All that Matters (Family Matters Book 2) Read online




  Copyright 2016 © Liana Key

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. References to real people, places, organizations,

  events, and products are intended to provide a sense of authenticity and

  are used fictitiously. All characters, names, incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.

  Thanks to Linda Ronald for Cover Design

  All that Matters…

  Is Love

  Chapter 1

  CASSIAN

  It was a guy from my tennis team who was talking about jobs. We were just sitting around during a training session, the coach was taking a phone call, and Dean was saying they needed kitchen staff at a restaurant in Beverly. My ears perked up, not because I needed the money, but because I needed a diversion, a timeout. Typically, Beverly kids don't work, don't need to work, but the thought wouldn't go away and after practice finished I found myself driving down the street Dean had mentioned. It turned out to be an Italian place. There was space in the carpark and without really thinking of the implications, I pulled in and found myself walking to the entrance. Well, it wouldn't hurt to ask. I didn't have any kitchen experience, but I could load and unload a dishwasher and I could cook well enough if I was hungry. Ours wasn't a household with domestic staff, just Jacinta who came in two or three times a week to clean and Kelly, the nanny for my two younger half-siblings.

  I wandered in and asked the woman on the reception about part time work. She smiled, stared at me for so long that I felt uncomfortable, then asked if I had an appointment. I shook my head. She frowned, asked me to wait and went through the restaurant. It looked like a nice place, modern, classy decor, Italian colors, red, green and white. I looked at the menu, the food sounded good though the prices were quite steep. It was still before five, and I could see several wait staff setting up tables. I hadn't thought that it would be an inconvenient time to drop in, well I hadn't really thought about it at all. I had a sudden urge to just turn around and leave. And I probably would have if she hadn't arrived back right at that moment.

  "The manager is coming," she bristled. I nodded, put my phone in my pocket, suddenly aware that I was still dressed in my tennis gear, probably slightly sweaty and smelly and hardly a good first impression. Impulsiveness really didn't suit me. I was someone usually extremely organized, well planned and yet here I was, hoping for a job interview in sports gear with no CV.

  But the events of the last month had thrown me. My whole family's life had been flung into disarray, by the worst thing that could ever happen to anyone - my sister had been raped. Raped and stabbed. And the guilt I felt was immense, a terrible weight, because as her older brother I had always been the one to look out for her, I'd always protected her. But I hadn't been there, and now, as she tried to piece her life back together, I didn't know how to help her. I felt inept, a flop, a failure, a fraud as her older brother. I'd let her down and I didn't know how to fix things.

  A job could be just what I needed. Like I said, a diversion. I saw a dark haired woman approaching, not that tall, but slim, wearing a tight dress, showing her curves, her quite voluptuous curves. I needed to swallow, my throat suddenly felt dry. I tried to quietly clear it. I wished I was dressed more appropriately.

  "Good afternoon," she said in a slightly husky voice, her lips wore a deep red gloss, her dark brown eyes seemed to penetrate my green eyes. She stared at me. What's with women in this place staring at me, I wondered. Didn't people ever come in here in tennis gear? Probably not.

  "Are you looking for part time work?" she asked, her eyes now lowering to my shorts, my legs. Hell, this was a bad idea. I should've at least showered.

  "Hi," I said as brightly and as friendly as I could. "Yes, I heard you were looking for kitchen hands?"

  "Do you have any experience?" she asked, and added, in what I perceived to be a seductive voice, "in kitchen work?" Was she flirting with me?

  I had to swallow again before answering. Her eyes were scanning me from top to toe. The discomfort returned. "I've washed dishes at home," I said and added with a smile, "if that counts."

  She smiled back. "We are short staffed at present," she said, her voice changing to a business like tone. "Could I get you to fill in an application form?"

  "Sure," I nodded.

  The woman from reception intruded, "Do you want me to sort that for you?"

  "No, no," she dismissed the woman. "I'll deal with it." Then she looked at me, directed with the business like voice, "Follow me please."

