Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Pleasure first.
It's a beautiful car. Fast, sleek, fun. Sexy.
Clients love to see me arrive in it.
If only it was a Ferrari. That would really sell the image—
I speed up at a green light. Enjoy the five minutes on the freeway. That's the beautiful thing about Orange County. Once you leave the coast itself, the planned communities are filled with wide, open streets with high speed limits.
Zero to fifty, again and again.
The ten-minute drive to my condo passes too quickly. But I can't enjoy the bliss of a job well done, because there's no peace waiting for me at home.
There's something far worse.
My brother Daniel.
Chapter Four
Romeo
Daniel is at my kitchen counter, sipping espresso from a tiny white cup, the picture of poise and confidence. Or he would be, if he wasn't so stiff and awkward.
There's an image of my older brother, in the dictionary, after uptight. It's not just his posture. Or the stern expression he wears ninety-nine percent of the time. It's an aura.
"You're here earlier than I expected." He turns to me and raises a brow. An old gesture. One that used to be playful.
Now, I don't know. It's hard to imagine him teasing me the way we did as kids. "Were you planning to wait all morning?" Usually, I charge extra for that, but I can't exactly list my prices. As far as Daniel knows, I'm a part-time contractor. I help small businesses with accounting. Not that he believes that. He's sure Mom bought me this condo. She's sure Daniel did. He couldn't afford it, but math has never been mama's strong suit. Like I said, she's a poet.
The motherfucker would love to buy me a condo. He'd rub it in every second he could. I can only imagine the look on his face if he'd even helped with the down payment. The smug superiority.
Of course, I didn't make it on my own. Of course, Romeo needs help. Look at him. Didn't even finish his business degree. Thinks he can read poetry all day and fuck pretty girls all night.
The joke’s on him.
I turned my hobby into a business.
"Would that be a problem?" He takes a small sip of espresso. He closes his eyes, noting the flavor, but not making a single gesture or sound to suggest he enjoys it.
I suppose that's fair. At this point, we're professionals. For years, I've been begging him to start a business with me. A coffee shop to celebrate our heritage. Mexican beans at an Italian style espresso bar. There's nothing like it anywhere in Southern California. And it fits with a lot of recent trends in business. The beans will be fair trade. Environmentally friendly. Good for farmers and local communities. A celebration of two different cultures and the love that brought them together.
All the romantic shit people adore.
A celebration of our family’s history.
"Testing beans for Amor y Coffee." I admit, it's not the most clever name, but there aren't many fresh spins on coffee.
"Rome." He says my name the way he has for the last five years, as if he can't believe I'm still this ridiculous fanciful child, as if he expects me to be someone other than our mother's son. "You know how busy I am with the wedding."
Sure, that's his excuse of the moment, but what's keeping him busy? It's just family, in Mom's backyard, and Cynthia is the one planning everything. Though I'm sure she'd prefer the courthouse if it were up to her. Or an Elvis chapel in Vegas.
To be honest, I'm not sure what she sees in Daniel. He's a handsome man, I'll give him that much. Maybe even more than I am. Taller, at least. A little broader too.
But she's fun.
He's the opposite of that.
"You don't need to be that involved at first," I say. "I can start everything."
"Rome." Somehow, he adds even more you're ridiculous inflection this time. "Really?"
"Really, what?"
"It's seven-thirty."
"And?"
He finishes his cup of espresso and sets it on the counter. "And you're coming home in last night's suit."
"I had a meeting."
"Rome."
Okay. That's a bad lie. Believe it or not, I'm not a great liar. Not in this context. Women fall for my charms. Men, not so much.
That is what he believes about me.
Why not sell me.
"You're right," I say. "I was with a woman."
He ignores the statement, completely disinterested in this line of conversation and the potential business. Though I don't know why. The idea is sound. The business plan is good. And he's been talking, non-stop, about how much he wants to branch out on his own, how much he wants to build something.
Why not this?
Something for our parents, something for us, the dream we had as kids.
"I'll fix you a cup." He turns to face the grinder. "Macchiato?"
"Thanks." I toss my keys on the counter. Place my overnight bag in my bedroom. Which is untouched. Really, I shouldn't let Daniel have a key. It's risky. There's a lot of incriminating information here. Client lists, website passwords, cash reserves, lingerie, sex toys, photographs.