Page 13 of One Night with Cinderella

“Gabe, Gabe, Gabe.”

“Send him in,” he said, ignoring the sultry memory that seemed akin to the enchanting whispers of one of Homer’s Sirens. Although he didn’t want to admit it, he was thankful to his brother for intruding on thoughts of Monica he knew he had no right having.

Phillip Jr. opened the door and strolled in, closing it behind him. “I heard you and Lucas went to look at a new factory for the cookware line,” he said, his deep voice booming.

It matched his tall muscular frame. He lived up to the comparison to former wrestler turned actor Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. To tease him, the brothers would all mimic The Rock’s signature wrestling line: Can you smell what The Rock is cooking? Tongue wiggle and all.

“Yes. He wanted my advice,” he said, going to the website of the James Beard Award to scroll down to announced nominees in the categories for restaurants and chefs before briefly glancing over at his brother.

“After he asked me for it first and then left me hanging? Or were you two plotting against me?” Phillip Jr. asked, coming to stand behind one of the chairs lined in front of the desk and gripping the back of one of them so tightly Gabe feared his fingers would burst through the leather.

Gabe leaned back in his chair and eyed his brother. “In what way, Philly?” he asked, purposely reverting to his brother’s childhood nickname.

It served his purpose to disarm him.

Phillip Jr.’s stance softened. “Maybe the two of you think you stand a better chance at Dad’s favor as a team,” he said.

Gabe shook his head. “I don’t like to share anything. You know that,” he said.

“And I don’t like being the eldest—his damn namesake—and being overlooked,” Phillip volleyed back, once again voicing his opinion that he should automatically inherit the throne.

Gabe remained quiet. He wanted to be named CEO, but he refused to fight with his brothers to obtain the title. It was a horrible use of time, intelligence and energy.

Phillip released a derisive chuckle filled with his frustration before turning to take long strides to the closed door to jerk it open. He paused in the frame. “Good luck on the nominations next year,” he said before taking his leave.

That last shot did cause Gabe to shift in his seat. None of the Cress restaurants had received a nod.

In the past, the family used to gather together for the announcement of the nominees to celebrate or commiserate together. Now he didn’t know if his brother truly wished him well the next time or if he’d let his blind ambition make a loss a reason to gloat to their father as proof of Gabe’s inability to lead the empire.

Sad times.

Gabe wiped his mouth with his hand as he closed his eyes and released a long breath. He wanted to win the coveted seat, as well, but to what end? This wasn’t a nighttime soap opera where hurt and misdoings could be erased or lessened with the stroke of a writer’s pen.

What was happening to the family in their family empire?

Bzzzzzz.

He glanced at his watch and his body tensed, even as he reached over to hit the intercom button once more. “Yes?”

“Lunch is served, Mr. Cress.”

Gabe drummed his fingers atop his desk. “Thank you,” he replied, wishing he had anywhere else to be.

Absolutely anywhere.

He eyed his stocked bar and contemplated a double pour of brandy but decided against it. He needed to be sharp. The verbal daggers were about to fly.

Cress, INC.’s corporate offices occupied the entire fortieth floor of the towering building, and there was a test kitchen nestled among the dozen offices and conference rooms. It had become tradition when his mother wasn’t busy at her acclaimed cooking school for her to fix lunch for the family and support staff. Normally he looked forward to his mother’s cuisine, but of late, the family gatherings could be a bit dicey and swing anywhere between loving and challenging.

The scent of tomatoes and seafood was heavy in the air. Admittedly his stomach rumbled, but he didn’t quicken his pace to the family’s private dining area that was separate from the one for the employees. Barbara, one of the company’s office staff, gave him an appreciative eye as they came toward each other in the hall leading to the test kitchen.

“That’s a beautiful tie, Mr. Cress,” she said with a sly smile as she came to a stop in front of him, effectively blocking his path.

Barbara had made it clear over the years that she was open to more than a work relationship, but Gabe had always maintained a professional distance. Today would be no different. “Thank you,” he said with a polite nod that he knew was stiff. “Enjoy your lunch.”

“Care to join me?” she asked.

Gabe opened his mouth.

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