Wrong for Me: An Enemies-to-Lovers Billionaire Romance Page 2

  “I’m good,” she said. “I miss you. I want you to come home for Christmas.”

  I swallowed. “I don’t know, Mom.”

  “Tyler, please,” she said in a pleading voice that made guilt spread through my entire body, making me feel heavy and sad. “Your father—”

  “He definitely doesn’t want me there. You remember what happened the last time I talked to him. We had a huge fight,” I said to her. “We almost—it didn’t go well. I don’t want to go through that again.”

  She sighed heavily. “He just doesn’t understand why you left the company.”

  “I know he feels betrayed,” I said in exasperation. It was a conversation that I’d had over and over with both Trixie and my mother, but it still didn’t change the fact that I was proud of my decision not to work for my father, to be independent and on my own. “But I wanted to do my own thing. I never wanted to work for Dad for the rest of my life and I never promised him that I would.”

  “I know,” she said in a sad voice. “I tried to explain that to him, but he had his heart set on you taking over the business.”

  “Trixie is interested in taking over the business. Why doesn’t he let her do it?”

  My mother sighed again. “Your sister isn’t quite as responsible as you are.”

  “She can be,” I said. “He just needs to give her a chance. She has some growing up to do, but she loves that company. He doesn’t treat her right.”

  “I know,” she repeated, then paused. “Will you come visit? We haven’t seen you in a year. Your father—I promise he won’t mind. He misses you too.”

  “I don’t know,” I said to her honestly. “I don’t know if I can face him. We were yelling at each other last time. I miss him, but—”

  “It won’t be like that again. I’ll talk to your father,” she promised quickly. “I’ll tell him he has to stay calm. You two should be able to talk this out. You were always able to before.”

  That was true. I had been close with my father up to the point where I’d announced to him that I wanted to do something other than take over his advertising company. It was something that he had expected me to do since I was little, something that I had never had any interest in. For most of my life, I had been too afraid to tell my dad that my heart wasn’t in advertising, afraid to hurt his feelings, knowing that the fight was inevitable. But eventually, I’d had to do what was best for myself, and that was going into the fashion industry and building my own empire with Les Chic.

  “Okay, Mom,” I said, not wanting to argue about it anymore. I would make my decision at a later time, when I was less hungover and ashamed of myself. “Talk to him. Ask him if he wants to see me. I’m not coming unless he says yes.”

  “He will,” my mother said, sounding excited. The sound of her voice broke my heart, knowing there was a good chance that I wouldn’t be able to make it. Despite my success, I had never been good at confrontation, especially when it came to my family. Family had always been everything to me, which was a big reason why it had hurt so bad to have such a big fight with my father. “I know he will.”

  The door opened then and I glanced over to see Trixie walking in with a pizza for lunch. I shot her an annoyed look and she grinned at me.

  “I gotta go. Call me,” I said to her quickly. “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” she said, and told me goodbye before hanging up the phone.

  “Mama’s boy,” Trixie teased, putting the pizza down on the table.

  “You’re one to talk. You told her about last night with Amanda?”

  “You were acting like an idiot,” Trixie said, shrugging her shoulders. “It was funny.”

  I shook my head at her. “I didn’t sleep with her, right?”

  “No,” she said. “You passed out on the couch before she left.”

  “Great,” I said sarcastically, sitting down at the counter and pulling a slice of pizza out of the box. I took a bite of it, having to force it down. My hangover was making me queasy. I grimaced, and Trixie frowned at me, standing up to go to the liquor cabinet.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I asked her in exasperation. At this point, I knew I shouldn’t be surprised by my sister’s constant drinking, but it always amazed me how much she could put down. I had been the same way when I was younger—Trixie was twenty-four, at the peak of her party days, and it seemed to me like she never stopped going.

  “I learned how to make a new cocktail. And you need some more alcohol,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “That’s the last thing I need,” I told her, screwing up my face in disgust.

  “It’ll make you feel better. Everybody knows vodka is the cure for any hangover,” she said. I shook my head in disbelief as she passed a glass of pink liquid over the table to me. I picked it up begrudgingly and took a sip, unable to say no. Trixie was good at making cocktails, and she had a way of convincing me of doing a lot of things I shouldn’t do. When we were younger, it had led to some pretty crazy dares that had gotten us in trouble, but also had made us very close growing up. Trixie drank her liquor down and poured another, then went to my cabinets and started digging through them.

  “What are you doing?” I asked her, taking a bite of the pizza, trying to keep it down. It didn’t taste good after drinking the alcohol, but I knew that I needed to eat if my headache was ever going to get better.

  “I brought stuff to make a pie,” she said, pointing to a bag that I hadn’t seen her bring in.

  “A pie,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

  “As a housewarming gift,” she said with a grin.

  “Do you even know how to make a pie?” I asked her. I had never seen Trixie cook or bake anything in her life, other than ramen, and even then she had over-boiled it so that it had been squishy and inedible.