  We walked through the restaurant, my eyes unable to look away from her shapely ass. She walked with ease in her heels which must have been at least three inches high. Her hair hung just past her shoulder blades, thick, dark brown waves, very appealing. I was trying to guess her age, maybe mid twenties. I snapped myself out of it. What did her age matter, I was trying to get a job, not get in her panties.

  She lead me to a small office. She went through several drawers before she found the right form. She indicated I should sit and passed me a pen, her long red fingernails caught slightly on my hand. She apologized. I could smell her perfume as she pointed to the spaces I should fill in, as if I couldn't work it out by myself. She hovered over me as I wrote. I'm left handed, so she was reading aloud as I wrote.

  "Cass-i-an Strauss."

  "Cash-in," I corrected gently, "Or Cash."

  "That's unusual," she said. I nodded and kept writing - address, phone number, email, date of birth.

  "You're seventeen?" She worked that out quickly.

  "Yes."

  "Junior?" Her perfume was sweet, floral. I decided I quite liked it.

  "Yes."

  "You look older," she commented.

  I didn't know if I needed to reply to that. Because I'm tall, like six two, people always assume I'm older. I'd gotten down to education, and was putting in my extra curricular details: tennis, I'd written, but that didn't seem impressive enough. She had noticed I'd stopped writing.

  "No other extra curricular activities?" It was the husky voice again. I felt unnerved, usually I'm quite confident in myself, but I was feeling under pressure. I quickly wrote: swimming, surfing, gym. Even though I only swim at home and only occasionally surf with my sister, I do have a gym membership so I figured it wasn't totally deceptive.

  I signed and dated the page. I passed it to her and she perched herself onto the desk, her knees just inches away from me. She read through the form again, even though she'd just watched me write every word.

  "Cassian," she said, enunciating my name, as if it was a foreign language she was trying for the first time.

  I nodded again. She seemed pleased with her pronunciation, as if it were a difficult word to say. She repeated it, and I almost laughed.

  "You find it amusing?" her husky voice asked, her perfectly arched eyebrows raising a fraction.

  I worried now that I'd offended her and quickly said, "It's never sounded better."

  Her poker face softened and I saw her lips curl into a smile, which she attempted to stifle. She turned away, putting the form next to the computer screen.

  "How many hours were you looking for?" Her voice resumed in interview mode.

  I shrugged, disappointed in myself for not being more prepared. "I'm not sure. Maybe some evenings? Or
weekends?"

  "It's quite physical work," she continued, "loading dishes, carrying trays." She seemed to cast her eyes over my arms, my shoulders.

  "That's fine," I said, knowing my strength wasn't a problem.

  "It can get very busy," she paused, and the seductive voice returned, "and very hot in the kitchen." Her hands rested on her knees, the long nails tapping against the hem of her black dress. I realized I was staring, so shifted back slightly in my chair and realized I was now eye level with her chest. I quickly averted my eyes to the floor, but the black, stockinged legs in the high red heels, were no less distracting. My heart rate had, at some point, inadvertently increased.

  "So, Cassian," she said, and it was a slow, deliberate drawl of my name. "Is that right?" she asked, somehow knowing she'd affected me. I nodded again and she smiled, pleased with herself for either getting my name right, or knowing she was causing a part of my anatomy to respond. I demanded myself to keep cool, keep calm, stay in control. That's what I was known for. That was my personality type, oldest child, reliable, dependable, sensible. But she was toying with me, and as much as I enjoyed the attention, I also hated not being in control.

  Hell, I was only here for a job washing dishes, not to be seduced by some red-hot Italian babe, old enough to, well I didn't know how old she was.

  "When would you be able to start?" she asked, rising off the desk, and turning, forcing my eyes to look up, or to stare at her ass, "if you got the job." She emphasized if. She picked up my application form again, scanning through it.

