Mocha Me Crazy

by Kristen Flowers

  I felt my fingernails digging into the palms of my hands. I was so angry I didn’t even know what to do with myself. I groaned in frustration.

  He raised his brow and muttered, “There’s a noise I’ve heard before.”

  I had to grip my own hand to stop from swinging at him. The nerve of him to bring up what had happened between us to push me down was going too far, even for him. I was flooded with the bitter realization that he was even worse than what I had first thought.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard it plenty from lots of women.”

  “Right. More than once and each time I couldn’t even keep track,” he pushed.

  I hated the self-satisfied look on his face, but I was so pissed off I couldn’t even think of a comeback. “I’m fucking done with this,” I muttered before turning on my heel and charging down the street in the opposite direction.

  “What’s for dinner?”

  I heard Remi yell out after me, catching the attention of some other people out on the street. I tensed my shoulders and turned to look at him. “Chicken Marsala with spiced broccoli,” I yelled back.

  Remi nodded, head shaking as he laughed and walked away.

  It was evening and both Evelyn and I were back at the condo. She made a delicious dinner despite our scathing argument from earlier. I almost admired her defiant attitude; she ate dinner at the bar just like any other day. Most people would have avoided me entirely or rushed out as soon as the meal was served, but not Evelyn. She stuck around out of spite. I dropped my fork loudly onto my plate, but she didn’t even flinch.

  Evelyn was ruining my plans. The only plans my father would actually respect me for. She had overheard my dad shitting on me so why was she so intent on messing this up? The way I saw it, she could open up a restaurant of her own any damn place. This gym, on the other hand, was an entirely different story. Besides, that piece of real estate said more than enough before anything was even put into it.

  I scoffed and turned to look out the window, resenting that I even considered her special. She was just another woman to screw me over worse than any one-night-stand could. If she wanted to play it that way, then I was more than game to play along. I turned to look at her back again and my thoughts got the better of me.

  “When did you first find the place?”

  She stiffened at the sound of my voice, but then quickly turned to look at me, climbing down from the stool and straightening up. “That’s none of your business,” she shut me down. She picked up her plate before adding, “I won’t be cooking dinner tomorrow.”

  “Fine. I won’t be here anyway,” I responded grimly. I’d be damned before I let her have the last word.

  “I’m the head chef at the Harold Archer Fundraising Dinner,” she tried to show off.

  I snorted at her lame attempt to impress me. Then the name of the event clicked in my mind. Seeing an opportunity to make it a hellish ordeal for her, I stood up and stared at her with a devilish smirk. She raised one of her eyebrows instead of actually asking me what was up with my look.

  “I look forward to seeing you there,” I said with a half-smile.

  Evelyn looked at me in shock, “Oh whatever. You’re not going. This formal occasion is by special invite only.” I looked at her with the most arrogant smile I could muster. “If this is your attempt at messing with my–”

  “Oh, I assure you it is not an attempt of any kind. I am most definitely attending.” I beamed with a satisfied grin.

  She opened her mouth for a rebuttal, but no words came out and this just made the smugness on my face grow. I picked up my plate and walked over to hand it to her. Evelyn snatched it from me. I gave her a warning look.

  “Try not to break another one of my plates please,” I said. “You might want to be extra careful tomorrow night. I doubt they’d be as forgiving as I was if you were to break one of their very expensive dishes.”

  Evelyn swallowed hard and drew in a long breath. I could tell I was working her last nerve, especially when her voice shook, “They wouldn’t invite you.”

  “You sound so sure even though you’re completely wrong,” I said coldly. “Look for yourself—my laptop bag, outside pocket.”

  Evelyn grumbled and walked over to the chair where I had left my leather laptop bag. It was zipped up, but she had no problem hastily opening it and rifling through the outside pocket. In any other situation, I would have stopped her but this was too much fun. Plus, I was looking forward to the look on her face when she found the invitation.

  Her rummaging hands stopped in an instant. I saw her entire body tense up. I felt a wash of satisfaction at being able to get such a rise out of her in more than one way. At that point I was so irritated that she was throwing a giant wrench in my plans to purchase the property that I wanted nothing more than to piss her off just a little more. She pulled out the elegant invitation, which had been tastefully printed on a reflective silver paper. She clutched it, but didn’t turn to look at me. It went without saying, I was thoroughly enjoying this, my only regret was that I couldn’t see the look on her face.

  “I’m invited every year,” I informed her casually.

  “Fucking shit,” she cursed under her breath, still staring at the invitation.

  I could just imagine the pissed off look of disbelief on her face. I wanted to laugh, but it was much more interesting to put up a front and make her think I took it as no big deal. That would only irk her even more. I walked over slowly until I could see her face. I smirked seeing just how outraged and even mortified she was.

  “You look cute when you’re angry.”

  “Oh, shut the fuck up and stop trying to flatter me,” she snapped before dropping the invitation on the table and storming off to her bedroom.

