Opened Up

by Eva Moore

  Sofia let out a heavy breath, and he rubbed a filthy hand on her shoulder.

  “Not as bad as we thought, babe.”

  She deliberately stepped out from under his touch and glared. Damn.

  “We talked about this,” she hissed. He couldn’t help but think about the rest of that conversation, the part where they’d talked about kissing and more. “Watch it, babe.”

  Her sarcasm slapped his hand away, and she brushed the dirt off her shoulder. Damn it, he’d slipped up already. Keeping his hands to himself now that he’d had the privilege of touching her was going to be harder than he thought.

  “Shit, sorry.”

  “Let me show you the other changes.”

  He tried to keep the Valenti Brothers’ mission at the forefront of his mind, but then she walked in front of him in those jeans and shattered his concentration. He was tempted to give her whatever she asked for just to bring back her smile.

  Shit.

  Chapter 9

  Sofia sat where she always sat, behind her desk piled with papers, trying to make sense of the chaos that had landed there while she was out at demo day on the Shah project. After a full day of filming and emotional turmoil, she’d returned to the office to tackle her day job. The influx of paperwork hadn’t slowed just because she was designing and filming now. Purchase orders, catalogs, and the day’s mail had all been tossed haphazardly on her desk. Could no one see the in-box she’d labeled and placed on the corner of her desk? The one that was still empty, gathering dust? Why do I even try?

  Taking a sip of hours-old cold coffee, she winced and began to restore order to her world. She’d just gotten everything into its appropriate pile when her dad popped his head in her door.

  “Hey, princess. Still here?”

  “Well, these bills aren’t going to pay themselves.”

  “No, they won’t. Found that out the hard way when your mother quit working.”

  “I know. I remember.”

  After Gabe’s funeral, Mom had embraced the carpe diem philosophy with open arms, determined to make the most of every day remaining to her. Sofia had stepped into the chaos left behind. Three years later, she was buried while her mother went wine tasting. Damn you, Gabe. Why did you have to leave and change everything?

  If he were still here, at least she’d have one more voice in her corner. He’d always supported her ideas, even letting her paint on the walls of his tree house. True, he’d hidden her pink and purple paints, but he had opened his hideout to her. He’d recognized, even at the age of ten, that creating made her happy. She’d been counting on that understanding to help her make a space for her talents at Valenti Brothers.

  If only she’d had a chance to really prove herself as a designer before the world had come crashing down, maybe she wouldn’t be spending her evenings entering data and writing checks. Her dad would have hired someone else, or maybe Mom wouldn’t have shut down. But Gabe’s death had made Dad overly cautious about spending money. It seemed to make him realize how tenuous his stability really was. Every time she brought up hiring someone else, the answer was that there wasn’t enough design business to justify hiring someone else to take over the desk duties. The catch-22 was infuriating.

  Oblivious to her internal musings, her dad leaned against her doorjamb, clearly settling in for a conversation. Great, now she’d be even later.

  “I want to talk to you about Adrian.”

  Do not blush. Do NOT blush!

  “What about him?” She surreptitiously pressed a palm to her neck. Whew, still cool.

  “Last time we talked about his proposal, you walked out.”

  Proposal? Her mind flashed to Adrian on bended knee with a black velvet box in hand. The image was oddly tempting, and she made a mental note to revisit it later, before pulling her wits back to her current conversation. Domenico Valenti was not one to suffer quiet long, and he was already filling her pause with more words. Clearly, he’d been saving up.

  “I know you two don’t always get along, but I’m seriously considering saying yes.”

  Sofia’s temper flashed. True, she’d promised to help Adrian get his proposal approved, but how could her dad keep making these decisions without talking about it with any of them?

  “Dad, I know he’s been a loyal employee, and he’s a great contractor. But how would that work? We’ve always been a family company, yes, but you and Zio Tony own this place. The rest of us just work here. Zio Tony is already retired and can’t move on with selling his part of the business until we figure this out. Does he sell out to Adrian? Or does he give his half to Seth? Does that leave Seth with a fifty percent share, and me, Enzo, Frankie, and Adrian fighting over what’s left? Or is it just going to be Seth and Adrian running things and me, Enzo, and Frankie stay on as employees? Have you thought about any of this? Because if you have, I sure haven’t heard about it. Is Adrian going to step into Gabe’s seat at the dinner table, too?”

  Sofia tried to keep her voice even, but by the end of her rant she knew she’d gotten fast and shrill, her emotions spiraling out of control. Where did that rant come from?

  “Why do you always have to fight everything?”

  “I’m not trying to fight with you, Dad. I’m trying to protect our future.”

  “Jesus, Fi. Don’t overreact.”

  “You want to take what I thought was my inheritance, what I thought I was working to build and expand as a family legacy, what I sacrificed my dreams for, and sell it without a thought to the details, and I’m overreacting?”

  “What have you sacrificed, Sofia? You sit here in this office pushing papers and signing checks. You’ve got it easy. Adrian understands what it means to sacrifice to build something that lasts.”

