Page 4 of Salty, Spiced, and a Little Bit Nice

Suuureeee, I’d always wanted to “learn heaps” while working with a guy I’d publicly rejected and humiliated. Almost as much as I wanted to do the macarena through Times Square buck naked during rush hour. In fact, they were items number one and two on my bucket list, ranked even higher than my dream of opening a bakery.

I sighed, stopping myself from thinking of more snarky comments. What was it that my mother always said?

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Ellie. It’s inappropriate for a woman.”

“We all know it won’t be temporary. They’ll guilt me into staying forever.”

“I’ll make sure they won’t.” When he saw my pained expression, Eric chuckled. “I promise. Once we find someone new, you can leave.”

It sounded simple, but nothing was ever straightforward with my family, especially my mom. “I’ll think about it.” I ignored Naomi, who had paused from enthusiastically plucking plates ofsushi rolls off the conveyor belt to give me a side-eye, as her words earlier came back to shame me. “Anyone want some genmaicha?”

“Sure. By the way,” Eric turned to Naomi, his eyes softening as he watched her pour soy sauce into three small dipping bowls. “Alec texted. His sister’s getting married in a few months. We’re both invited.”

Naomi squealed as my ears pricked up with interest. It had been a while since I heard that name.Did Eric mean who I thought he meant?

“Which sister? Is it Sienna?” Naomi’s eyes lit up when Eric nodded. “Oh my God! Sienna’s getting married?”

Okay, so it was exactly who I thought it was. Alec Mackenzie, who used to be Eric’s Ride or Die, before he suddenly left the city without even saying goodbye ten years ago.

The guy who was my childhood crush.

But also, the absolute fucking bane of my existence.

A sudden wave of irritation surged through me because (1) Why wasn’t I invited to the wedding? Followed by (2) Did that mean he was coming back home?

“I didn’t know you two are still friendly,” I said to Eric, my tone a little accusing.

“Are you still angry at him?” My brother shook his head. “It was a long time ago, Ellie. And it wasn’t his fault. We talked about this.”

Maybe we had, but that didn’t mean I was ready to forget, forgive, and move on.

Because how do you forgive someone who not only broke your heart into tiny little pieces, but almost killed you, too?

CHAPTER 2The Most Excellent Start to the New Year

It was a fact universally acknowledged that employee productivity dipped significantly post–end-of-year holidays, rendering the first few days pointless and ineffective. Case in point: Today was our first Monday back after the break, and nobody was even pretending to work. People stood around chatting, holding mugs of coffee while exchanging stories about their holidays, not caring whether they’d cleared the 1,828 unread emails in their inbox, let alone getting started on their first investment analysis for the year.

Not that I was any better. On the outside, it looked like I was hard at work, judging from the Excel spreadsheet I’d been frowning at for the past hour. In reality, I was focusing all my energy into ignoring my mother’s face on my vibrating phone.

My father might have started the family business from zero, but my shrewd mother was the driving force behind every decision. Veronica Pang was ambitious, hardworking, and strong-willed, and the main reason my first-generation Chinese Indonesian migrant family had successfully built a multibillion–dollar businessempire. The business was her whole life, her pride and joy, because it represented everything she’d worked so hard for. She always said that the one thing she feared the most was being poor and having no money. Which explained why she could be doggedly single-minded once she set her mind on something, especially when it was relevant to the business, exploiting all possible (often questionable) means to achieve her goals. And right now, her sole purpose in life was to rectify the crime I had committed by rejecting George’s proposal.

Since ignoring her was an offense punishable by incessant nagging, she’d upped the ante and increased the frequency of her calls, harassing me six times a day like clockwork: twice in the morning, twice after lunch, twice at night. Sometimes she’d even throw in several text messages as a bonus. All her calls this morning had gone straight to voicemail, and her texts stayed unopened. I’d had enough of her harping on how I’d destroyed my life and future; how there wouldn’t be anyone else interested in me after I’d rejected George; and why the hell did I turn him down, anyway? Finally, did I ever stop to think how selfish that was because it might damage our relationship with his family?

Nope, I didn’t need to ruin my first day back at work by hearing any of that.

My phone stopped buzzing for five seconds, before going off again. Winnie, my coworker and usual lunch buddy, glanced at me. “Someone is dying to talk to you.”

“I’m busy.” I rejected the call, then clicked on a cell in my spreadsheet, pretending to check the formula. “It’s just my mom. She’ll call again tonight.”

She gave me a funny look. “But it’s your mom. What if it’s urgent?”

I liked Winnie, but even though we hung out every day at lunch, I never told her—or anyone else at work—about my family. Theless people knew about them, and how dysfunctional they were, the better. My mother never hesitated to use her money, or her network of powerful people, to make certain things go her way. But I was never comfortable with that, with people knowing how well-off my parents were. I’d learned (the hard way) that some people treated me differently once they knew, because of what they thought they could gain from my family by befriending me.

Before I could think of a believable answer, a door suddenly flung open from my right, and Stewart, one of the partners in the company, emerged from his office. “Ellie, can I see you for a minute?”

I closed my laptop, grabbed my pen and notebook, and followed him.

“Have a seat, please. Good Christmas?”

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