All that Matters (Family Matters Book 2) Read online

  I detested that word, boy, but heartily agreed. "Yes he did very well for his first outing," I said in an even voice.

  "Those beautiful eyes," she continued to swoon. "Oh to be a few years younger," she chuckled at her own sleaziness.

  "Mmmm," I murmured.

  "He'll be a hit with the customers for sure," she said. "Be sure to let me know when he's working next," and she laughed at her own joke.

  The restaurant only opened for lunch on Sundays, so I had gone home, but then returned after having dinner at my parents. It was just before ten and I was comfortable in the knowledge that I was finally up to date and the next two days that I had scheduled off, after Daddy's insistence, would mean the restaurant would run capably under my assistant manager, Eden's care. Daddy had said working sixty hours a week was insane. He'd got Mama to arrange a girls day out for the two of us on Tuesday, shopping, massage, facial, lunch. Monday he wanted me to relax, chill out. Or else I'd be burnt out by the time I was thirty, he said. Which was looming ever too quickly. I decided I needed to take his advice. Stress was severe, it was never kind to anyone, and he said nothing was ever that important.

  The rosters were the last thing I'd completed, well the roster for one particular person. It would only be professional to ring him tonight seeing I had the next few days off. Springing a shift upon him the day of was not a good policy. Though at ten, I wondered if I'd left it too late. Still, I had to check with him. I dialed his number. His phone unexpectedly went straight to voice mail. It floored me, the generic voice telling me to leave a message. My tongue felt tight, the beep sounded and I rushed through my words: Cassian? It's Paola Carson here. I wanted to check if you could do some shifts this week. Could you get back to me please. Thank you.

  It sounded too curt, too blunt. And where was he at ten on a Sunday night? Had he already gone to bed, and switched his phone off? Was he out somewhere, on a date? Who dates on a Sunday night? Everyone but me it seemed. I sighed and packed up my bag.

  My phone rang when I had just buckled myself into my car. Cassian! My heart raced like that of a schoolgirl.

  "Hello?"

  "Oh, Miss Carson," his voice sounded rushed. Miss Carson? He was calling me Miss Carson, like I was a school teacher? There was static in the background. "It's Cassian. I just got your message." I wondered where he was, in a car, in an airplane? I thought foolishly.

  "Oh Cassian," I tried to sound casual, "I'm sorry I'm calling so late," What? I wasn't the one calling! He'd called me, my brain was turning to mush, deep fried. "Um, I wanted to check your availability for some shifts this week. Do you have a diary handy?"

  "Uh, yes," he said hesitantly. Fuck, what seventeen year old boy has a diary.

  "Is Wednesday night okay, then Friday night, then Sunday lunch?" I asked tentatively, not wanting to overload him, scare him off. There were voices in the background, muffled sounds, where was he, who was he with? "Uh, Wednesday is good, and I think Friday too. Sunday is good. What time?"

  "Would four thirty be okay? Would you have finished school?" I tried to sound accommodating.

  "Yes, that's fine," he replied, "and what time would I finish?" I hadn't considered he might have a curfew, would that be possible on a week night? I had one as a kid. But of course that was back in the Middle Ages.

  "Around ten, ten thirty. I can let you go early if that's too late." Again, soft, pandering to him.

  "Okay, that's fine," he said. There was a giggle, laughter in the background, a girl?

  "Great," I said, "thanks and I'll see you then."

  "Sweet as," he said breezily, and right then reality hit hard. Sweet as? Teen talk, Paola, teen talk. You are pathetic. The boy is out with his friends, driving around Beverly, having fun. You are a sad, sad woman, lusting over a boy, a teenager. Grow the fuck up. And with that, I headed home.

  Chapter 2

  CASSIAN

  I was annoyed to be working on Friday night, but it was all my own fault. If I'd consulted my "diary" as Paola had asked, I would have been reminded that we had tickets to the Clippers game. That is me, Jakey, Raff and their stepdad Connor. Jakey was pissed about it too.

  "Come on Cash, why wouldn't you remember the game? What's wrong with you?" he whined. A five foot six red hot Italian in heels is what was wrong with me. But I said, "Can you take Magdala? She needs to go out."

