Strike (The Beat and The Pulse #10)

by Amity Cross

  Her eyelashes fluttered like she was fighting back tears. “Yeah,” she said. “I need to hear it.”

  Sighing, I continued. “Every time we met up, she would have a new bruise. I didn’t think anything of it because she trained as well, you know? They have to keep their bodies in top shape, and at the time, she was learning MMA. Bruises happen. They’re part of the job. She also… She also liked being rough…in bed. She never once said no or stop. It was always yes. Always.” I shook my head, the humiliation of my downfall washing over me. It was as raw as it was the first time around. “I wasn’t the nicest guy, but I never hurt her. The first I heard of the allegations was when the cops knocked on my door and arrested me.”

  “You choked her,” Callie whispered.

  “She asked me to.” I shoved down the urge to shout it at her. “She asked me to, so I did. It was her word against mine. The evidence was against me, so it was either serve time in an American prison or settle out of court. So I settled and came home.”

  Callie didn’t say anything. She just stared at her hands as her fingers worried the hem of her shirt.

  “I lost everything because of that woman. My reputation, my money, my career, my relationships. It was all gone. The only place I had left was The Underground. I fought there under an alias, but my downfall soon caught up with me. Soon, the entire world hated me for something I didn’t do. It was still my word against hers. Nothing will ever change.”

  I stood abruptly and strode over to the window. Staring at the street below, I tried not to dwell on the awful thought going through my mind. Maybe I should just end it. But that would be too easy.

  “So why do you push everyone away?” Her voice was quiet. Tentative.

  “Because I’m tainted,” I replied, not turning around. “Everyone who touches me gets hurt. Either by my hand or by association. This is my karma.”

  I wasn’t smart enough to think of a word to describe the sadness in my heart, but it ached worse than my broken arm. It was…darkness.

  “I’m a self-destructive piece of shit,” I muttered, knowing she could hear every word. “I can’t promise you easy.”

  Leather creaked, and a moment later, Callie appeared beside me. Her arm slid through mine, and her emerald eyes burned into the side of my face.

  “So?” she asked. “What are you going to do now?”

  I glanced at her, my brow furrowing. What was I going to do? Bow down at her feet and lick her shoes pretty much.

  “Try,” I replied. “All I can do is try.”

  “I’ve never felt like this before,” she began, her voice wavering. “I’m not sure what to do either, you know.”

  “I don’t believe it. A woman like you?”

  “Like me?” She scowled.

  “Yeah. A woman like you,” I said more firmly. “Intelligent, driven, successful…beautiful.”

  She snorted and rolled her eyes.

  “I want to live up to that,” I murmured. “For the first time in my life, I want… I want to be a better man. For you. For your heart, Callie.”

  Her eyes sparkled as she turned to face me completely. “You really believe those things about me?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

  “Then listen to me,” she declared. “You deserve to be loved, Mark Ryder.”

  I froze, my heart beating wildly in my chest.

  “I don’t know what’ll happen next,” she went on. “But all I can do is try. Are you with me?”

  “You believe me?”

  “I believe you.”

  My heart soared. “I’m so with you I’m already there.”

  Sliding my hand over her waist, I tugged her against my body, and the moment our lips touched, I was a goner.

  19

  Callie

  When the sun rose the next day, things seemed different. Like I’d gathered a ton of life experience points and had leveled up.

  I went on a date with a nice man—that didn’t really do anything for me—then went home with another on the same night. When did I become so…in demand?

  I was torn in three very different directions. Mark was complicated and broken, but I was attracted to him to the point of agony. Justin was nice and considerate, and I might come to like him more than a friend given enough time. My business was demanding most of my time, and the dream I’d had since a child was finally manifesting.

  But the promise I’d finally made was to Mark.

  After a night asleep in Mark’s arms—with no added funny business—I cabbed it home all bleary eyed. It had been years since I’d crawled in at seven a.m. Not since my late teens and early twenties when I used to go out all night clubbing and seeing live bands. My tolerance for lack of sleep was completely shot. I was the walking dead.

  Opening the front door, I shuffled down the hall to the kitchen, desperate for a little caffeine to kick-start the synapses in my brain. Macy was sitting at the table finishing her breakfast, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, dressed and ready for work. Ugh, sometimes her perfection pissed me off, but at least she was dwarfed by my Twister heartbreak cake that took up three-quarters of the table.

  “You’re getting in late,” she said with a wink.

  “It’s not like that,” I mumbled, shuffling toward the coffee machine. Grabbing a pod, I popped it into the top, shoved a cup under the nozzle, and pressed the button that made magic happen.

  “Then what’s it like?” Macy asked, hiding a grin. “Did you bag the firefighter?”

  “No.” Opening the fridge, I took out the milk and topped up my coffee. “He was as much fun as a dirty dish rag. Ugh, I’m such a bitch. He was really nice and polite and all of those things, but there was just… Nothing.”

  “Hey, that’s not always an indicator, you know. Sometimes relationships take time to build, especially when you don’t know the guy very well.” She raised her eyebrows. “Unlike the fighter…”

  “Speaking of Mark,” I said with a scowl.

