This doesn’t surprise me. We’ve been trying to get her for the past year, but Instagram is the only way to figure out where she is and she doesn’t stay in one location long enough to pin her down and serve her papers. It’s costing me an arm and a leg to get her served overseas, and she’s been everywhere from the Maldives to Ibiza, hence my having to wait forever to file under the terms of abandonment.
“We’re booked out for the next two months?”
He nods, his eyes brightening. “The exclusivity idea was brilliant. We could probably schedule out this way for years just because people want what they can’t have.”
Part of my deal with Oliver was being able to spend more time with my family. Which is why, for now, Decadence is only serving dinner and only by reservation for a few hours a night. We charge an exorbitant amount for the opportunity.
A muscle twitches in my eye as Carson rattles off a list of the details that are on fire over the next week—so much to do to make everything run smoothly. But it has to be perfect. Everything I need, and the girls need, is riding on this. Sometimes managing all this is like building a skyscraper out of the thinnest of wafers. One inadvertent sneeze could topple the entire thing.
“Guy?” Carson stares at me, head tilted in concern.
It probably wasn’t the first time he said my name.
“What?”
He purses his lips. “As I was saying, for the charity event tonight, your tux is hanging in the bathroom, and the car is picking you up in an hour.”
“Right.” I sit up straighter and grab my pen from its place at the corner of my desk.
Carson continues, “The guys are already onsite, prepping for dinner.”
“Got it.” I click my pen. “Yes. Are we done here?”
“I guess, Cinderella.” He stands up on a sigh, stopping at the doorway. “Have fun at the ball, be home by midnight lest you turn into a pumpkin.”
Right. Because my life is such a fairy tale.
Chapter Three
There is no sincerer love than the love of food.
–George Bernard Shaw
Scarlett
One of the best parts of living in the city is taking the subway. Sure, I’ve seen a rat or two, and sometimes the ride is boring and uneventful—or delayed—but every now and then you get a random person dressed as Pikachu in your car. Except he’s sitting and taking up multiple seats so now I’m pole dancing next to a well-dressed businessman on one side and a very tall, very beautiful drag queen in red, who smiles and tells me I have a great dress, on the other.
I smile in thanks, the phone pressed to my ear preventing me from returning the compliment. The confidence boost is well timed as Granny screeches in my ear. “You’re going to one of those fancy city parties?” Every time I’m on the phone with Granny she yells because she doesn’t trust the technology to hear her. Also, I think she’s losing her hearing but is too proud to admit it.
“Yes, Granny.” I glance down at my outfit, a dark blue 1950s style sheath dress with kitten heels. “I’m wearing the lucky brooch you gave me.” I even took the time to put on lipstick. I haven’t worn this dress in a year. My normal uniform is a t-shirt and comfortable pants with a dirty apron.
“That brooch was the reason I married your grandpa, God rest his soul.”
“It was?” I don’t think I’ve heard this story. She always told me it belonged to her great Aunt Winifred and that Aunt Winnie was a black widow who murdered four of her five husbands.
“Yep. Aunt Winnie gave it to me because a voodoo priestess gave it to her to help her find love. That was right before her fifth husband.”
“The one that she didn’t murder?”
“That’s right. It’s a lucky brooch.”
“If you say so,” I murmur. Once upon a time, her words might have triggered a rush of hope, but not anymore. I’ve given up on love because it gave up on me a long time ago. Now I have cakes. And ten more pounds in my hips.
“What?” She shrieks and I pull the phone away from my ear a few inches.
“I said, if you say so,” I repeat loudly.
She’s silent for a second and then, “You sure you’re okay to go out tonight? You sound as tired as a sex worker on dime night.”
I snort out a laugh and the businessman shoots me a disgruntled glare and leans away.
“I’m only going for a little bit. It’s for charity.”
“Well, that’s alright then, I suppose. You deserve to have a good time. At least you aren’t working, I guess.”
I hold my tongue and don’t tell her about the order I’ll have to make when I get home later tonight. It won’t be my first late night baking session and I’m sure it won’t be the last. Sometimes if it’s a big one, Fred helps, but tonight I’m handling it myself. Most days I’m up at four, baking for the truck anyway.
“Tell me what’s going on with Reese.” I change the subject to something other than myself. “I can’t believe she’s living with two men. Do our parents know?” Not that they would care, but it feels like the right thing to say. Reese is only nineteen; while she’s legally an adult, she’s very naïve in a lot of ways and it worries me. It’s her second year in college and she’s never been a real social person, but she’s finally made some friends and even has a boyfriend, just outta nowhere.
Despite my relief that she’s making friends, I can’t help but worry. I had been encouraging her to put herself out there, and now I’m not there to ensure she’s making the right decisions. She is technically an adult though, so I have to trust that she knows what she’s doing or she’ll learn it herself.
“Your parents don’t know nothin’. But I’ve got it all handled. Don’t you worry, Scarlett. They’re good boys. They come over all the time to help me with my chorin’.”
What she really means is they help her with her moonshine. This isn’t making me feel better.
Who’s the worse influence? Granny or some college kids? It’s hard to say.
I still can’t believe Reese has an actual boyfriend—who is not one of the men she’s living with, apparently, thank heavens for that. It’s just that…everyone has someone, except me. I shove that thought far, far away and tug at the neckline of my dress.
“I can hear your fussin’ from here, Scarlett, and I’m gonna tell you it’s all okay. If you are so vexed, you can come on down and see for yourself.”
I bite my lip. “I’ll be down for a little bit at Christmas.” I managed to get a cheap seat on Christmas day. All my money has been sunk into the truck, and there’s hardly anything left.
“You know, your parents will be in the city there for an art show or something in a couple weeks. You should go.”
This is news. “They’ll be in New York?”
“Yep.”
“You’re sure?” I ask.
It shouldn’t sting that I’m just now hearing of this. I should be used to being ignored, but the surprise still hurts. They can’t be bothered to call? Not even their assistant could let me know?