  "Really Cash?" he asked, in an incredulous tone, as if I was crazy to suggest it. "You think she'd want to go to a basketball game?" He had a point, but Magdala had to move on. She couldn't stay cooped up in her room feeling worthless for the rest of her life.

  "No, you're right." Jakey had a sudden change of heart. "She needs to get out. She needs to move forward and get on with her life." He was full of determination now. "She can't let him make her a prisoner, I'll make sure she comes."

  So while they were going to the game, I had turned up at work, getting there at four thirty by the skin of my teeth. For someone who is organized in most areas of my life, my punctuality gets me a C. Whether it's because I underestimate traffic, or perhaps drive too slowly or carefully, or spend too much time sorting my clothes, I don't know.

  Paola seemed relieved when I arrived, so I thought perhaps we were already understaffed, but it didn't appear to be so. She handed me a vest, once again dressing me in it. It came to be a ritual. She refolded the collar on my shirt, saying, "Who does your ironing?"

  I thought it was a criticism, and replied defensively, "I do."

  She raised her eyebrows, said "I'm impressed. A boy who can iron." I didn't like the use of the word boy, it implied I was a kid, a junior, beneath her, and I had a peculiar thought that I didn't want her to see me that way. I wished that she could see me at the gym, or in the pool. Then she would see that I wasn't a boy, that I had a chest, shoulders, biceps. That my legs were strong, muscled, that I had hair in all the right places.

  I may have lost concentration because I was thinking about Magdala being at the basketball, or something. Tonight's clientele were mainly couples, business people. They weren't so engaging and I thought my charisma had abandoned me. Or maybe I'd been trying too hard. I got an order wrong, the complete wrong table. I felt embarrassed by my mistake, apologizing profusely to the couple. They weren't fazed and waved me off. I then had to work hard to placate the table whose order I had given away, telling them I would return with fresh meals. My comedic skills had to come to the fore. I joked that my boss would have the stopwatch on me to see how long it took me to redeliver their meals and that it was a timely excuse to drink more wine, which the woman didn't object to. The gentleman asked me what my running times were, and I joked that I was adept at 20 meter court drills. Seems he was a tennis fan, as was she, and I was let off the hook. I noticed later, when they ordered a second bottle of wine and I stopped to discuss the latest men's rankings with them, that Paola was watching me, a slight look of annoyance on her face, that I was conversing for too long. I watched her watching me, one eye on my customers, but one eye on her. I didn't try to hurry, I continued with the conversation. I saw her look grow more annoyed, more irritated. She looked sexy as hell. But still I did not hurry. It felt like a small act of defiance.

  As I pocketed my tips, she approached the table. Her mouth was tight, her eyes narrowed, fiery, and I suddenly felt like she might be about to sack me.

  "It isn't necessary to become friends with the customers and talk all night about tennis," she said in a low, husky growl, even though there was only Jenny, the maitre d' tidying the other end of the room.

  I shrugged, and from out of nowhere, absolutely fucking nowhere, I said, "If you were any hotter right now, you'd self combust."

  I almost expected her to say, "Take off that vest and leave. You're dismissed."

  But, seems she was speechless. She took a step back, her eyes now wide. She looked at me momentarily, then snatched at the used napkins on the table and retreated to the kitchen. I finished clearing up, then reset my tables. She was nowhere to be seen. I too
k my vest off and went and hung it up on the rack. Jenny showed me out, thanking me, wishing me a good night.

  I laughed out loud when I got to my car, at the absurdity of my tongue, at the complete uncharacteristic behavior. I had no idea where it came from. I only knew that she had me thinking and fantasizing about things that I'd not needed to before. She'd triggered instincts, emotions that I never knew existed. No girl had ever turned me on like this, no girl had ever got me thinking like this.

  I'd never had a girlfriend, never dated anyone since eighth grade when I went to a school dance with a girl called Jennifer. Jakey had made me ask her out because he wanted to date her best friend. We then went to a movie, then ten pin bowling. We'd held hands, we'd kissed, but that was it. I never really met anyone I fancied in that way. At school there were some girls who hung out with us, and plenty of girls talked to us, but I'd never been attracted to anyone in particular. I was always happy just hanging out with friends.

