Элла Франк - Edible

This book is for every person that stepped inside a little place I call Exquisite and asked to know more about a purple-haired pastry chef named Rachel Langley.

You think you know her? So did I...

Xx, Ella

Past

“Let go!” Rachel demanded, trying to free herself from Ben’s punishing grip around her upper arm.

“I told you to stop,” he shouted as his fingers dug tight into her tender flesh.

That’s going to leave a mark, she thought with a grimace.

Spinning around to face him, Rachel glared up into her boyfriend’s irate eyes. “And I told you not to touch me when you’re angry.”

Ben hauled her in close, and Rachel knew whatever was about to happen wouldn’t be good.

Twenty minutes earlier, he’d come home in a foul mood. That usually equaled a painful evening in the bedroom for her but not tonight. Tonight, she was done.

“I’ll touch you whenever I want to touch you. You got that?” he sneered down at her.

Rachel narrowed her eyes and yanked on her arm again. Instead of letting go, he reached up, gripped the other one, and pushed her back against the living room wall. She hit it so hard that her teeth clattered, and she could have sworn the bookcase beside her shook.

“You’re mine, remember? You do what I say.”

Staring up at him, Rachel knew she was risking his wrath, but she could no longer stay silent.

“Not anymore. You’re leaving. Pack up your shit, Ben, and get out of my place! I’m sick of being your punching bag.”

What happened after that blurred into slow motion.

Rachel saw him raise his hand, and before she could move her face, his large palm connected with her cheek, the brutal force of it resounding in a loud crack. Her face felt like someone had lit it up with a blowtorch.

As she reached up to grip her cheek, a throbbing ache ricocheted in her skull. When she heard the front door crash open, Rachel turned her head against the wall, squinting because of the light shining in from behind the person now standing in the doorway.

“Take your hands off of her.”

Rachel recognized her father’s voice, but it was filled with a cold anger that she had never heard before. Ben took one step away from her, and her father was instantly on him.

Sliding back against the wall, she crumpled to the floor. Through a rapidly swelling eye, she watched while her father punched Ben in the face before he repeatedly landed blows to his gut. When her father finally let up, Ben pulled himself up to his feet and ran from the house, yelling about what a bitch she was and how she had to have “her daddy” save her.

Crouching down in front of her, her father reached out to gently cup her cheek. “What are you doing, baby girl? This is not love.”

Looking up at him, Rachel saw the grim line of his mouth and noticed his hair falling forward. She absentmindedly thought about how Mason had inherited their father’s dark looks. “No man should ever hit you, Rach. Ever.”

He reached down and helped her to her feet. Wrapping a solid arm around her waist, he guided her as she staggered to the sink. He wet a paper towel and then dabbed at the cut on her cheek.

With a quivering lip, Rachel blinked up at him as tears pooled in her eyes. “Please don’t tell Mase or Mom.”

Her father held her in his arms and softly spoke into her ear. “I won’t as long as you don’t tell them I beat the shit out of him.”

Chuckling a little, she kissed his cheek. “I promise,” she whispered.

Present... January

Rachel stood in the far corner of Precious Petals, leaning on the handle of the broom she’d been using only minutes before.

Sighing, she reached up to run a hand through her thick black hair—hair that had been tipped electric blue for the moment.

Lately, memories of her father had become harder and more difficult to bear. She knew it had a lot to do with the fact that she and Mason had recently lost their mother, but the pain of losing both parents before she’d even accomplished…well, anything was almost too much to take.

Rachel knew that Mason would have killed her if he ever heard her talk that way. He would’ve been the first to point out the acclaim she now had as a pastry chef, largely due to her famous and good-looking brother and his restaurant. Oh, sorry, our restaurant.

Not to mention, she had also taken over the flower shop.

During those first few months after their mother had passed, every time Mason had tried to come into Precious Petals, he hadn’t been able to do it. Because of her connection with their mom, Lena had been the next person they had all thought of to take over the shop, but that had been impossible since she was a pediatrician down at University Hospital.

So, the task had fallen to Rachel. While she loved the store, she couldn’t help but feel the loss of her parents more and more every day.

Glancing up at the clock, she noticed she was running late. Shit, she thought, moving over to the bench where Tulip was stretched out on her side. With her paw hanging down lazily like a panther in a tree, the lethargic kitty opened her eyes at the sudden movement.

“Oh, don’t you move a single piece of fur, okay? I’ve got this.”

Untying the apron strings from around her waist, she smiled as the cat sat up, dramatically yawning as though she had been working all day. Placing the apron down on the bench, Rachel reached out to scratch the watchful feline’s furry head.

After her mother had passed, Rachel would arrive at the shop to find Tulip waiting at the back door. The furball would sit behind the store and meow, almost like a mournful cry, until one day, Rachel had relented and opened the door. From that day on, Rachel had owned a white cat with mottled brown ears—or maybe she should say that they owned each other.

Rushing around the counter, Rachel grabbed the burlap bag she’d thrown under there earlier this morning, and then she made her way to the front door, the bells jingling overhead as she passed through.