  I turned to look at her leave and for a brief moment I felt a little guilty. Maybe I had gone too far.

  I pulled out the evening gown I had purchased for the event. I put it on and looked confidently at my reflection in the mirror. The midnight blue gown had a lovely off-the-shoulder neckline, flattering tight silhouette, and tasteful lines of blue velvet strategically placed at my waist to enhance my figure. I absolutely loved it and thought it was the perfect choice for a black-tie work event. I pulled my hair into an elegant bun to show off a bit of exposed skin and was ready to go.

  The woman who hired me for the fundraising event sent a car to pick me up. “It’s a bit out of the city and it’s important you arrive on time,” the woman had said. I knew it was to take place in a lavish mansion, but I had no idea what to expect. I had seen plenty of large, elegant houses, but when the gates opened for the car my breath was taken away. I had never seen anything like this, at least not in anything other than in movies.

  “Oh my gosh,” I whispered with an overwhelming urge to open my window and look out. I clenched my hands over my knees and stared out the tinted windows, the ball of nerves in my stomach growing.

  The car slowed to drive around a roundabout, at the center of which was a beautiful statue of a woman holding a large jar. The car pulled up the driveway to park parallel to the mansion’s main entrance, a gorgeous set of wooden double doors behind a brick arch at the top of brick steps set in a semi-circle. It had the look of a European Country Estate with even more grandeur than my father’s house. I did my best to look cool and collected despite the fact that I was a complete ball of nerves at that point. At the front door stood two men who, after asking my name, pulled them open for me.

  I stepped inside to see a large, white arch separating the entrance hall and leading into what I assumed was the main living or sitting room. Only it had been set up as an elegant banquet hall. I looked to the right to see what would have been the formal dining room before looking around to find someone who would point me in the right direction. The place was completely empty so I gathered up my courage and turned to walk into the formal dining room, in which was only the dining table set out with plenty of hors d'oeuvres.

  At the other end of the dining room
I saw the archway to the kitchen so I walked into it thinking that was where I needed to be. As soon as I stepped inside I saw plenty of cooked food in warming plates. I was beyond confused. I had been hired to be the chef yet there was nothing for me to actually make. I panicked; had I messed up the details? Had they decided to go with someone else and never told me?

  “You must be Ms. Page, the chef,” a familiar voice interrupted my thoughts.

  I whipped my head around at once to see an older woman standing in the archway separating the kitchen from the dining room. She had a short, grey hair bob and wore a lovely evening gown that suited her well. I noticed she wore a golden pin emblazoned with the Harold Archer Foundation’s logo.

  “Good evening, I am Evelyn Page. You must be Mrs. Montgomery.”

  The two of us politely shook hands before Mrs. Montgomery said, “As you can see, my dear, essentially all the cooking has been taken care of. The Archers would like you to stand in the formal dining room to begin. There are plenty of delicacies and they’d like you to be the knowledgeable chef in case any of the guests have questions.”

  “So I won’t be cooking at all?”

  “The Archers would be delighted if you whipped up one or two quick hors d'oeuvres. They’ve left all the details of what is being served tonight for you as well. I suggest you study up and then get to work on those hors d'oeuvres before guests arrive!”

  Mrs. Montgomery escorted me over to where the details were typed out and gave me a quick tour of the kitchen before bustling out to attend to other hired staff for the evening. I sighed and took a seat on one of the stools lining the kitchen’s bar counter, reading over everything being served. Most of it I was familiar with and anything that had a unique twist was easy enough to remember.

  I walked over to the refrigerator and pulled it open to see it was fully stocked. Even at a glance I could tell it would have everything necessary to make one or two delicious hors d'oeuvres, unless I was feeling particularly ambitious to prepare something obscure. I decided to keep it relatively simple with spicy stuffed mushrooms– aside from my lobster macaroni and cheese, that appetizer was one of my famed dishes.

  I quickly got to work after donning a coverall white apron hanging on a hook in the walk-in pantry. I wanted to look through everything in the pantry, but not enough to risk running out of time. By the time I had plated the spicy stuffed mushrooms, perfected the presentation, and set the serving dish out on the hors d'oeuvres table only a few minutes were left before guests were set to arrive. I walked out to the living area turned banquet hall for the night, admiring the rounded wooden beams of the ceiling before my eyes landed on the wall of windows and French doors. I could see a simple but beautiful stone railing at the end of the narrow deck, steps leading down to a grassy area. I walked forward and that was when I saw the stunning pond in the backyard.

  “Wow,” I gasped just before the main wooden doors opened behind me.

  I turned to see a middle-aged couple walk in, both of who were dressed elegantly. I nodded in a polite greeting before scooting off to the kitchen. I double-checked the room for cleanliness and then headed into the formal dining room to take my place behind the hors d'oeuvres table. Even if I wasn’t particularly excited for the job I was determined to be professional. I had to make it a point not to focus on the real description of tonight’s job and how I had ‘studied up’ in the kitchen just a while earlier.