  “Shit, Callie! Has he been harassing you?” She practically stamped her foot. “I knew it!”

  “No, he hasn’t been harassing me.” I blew on my coffee and took a sip. “I stopped by the shop last night to check the progress, and he found me there.”

  Macy’s mouth dropped open. “Seriously? He’s stalking you now?”

  “It’s not like that. Just listen, okay? We had a long talk where he explained everything.” I stared into the mug, breathing in the scent. “He said it was all a lie. What that woman accused him of.”

  She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

  “He was pretty convincing,” I went on. “Extremely detailed. Though, you were right about one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He’s got a ton of broken happening. A real shitload. You know he turned up last night with a broken arm?” Remembering the cast and his explanation—it got stood on—I winced a little.

  “He fights illegally,” Macy said warily. “And has had all these accusations made against him. It sounds like bad news to me. He probably broke it fighting some other bastard for money. Are you sure you want to get mixed up with him?”

  I knew she was coming from a good place, but her standoffishness was beginning to irritate me. Mark had done nothing to hurt me, nothing directly, and his attempts at saving me from harm had backfired. I promised to give him a chance, but now I doubted even that. Thanks, Macy.

  “I can’t deny what I feel for him,” I said after a moment. “I won’t be silly enough to fall into a situation that’s bad for me, but I can’t walk away when there’s a chance of something real and good with him. He needs someone in his corner. He needs someone to listen. Isn’t that a good start? It’s not exactly diving in headfirst into a pool of piranhas.”

  “I’m just worried he’s lying,” Macy said.

  “I saw the look in his eyes,” I replied. “I saw it, and I believe him. I just…” I stared into my cup of coffee. “There’s something there.”

  “Ju
st be careful, Callie.”

  I nodded. “I always am.”

  Macy smiled halfheartedly, and I knew she didn’t quite believe me. It didn’t matter though. This was between Mark and me, and only we knew the truth of what we felt.

  “I’ve got to get to work,” she said after a moment. “I’ll see you tonight?”

  “Yeah, I guess. No plans so far.”

  “All right. See you later.”

  Sipping my coffee, my stomach churned, and I made a face. Tipping it into the sink, I detoured past the bathroom for a shower before grabbing my laptop and settling on my bed.

  Opening my email, I scrolled through my messages and notifications. I would have to get my cake to the shop somehow. I wondered if I could rent a van or con a mate into helping me transport it.

  There was a message from a Hector Vanderhall, and my heart skipped a beat. Opening the message, I scanned the contents and almost vomited.

  Hi, Callie, I saw your cakes online and heard about the fire at your shop. I’m terribly sorry to hear about the damage. I’m writing to see if you would like to come meet me. I would be delighted to hear more about your desserts, and perhaps we could help one another with future ventures in food? Here is my number. Call me anytime.

  Hector Vanderhall? The Hector Vanderhall?

  This had to be some kind of prank. This guy was a genius—he was the celebrity chef known for his theatrical food—and he was emailing me with his private mobile number? I fanned my searing cheeks. The only way to find out for sure was to call, right?

  Picking up my phone, I dialed the number with shaking hands.

  “Hello, this is Hector.”

  His British accent washed over me, and I immediately knew this was not a joke.

  “Hello?” I said haltingly. “This is Callie Winslow. I’ve just seen your email…”

  “Callie!” he exclaimed, sounding rather excited for eight in the morning. “I’m so glad you called.”

  “Thank you for the email. I’m rather curious…”

  “Are you free today?” he asked, talking to me like we’d already met.

  “Today?” I replied, a little shocked. “Sure, I, uh…”

  “Great,” he declared. “Come see me at my restaurant in the city. Any time you’re able. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Great! Oh, great cakes, by the way. Spectacular!”

  The line went dead, and I stared at the screen, completely frazzled. I knew the guy was eccentric, but this was weird. I felt like I’d just been spun around by a colorful whirlwind and left dazed.

  I was going to see Hector Vanderhall about a job. Holy fuck.

  Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the bustle that was Fortune, Hector Vanderhall’s flagship Melbourne restaurant.

  The warm and homely scent of food wafted around me, and my unsettled stomach began to ease. The entire tram ride over here, I was deathly frightened I might shit my pants I was that nervous. Total brown trousers time. My emotions were at an all-time high what with last night’s date with Justin, the deep and meaningful I had with Mark, our night together, my conversation with Macy…and now Hector.

  Nothing for my entire life and then everything all in the space of a month. Talk about one hell of a roller coaster.

  I approached the hostess, and she smiled, then looked me up and down. She was tall, thin as a rake, and beautiful with her perfect makeup, flawless complexion, and long chocolate-colored hair. I immediately felt like a tub of washed-out lard.

  “Name?” she demanded.

  “Winslow, I’m—”

  “Do you have a reservation?” she interrupted, looking stern.

  “No, I…”

  “We’re fully booked,” she said, flipping her hair back over her shoulder.

  “Oh, no, I’m here to see Hector. He’s expecting me.” I pointed to myself. “Callie Winslow.”

  The hostess blinked at me, not looking very impressed. “Just one moment.”

