Flambé: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy (Flambé Series Book 1)

by Elle Berlin

  I embarrassed the whole Voss family. I shamed the family name. Yup, it was like a tragic Samurai film where I was supposed to throw myself on my sword for my disgrace. I worked for the firm—represented the firm—and then had the audacity to get myself arrested and gave the company a bad reputation. My father disowned me and my mother fell in line. Simple. You can’t walk around the country clubs and social events looking down on the rest of the world when your son is the latest gossip to be burned at the stake.

  I can blame my actions on being in love, but maybe that’s just the easy answer. The truth is, I never want to be that man—the one my brother is in this exact moment, with his freshly pressed suit and eyes glued to his phone like the world only exists within that two by five inch square of light. That life would drive me crazy.

  It did drive me crazy.

  I’m not proud of the fact that I got banned from practicing law because I didn’t fit into my parents’ world—my brother’s world, with the golden boy who can do no wrong—but none of them saw that. Nobody thought twice about asking their son if he wanted to be a part of the legacy of suits and money and politics. Some people have a vision of the world—and their children—and you either fit into it or you’re kicked to the curb. At least Ned is willing to let me sling cocktails and lay low while I figure out what the hell I really want to be doing.

  At least … he was.

  We’ll see how this little stunt goes over.

  The salad in front of my brother is untouched. It’s a decoration in politeness so that he can sit at the pier’s café, swallowed alive by his phone. He pretends that phone connects him to his partners and colleagues—to his life—but that job is my brother’s life. He doesn’t even listen to me when I tell him to get laid, or promise that I can teach him how to make anyone weak in the knees. Ned only comes alive in the courtroom, with his suit buttoned tight as he sets up the jury to be putty in his hands. There’s nothing my brother can’t turn to his favor—when the law is involved—and I should know, he’s the one who kept me out of jail. But outside of that courthouse, beyond the reach of his cell phone, out here—with the ocean and the sand and all of the paradise at his fingertips—well, the phone is all he can see.

  Success is a funny thing. It can swallow a man till he’s no longer living. For all intents and purposes, my brother is the cliché American dream: lawyer, good looking, incredible salary, two houses in Hawaii. He’s the poster boy for having it all. And yet, to me, the life he chose looks like a straitjacket. It was my straitjacket. It made me crazy, made me lash out, made me burn every family bridge I had, and now … Heck, I’m probably about to break the last straw of my brother’s patience. A maven in the courthouse, he may seem altruistic from the outside, but even Ned has lines that shouldn’t be crossed.

  I pull out the chair across from my older brother and he nods without even looking up. His sandy-brown hair blows in the breeze, the air thick with sun and brine. He’s aware of me, even though he’s still lost in the gravitational pull of his device. I wait as he pokes at the buttons, telling whichever of his minions to double and triple check the case files—I know, he made me do it for him before I passed the bar exam.

  Waiting, I look out at the ocean, trying to think through exactly how I’m going to sweet talk him into not blowing a gasket and declaring me homeless. I have my charms, but charming Ned has been the Bermuda triangle of mysteries. Maybe it’s just an older brother thing. He always sees me as the thirteen-year-old pest with dirty knees.

  The side of my face heats and I know Ned’s put his phone down. I turn to his disgruntled frown and the phone has been forgotten, replaced with all his attention and ire targeted at me, his lip curling angrily.

  Fuck.

  A shiver of realization zips cold from my fingers down to my toes.

  Ned already knows.

  Of course, he knows. Ned’s a shark when it comes to information. It’s one of the many talents that make him an incredible lawyer, and I’m the cocky idiot who thought he could waltz right into this scenario wearing flip flops and a half-buttoned Hawaiian shirt, when the proper attire would have been a three-piece suit paired with a thirty-page dossier on why quitting my job was the sensible decision. Especially when my new boss has me furious half the time and hard as a fucking rock the other. Anger and sex are two things Ned doesn’t mix. Ever. And from the look on my brother’s face, I can only assume Mason has already called him and given him the scoop on my new job and the hot dragoness that lured me into her nest.