  Last year, in the only rebellious act I've ever done, I got my tongue pierced. I thought it was the lesser of all possible rebellions, like everyone was getting tattooed (Jakey) or pierced (Jakey), not just ears, but eyebrows, lips, noses. A tongue wasn't visible, it wouldn't ruin any future job choices, it could be removed at a later time (always thinking sensibly, that's me). After that Jakey had asked me if I thought I was gay, I told him I didn't think so. I didn't think I was attracted to guys. Aunt Kate said I was just a late developer, that I would meet someone when I was ready, when the time was right.

  It seemed now the time was right. That Paola Carson was that someone. And even if she only remained a fantasy, it was comforting to know that I could now consider myself normal.

  PAOLA

  I was hiding in my office. It was just before eleven, the time he was due to start work. Hiding, like the coward I was, the coward he'd made me become. Seems I wasn't in control at all, seems I probably never had been. He had all the power.

  I'd tried to be domineering, watching him with a scathing eye, and as the last customers left, I'd been ready to reprimand him like a naughty schoolboy, imagining my sharp, haughty wit would unnerve and rattle him, that I'd look forward to watching him squirm uncomfortably, that I'd have him melting, like putty in my hands, ready to mould.

  But it was he who unnerved me. His unexpected brazen words, "If you were any hotter, you'd self combust," threw me and the look in his eyes weakened me like a baby kitten. I had no response, no come back, my senses dull and all I could do was grab at the table linen and return to the kitchen, flabbergasted. I'd thrown the napkins into the laundry hamper then I'd hid behind the chiller door, my breathing erratic, my fingers trembling, trying to regain some control. Pulled out my phone and pretended to check it as kitchen staff walked by, slunk off to my office and stayed there till I knew he had gone home. Like a coward.

  And now, two days later I was still hiding, dreading to see him, afraid of my own reaction to him. Afraid that he would, could, once again mock me, afraid that my whole resolve would crumble before him. Yes, hiding out seemed the safest option. Besides I had office duties to attend to, numbers to crunch, data to input. I couldn't be out on the restaurant floor all the time, the maitre d' could take care of that.

  There was a knock on the door. "Come in," I called, expecting Eddie with some invoices perhaps.

  But it was Cassian standing there. He stepped into the room, our eyes connecting. My heart rate increased greatly. He was holding a hanger with his vest on it. He didn't say anything, just held it out for me. I reacted, stunned - he wanted me to dress him, like I had every other time. I stood up, took a step forward, and another, our eyes were locked. I extended my arm, took the hanger, still no words. I took the vest off the hanger, put the hanger on the desk; his eyes never left me. He lifted his arms. I walked behind him, putting his arms through, my hand ran across his back, turning his collar, my fingers caressing his neck, suddenly it felt all familiar and my composure returned. I came to the front, buttoning up, my fingers lingering, wishing there were more, feeling his eyes following my every move. I smoothed down the front, feeling the muscle beneath his shirt, patted his shoulders, the intimacy between us electrifying, but he showed no sign of being affected. Usually I'd comment with Perfect! Or Very smart, but I was mute. I stood back, his eyes glanced to the hanger and I picked it up and handed it to him.

  "Thank you," he said and he backed out of the room, his eyes, his damn fucking eyes mesmerizing me, devouring me, and it was all I could do to lean against the desk and try to still my pounding heart.

  I scrambled my way back to my chair, collapsed in it, a slight smile now curling at my lips. I blew out a sigh of pent up frustration, held my head back and laughed. There was another knock on the door, this time it was Eddie with the invoices and a coffee. I thanked him, though I thought rashly that a brandy, a neat brandy would be more in order.

  My brain was in sleep mode, nothing computed. It took me two hours to do what I should have done in less than one. It was delaying tactics of course, not bearing to go out and face him, but needing to see him, fearing what the next step, if any, would be. Fearing, but anticipating, longing for something more; I was a muddled host of contradictions.

  I sashayed into the dining area, greeting staff brightly and any customers I knew. He busied himself with his tables, never once looking up. He was working Caroline's table, she signaled me over, I had to go. We kissed, I exchanged pleasantries with her posse of five ladies. He was recommending desserts, even though I was pretty sure he'd never tried any of them.

