His laugh is soft and quiet, drawing a smile from me. “He was a manipulative bastard, wasn’t he?”
“Ugh. The worst. What did he make you do?”
“Run and renovate Dreamland for six months.”
I scoff. “And here I thought we were on an even playing field.”
“It wasn’t as easy as it sounds, especially for someone like me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That I was an idiot who needed a good ass-kicking.”
My grin widens. “Zahra mentioned she helped knock a little sense into you.”
“She did a lot more than that.”
I can practically hear the smile in his voice. Bitterness rises, ready to exploit my insecurities regarding my own relationship, but I shove it down.
“I assume you didn’t call me to gush about your girlfriend.”
“No, but who says I needed a reason to call?”
“You’re a Kane. You don’t do phone calls unless there is something you want.”
He laughs harder this time, making me grin. “I was hoping to speak to you about the tres leches recipe.”
“Seriously?” I thought he would call to check in on the house sale or to ask me a question about Cal.
“Seriously,” he repeats back in my tone, which makes me clamp down on my tongue to stop myself from laughing. “I was hoping we could come to a reasonable agreement.”
“Why do you want it so badly?”
“Because I know talent when I see it, and you’re the real deal.”
Heat crawls up my neck before spreading all the way to my cheeks. “Really?”
“Yes. Cal mentioned you’re interested in opening your own bakery, and I respect that kind of ambition. I’m sure you’ll go far with your skills.”
My phone slips from my grasp from how clammy my hand becomes. I don’t breathe, let alone interrupt him as he continues.
“But I’m interested in developing a new land that features Princess Marianna and a few other characters that I can’t share a lot about yet unless you agree to help.”
“Do any of these characters happen to be from Colombia?”
“Would that convince you to say yes?”
“Depends. Are you still offering me a million bucks for the recipe?”
“Let’s make it five.”
“Five million?”
“Cal was right when he called me out on only offering a mil. I just wanted to see if he pays more attention than he lets on, and he proved me right.”
My mouth drops open. “You did that on purpose?”
He laughs. “Yeah.”
“What is wrong with you?”
“Zahra’s still trying to figure that one out, although compared to Declan, I’m the nice one.”
I shut my eyes to center myself. “This is a lot to wrap my head around.”
“Should I not mention the job then?”
“What job?”
“I’d like to bring you on as a baking consultant of sorts.”
“A baking consultant?” I squeak.
“I see you and Zahra share the fond habit of repeating everything I say.”
“That says more about you than us.”
His deep chuckle makes the speaker on my phone crackle. “Are you open to the job?”
“Do I have to work at Dreamland?”
“Only for a minority of the time. We can fly you out on the jet one weekend every month if that works.”
Nope. Not going to comment on the private jet, no matter how much I want to.
Once a month sounds doable, especially if it is only a part-time job.
“How much are you offering?” I ask with a serious tone.
“Give me a few more recipes and you’ll be retiring tomorrow.”
Screw retirement. I could open my own bakery and travel around the world, getting the best of both worlds.
My answer is easy. “You know what? Sure. Why not?”
“I was hoping you would be up for the challenge.”
I grin. “When do I start?”
“Does next month work?”
When faced with the option to sit at home all weekend or go to Dreamland, I make the same reasonable choice anyone else would make in my position.
“Sure, so long as Cami can come with me.”
“Of course. My assistant will send you all the details and travel info.”
I stare at the ceiling long after Rowan hung up the call and process what just happened. Working for the Kanes might not be what I expected for myself, but an experience like this would help me grow while giving me an opportunity to learn from other people. I can turn it into the adventure I always wanted.
And you achieved it all on your own.
Maybe dreams do come true after all.
52
CAL
I’ve had thirty days to stew in my decisions, dating back to the first time I ever took my first sip of alcohol. I wasn’t like most kids who have their first drink at a party, under the influence of too many friends and not enough brain cells.
No one was around to peer pressure me into drinking. In fact, no one was around to care at all. My brothers were always busy doing their own things and my father was rarely home before nine o’clock., which meant no one was there to intervene.
That first night, I drank because I was angry at myself for missing a goal and losing the game for my team.
The next week, I drank because my father called me a stupid fuck for failing a test.
The time after that, it was the anniversary of my mom’s death.
Slowly, drinking became a way to numb the problems. To drown out the noise until I was better able to cope with the stressors around me. Except the time to cope never came. When I was presented with adversity, I ran and repeated the same habits that got me into trouble in the first place.
I never learned from my mistakes. I was too lost in my sickness to care much beyond stopping the pain, and everyone around me, especially myself, paid the price.
Not anymore though. I will do whatever it takes to stay sober, not only for myself, but for the people I love too.
My grandpa was right. Sobriety is a journey, except to get to the final destination, I needed to suffer through a month-long turbulent plane ride with no landing strip in sight.
That’s what rehab felt like. But unlike the last time, I gave it a hundred percent because I deserved my all. I wanted to get better for myself and the future I will have once I do.
When I land in Chicago, I head straight to the AA meeting Leo recommended because I don’t have time to waste. All the chairs are positioned in a circle, exposing us to one another. I take one of the last open seats, leaving the one beside me empty.
The chairperson begins, and one by one everyone introduces themselves. It’s an intimate group made up of high-profile lawyers, executives, and professionals. I recognize a few from crossing paths at events, but no one comments on it. Because in this room, we are all the same.
Recovering alcoholics.
I’ve been through this process twice already, so I know exactly what to say when everyone turns to me.
I rise and take a deep breath. “Hi, my name is Callahan, although I prefer to go by Cal, and I’m an alcoholic.”
“Hi, Cal,” different tones and voices reply.
I ignore the urge to clench my fists. “Today is the first official day where I choose to be sober.” Rehab might have helped me start off on the right foot, but not having access to alcohol isn’t the same as choosing to be sober. At least not to me.