  “Before you get mad—” I begin, trying to get ahead of this. Only, Ned cuts me off before I can launch into any of my half-baked excuses.

  “Is that really how you want to start?” Ned asks, his voice deep and commanding. The steel of his face makes me sit upright as his tone shoots a blast of adrenaline right through me, tightening my muscles and making me feel like I’m a kid again. Ned never gets violent. He isn’t the type to lunge or strike. Oh no, instead he’ll obliterate me with a look and a few choice words that are designed precisely to steal all my confidence and make me skulk away with my tail between my legs. Ned will never punch first. Ever. Not with his hands. Heck, Ned will never punch at all. Instead, he’ll ask questions. Devour me like Hannibal Lecter with a choice meal, his words cutting to the bone and making me wish I was smarter and more prepared, more … everything.

  In truth, I used to study the dictionary to keep up with Ned. Partially so I knew how he was insulting me, and partially so I might stand a chance against his razor tongue. When your older brother can force your stomach into your throat with a quick verbal punch, you work on being prepared. But I could never stand up to him in a battle of intellect or wits. His words were always his knife.

  And I’ve gotten lazy. Too lazy.

  “The money is—”

  “Try again,” Ned says, interrupting once more. I swallow hard and meet his glare. He’ll win in a game of words, but I’m not afraid of meeting him with pure brawn.

  “Where do you want me to start?” I ask, tilting my head in defiance, the snark in my voice too thick for his measured poker face, showing absolutely no emotion at my whiney retort.

  “How about we skip the excuses,” Ned says calmly. “And go straight to the part where we make a plan for when this all falls apart.”

  “You’re already convinced this will fall—”

  The slightest eyebrow hitch from him silences me. He’s no faith that I can do this. That I should do this. He doesn’t care that maybe I want to do this. I grit my teeth, unsure if that’s actually true, or at least not ready to admit it to myself that it might. I know that all Ned can see is what happened on the mainland when I was at my parents’ branch. The last time I chose to do something for myself, I ended up with a totaled car, barred from the board, and in a jail cell. To him, that’s all he needs as evidence.

  It’s all everyone in my family sees, and at times like this, Ned included.

  “You know, Zariah was a redhead,” Ned says smoothly, pushing his salad around on his plate in a false pretense at being calm and collected. I nearly pick up the plate and toss it at him like a child.

  “And you think that pre-determines my life now? The color of a woman’s hair?” I gripe, to which he smiles, amused with how easily he’s baited me. I’m going to roast Mason later. It’s one thing that he called my brother to tell him I quit. It’s another that he told Ned about Arie.

  “You have patterns, Connor, like an alcoholic. If you don’t see them, then someone ought to point them out.”

  “So you can gloat?”

  Ned’s eyes waver and for a flinching second he looks sad. “No, Connor,” he says softly. “So you don’t continue to disappoint mom and dad.”

  “It won’t happen again,” I hiss, practically seething. Ned’s resolve plasters over his face again and that hint of sadness turns to stone.

  “Maybe not the same way,” he says, calculating. “Maybe not the same thing. But when you’re impulsive, Connor—” />
  “Everything blows up, right?! Blows up in that fabulously wonderful way that only I know how to do? Yes?!”

  Ned inspects me with his eyes narrowed, his mouth and cheeks unflinching, and I quiet. The trick to talking to Ned is leaving emotion out of it. I’ve known that ever since I was ten. Too bad it never seems to happen. He’s deliberately baiting me, stirring up all the things that made me run off with Zariah and steal that car in the first place. Maybe this is like that. Maybe I just need him to know that I want a life that’s my own, one that’s not dictated by my brother or parents.

  “I’m doing this for me!” I clip out, but Ned is unmoved, his lawyer eyes watching patiently. “And the money’s good,” I continue. “If you’d actually listen to me. The restaurant is going to be off the charts. Hell, you’ll want to bring all your big fancy clients there. You’ll see.”

  No response.

  “Sure,” I continue, “my boss is hot. A redhead. A knockout. It’s not a problem. Trust me.”

