by Carla Luna
Rafael rewarded her with the briefest of smiles. “It’s Martin’s take on one of our restaurant’s signature dishes.”
Ben, on the other hand, was wiping his nose with a handkerchief. The fancy kind, with his initials embroidered in the corner. “The pork dish is much too spicy. Can you make it milder?”
“If you wish,” Rafael said. “On our menu, it’s not hot enough to merit a one-chili-pepper rating, but for you, I can make it the equivalent of minus one.”
Was he mocking Ben? Victoria almost caught his eye, then thought better of it.
Ben set his plate to the side. “Normally, I’m not a fan of Mexican food. It’s kind of predictable. Tacos. Burritos. Nachos. But your stuff’s not half-bad.”
Could you be any more of an asshole? Not that Victoria should be surprised. She’d sat through her share of restaurant meals where Ben had been rude and dismissive to the servers.
Rafael gave a terse nod. “Thank you.”
Ben reached over and squeezed Missy’s shoulder. “What do you think, sweetie? Not too spicy?”
“It’s delicious,” she said. “But I’m worried about heartburn.” She clutched her stomach, where the slightest hint of a baby bump was showing. “Sometimes this little guy doesn’t react well to spicy food.”
“You’re expecting?” Rafael said. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you. We’re due on May tenth.” Missy gazed up at Ben lovingly. “And we can’t wait, can we, sweetheart?”
“I’m counting the days,” he said to her. “You’re going to make a wonderful mother.”
Victoria sucked in her breath. When she and Ben had first started dating, he’d wooed her with sweet words and lavish compliments, but he’d never regarded her with such blatant adoration. Like she was a precious treasure he’d do anything to protect. Though she no longer wanted him back, seeing him and Missy so blissful together still hurt. She tried to ignore them and focused instead on the sublime mix of flavors on her plate. Even if Ben and Missy decided against Tres Hermanos, she’d have to check out the restaurant at some point in the future.
Preferably on a day when Rafael was not in the building.
When they were done eating, Missy clutched her stomach again. Her mouth twisted into a grimace, and her forehead glistened with sweat.
“Miss Cavendish? Are you all right?” Rafael asked.
“No, I—” Missy clapped her hand over her mouth and made a strangled noise. She stood up quickly, bracing her hand on the table for support.
Ben rose beside her. “Where’s the restroom?”
But it was too late. Missy leaned over and vomited, missing the table by mere inches. Bile mixed with bits of food splattered onto the floor. Victoria’s gag reflex kicked in at the smell, but she swallowed back her nausea. If she had been in Missy’s position, she would have apologized profusely. Not Missy. She straightened up, wiped her mouth, and scowled at Rafael, as though he was somehow to blame.
“I need the ladies’ room. Now. And someone needs to clean this up.”
“Down the hall and to your right,” Rafael said. “And I’ll take care of it. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”
He was sorry? Victoria could barely contain her fury as Ben escorted Missy out the door. Before she could apologize to Rafael, he darted out of the room. The smell of vomit overpowered everything, even the delicious food, so she concentrated on breathing through her mouth.
Rafael returned with rubber gloves, a bucket, some rags, and a bottle of cleaning spray. When he knelt to clean up the mess, Victoria approached him. “I’m sorry.”
He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Why? You’re not the one who threw up.”
“For bringing them here. They’re so rude and entitled. Working with them has been a nightmare.”
“Then why do it?”
“They’re getting married at the estate, and I’m the events coordinator there. Well, the junior events coordinator. My boss, Lindsay, is out on leave. But I’ve done weddings before. I usually love them, but this one has been a trial. Not that you need to know that, but…”
What was wrong with her? Rafael didn’t care about any of this. He wrung out the rag and continued cleaning.
She twisted her hands together. “I’m not sure if Ben and Missy will want to use you or not, but—”
“Honestly? I hope they don’t.”
“I understand. They’re horrible.”
“Not just because of them. Because of you.”
