“If there's nothing else, I really must get back to work.” Okay, I know I’m technically lying, but mental preparation is key.
“Honestly, why are you insisting on living the life of a Tibetan monk, tapping away on a keyboard alone all day, when you could be out meeting a suitable woman?”
And here we are again. My mother is the Michael Schumacher of making sharp conversational turns. “Okay, first, I don’t think Tibetan monks spend much time on laptops. Second, I don’twantto meet a suitable woman. Ilikebeing alone. Not everyone has to get married and procreate. It's not like we’re trying to populate the colony.”
“Nobodylikes being alone, Pierce. That’s just a lie people tell themselves when they’re too scared to put themselves out there. Happiness cannot be found in isolation.”
“Trust me, it can. For example, before I answered your call, I was having a very pleasant day.”
My mother sighs dramatically. “All I want is to see you in a fulfilling, happy relationship. Is that too much to ask?”
“You mean like the one you and father have?” The sarcasm drips from my tongue like molasses—thick and heavy.
“He and I have been doing better, thank you very much,” she quips.
She's referring to the fact that he's been in Scotland for work for the last four months, which means they haven't had to see each other. Rather than challenging her on it, however, I'm just going to let that one go in the interest of ending this conversation. “I'm very glad to hear that. Now I really must run. If I don't talk to you in time, good luck with your next procedure.”
With that, I hang up and power off my mobile so can I get back to forgetting everyone I know. I stare out the window at the early evening sky, feeling every bit as discontent as I did when I stepped aboard the jet. Bunny has a way of doing that to me, which is why I avoid eighty percent of her calls. Her voice invades my mind.Battling Kings. There is literally nothing I can do to impress that woman. My father, too. This is not a new revelation for me. I’ve known it since I was a boy, more content to read than hunt foxes with my father and my other brother, Greyson.
The truth is, no matter what I accomplish, it will never be enough. They will never know me for who I am, not that I need that of them. But should I fail over these next few weeks, whatever relationship I do have with my parents will be even more unbearable than it is now. My achievements may not impress them, but a spectacular public failure shall not escape their attention…
5
How Not to Make a First Impression
Emma
Why do people say ‘no pressure’ when there is clearly a hell of a lot of pressure involved?
Seriously, I’d much rather be told the truth.Hey Emma, there’s a shit-ton of pressure on you to gather everything you’ll need, transform into the world’s most professional-looking chef, and get yourself out to an island in the middle of freaking nowhere in the next hour. Oh, and once you arrive, you’ll have to prepare a delectable, Michelin-star-worthy dinner for a guest who, according to Libby, hails from one of the most influential families in the UK (the Davenhams or Binglyports or some other snooty rich family I’ve never heard of), so his recommendation could either make or break us among the elite. If there was ever a time to panic, it’s now.
But, instead of honesty, I was repeatedly and uselessly reassured by Harrison and Libby that there was nothing for me to worry about as they handed me the keys to one of the speedboats and told me to get my buns out to Eden—pun intended.
Ha ha ha. Aren’t they hilarious together?
In the last forty minutes, I’ve raided the pantries and fridge at the main buffet restaurant, commandeered a clean chef’s uniform, and endured a bumpy ride out to Eden driving full throttle whilst attempting to plan a perfectly impressive meal for Mr. Important. I still haven’t thought of anything, by the way, since my brain is on empty. I also haven’t showered, brushed my teeth, put on makeup, or sucked down an entire pot of high-test coffee. I'm angry, bitchy, tired, and disappointed right through to my bones. Every expectation of my homecoming has been put through the meat grinder because, let’s face it, so far it has left a lot to be desired.
No party.
No fussing.
No quiet moment of reverence as I walk around the kitchen of my restaurant, running one hand along the cool stainless-steel counter-tops, knowing it’s all under my control now.
No luxuriously long shower followed by a twelve-hour nap.
But since I’m now down to twenty-four minutes until the arrival of his nibs, I'll have to pout about everything later.
When I reach the island, I have to circle around almost the entire way to find the spot where the houseboats are docked. Just as I start to worry that I’m at the wrong place, I see them—both well-scrubbed but utterly unimpressive vessels that hardly look seaworthy as they rock in the waves created by the speedboat. Libby told me mine is the blue one and the Willis’s will be living on the white one (which, by the way, is roughly double the size of mine). Apparently, Phyllis is up at the villa completing the final preparations, and Alfred is going down to the guest dock on the other side of the island to greet Mr. Important, so I’m going to have to transfer all the supplies from the speedboat to the houseboat alone in this heat.
By the time I've unloaded all the food and my box of cookware, I’m drenched with sweat. When I finally unlock the door and step inside the cabin, my last hope of being pleasantly surprised today is snuffed out. “No, no, no, no, no.”This cannot be my new life.Mydorm roomwas better than this.
The ‘kitchen’ is all of four-square-feet and holds the world’s smallest three-burner stove. Whythreewhen there is room for a fourth? The stovetop isn’t a triangle, after all. In place of the sub-zero walk-in fridge I daydreamed about during my flight, I find myself staring down at a minibar fridge that I'm pretty sure would barely fit Charles Manson. There are exactly four cupboards—two upper cabinets and two holding up the minuscule laminate wood countertop that will serve as my preparation area. And there’s a built-in three-skinny-person banquette in a lovely combination of pea green vinyl and silver duct tape that will serve as my break room/planning area.
I dump the box of food on the counter and make short work of unloading everything I brought. I crouch, staring into the fridge as I rack my brain for the perfect meal to please the pompous middle-aged foodie who is about to arrive. According to Harrison, he's an author who will be using the island for his own private writing retreat. I don't know much about book royalties, but if I had to guess, I'd say he's gonna have to sell a hell of a lot of copies in order to pay back the special soft launch price of $12,500 per night.
Not my problem, though.Focus, Emma! What are you going to make?
The radio crackles and I take the three steps required to reach it and pick up the mic, hoping it’s anyone but Rosy. “Emma here.”