  I felt quite degraded, particularly when I thought of Remi. He was supposed to be a guest tonight and I hated the idea of him knowing the real reason I had been hired. I wasn’t the official chef; I was just some pretty face to tell people about the food. There was no doubt in my mind he would have plenty of disparaging comments about it.

  Within the hour a large number of guests arrived and I understood more of why someone like Remi Parker was invited. I greeted everything from older people to socialites with a good name. There were no well-known people who had been involved in scandals or had an awful reputation; in my mind, Remi was as low as the bar got. I wondered if he knew the Archers personally or if they didn’t know about his reputation. Everyone was dressed to impress, but the taste level varied. The younger crowd, some of so-called new money and other insufferable elitists, wore flashier evening clothes.

  This whole event was so different for me. I was used to getting dirty and working over hot grills all day. Not dressing up and engaging in fancy talk like these people. Needless to say, I felt little out of my element. Still, I gave everyone the most genuine smile I could.

  “And what is this?”

  A young lady in her early twenties pointed at a plate on the table. She had the sort of facial expression that always looked slightly grossed out. I found her scrunched eyebrows and upturned nose rather annoying, but I smiled politely anyway. “That is snapper crudo with chiles and sesame, served over two cucumber slices. It is refreshing and quite tasty.”

  The young lady scrunched her nose, “Crudo? Like raw?”

  “Yes, but it is safe. It has been dressed with a small amount of olive–”

  “Hm, no. I don’t eat raw,” she interrupted me before pointing to another plate. This time she didn’t even bother to ask, she merely signaled.

  “Ah, these are blue crab beignets. They are only lightly battered and the crabmeat inside is the freshest possible. I do suggest you try one, miss.”

  The young lady wrinkled her nose again and tapped her lips with her index finger. She gave a small shrug and nodded, “I’ll try one.”

  I stared at her for a moment before reaching across for a plate and napkin to place a single beignet in the center. The guests were meant to serve their own hors d'oeuvres, but this woman clearly didn’t get the memo. She took the plate from my hand and looked at the beignet carefully. I had no clue how much she could possibly see in a single, brownish ball of dough. She delicately grabbed the toothpick and raised the beignet to her mouth to take the tiniest mouse-sized bite. She pulled it back and stared, taking a moment to realize the crabmeat was further in the center.

  “Thank you,” she smiled falsely before stepping out of the room.

  I was beyond annoyed and felt even lower than I did at the start of the evening. Had I known this was the sort of thing I was hired to do, I would have preferred to turn down the job. My only sources of consolation were that I could list it for experience and that I would see my father at some point. I hadn’t found out my dad was going until the morning I was invited, something that had provided me great comfort after finding out Remi would attend and likely bug me relentlessly.

  “Good evening, young lady,” I heard my father’s voice.

  I beamed and looked up from the table. “Good evening!”

  He walked forward and crammed numerous hors d'oeuvres on his little plate without bothering to ask what they were. My dad loved food, but he was able to differentiate between the good and bad. I always joked I was grateful for his stomach of steel because it held up well during my many cooking trials growing up. We weren’t able to chat long since a few more people filtered in and I had to work.

  He gave me a wink and walked out of the room. I stood at the table explaining the different types of hors d'oeuvres to everyone as they filled their plates. Once that group had left, a couple went in asking me questions about the main course. I answered all their questions and sighed after they walked out of the room. I wish I had been the one cooking the main dish. But then again, with this crowd, maybe it was best that I didn’t.

  I looked across to where my father stood near the archway of the entrance hall. He was talking to a couple other businessmen, both of who were chuckling heartily at whatever it was my dad was telling them. I smiled and thought of what a great man he was. Perhaps he hadn’t been a perfect father, but there’s no such thing as a perfect dad. I couldn’t deny he was overall great to me and there was no doubt in my mind he loved me more than anyone or anything in the world.

  Then I saw Remi walk into the room with a beautiful blond
hanging on his arm. She was tall and lean with large breasts and big, round eyes.

  “Just his type.” I muttered under my breath.

  Even I had to admit the young woman looked great, even if she was a bit typical. She wore an emerald chiffon gown with a keyhole and a long slit up the middle. It was elegant, but still showed off her long legs and huge breasts without being inappropriate for the event. I saw a number of people instantly greet him as he made his way through the room, heading toward my serving table.

  My stomach knotted up and I felt awful on the inside, but I was determined not to let him catch on even in the slightest. I perked up on the surface and put my best serious, but friendly face on. When he walked up to the table, he gave me an unexpectedly pleasant smile.

  “Hello.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was pretending not to know me or if he was just being courteous given the event and our personal situation. I saw a subtle hint of something in his eyes that I couldn’t quite place, but decided I didn’t have the time to try and figure it out.