His words hit her like a physical blow. She stepped back a pace. “Rafael, I—”
He looked up at her. “Don’t apologize. If they choose Tres Hermanos, I’ll do whatever it takes to please them, even if it means cleaning up vomit. And dealing with you.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
If there was a God, Ben would go with Artful Parties.
Because if he chose Tres Hermanos, the next three weeks would be even worse than she’d anticipated.
And that was saying a lot.
Chapter 4
By the time Rafael got off work at seven, he was close to exploding. After he’d finished cleaning up the tasting from hell, he headed back into the kitchen to cook for the lunch crowd. Then he helped Tony cater an afternoon mixer that lasted until six. Normally he liked getting a break from the restaurant, but they’d been low on servers, which meant everyone on the catering staff had to hustle twice as hard.
Most of the time when he was at work, he could tune everything else out. But today, no matter how busy he got, he couldn’t get Victoria out of his mind.
After his meeting with her on Friday, he’d done a little more research on the company. In addition to their estate and vineyards in the Temecula Valley, Blackwood Cellars owned ten percent of the global wine market, with vineyards in Napa, Oregon, and Spain. Which made Victoria some kind of wine heiress.
No wonder she hadn’t told him her real name.
He drove over to Pancho’s, a grungy, run-down gym where he could work out his frustration on the bag. In the past, he would have dealt with his anger by getting drunk. Or chilled out with a little weed. But those days were over. He was done being the family screwup, using booze or pot to dull his senses. Instead, he preferred to blow off steam through pure, physical energy and a lot of sweat.
After his workout, he grabbed a shower and headed back to his apartment. He and his two cousins, Ernesto and Dario, shared a three-bedroom place a few miles from the restaurant. When he let himself in, he called out, then waited for a reply. Nothing. His cousins were probably out with friends or shooting hoops at the Y.
Though he’d spent the entire day working with food, he was eager to cook. Another guaranteed stress reliever, especially in the comfort of his own home. Tonight, he was attempting tacos árabes—a Mexican dish from Puebla with Lebanese roots.
Even though his brothers gave him a hard time about it, he liked experimenting with cuisine from other countries. The recipes didn’t always turn out the way he planned, but he enjoyed using unfamiliar spices and mixing different flavor combinations. Occasionally he imagined what it might be like to have his own restaurant—a funky little fusion place where he could unleash his culinary imagination.
Maybe someday. For now, he needed to focus on doing a kick-ass job at Tres Hermanos and earning back his brothers’ trust.
He opened the fridge and pulled out a bowl of thinly sliced pork that he’d left to marinate in a mixture of lime juice, herbs, and garlic. After drizzling oil in a sauté pan, he turned up the heat. While he was grabbing an onion out of the crisper, the door opened.
As long as someone was home, he and his cousins left the place unlocked. A Sanchez family rule.
“Hey, Rafa. What’s cooking?” His cousin Araceli walked in, tossing him an impish grin. Every time she came over, she made the same damn joke.
Not that he minded. She was one of his favorite cousins. Petite in stature, she made up for it in terms of sheer energy. Always going, always doing, always involved with
five things at once.
He set the onion on a cutting board. “I’m testing out a new recipe—tacos árabes.”
She pulled up a stool at the breakfast bar. “Cool. Is my brother around? I signed up to foster a couple of kittens, but I need a cat carrier. I know ’Nesto has one, because remember that girl he was dating—the one with the Persian cat? Fluffy, or something like that? No, wait. Mr. Fluff. When they split up, he had to take Mr. Fluff for two months because his ex was traveling, so he ended up buying a carrier and…” She took a breath.
Before she could resume her monologue, he held up his hand. “You think Ernesto has a cat carrier stashed somewhere in the apartment? Why wouldn’t he have given it back to her?”
She pushed her dark curls over her shoulder. “Because this girl already had a fancy, high-end carrier. But she forgot to leave it with him, so he had to buy a cheap one from Petco.”
With Araceli, he always got more information than he needed. “Why are you fostering kittens? Don’t you have two cats already? And don’t you have a carrier for them?”