  The question hit her like a slap to the face, stealing her breath. Pushing aside the fact that she had let go of her social life and her creative outlets to save his ass, she focused on the detail he’d most likely value.

  “Do you know how many job offers I had coming out of school? And I said no, I’m going to work for my own business. Except it’s not ever going to be mine, is it? Have you talked to Frankie about this?”

  “Not one-on-one.”

  “Coward. You know it’s been Frankie’s plan for years to take over as head contractor. What now? Is Adrian going to be that guy?”

  “Frankie is too young and inexperienced to take over as head contractor right now.”

  “Ah, but not forever. Have you thought about that, Dad? Do you have a plan?”

  His silence answered her more clearly than words.

  “And you wonder why I left the other day. Do you think I’m doing this,” she gestured at the papers on her desk, “because I like earning an hourly wage? No, Dad. I care about this company, and I want it to be solvent when I inherit my part. I also want to get the hell out of here before midnight. Come back and talk to me when you have an actual plan.” She couldn’t quite believe that she’d just spoken to her father that way, and apparently he couldn’t either.

  “I don’t know why you’re so angry about this. If the job is too much with the designing and the show—”

  “Don’t even say it.” Sofia couldn’t let him suggest she give up her dreams a second time. For as much as she’d just stood up to him verbally, actually going against something her dad told her to do felt nigh on impossible. “I didn’t say I couldn’t handle it. I said I want to be working my ass off for something that’s mine, not someone else’s. I don’t want to take orders from a boss, and if you’re going to sell the company out from under me, I’d like to know so I can make other plans.”

  “What other plans?” He seemed genuinely baffled by this idea.

  “Dad, I’m a designer. I am not going to enter time cards forever. Don’t take me for granted.”

  “I don’t, Sofia.”

  Oh, but you do. And you don’t even realize it. Her face must’ve telegraphed her disagreement, because he got defensive.

  “I appreciate the work you
do.”

  “As long as it’s the work you want me to do. Listen, Dad, it’s been a long day, and I can tell I’m not saying what you expected me to say. Why don’t you go home and talk things over with Mom? We can talk more tomorrow.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Okay, then the day after.”

  “No, I can’t talk to your mother. She won’t speak to me.”

  Sofia sat back in her chair, stunned. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when that had been the case. Her parents’ marriage had always seemed rock-solid. Sure they argued, but they did so briefly and at top volume, and then it was done and life went on. Her mother had never shied away from an argument, never kept her opinions to herself. Sofia wanted to be just like her.

  “I thought she just didn’t want to talk about the show. How long has this been going on?”

  “Not a word since the family meeting.”

  A whole month? This is serious.

  “Well then, go home and think about what your plan is. Talk to Enzo and Frankie, and see what they say. And then we’ll talk again. Like I said before, I’m not against it in principle, but I can’t agree until I know the specifics of what you want to do.”

  Her email chimed from her computer. Another message from Farha Shah.

  “Sorry, Dad. I need to read this. We’ll talk soon.”

  “Don’t stay up too late.” She rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of that command just as she had at age nine when he caught her reading after bedtime. It earned her a short laugh. “I love you, princess.”

  “I love you, too, Dad.”

  At least that part of their relationship hadn’t just changed. But now that she’d spoken her concerns and frustrations aloud, Sofia didn’t think she could go back to being biddable. As he left and locked the front door behind him, Sofia turned her attention to the email.

  From: Farha Shah

  To: Sofia Valenti

  CC: Jake Ryland

  Subject: Chandelier

  Hi Sofia,

  I know you’ve been making changes to the design plan. If it’s not too much trouble, we would love to have a fixture like this over the kitchen island. Let me know what you think.

  Farha

  She’d attached a picture of a geometric figure made of connecting bronze bars and antique Edison-style bulbs. Gorgeous and perfect for the slightly modern, slightly eclectic vibe she wanted. Price tag? Three thousand dollars? No way! She clicked to reply and realized that Farha had included Jake Ryland in the email chain. Shit. She couldn’t say no. Maybe she could find a knockoff for cheaper. One more thing to add to her ever-growing list of things to figure out. She noted it in the design plan and made an entry on her calendar to research it in the morning. Finally, she pulled the stack of purchase orders back in front of her. The mangled, half-complete paper on top sent her already aggravated blood pressure skyrocketing.

  Damn it. She did not have time for this. Why couldn’t he fill out the damn paperwork the way she’d asked?

  She had changed the order form three years ago, needing more info than her mother who had been dealing with contractor crap for thirty years. Some people decided to ignore this fact and continued to expect her to figure out what the hell their chicken scratch meant. The order request from Adrian had a supplier name scrawled across the top and notes on amounts and dimensions.

  No part numbers. No prices. No respect for the extra time she’d spend filling in the blanks so she could place the damn order. And Dad wanted to give him the company? Frankie never pulled this shit. Her blood boiled. The spaces were on the freaking form for a reason! If he couldn’t handle minor forms, how on earth would he manage to run the company? And how much more crap would fall into her lap?

  Before she could flip her filters back on, she pulled out her phone and tapped his number. She’d given her dad a piece of her mind. Why not give a little more to the guy who deserved it?