  “Trust you?” Ned asks, his tone measured, but I’m happy to have at least squeezed an ounce of a response from him. “I’ve given you everything you have right now. Why are you the one I’m supposed to trust? Why isn’t this the other way around? Why don’t you trust me?”

  I frown, shame and guilt icing through me. I’m tired of this game. I’m tired of feeling like I have to keep saying thank you. Thank you for the apartment, for the job, for his mercy, for his pity.

  “You know what,” I snap, pushing back in my chair and standing up, “I’m sick of feeling like I owe everyone. That I owe you for bailing me out, for getting me a plea deal, for getting mom to actually look at me again.”

  “You do owe me for those things,” he glowers, a hint of anger finally flecking his tone.

  “And when do you stop holding it over my head? Huh? When do I get to go back to being myself, who I am? Who I want to be, huh?”

  “When you grow up and stop acting like you can do—and fuck—whomever you want,” Ned growls.

  “It’s really none of your business if I want to fuck my boss or some stranger I met at a club, or—”

  “I was talking about me,” Ned snaps, his eyes turning to slits. “I was talking about you fucking over this family. I was talking about your complete disregard for our legacy despite how we keep trying to make you a part of it.”

  “We?” I hiss, knowing the only one who’s made any effort is him. Hell, in the two years since the incident, I can’t remember if my parents have even called Ned on his birthday. We is a fucking pipe dream.

  Ned narrows his eyes at me. “Now please,” Ned continues, ignoring my insolence, “tell me more about your boss so I can feel more confident about your choices.”

  I push back my chair, the taste of sour in my mouth. “If you want to write me off—”

  “I don’t want to write you off!” Ned booms. Quickly, he looks over his shoulder to see if the other patrons have noticed his outburst, rolling back his shoulders to mask his break in pleasantness. “Sit back down!” he hisses through clenched teeth, and against my better judgement, I concede.

  “I need—”

  “To spread your damn wings like a bloody eagle, or some other bullshit, right?” Ned snaps. “I get it. Don’t tie you down. Let you run free. Be all the clichés, Connor, go ahead. As I said before, let’s skip the part where you try to convince me. It doesn’t really matter what I think because you’re going to do whatever the fuck you’re going to do, regardless of what I say.”

  I watch him carefully, waiting for the other shoe ball to drop.

  “Okay …” I say carefully, not sure what he really means by that. “So, what’s your play here? You obviously already know everything I came here to say.”

  Ned reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card. I recognize it before he puts it down on the table in front of me. The silver and white fonts are embossed with the words Voss Associates on it.

  “I’m disbarred,” I say stiffly. “I can’t work for—”

  “This is a different state,” Ned replies. “Different rules. You don’t think I haven’t spent hours figuring out how to get your license restored? It’s a long process, but I’ll get it done.”

  “What if I don’t want—”

  “Oh, you’ve made that abundantly clear.” Ned frowns, squinting into the sun. “But now it’s time you understand what I want. What my conditions are. Because my generosity isn’t an endless rope that I’ll keep throwing to you when you drown. In fact, it ends right now.”

  My throat tightens. He wasn’t kidding. He’s gonna kick me out.

  “You, Connor, can go do whatever it is you need to do at this pesky little restaurant,” Ned says, flicking his hand in a shooing gesture as if it’s all beneath him. “Go. Do it. Sleep with the girl. Make your fancy cocktails. Get it out of your system. But—” His eyebrows rise with his ultimatum. “When you’re done and you realize this was all another charade, when that happens,” he says it like it’s an inevitability, “then we’re doing this my way. No more of this ‘finding yourself’ bullshit. Nope. You work for me. Start in the mail room, work your way up to getting your license again, then partner. You and I, we work together. End of conversation.”

  “End of conversation?”

  “You’ve always wanted mom and dad to believe you were meant for more. Well you are. You’re meant to be my brother, at my side, at our firm.” Ned pushes back his seat and stands up.

