marriage between your father and your mother," Kimberly said, clicking her trackball and pulling up some files. "Start from the beginning."

  I had no idea what this was all about, but I sighed and went with it. Obviously Kimberly had a point to all of this. "Johnathan Castelbon met Alicia Youngblood while he was a grad student at Stanford University. He was twenty-one when they met. She was eighteen. They dated for about a year, then got married in a Las Vegas ceremony. I was born four years later. They divorced seven years after that."

  "Come now Julian, details are important here. Why did they get divorced?" Kimberly asked, turning off the screen and turning around to face me. "What happened in the divorce that made you hate your father so much?"

  "Which part are you looking at?" I half sneered, striding back and forth across the small carpet. "The fact that he cheated on her at least three times with various female employees, or the fact that he beat her and broke three ribs while I was away at summer camp, which led to her finally calling it quits? Or maybe that during the divorce, he used every slimy lawyer trick in the books to take me away from my mother and keep me for himself?"

  Kimberly watched me let loose my anger, then sighed and turned towards the computer. "When your father started dating Sandra Aksoy, Krystal approached me to do some research on him," Kimberly said. "After all, Sandra Aksoy's net wealth at the time was over a hundred million dollars. While John Castelbon by reputation was super rich, he had been divorced twice, and Krystal was worried. So she asked me to do what I do. I would have done it for free, but she insisted on paying."

  "So you hacked John Castelbon," I replied, my voice flat. "I thought you said you only did legal hacking, not that I'm upset about it. What did you find?"

  Kimberly turned back to her computer and turned on the monitor she'd just turned off. "I didn't have to hack at all, it's a matter of public record in the State of California. While they don't exactly advertise it, most of the old records were digitized a few years ago, and that includes divorce proceedings. The majority of my work was merely doing a records search and reading the details of a very ugly divorce."

  Before I could interrupt, Kimberly
continued. "Case in point, the divorce of Johnathan Castelbon from his wife of eleven years, Alicia Youngblood Castelbon. During the trial, Alicia tried to claim that on the night of July seventeenth of the prior year, John Castelbon assaulted her and broke three of her ribs."

  "I already said that," I replied. "I was at summer camp, and when I came home Mom's ribs were taped up, and she said Johnathan had done it. The bastard was so guilty he never even tried to deny it."

  "The court found differently. In fact, considering that Johnathan Castelbon wasn't even in the United States on the night of June seventeenth, the claim that he had broken her ribs was a flat out lie."

  I felt like my own ribs had just been punched, most likely by Mike Tyson. "What?"

  "John Castelbon had gotten on a flight to Nagoya, Japan on the morning of June fifteenth, the day after you left for camp, to meet with representatives from the Nissan and Toyota corporations. He checked into the Nagoya Marriot, and was having breakfast with business clients at the time your mother claimed she was attacked. While she did have three legitimately cracked ribs, it couldn't have been your father who did it."

  "That doesn't even make sense... then who?" I asked, my throat tight and raw. I could feel something inside me straining, and I was afraid of what it was.

  "The courts never did figure it out, but photographic evidence taken from a surveillance camera the night of the attack showed your mother in the company of a Javier Salamanca, a known crack dealer in the area at the time. They were seen getting out of her convertible and getting gas approximately a half hour before she checked into the hospital."

  "No..... no....." I whispered, shaking my head. "NO!"

  Kimberly sat there quietly, then pointed to the screen. "It's all there, Julian. The photos, the hospital records, all of it. The judge found her lies so unbelievable that she actually cited her for contempt of court, and she spent a week in jail about it. Have a read for yourself."