  “Of course,” she said, rolling her eyes as if it was obvious. I decided to trust her, though I knew it was probably a bad idea. It was hard to say no to Trixie, who was always lively and in a good mood. My sister was the kind of person who always wanted to make everyone around her happy, so I let her bake the pie, despite the fact that I wasn’t quite sure she wouldn’t end up burning the entire apartment building down in the process.

  I laughed, shaking my head, and took another sip of my drink. Though I wasn’t used to drinking this much, it was nice to relax with my sister, especially after the tension that talking to my mother had caused me.

  Chapter 4: Ali

  I woke up early, my head feeling thick and groggy as I climbed out of bed. The sun wasn’t even up yet but I needed to be at the restaurant early to prepare all of the dishes for Constance Maybury. I had been working as a chef for years and had become very successful, but the restaurant had just opened and we were depending on a good review from Constance in order to promote us further. Though I knew I was good at my job, I was nervous thinking about the fact that the entire fate of the restaurant was hanging on my personal performance. Constance Maybury had enough power in the industry to make or break a restaurant depending on her reviews, and she had a reputation for being hard to please.

  I wrapped my coat around me and trudged to the restaurant, glad that we had found a place to rent so close to where I lived. I hated the cold, but it kept me awake as I half-jogged to the restaurant and unlocked the door. I flipped on the lights in the kitchen and pulled out the vegetables I had prepared the night before, the meat that had been marinating for hours. I started cooking, getting into the rhythm of it, the way it cleared my mind when I focused on getting it absolutely perfect. I had always loved being in the kitchen, and had plenty of experience by the time I went to culinary school.

  Melissa arrived a few hours later, bustling into the kitchen before we opened.

  “Are you ready?” she asked in a nervous voice. Melissa had always been that way—a little shaky. It had been hard to convince her to take the risk of opening up a restaurant in the first place, but it had always been our dream, and I was filled with more excitement than ne
rvousness that it was coming to fruition.

  “Almost,” I said, wiping my hands on my apron. I looked up at her to see an anxious look on her face—Melissa was older than me, and had wanted her own restaurant since before I’d even conceived the idea. We had gone into business together after working alongside each other in the kitchen of a famous hotel in the city, and this was the first real test of our strength as a restaurant.

  “Don’t worry, Melissa,” I said to her reassuringly. “You just get the front ready. I’ve got it taken care of.”

  She smiled, but still looked nervous. I knew there was nothing I could do about it. We would just have to get through the day and do the best we could.

  “We’re good at this. The best. It’s going to be perfect, okay?”

  “Sorry,” she said, nodding. “I’m just—”

  “I know. It’s scary,” I said to her, trying to keep my voice comforting and calm so I wouldn’t reveal my own jostled nerves. “But we’ve got this. We’re fucking amazing at what we do.”

  She grinned. “Right. We’re fucking amazing.”

  I nodded, getting back to work as she went into the front of the restaurant to prepare for Constance’s visit. We were closing for the morning just to host her, so that we could provide her with the most excellent service possible.

  Constance was waiting at the door when we opened, walking in, looking as luxurious as ever with a thick fur coat, a pair of oversized sunglasses, and a massive mane of curly hair. She took the shades off, looking around the restaurant with an impassive face. I smiled at her when she looked at me but she didn’t return the gesture.

  “Are you the owner?” she asked in a haughty voice that made me anxious. It made me feel like we were already setting ourselves up to fail, like there was no way to impress this woman at all. I tried not to let that thinking get to me and refused to let my smile drop, instead nodded graciously in answer to her question.

  “Yes. Co-owner,” I said, gesturing toward Melissa. “I’m the chef here.”

  “So you’re in charge of the front of the house?” Constance asked Melissa. Melissa nodded.

  “It could use some more color. Diners should always have color,” Constance said in an airy voice, making her way over to the table that we had set up for her. I glanced over at Melissa, who grimaced at me behind the woman’s back. Constance was known for being particularly hard to read, and I only hoped that Melissa wouldn’t let the woman’s dull tone and critique get to her and make her panic.

  “What is the first course?”

  “The first course is our most popular item,” I said to her. “A sample of biscuits and sausage gravy, made from a recipe I got from my grandmother.”

  “How cute,” Constance said, her tone bored. I didn’t let it faze me, but smiled at her again. There was no way I was going to let my mood drop, especially not since I’d been prepared for this. She was one of the most notorious reviewers in all of the city, known for how biting she was, how heavy her critiques could be. Constance rarely gave rave reviews, and often took to obliterating restaurants in her column, almost making sure that they would never be successful again. It was enough to make me swallow nervously, though again I refused to let my smile drop.

  “I will be right back,” I said to her, rushing away.

  “Can I have something to drink?” the woman asked. I glanced at Melissa, who had a look of mortification on her face.

  “I’m so sorry, Ms. Maybury. What would you like?”

  “Coffee, please. I would like to try this rare, amazing diner coffee that I’ve heard all about.”

  “Of course,” Melissa said, hurrying toward the pot and pouring a mug. I disappeared into the kitchen, preparing the small plate of biscuits and gravy, then soon carrying it out to Constance and setting it in front of her. She raised her eyebrows, looking down at it.