“Yes. But kittens are so cute. We’ll put them in the spare bedroom until we can get them used to the other cats. And my carrier is disgusting because the last time I took Gordo to the vet, he peed in it. Even though I cleaned it, the smell’s still there, and the kittens might react to it.”
“Got it.” Her life was too much for him. She had two cats, a husband, a demanding job as a paralegal, and a side hustle making ceramic tiles. She also helped out whenever Tres Hermanos needed extra servers on their catering jobs, and she and her husband, Jaime, were actively trying to get pregnant.
“You want a beer?” he asked. “Or are you abstaining?”
She stared down at her flat stomach. “Sadly, no need to abstain yet. I’ll take a beer.”
He grabbed two bottles of Sol from the fridge, opened them, and passed her one. “Ernesto’s not here. I’m not sure when he’ll be back.”
“That’s fine.” She took a long pull of her beer. “I’ll wait. Jaime’s out tonight. He and his brother went to Dollface 3. It’s a horror movie about a creepy doll that steals people’s souls.”
He chuckled. “No, thanks. Life’s stressful enough without soul-sucking dolls.” He attacked the onion with vigor, cutting it into even slices, then chopping it with precision.
“That’s some aggressive chopping,” she said. “What’s eating you?”
“Nothing.”
“I don’t buy it. You’ve got that look. Like you’ve bottled up your anger, and you’ll only be able to unleash it if you decimate a few vegetables.”
He leaned back on the counter and took a swig of beer. Light and refreshing, the first sip of Sol always went down easy. He hesitated, unsure whether to unload his woes on Araceli. But talking to her might loosen the tension in his chest. Even after his workout, he still had too much residual anger festering inside him—and that was never a good thing.
“I’m up for a catering job at Blackwood Cellars,” he said.
“’Nesto told me. Congrats!”
No surprise Araceli already knew, considering how quickly news traveled in his family. Since both his parents were from large Mexican-American families, he had a shit-ton of cousins. All of whom lived within a fifty-mile radius. He liked his family but keeping anything under wraps was tricky.
“Don’t congratulate me yet,” he said. “The couple was entitled as hell. He thought the food was too spicy. And she threw up.”
Though he’d behaved graciously, the bride’s reaction had infuriated him. She’d acted like it was his fault.
Araceli wrinkled her nose. “Gross. What did you serve her that made her puke?”
“It wasn’t me. She’s pregnant, so it’s probably morning sickness. Right?”
“Yeah. Sucks for her.” She grinned. “No wonder this wedding’s so last-minute. She’s probably in a hurry to make things legal before she pops out that baby. Unlike yours truly, who waited until after her wedding to start trying.”
Cringing inwardly, Rafael turned and checked the heat on the skillet. No way could he look Araceli in the eye if she started sharing her recent attempts to get pregnant.
“Maybe you’ll get lucky, and the couple will choose you,” she said.
“It would be great for our reputation, but they seemed high-maintenance. And the wedding coordinator…” He set the pork in the sauté pan, followed by the onions. After rinsing the cutting board, he placed a handful of cilantro on it.
“Victoria Blackwood, right? Daughter of the CEO of Blackwood Cellars?” When Rafael looked at her in surprise, she gave him a smug smile. “She’s kind of a big deal. At least her father is. He’s mega-rich. Which means Blackwood Cellars would be a primo client. Think of all the parties they host.” She bounced on the stool. “If you get the job, can I come serve? I want to check out Blackwood Manor. You have to be a little excited about it, right?”
He stirred the meat and the chopped onions, then regarded his cousin closely. He needed to confide in someone. Despite Araceli’s passion for gossip, she knew how to keep a secret. “If I tell you something, can you keep it to yourself?”
“Sure.” She set down her beer and leaned on the counter.
“You can’t tell anyone. Not your sister. Not Jaime. No one.”
She blew out a breath, then crossed herself. “I swear to God. It’ll go in the vault.”