  "You've convinced me," one of them chuckled at him, "smooth, with a hint of bitter, sounds like me!" Seems he was describing the Bonet with the coffee crumble topping, a new dessert which Carlos had been perfecting. He had lightly touched the woman's shoulder and the smile on her face had been priceless. Were none of us immune to him, I wondered, was I just one of many? He caught me watching, he straightened, fingered his notepad and winked at me. He didn't wait for my reaction, just moved swiftly to the next woman. Damn, how could he be this smooth. But a smile had etched itself on my face and nothing could remove it.

  CASSIAN

  I slipped into work on Sunday morning with a small degree of trepidation. What to do, ignore her? Carry on as if I'd never hinted of the sexual chemistry that was building between us? Because that sure as fuck was what it was. I'd seen that sort of chemistry before, lived with it. My Dad and Antonia, my stepmother, were a living example. They touched and screwed at will, two sexual creatures, creating passionate moments out of nowhere, out of anywhere. Dad could be drinking from the milk carton, next thing Antonia is licking milk off his chin, his neck. Gross.

  And then there was Magdala and Nate. He never took his hands off her. She'd told me the very first night they met that they'd kissed and touched. The following week they made love. She said it was a crazy instant attraction. I was envious, I didn't know what that felt like, didn't really know what she meant. Figured I'd missed out on that gene. Or maybe not.

  I came in through the back kitchen. Eddie was there stacking cartons. I think his title was kitchen manager, I knew he didn't cook.

  "Morning," he chimed, I quite liked him. Apparently he'd been working here for over twenty years.

  I returned his greeting, looked around. "Boss in today?" I asked casually.

  "Hiding in her office," he replied with a grin.

  I went to the storeroom, grabbed my vest. I didn't think. I knocked on her door, she called, "Come in." I don't know who she was expecting, but I knew it wasn't me. She gave a gasp as I stepped in the room. I held out the vest, still on its hanger. She stood and came towards me. I wanted her to dress me, it's what she did. I didn't want things to change. She seemed to know. That it was our thing.

  Her touch was exquisite, yet excruciating at the same time. I was doing my best not to let any emotion show, but hell, I wanted to moan in pleasure as her fingers stroked my neck. I wanted her to press firmer on my belly as she did up the butto
ns, I wanted her to feel my tight stomach muscles, so she knew I wasn't a boy. I wanted her hand to go lower, to feel my hardened cock, but of course she didn't. She patted my shoulders, returned the hanger to me and I left. I stood in the corridor, regrouping myself, glad of those feelings, but cursing them too. It was like torture, having no outlet. I snapped out of it when I saw Eddie going towards her office with a coffee and emerged in the dining room, ready to work under Jenny's instruction.

  The shift ended, I went to return my vest. Jenny asked if I wanted something to eat, I said no, I didn't think I wanted to hang around. Paola had been in and out of the dining room, but had disappeared by time we cleaned up. Her friend Red Dress, who today I'd named Stripes, had been generous with her tip, as had her friends, I'd done okay.

  I checked my phone, nothing important, went out to my car. My phone rang, a quick glance showed it was Paola. I wondered if I'd done something wrong, had I not cleaned up properly.

  "Cassian? Have you left?" she asked, the voice rushed, urgent sounding.

  "I'm at my car," I replied.

  "Oh." A pause. "You didn't want some lunch?" She hadn't rung to ask me that, had she?

  "No, I'm fine, thank you." I said.

  Another pause. "I didn't get a chance to go over next week's roster," she said. Another pause. "Do you have a minute?" My heart was now thumping. She didn't really need to see me about the roster did she? Last week she had phoned me about it. I had moments to make a momentous decision, of that I was sure. Return inside and face my destiny, or get in my car and keep moving. She was my boss, could anything good really come of it? Should I think with my head or my dick?

  A voice inside me knew the answer. Strong, dependable, sensible Cassian, that's who I was, who I'd always been. I realized right then that it wasn't easy to change spots.

  "Could you text it through please?" I asked, tempted to say I was running late, but knowing she didn't need my lying excuse.