  Chapter 10

  “¡Hola, Mamá! I’m home.”

  “Mijo, it’s so late. I was worried.”

  “I know. That’s why I called you. Twice.”

  “Yes, but the worry doesn’t leave until you come through that door.”

  Adrian leaned over and pressed a kiss to his mother’s forehead. She had always told him that his kisses kept the wrinkles away, so he’d made it a point to kiss her anytime he came or went since he was a child. He’d keep her forever young if he could. She was the only parent he had left. When she passed, he’d become the official head of the family. Just the idea of her being gone snapped his throat shut, so he pushed it ruthlessly away. He could still make her smile with a simple kiss, so he would take every opportunity to do so.

  “What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”

  In a routine as familiar as his own face in the mirror, he took off his work boots by the front door and walked into the tiny bathroom off the kitchen to scrub the day from his hands and face. By the time he’d worked the grime and sweat from his pores, his dinner would be hot and waiting for him on the table.

  The comfort of this routine soothed him after his rough run-in with Sofia that afternoon. He’d thought they were making progress, but then she’d wanted to change everything while the stupid cameras were rolling. They’d spent the rest of the afternoon arguing. He didn’t know why the cameras put him on edge, but they did. He hated the feeling that he was being watched. Probably a holdover from his childhood of being told to put his head down, obey, don’t cause trouble. But it hadn’t made a difference in the end. His father had still gotten caught up and hauled away.

  He’d have to find some way to make it up to Sofia. In hindsight, he realized she was probably scrambling to cut money from her design budget after his bombshells. Why hadn’t she said something about it at lunch? Because he’d scrambled her brain. He allowed himself a small smile over that particular victory. He would make amends. He’d won the bigger battle that day.

  He strolled into the kitchen and dropped his exhausted body into his chair.

  “Mmm, pollo en mole. Mamá, you’re the best.”

  “You deserve the best, mijo.” She bustled around the kitchen, putting food away, packing plastic freezer bags with the leftovers, moving pans to the sink. Though his sisters had all moved out now, his mother still cooked like she was feeding a brood of four hungry teenagers. She couldn’t seem to scale down her recipes, so the neighborhood benefited from her abundance. Since Adrian knew the creation brought her pleasure, he was happy to spread her wealth to his friends and neighbors. As long as he got his plate first.

  “Come! Sit and eat with me.” He tugged her down into the chair next to his, knowing she’d likely eaten at five o’clock when the food had been ready. “How was your day?”

  “Oh, you know. I talked to Mahalia today.” His older sister called almost every day since she’d moved up to Oakland with her husband, Rey.

  “How’s the baby?”

  “So sweet! Look how big he’s getting! She sent me pictures.” She pulled her smartphone from her apron pocket to show off his only nephew. As the first grandbaby, every moment of Jeremiah’s life was being documented. Today’s pictures featured a red face and tears.

  “He looks less than happy.”

  “Still not sleeping well. Poor little guy.”

  “Poor Mahalia. She’s never done well on little sleep. Remember high school?”

  “Trying to get that girl out of bed…”

  “Do you want to go up there for a couple of days to help out?”

  “No.”

  No explanation, just no. Same as every other time he asked if she wanted to get out of the house. When his dad had been taken, she’d stopped seeing friends, afraid of who she could trust. She’d let her driver’s license lapse, and had gradually stopped doing the daily errands that had filled her day with familiar faces and routine. While his sisters had lived in the house, there had been more than enough hands to get the job done. But since his baby sister was living on campus, it was all falling
on his shoulders, unless one of the older girls dropped in to help. He would keep trying to encourage his mother to get out more, but if the lure of her first-born grandchild wasn’t enough, he doubted he’d succeed. When was the last time his mother had used the front door?

  “Marielena picked up our groceries while she was out today, so you don’t need to stop tomorrow.”

  Adrian cringed. Marielena was a good friend to his mother and often included her in her daily errands, but he hated imposing.

  “I told you I’d do it, Mamá.”

  “Don’t fuss at me. She offered, and I’m making my arroz con leche before her mother-in-law comes next week. It’s fine. How was your day?”

  “Ugh. This show is going to kill me. Demolition took twice as long as it should have, and Sofia showed up with changes to the plan. So we had to film all of that as well. I had to explain why we tore up the floor five times!”

  “Sofia?”

  “She’s done the interior design and remodel plans for this one.”

  “I thought she just did the paperwork.”

  “She does, but she does designs, too. I don’t know how well it’s working out. She seems to be in over her head, and the budget is spiraling.”

  “She’s a good girl, that Sofia.”

  “Mamá, don’t start. You’ve never even met her. What makes you think she’s so good?”

  Even though the Valentis had extended invitations to his entire family for summer company picnics and winter holiday parties, attending would require his mother to leave the house, so he’d always gone with his sisters. While his mother knew everyone he worked with by name and reputation, she’d never met them face-to-face.

  “She drives you nuts. She must be smart and strong to stand up to you and get what she wants.”

  “She’s also the boss’s daughter.”

  “Bah! Love is love. When I met your father—”