  Ugh. Would I ever get over my insecurities? Fiddling with the strap of my handbag, I watched as she disappeared into the kitchen. What kind of job was Hector talking about? Did he want me to work in the kitchen here? I had my own shop to think about, and taking on an apprenticeship seemed like a pretty large step back.

  When the hostess returned, she pouted and said, “This way, please.”

  Following her through the restaurant, she opened the kitchen door for me and ushered me inside. Within the staff-only area, it was a complete sensory overload. Hustle and bustle had nothing on the chaos that sat inches from the calm and delicate restaurant where people were currently enjoying their artfully arranged lunch.

  Recognizing Hector by a stove, I approached him, forgetting about the haughty hostess entirely. He was very tall with a shaved head, pale skin, and a certain flair about him. He was known for his eccentricity, and everything he touched turned into an elaborate theatrical presentation. There was a reason he was a celebrity chef.

  “Callie!” he exclaimed when he saw me. “So good to see you!”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I replied, peering curiously at the stove. He was cooking something sweet, the scent of caramel becoming stronger the closer I came. Even though we’d just met, he welcomed me like an old friend, and it put me at ease.

  “Here, taste this.” He grabbed a teaspoon and dipped it into the steaming pot of sauce. Holding it over his hand, he blew on it before moving it toward me. “Careful, it’s hot.”

  Not sure what to do, I awkwardly let him hold the spoon to my lips. Tasting the sauce, my eyebrows rose. Caramel with hints of cinnamon.

  “Classic, yes?”

  I nodded. “Brown sugar, butter, cinnamon, and vanilla.”

  “I thought it was only fair I brushed up on my dessert skills before I met you.” He smiled and turned the heat off. Clicking his fingers, a member of the kitchen staff came running and grabbed the pot as he guided me through the maze of prep areas. “Now, let’s find a quiet spot and have a chat.”

  Glancing around me, I wondered where that would be. The restaurant was in full swing with its lunch sitting. Chefs and kitchen hands were running back and forth, shouting orders and bashing pots and pans furiously as they plated up. Outside, punters were talking loudly, the din almost too much to handle. Corks were popping off the top of wine bottles, glasses were clinking, and laughter abounded, and as Hector led me through it, my head spun. This was how a real-life successful restaurant looked.

  We sat at a table by the window, set apart in a little alcove. It was shielded just enough that the noise from the restaurant was muffled slightly.

  “Tell me, Callie, is food your passion?”

  “Desserts are,” I replied. “Ever since I was a little girl.”

  “And what is your favorite thing about desserts?” He waited patiently, and I wondered what he wanted to hear.

  “They bring people together,” I said, just saying what I believed. “They make people happy. That’s a great thing. If it tastes amazing, then even better.”

  Hector laughed, looking pleased as punch. “You’re right, you know. Food is all about sustenance. We need to eat to survive, but who said it couldn’t taste great? Art is everywhere, and you and I are artists.”

  “Your food is certainly an inspiration,” I said in agreement.

  “Why thank you, my dear. Now, you must be wondering what all this is about.”

  “Yeah, I was a little surprised to receive your message.”

  “I’m truly sorry to hear what happened to you and your shop,” he went on. “I’m so glad you’re okay and it is being rebuilt. Such an inspiration.”

  “I just did what had to be done.” I shrugged.

  He smiled mysteriously and then became rather animated. “To hell with it! I’m just going to say it. I want to work with you, Callie.”

  I blinked, suddenly overcome with shyness.

  “I have a string of restaurants all over the world,” he continued. “We specialize in theater. Every
meal is an event, designed specifically to delight and amaze, not just through taste and delicious food but a total sensory experience. Your mind, your ideas, your creations. I want you to bake for me, Callie. Help me develop desserts for my restaurants, teach my staff, learn from me, and I’ll take you right to the top.”

  I stared at him blankly, completely overwhelmed by his speech. “The top of what?”

  “The food chain, of course!” He laughed. “Tell me, have you ever applied to be on a reality cooking show?”

  I nodded. “I have, but I was never selected to audition.”

  “Forget about being a contestant. After a year with me, honing your skills, I can get you a guest appearance. No competition required.”

  “Do you really think I have the talent?”

  “Yes, you certainly do, but I’ll be honest with you, Callie. This won’t be easy. You’ll hate me just as much as you love me. I’ll push you to the edge in my quest to make you the best. You will cry tears of frustration, but at the end of it, you’ll be surpassed by nobody.”

  He said it with such conviction and passion, I believed him. Inspiration had been struck in my heart, and I began to think of all the places I wanted to see and people I wanted to learn from. I could be sitting where Hector was now. Never afraid of being bankrupt, not wanting for a paying customer, and having my name on the lips of the most influential people in food.

  “You’ll travel the world, Callie,” he went on. “Paris, New York, London, Rome… I have restaurants in all those cities. In fact, I’m going to supervise the opening of a new site in Amsterdam in a few weeks. I would like for you to come.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath. This was exactly what happened to Mark. He got an offer he couldn’t refuse, he did whatever it took to make it a reality, and it turned around to bite him in the ass. But I’m not Mark, I thought to myself. I can handle this.