He moved the cutting board over to the breakfast bar so that he was facing her. “Do you remember when I spent the summer in Baja?”
“Sort of. You were working at that resort for Tió Francisco. But it was good, right?”
“It was great.” He’d considered himself lucky when Tío Francisco offered him a summer job, tending bar at the beachside grill he managed at the Villa del Sol Resort. “But I had this intense fling. I hooked up with a rich girl from L.A. who was there on vacation. But it was more than a casual hookup. We totally connected.”
“I remember. You were busted up because she took off without telling you and then ghosted you after. Right?”
Another of Araceli’s qualities was her ability to remember every tidbit of family gossip she’d ever heard.
“Yeah. I only told a few people about it because I felt so stupid. Like, how could some rich, pampered princess ever be into me?”
“If she didn’t want you, then it’s her loss.” Araceli took another sip of beer. “Did she finally call you back? It’s been—what—four years?”
“Five years. Turns out she gave me a fake name. She was actually Victoria Blackwood.”
Araceli spit out her beer. A full spit-take, like in a sitcom. “You’re shitting me!”
He grabbed a dishcloth and wiped down the mess she’d made on the breakfast bar. “I’m not.”
“You slept with Victoria Blackwood?” She reached for her back pocket as if to grab her phone but clenched her hands instead. “It’s taking everything in me not to blast the fam with a group text, but I’ll keep it quiet.”
He exhaled and set down his paring knife, which he’d been clutching a little too tightly. “Thanks. When I met her, she called herself Tori Dubois and said she was from Beverly Hills. The whole time, I had no idea.”
“Damn. Did she recognize you when you met with her yesterday?”
He raised his eyebrows. “What do you think? We spent two weeks in bed together. She was shocked as hell.”
An understatement, to be sure. She hadn’t wanted anything to do with him. Which stung more than it should.
Araceli said nothing until she’d drained her beer. Then she set the bottle on the counter. “And you’re pissed at her?”
Even now, he had no idea why he hadn’t shrugged off their fling. When they’d hooked up, it wasn’t as though he’d imagined them having a future together. Neither of them had made any promises. Why hadn’t he been able to let it go? Chalk it up to two weeks of amazing sex and leave it at that?
Maybe because it hadn’t just been about the sex. After all t
he hours they’d spent together, he felt like he’d found a kindred spirit. Someone who accepted him for who he was, underneath the tattoos and the rough exterior.
“Wouldn’t you be mad if you were me?” he asked.
“I dunno. Maybe? But she might have been afraid to tell you who she really was. Didn’t you say she’d been dealing with a messed-up family situation before she came to Baja?” When Rafael stared at her in shock, she smiled. “I remember everything.”
“You’re right. But I’m not sure why you’re defending her.”
“I’m just saying you could cut her a break. But maybe it won’t matter. If the bride threw up at the tasting, she might not want anything to do with Mexican food.”
Try as he might, he couldn’t stop the irritation from creeping back into his voice. “It wasn’t my food that did it.”
“I know, but she still might associate it with puking in public.”
True enough. Chances were good she’d pick someone else. Then he’d never have to see Victoria Blackwood again.
Chapter 5
For the first time in months, Victoria was home on a Saturday night. She couldn’t remember the last weekend night she’d had to herself. Back when she’d been dating Ben, he’d usually taken her out on Saturdays. Dinners at fancy restaurants. Nights at the theater. Cocktails with friends. He had expensive tastes, and he liked to go places where he’d be noticed. On the nights when she wasn’t at his side, she was running her ass off, helping Lindsay and June coordinate events at the Blackwood Cellars Estate.
But tonight, she had nothing on her calendar. No weddings. No parties. No dinners. Dressed in a sweater and leggings, she sprawled on the couch, a bowl of buttered popcorn at her side. Now that it was December, she could justify watching a few Hallmark movies. The sappier, the better.
“Victoria? What are you doing?”
She cringed at the sound of her father’s voice. He was dressed for a night out, no doubt headed to a holiday event at the country club. “Umm…relaxing?”