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While I wait for the griddle to heat up, I place a sauce pan on a back burner and add some honey, Sriracha, maple syrup, and some water. Bringing the mixture to a quick boil, I stir the ingredients until the color shifts slightly and pull the pan off the heat to thicken.
With the griddle nice and hot, I measure out the pancake mix and make five neat circles on the sizzling surface. They begin to hiss as I put my homemade sausages on. While I’m feeling grateful he has every tool and kitchen appliance known to man, I absolutely never want to make sausage this quickly in his kitchen again.
I can't help but wonder how my daughter's doing right now. Is she crying for me or making a brave face for my mother? My heart squeezes in my chest, and I feel my throat start to close painfully.
With careful hands, I flip the pancakes, then roll the sausages before putting the bacon on to cook. I hate the thought of my baby missing me while I’m here cooking. I know that the money is important, and Charles is paying me enough that not only will we make our bills, we'll be able to put some money away to save. But is it worth these moments that I'm losing with my little girl? She's only going to be this age once, and with every day that creeps by, I’m one moment closer to her moving out and only visiting when she has the time. And let's face it, as an adult, there's not a lot of spare time to be had, not with bills to be paid and jobs to be worked.
I blink back tears before finding a little glass carafe to put the syrup in.
The scent of the cooking food has my mouth watering, but I’m so homesick and worried about my daughter, I don't think I could eat a bite right now, much less a meal.
Placing the plate beside the cook top, I scoop up the pancakes and arrange them in a fan shape before adding the cooked bacon to the side and carefully stacking the sausages. The glass carafe of syrup follows the plate to the serving tray, and I carry them out to him.
I set the serving tray down and pick up the plate, putting the ceramic before him so hard it rattles. I think he's going to know I'm upset. I place the carafe of syrup beside the plate and straighten up. “Pancake, sausage, bacon. Anything else you need?”
He stares down at the food, then blinks up at me. “I'm actually relieved you put your creative spin on it.”
It takes a moment for his words to sink in and for me to realize he's not being sarcastic. He wants my food the way I make it. So why has he been giving me so much grief if he likes my cooking and wants me to make my specific healthy meals for him?
And does this mean he prefers my cooking to his old ways?
As annoyed and frustrated as I am with him, I can't help but do a happy little internal dance. He likes my food. In that moment, everything feels okay in my world, and the job seems worthwhile, even if I’m missing my daughter.
Chapter Six
Charles
I glance down at the treadmill and realize I've been jogging for nearly double my typical distance at a higher speed than usual. So I slow the pace to a walk to cool down my muscles while thinking about how great I feel.
I'm not winded. I’m not sore. I don't feel like I've been running for longer than usual. I don't even feel like I need this cool down walk, but, of course, I'm not going to be irresponsible about my workout like that.
Uncomfortable, I think about the other day when I’d grabbed heavier weights than usual and didn’t even notice the change. I know that I definitely have more energy and my body feels better. Picking up my water bottle, I take a deep drink before putting the black bottle back in the cupholder.
The room is absolutely quiet, which is how I prefer my in-home private gym and my reflection looks no different in the mirrors. Maybe I look a bit better rested, but I am. I’ve been sleeping better, deeper, and for longer than my previous four hours a night.
Now I'm getting between six and the recommended eight hours - something I’d long considered impossible for me. As much as I want to say the reason I'm sleeping more is the inevitable brain death of not getting enough protein to fuel my gray matter, I honestly think that this diet has had positive impacts on my health.
But the second those thoughts start, I bring them to a grinding halt.
For now, I feel a lot more comfortable saying that I've been drinking more water, or getting more exercise, and that’s why I feel better and am sleeping more soundly. The treadmill comes to a halt, and I step off of the belt before making my way to the gym shower to clean up, change, and get ready for the next leg of my journey today - going to Club Red.
I make my way into the club to meet up with Arson. In the front room, women dance, drinks flow, and the overwhelming sounds and smells assault my senses. Taking this place over was an excellent choice for Arson and he's been rolling in the money since.
He and Hunter made too many changes to count and now the place rakes in the money, which certainly makes the previous owner happy, since he’d negotiated a cut of profits. Smart businessman made a smart deal that’s paying off in dividends. I know a lot of the guys around here are friends, but I'm one of the newest on the scene so I haven't quite made a bro bond with the crew yet.
As I keep walking, the music fades into the background of my mind. The red lights of the club give the place an unearthly glow and I scan the faces until I spot Arson at the bar talking to someone I don’t recognize.
Before I can make my way to him, an unwelcome figure blocks my path, crossing his beefy arms and glares at me. I can say he's quite easily one of the last people I want to deal with right now... or ever.
“Fancy seeing you here.” Methew chuckles at his own words like the knucklehead he is, and I bite back any words that might try to escape.
Without saying a word, I try to skirt around him, but he takes a step to the side, effectively blocking my path. I know there's no way this encounter can end well; last time we did this dance, we almost got into a fistfight.
“Too good to talk to me?” Methew cracks his knuckles, and I wonder if he'll ever let go of the past. Nothing that fantastic even happened; I turned down a bad business deal he offered me, and then when things went belly up, I didn't so much as bat an eye.
“Just not interested in anything you have to say and I have things to do.” Just about the last thing I want to do is give him a moment to bring up any investment opportunity he's thinking about. The guy fails spectacularly at business in all forms. If he didn't have his parents’ money, he'd be up a bad creek right now without a paddle... or a boat for that matter.
Some people have all the luck. I built myself from the ground up, but he was built from the ground up with every luxury money could afford from the time he was born. One good thing is that at the end of the day, I can be proud of what I’ve built; whereas, he just has to crawl back to mom and dad on his belly and beg for more money to get him out of the latest hole he’s dug himself into. Imagine how much of an embarrassment it must be to have groomed a child from a young age for great things, only for him to be a complete flop.
