Even so, sometimes, after he closed a big deal, he wished he could celebrate his success with someone. Toast champagne on his ocean-view rooftop deck or spend a romantic weekend in Paris. It would be nice to meet someone who was actually interested in him and not his money. But he doubted he could find such a woman, and he didn’t even want to try. Women were a distraction—a fun one, but nothing more.
“Seriously, Apá. Can’t Jaime do it? He will be posting his every waking minute anyway. And they look great in their outfits—they’ll get so much press. He and Enrique just left.”
“No. You know them. They will both be drunk and spend the night hitting on women. Definitely in no state to schmooze. There is nothing left to do on the Barrio deal. Take the night off. Please, do it for me.”
Ramón had no choice but to agree. “Okay, I’ll go. But only for a few hours.”
“That’s my boy. Do you have something to wear?”
Ramón exhaled. He did, but nothing like his brothers’ new threads. “Yeah. I think my old charro suit still fits.”
“Wonderful. Have fun. I love you. I’ll see you in Barrio, mañana.”
“See you tomorrow. Love you, too, Apá.”
Ramón hung up, saved all his work, and shut off his computer. Papá was right; the best thing he could do for the Barrio deal was to go schmooze.
Ramón walked out of his office, through the long hallway covered with family photos and framed magazine articles, and strode over to his fully stocked rustic bar in the game room, where he took a shot of his stash of Clase Azul Reposado Tequila.Hits the spot.It was smooth, and it took the edge off the day perfectly. He filled a flask with some more and placed it by his keys and wallet.
Then he went to his bedroom closet. He searched in the back andfound his charro suit from when he’d played guitarrón with the Mariachi Cardenal de Stanford. The ingrained scents of dried tequila and stale smoke from the fabric brought back memories of his college years performing, which were the happiest times of his life.
The suit fit, surprisingly, even though Ramón had bulked up. His daily workouts running on the beach and flipping tires in his custom gym were his one outlet for stress.
Ramón went to Jaime’s bathroom in their beachfront bachelor pad, which, sure enough, had face paint strewn all over the white marble countertop. Their maid, Lupe, would not be pleased. She worked hard and fast, with a smile on her face, and Ramón always made sure to clean up after any parties he and his brothers threw so she wouldn’t have to do any extra work.
Ramón had played at plenty Day of the Dead parties in college, so he knew how to do the face paint. He shaved his face with a fresh razor blade, used a white eye pencil to outline his eyes and nose, and then spread white paint over his face. Black eye makeup and a spiderweb on his forehead came next. The perfect combination of beauty and the macabre—life and death. To complete the look, he drew black stitches over his lips to indicate that he was dead.
Papá was right—appearing at the event would be good for business. Ramón might even have a good time.
He quickly put the makeup away and wiped down the countertop.
Ramón secured his sombrero on his head. A final glance in the mirror, and he was satisfied with what he saw—a man who would do anything to close the deal.
He removed his guitarrón from the stand on the wall. One strum of the brittle strings and the music beat through his heart and awakened his soul. When the notes sprang back to Ramón’s head, he wasrelieved that he hadn’t forgotten how to play. He’d sung to crowds of women when he performed. Ramón loved being onstage, playing music, and singing love songs. He’d been a hopeless romantic, just like Papá.
But there was no time for women or music now.
He had a company to run.
Chapter Two
Julieta Campos glanced around Las Pescas, bittersweet pride expanding her chest.
She had renovated the sea-to-table taquería as carefully as she kneaded her handmade tortillas. She’d selected every item inside the restaurant, from the custom-painted murals on the walls to the Talavera tiles underneath her worn clogs. Every Saturday morning, she went to the open-air fish market near Seaport Village to pick the freshest, most sustainable seafood available. From sea urchin to rock crab, Julieta never shied away from varieties that weren’t typically served in Mexican cuisine. And she wasn’t afraid to experiment in the kitchen.
Mexican seafood was her birthright. After all, her mother, Linda, had practically invented the fish taco in America—a fact that Mamá forced Julieta to keep to herself.
Mamá was a proud woman. She refused to talk publicly about how her recipe for San Diego’s iconic fish tacos was stolen from her in the seventies by a smooth-talking Lothario who had strolled up toher tiny taco stand in San Felipe, captured her heart, and, after promising not only his undying love but also to return, ditched her to go back to California as soon as their spring fling was over. The jerk ended up founding a successful restaurant chain called Taco King, starring Mamá’s signature tacos. That man was now a multimillionaire. Billionaire, in fact. Meanwhile, Mamá always struggled to make ends meet.
But Mamá was also a devout Catholic who hadn’t sought revenge or even compensation for what had happened to her in her youth.
Instead, she’d just focused on her future. She’d met and married Julieta’s papá, immigrated to California, started a family, and built her own legacy of authentic Mexican cuisine for the members of her community. Julieta was so in awe of Mamá and proud to continue in her footsteps. Though Julieta’s parents had begged her to go to college, she’d always wanted to be a chef, ever since she’d worked in Mamá’s restaurant cutting up carrots and radishes. Mamá knew the names of everyone who dined in her restaurant, and Julieta had vowed to be just like her.
After culinary school, Julieta trained at Michelin-starred restaurants and had even participated in a short stint on a reality television cooking show. But all she’d ever really wanted was her own place to serve her creations.
She had achieved her goal.
Andno onewould take it away from her.
