Who's the Boss? - Erin McCarthy Page 0,5
own DNA, since I was a bit of a loose cannon.
My mother thought of Michael as the golden child, and hell, he was. He was a doctor who hadn’t dated for years after his wife’s death and did a crap ton of charity work. He was a good man, who walked a straight line. Me? I was a bit of a fuckup in my earlier years, even before I found out my father wasn’t actually my father. Afterwards I had some really bad years as I tried to reconcile my identity and forgive my mother.
But I didn’t resent my brother at all. He was who he was and I was who I was. It had taken the kitchen to help me understand my origins didn’t matter. What I did as an adult was what was important and I worked my ass off.
“I don’t want to know you,” she said.
That annoyed me just a little. Isla was too instantly dismissive.
“You don’t have to either know me or like me to have a good time with me,” I said. “Obviously. Unless you’re the world’s greatest actress.”
It was the wrong thing to say.
She visibly bristled. “I’m an amazing actress,” she said, her chin up, eyes flashing in anger.
That made me think she was actually in reality an aspiring actress and I had offended her. If anyone was keeping score, I was losing the match with Isla.
I didn’t have a chance to respond before my brother approached us. Normally he would shake my hand and give me a bro hug, but he looked annoyed with me.
Welcome to the club. I had a trifecta going on. Mom, Michael, and Isla all thinking I sucked. I suddenly wanted a drink.
“Where the hell have you been?” Michael asked me. “You’re like an hour late.”
“I got stuck in your fucking elevator. Don’t you ever look at your phone?” It hadn’t been for an hour, but he didn’t need to know that.
“It’s my engagement party. I’m not staring at my phone. I don’t even have a text from you.”
“That’s because I told you texting from elevators is dicey,” Isla said. “Like it would have killed you just to push the help button?”
She’d pushed the button and it had done exactly no good. I didn’t bother to point that out though, because I may be a lot of things, but I’m not petty. They were doing introductions and I decided there was no way in hell she was going to give me her number at this point. Time to cut my losses and head for the bar cart.
It had been an entertaining and arousing eight minutes.
“Well, nice meeting you,” I said to Isla, which I was sincere about. She had certainly distracted me from my claustrophobia in the elevator. She gave me a glare, which pricked at me. I should have kept my mouth shut, but I kept going. “And yes, I mean that sarcastically. I’m going to get a drink.” I clapped my brother on the shoulder. “Congratulations, you crazy son of a bitch. I wish you a lifetime of happiness and hope you never find yourself tied to your bed with your balls glued to your thighs.”
Personally, I was going to stick to dating apps and anonymous hookups. I didn’t have time to navigate the minefield of actually trying to find a woman I could have a meaningful relationship with. As I walked away, I heard Michael asking Isla what the hell that was all about.
I didn’t stick around to hear her answer.
There was a bourbon with my name on it.
Maybe that would warm up my blue balls.
One
Four months later
“Maybe it’s a surprise party for you, Isla,” my friend Savannah said to me over the phone. “A promotion party.”
As I walked the final block to the restaurant I was a chef at, Bone, I marveled that only sweet Savannah could put a positive spin on what was clearly not a fantastic situation. “I don’t think that is either Nico’s or Sid’s style. No, this mandatory afternoon meeting is clearly to announce the new executive chef and it’s not me. If it was me, I would know already.”
Which was disappointing as hell. I’d been working my butt off for three years at Bone and would love to be promoted to head chef. But at the same time, the other staff chef, Martin, was older, had more experience, and had been at Bone at least six months longer than me. So I couldn’t exactly get angry if he had gotten