Goody Two-shoes.
“Just once. Then I better make it damn good.”
Funny. He’d been very good at breaking the rules that night.
Gabe bit back a smile at the memory.
“Hundred dollars, it’s fideuà,” Cole said as they reached the double wooden doors to the family’s private dining room.
Gabe paused. “Paella,” he said.
Cole nodded. “Bet.”
They entered the brightly lit room of modern design to find everyone else already assembled around the large round set table.
“Damn,” Cole swore at the sight of the big and wide frying pan of paella in the center of the table on top of a large trivet.
Gabe took the folded hundred-dollar bill from between his brother’s index and middle fingers to slide into his pocket before claiming a seat in between Phillip Jr. and Lucas. The aromatic dish was filled with lobster, mussels, clams and shrimp. Steam still rose from it.
“The paella smells good, Ma,” Sean said, removing the linen napkin atop his gold-rimmed plate and opening it across his lap.
“Ton père a préparé le déjeuner pour nous aujourd’hui,” Nicolette told them, knowing her husband and sons spoke both French and Spanish fluently.
Their father had cooked.
The Cress brothers all paused and shared brief looks surreptitiously before watching their father’s tall and solid frame move around the table as he filled everyone’s goblet with a vintage white wine.
Gabe was sure their thoughts were in alignment with his own. There was no coincidence between their father cooking lunch at work—something he had never done—and the James Beard Award nominations being announced and the family coming up nil in the journalism and restaurant-and-chef categories. In their separate careers as chefs, nearly all of them had been nominated or won as Outstanding Restaurateur or Best Chef. But as a collective under the umbrella of Cress, INC. the accolade had yet to be received.
Phillip Leonard Cress Sr. was not pleased by that fact.
And him cooking such a nuanced meal that took skill, knowledge and use of many techniques to create the Spanish dish correctly—perfectly—was an unspoken reminder that he expected nothing less from his sons than excellence. Earning prestigious awards for Cress, INC. would serve as a testament to the quality of the business.
Phillip Sr. served each of his family members before raising his wine goblet into the air. “À la nourriture. À la vie. À l’amour,” he said before claiming his seat next to his wife.
Everyone tasted the paella.
Gabe fought not to close his eyes in pleasure at the exquisite seasoning, the tenderness of the seafood mix and the perfect, crunchy crust at the bottom of the rice dish. It was divine.
Just as Phillip Sr. knew it to be.
Message received.
Four
Two weeks later
Monica trembled so hard that the letter she held clutched in both her hands rattled as if unsettled by wind. But she was secure from the spring breezes inside the posh Manhattan law offices. It was her nerves that caused the tremble. The shock of it all.
“Miss Darby?”
She heard the attorney, but his voice sounded distant instead of that of a man across the desk from her. She released small breaths as she looked down at the skirt of her print dress, remembering how much she’d fretted if it was the right thing to wear to an appointment with a high-powered lawyer.
Especially when I didn’t know what it was about at the time. I hope it’s okay.
Monica knew her random thoughts were a diversion from the truth she’d just been told.
“Do you understand what I’ve explained?” he asked. “You’ve been left an inheritance by Brock Maynard—”
“The actor?” she asked, although he’d already given her his name. She shifted her eyes to the bald portly man with thick, framed spectacles. “In all the movies?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “Your father.”
Monica’s lip curled as she shook her head. “Not my father. He was a sperm donor,” she said snidely, feeling overcome with all the years of sadness and loneliness she had felt. For so long she had wondered who her parents were and why they hadn’t been able—or wanted to—raise her. And she’d thought of everything. Even their deaths.
Discovering that her father was a wealthy and famous actor was worse.
Had been an actor. Now he’s dead.
She looked around at the high ceilings, upscale decor and the New York skyline so clearly seen out the windows. This was the world of the Cress family and those of that ilk. Wealthy and affluent. Smart and talented. She could easily see Gabe sitting behind the desk with all the confidence and bravado needed to control the room.
She felt out of