  I felt like I'd had enough of her innuendos. I mustered up a degree of dignity and replied in an even tone, "When would you want me to start?" Though maybe the whole idea had just been wrong. Maybe if I couldn't handle a straight forward interview, maybe I wouldn't be able to handle a job. Maybe I should stop trying to take the easy way out and just support Magdala in trying to rebuild her life.

  My phone started ringing in my pocket, the ringtone Magdala's piano version of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, which meant Magdala was calling me. I casually turned and stood up, quickly excusing myself. It never occurred to me that I shouldn't accept her call, job interview or not.

  "Hey?" I turned my back, keeping my voice low.

  "Where are you? Dad wants to know if you'll be home soon."

  "Yeah, I won't be long." I wanted to keep my responses short.

  "Have you finished training?"

  "Yeah, I have."

  "So you're on your way?"

  "Ten minutes."

  "Can't you talk?" She knows me too well.

  "Something like that. See you soon." I pressed end, put my phone back in my pocket, and said, "Sorry about that."

  Her arms were folded, I suddenly wondered if I'd blown it, having just committed the cardinal sin of interviews. But her voice was mildly mocking, prying, "Late for a date?"

  "My sister," I said matter-of-factly.

  She raised her eyebrows, again checked my application form that she was still holding and said, "I'll get back to you about the job. Can I contact you on this number?" And she read it out.

  "Yes," I nodded.

  "Okay, I'll be in touch," she said. "Nice to meet you." Seemed she was all professional again, that I must have pissed her off with that phone call.

  "Thanks for seeing me," I said, and extended my hand. She seemed surprised, but took it, clasping it firmly, but her skin was soft, warm. I bet she hadn't washed many dishes in her day. The shake continued, seconds longer than was normal. I tried to pull away, but her grip stayed strong. My heart rate increased again, akin to doing a few warm up drills on court. She was staring again. I know my green eyes are unusual and tonnes of people ask me if I wear colored contact lenses, but her gaze lingered too long, her hand shake was too long and embarrassment came over me. I tried to reclaim my hand back, and this time she released. She let out a sigh.

  I opened the door and started walking back the way I came, not even acknowledging the woman at reception. I didn't relax until I got to the car. I didn't know what to think, other than that I'd probably blown my chances. If so, it wasn't the end of the world. If one restaurant was short staffed, you could bet a hundred would be. I had no illusions that the phone call would come from a woman whose name I didn't even know.

  Magdala is a year younger than me, and I love her so much. We have different mothers and basically have been brought up by our Dad. My mother Elsa was in a car crash here in L.A when she was seven and a half months pregnant with me. She'd only been in L.A for two weeks when she got hit from behind when changing lanes. It seemed it was her fault. She wasn't use to driving on L.A's freeways, having just moved here from small town Arizona. They kept my mother on a ventilator for two weeks, even though she was brain dead, to give me a chance to grow a bit more. They delivered me four weeks early.

  How does it feel to have never known your mother? It sucks. It hurts. It doesn't seem fair. People think that because I never knew her, that I can't miss her. But inexplicably I do. I see her photos, I hear my Dad's stories about her and I know she wanted me more than anything in the world. Death is a bitch.

  Magdala's mother left when I was four and she was three. It was a miracle Dad and her survived even that long. The woman was nuts, crazy, or so Dad said. These days she doesn't seem so bad. Martha wanted to take Magdala with her, but Magdala wouldn't leave me, or Dad. She use to cry when she first had to go and spend the weekend with her mother, and I'd cry when she left. Eventually I ended up going with her most of the time, we didn't like to be separated. We spent about three or four years shuffling around, until we moved in with my Grandad on his ranch in Malibu. Life got better then.

  It was three weeks ago that Magdala was raped. She was going to meet her boyfriend Nathan at a school basketball game but never made it through the carpark. She was raped in the back of a van and was stabbed as well. Why would anyone do that?

  I remembered the call coming from Dad. I was hanging at Jakey and Raff, my cousins' house and we were on our way to meet some friends from school. Jakey was driving. I answered Dad's call and the anguish in his voice was immediate.