Turning to lock up, she reminded herself of how much her mother had loved this place. Lately, it had felt like the memory was becoming too much to handle, and she wasn’t sure she could continue burning both ends of the candle—spending days at the shop and nights at Exquisite. She was tired and starting to feel burned-out.

Recently, she’d been running the scenario through her head to hire some help, but she’d yet to mention it to her brother. He was busy enough these days with the restaurant and his recent marriage. He didn’t need her whining in his ear.

No, this is something I can work out on my own, she thought as she turned and started a brisk walk to the station to catch the L downtown.

* * *

Looking out his large office window, Cole leaned back in his leather chair with the phone to his ear.

“No, I don’t care about that, Becky. All I asked was for her to have the best. Is that such a difficult thing to deliver? Because if it is, I can go elsewhere.”

Raising his left arm, he glanced at his watch. Shit, I’m running late, he thought as he stood up from the chair.

Leaning down, he signed the documents he’d read through earlier. He dropped the pen on the desk, straightened, and shook his head.

“You know what? If things don’t improve this month, I’m coming up there to get her myself. Now, I have to go. Fix the issue.”

He ended the call and stuffed the phone into his pants pocket. He placed both palms on the desk, his head drooping forward. Damn, I don’t need this bullshit in my life right now.

He took a moment to reflect on everything he needed to do, and then he grabbed the envelopes for Jane to send out and headed toward the door. Taking his long wool coat from the rack, he draped it over his arm and walked out of his office.

Stopping by Jane’s desk, he noticed his paralegal was nowhere in sight, so he placed the documents in her tray and made his way to the elevators.

Glancing at his watch again, he took a deep breath and reminded himself that it wouldn’t be the end of the world if he were a few minutes late. But as an elevator dinged and metal doors opened, he knew he was lying to himself.

Punctuality was everything, especially in his line of work. After all, the man who turned up first always held the power, and that meant everything to a man like him.

* * *

Standing in the center aisle of the train, Rachel gripped the metal pole that was secured to the roof and floor of the car.

With her earbuds securely placed, she swayed and rocked to the click-clack rhythm she could feel but not hear over her music. Unlike most people, Rachel loved commuting. There was something so peaceful about being on a train. She could zone out and just relax for however long it took to get to a destination. She was also inclined to people watch, and there was always a buffet of the unusual, ranging from the ordinary to the extraordinary, on the L.

Tapping her foot, Rachel glanced up at the Red Line on the map displayed on the side of the train. As the night started to engulf the city, she knew she had one more stop to go.

It was Wednesday, and she was happy that it would be a relatively slow night. Well, for Exquisite’s standards anyway. For some reason, she just wasn’t in the mood tonight. If anything, she’d probably be better off going to the club and spending some time with the bartender, Riley.

As the train heaved to a slow stop, Rachel waited for the heavy metal doors to slide open, and then she, along with around thirty other commuters, piled out of the narrow doorway.

Making her way onto the platform, she stuffed her hands into her blue wool coat, her arm clutching her bag to her side. With her earbuds still firmly in, the hustle and bustle were currently being drowned out by P!nk’s latest release.

Eyes down, she watched the pavement as she began exiting the station’s tunnel, moving farther away from the train. She was almost free from the main crush of people when her shoulder hit something solid—something in the form of another person.

Stopping, she looked up to apologize, and froze.

Right there in the middle of the chaotic station, she found herself staring up into the eyes of the man she knew only as Cole.

* * *

Cole couldn’t believe his luck. It seemed as though choosing the subway over the rush hour traffic had paid off.

As he stood there, gazing down at the raven-haired mystery who had a penchant for bright colors, he decided it was almost worth running late. Of all the people he could have run into in the city, running into her seemed somehow fitting, especially since he’d thought about her just the other day.

She was intriguing to him on so many levels.

He’d seen her only a handful of times—twice at Whipped and once again at her brother’s Halloween party, which Joshua had invited him to.

Oh, she didn’t know this would be their fourth crossing, but he did, and this time, she was not getting away so easily.

The first night he had seen her was when she had walked into the club in a short leather miniskirt. Cole had been convinced that if she were to cough, he would have caught a glimpse of everything she had to offer. She’d paired the skirt with a black leather bra and stiletto heels that could maim. And that had been it.

He remembered it perfectly as though it had happened last night and not months before.

He was sitting in one of the side booths, watching her as she stood there, fidgeting. He was contemplating the best way to approach her and persuade her to be his—well, for the night anyway.

However, as he sat there in quiet consideration, sizing up the woman who somehow caught everyone’s attention, he was shocked as hell when she walked over to the bar, sat down, and greeted Riley—a man everyone knew was a complete slut. In other words, he would do anything he was told, and he was not picky about who told him to do it.

That was not the shocking part though. What perplexed Cole was how he had misread her. Usually, he was much more astute than that, much more accurate in the people he was drawn to, but it was not that way with her.