  “This is beautiful,” she said. “The coloring is nice.”

  “It’s added paprika,” I said to her, pleased. She took a bite of it, pausing for a moment, and my heart stopped in my chest. I was surprised when a smile spread over her face.

  “Spicy sausage. Finally, a girl who knows how to make biscuits and gravy.”

  I grinned at her, relief sweeping through me.

  “I’m glad you like it, Ms. Maybury,” I said to her. She pushed her plate forward.

  “You’d better take the rest of it away from me or I won’t be able to stop eating. I’ll be too full to try anything else.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said to her, taking the plate, feeling giddy as I carried it into the kitchen and put it in the sink. I fixed the next course—chicken-fried chicken with country gravy and my famous cheesy mashed potatoes. I carried it out to her and she took a deep breath. I noted that there was a smile on her face, that she seemed much more relaxed than she had when she walked in. She cut into the chicken and I held my breath as she took a bite of it, closing her eyes.

  “Divine,” she said.

  “Thank you so much, Ms. Maybury.”

  She waved me off. “Please, call me Constance.”

  “Constance. I’ll bring out the next dish.”

  “What is it?”

  “One of our cinnamon rolls, fresh out the oven. I couldn’t let you leave before trying it.”

  “I’m going to eat some more of this, first,” she said eagerly. I nodded at her, going back into the kitchen to ice the rolls. Melissa appeared beside me, a wide grin on her face.

  “She loves your food,” she said.

  “She does,” I gushed. “Oh my god.”

  “She’s going to die over the cinnamon roll,” she said. I nodded, carrying it out past her, crossing my fingers that it would cap off a perfect meal for her. She was half-finished with the chicken by the time I came out, leaning back in her chair, her body relaxed. Melissa carried the plate away and I set the cinnamon roll down in front of her. She took a bite, the same pleased expression on her face.

  “You ladies have no idea how big this restaurant is going to get after I’m done with it,” Constance said, looking at both of us. “I hope you’re proud of yourselves.”

  “Thank you,” Melissa and I said in unison, both of us smiling ear-to-ear. It was even better than we’d hoped it would be. Constance finished her coffee then, standing up.

  “Can I get two of these rolls to go, please?” she asked brightly. I nodded and left to go fetch them, bringing them back to her in a bag.

  “Thanks again, Constance,” I said to her.

  “No, thank you, ladies. I was dreading having to go into another down-home country diner.”

  “We’re glad you didn’t hate it,” Melissa said.

  “You’re very talented women. I hope you have all the success in the world.”

  We thanked her again and she left, and as soon as the front door closed, Melissa let out a squeal of joy and jumped up and down.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said breathlessly. “She loved us.”

  “She more than loved us,” I said.

  “Thank you so much, Ali,” Melissa said, wrapping me in a hug. “I think you should go home and take an extra day off this weekend. You deserve it.”

  “But who—”

  “John can come in and cook for us. You deserve a few days off.”

  “Okay,” I said to her, nodding. I was exhausted. It had been a long day and it was almost midnight. Given that I had slept poorly the night before, I was dragging by the time I got back to my apartment building, barely able to pick my feet up off the ground as I got into the elevator. I heard the noise even before the doors opened, the sound of high-pitched laughter and music. When I got upstairs, I got off the elevator to see that the new neighbor’s door was open. I glanced in to see the man from the elevator the night before—the one who had been making out with Amanda. That meant that he had only known her for a few hours before he had his tongue down her throat. He was standing with another beautiful girl—this one even prettier than Amanda, with long, dark hair and big brown eye
s.

  I felt overcome with irritation then listening to the noise, knowing it was going to go on and on for hours. All I wanted to do was go to sleep—it was hard to keep my eyes open, but I knew that if I went to bed, I wouldn’t be able to sleep as deeply as I needed to. I stomped over to his doorway, clearing my throat, and for some reason when his eyes met mine, I felt a warmth spread through me.

  Chapter 5: Tyler

  I gazed at the girl in the doorway, noticing the extremely irritated look on her face. My eyes traveled over her briefly, just long enough to drink in her full, curvy body, wide hips and thick thighs, large breasts that were high and ripe. She crossed her arms over her chest, and when I met her eye she was glaring at me.

  “Is this your apartment?” she asked in a sharp voice, a slight accent in her words that I couldn’t identify, something vaguely southern with a twist.

  “Yeah,” I said to her. I couldn’t help but to grin at the look on her face—she had blushed once she’d seen me looking her over, and I knew it was because of the interest in my eyes. Her face was gorgeous, too, with dark auburn hair in a loose bun on her head, green eyes, and perfectly shaped lips.

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m—”

  “I don’t really care who you are,” she said.

  At first I was stunned, then laughed. “What?”

  “Do you not know how rude you’re being with the noise?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “It’s midnight. You’re loud. You have your door wide open, with some girl—”

  “Why are you looking into my apartment?” I asked her, feeling irked by her attitude, the tone of her words. “That’s a little weird.”

  She huffed, her pretty face scrunching up in distaste.