  "Where are you?"

  "On our way to Kit's." A girl from school.

  "You need to go to Cedars," he said, with urgency.

  "Why?"

  "Magdala's there. She's been attacked."

  "What?" I'd said, "She's with Nate." And my first thought was that Nate had attacked her. Which was ridiculous, because Nate was crazy about her.

  "Just listen," Dad demanded. "Can you go right now? Antonia and I are on our way."

  "Yes," I answered, my hand now shaking, my voice now cracking.

  From my voice, from my actions, Jakey knew something was wrong. He'd already slowed the car down.

  "What the fuck's going on?" he asked, only one eye on the road, the other on me.

  "Dad said Magdala's been attacked. She's at Cedars." My voice was shaky.

  "Cedars?" Raff interrupted from the backseat.

  "Yes."

  He started to google map it and said, "Jakey, take a left at the lights."

  "Where the fuck is Nate? Isn't she with him?" Jakey sounded as hysterical as I felt.

  "I don't fucking know," I shouted, dialing Nate's number.

  Raff gave more directions from the back seat. Nate's phone rang three times before he answered.

  "Cash?" His voice sounded fragile.

  "What's happening?" I asked, my voice unsteady.

  "We're with the cops," he said, "we're still at school."

  "Have you seen her? Is she okay?" I felt hopeless, why wasn't Jakey driving faster?

  "No, they'd already taken her to hospital," he said and it sounded like he was crying. "Cash, I don't even know what happened, they haven't said anything."

  "Okay, I'll see you at the hospital," I said and rung off.

  "What did he fucking say?" Jakey roared. I'd never seen him so aggro.

  "He's with the cops, he never saw her, said they'd already tak
en her to hospital," I repeated, thinking I remembered everything he'd said.

  "Why wasn't he fucking with her?" Jakey yelled.

  "Calm down," I instructed, fearing he was going to drive us into the back of a truck, my hand hovering over the steering wheel.

  "Left here, Jakey," Raff piped up from the back.

  "Where's his fucking number?" Jakey asked, now driving with one hand on the wheel, the other about to dial a number.

  "Just drive," I directed.

  "Fuck, Cassian, what is it?" he yelled, and I knew not to deny him. I called out the number. He put the phone to his ear.

  "Nate?" His voice was harsh and I felt sorry for Nate, "What the fuck's going on? What fucking happened?" Jakey's eyes were flashing, on fire, about ready to implode. "I fucking know that. Where the hell were you? Why weren't you fucking well with her? Why the fuck weren't you looking after her?" His attack was relentless, merciless. He finished with a, "Later man.” Jakey was pissed. He slammed his phone down in his lap. "Fuck," he cried, "she better be fucking all right or I'll kill him."

  "Jesus, Jakey," Raff said, "just calm down."

  "Yeah, let's just wait and see what happened," I said, but I felt scared, I felt afraid. I felt like I didn't want to know the truth.

  It was a Saturday evening and I was staying home. Magdala hadn't been anywhere since it happened, except for doctor's appointments and the police station. Jakey said he'd come over and we'd just hang with her. I'd spent the day at the tennis club, playing against some friends and just hitting balls, so I'd had a soak in the spa, had some dinner and was now writing up an assignment for Magdala. She'd tried to go back to school, but I think she'd only made it through a few half days. So her school had given her a bunch of assignments to do at home. Raff had done her math one for her, and I was doing English and science. None of us wanted her flunking sophomore year, but at the moment she didn't give a damn. It broke my heart to see her like this.

  She'd broken off with her boyfriend Nate too, and to me, that had seemed like a wrong move. She said she couldn't help it, but she blamed him for the rape. Why hadn't he met her in the carpark like he was supposed to do? She said she didn't want him to see her like this, like a broken piece of trash - that's how she described herself. And that's where I felt so inadequate. Her fabulous big brother was anything but, I had nothing to console her with. I was weak, pathetic. I let her blame Nate, it let me off the hook.