  “I don’t deserve—”

  “Another chance?” Ned asks pointedly. “You’re right. You don’t. And yet, I keep giving you them.” He brushes off his suit and tosses his phone in his pocket. “But this is the last one. So, go do this restaurant job if it’s what you need to do. But when it’s over and you’re ready to stop fucking around, you’re going to start doing what you were meant to do. Or, like dad said, you’ll be dead to me.”

  He tosses some money on the table for his untouched salad. I open my mouth to protest, but he raises a hand, shaking his head.

  “You always thought I was the bully when we were kids,” Ned clips out. “But I wasn’t outsmarting you to bully you. I wanted you to be the best. To be at my side. I was training you. Cause you’re my brother and I want you to be part of the business. So, when you decide you want to be part of this family, we’re here—I’m here. Till then …” he frowns darkly, shooting cold straight through me. “Go fuck someone else for a change.”

  A naïve part of myself expects the hardness in his gaze to falter, and he’ll start laughing like this is a joke and not an ultimatum. But I’m wrong. I’ve pushed him one step too far and now I’m getting the full bore: the lawyer who’s going to knock me down, trample me, and then kick me off the curb. I don’t have a choice. I make this gig at Flambé work, or I go back with my tail between my legs to be his lackey at Voss Associates.

  Period.

  And from the look in my brother’s eye, there’s only one way this story ends … and it’s not happy.

  20

  Arie

  Screaming is a tame expression for the words spilling out of Simon’s mouth. His face is bright red to match the raging Niagara Falls of expletives flooding our kitchen. Our three new cooks, of whom I was training, have graciously decided to take a cigarette break.

  Smart move.

  I point toward Simon’s office, even though he’s mid-aneurysm, and walk out of the kitchen toward his office door. I take a seat in the same chair Connor sat in three days ago when it was me storming into the room instead of Simon. My business partner isn’t amused, but at least he’s kind enough to shut the door before my inevitable crucifixion.

  The silence between us is chilling. The contrast between his previous screeching and the somber weight that now hangs in the air is enough to make The Exorcist look like a heartwarming family movie.

  “You said,” I say calmly, crossing my legs and sitting back carefully, “to get it done. So, I got it done. Connor is officially on our payroll. You
have your male version of me to dangle in front of Hamblin, per your request, and I have begrudgingly served you my pride and dignity on a silver platter. So, I don’t really see why you’re so upset.”

  Simon slithers over to his desk and snatches up the contract Connor signed and points at my scribbled initials next to Connor’s new salary.

  “You said to pay him what he was worth,” I say hotly. Am I poking the beast? Yes. But I’m not going to apologize for sealing the deal as he instructed, even if it hurts our bottom line. Sure, the moment I signed that paper, I was knees-open and leaning back on Simon’s desk like an eager school girl—not my best moment, I’ll admit—but that’s none of Simon’s business. Yes, Connor played me, and now I’m going to make his life Hell.

  An eye for an eye.

  “Call Hamblin,” I instruct, waiving my hand toward the phone on Simon’s desk. “Tell him that’s what Connor costs and have him upfront the amount. It was his requirement for investing after all. Have him put his money where his mouth is.”

  “Hamblin won’t—” Simon hisses through his teeth. “That’s not how business deals like this work.”

  “Not my problem!” I snap, uncrossing my legs and standing up, tired of being Simon’s punching bag for all things that are wrong with this restaurant. “You wanted to dance with this devil, so dance. I did exactly as you asked. I’m putting our restaurant’s reputation in your—and Connor’s—hands. I cook, remember. You deal with the accounting. Wasn’t that what you preached to me the other day?”

  “Partners don’t—”

  “Undermine each other?” I lift my eyebrows, the full ire of my anger unfurling through my spine and making me lose some much-needed composure. “You told me to get him to stay by whatever means necessary. That was your condition for not walking out on me! So, I begged and apologized and groveled. I did all the things I had to do to keep this partnership together.” I point between Simon and me. “So, go ahead and blow up, scream, get this unfortunate bump in the road out of your system. I know you’ve had to deal with plenty of volcano-Arie’s explosions in your day. I get it. It’s not ideal. But that is the salary Connor agreed to. So, let’s accept it and move on. I have about three hundred other things on my to-do list today.”