Big Chicas Don't Cry(64)

Then I dragged him with me to buy a new coffee table at IKEA, and he spent an entire Saturday afternoon trying to put it together. Fucking sexy.

Before long, we were eating lunch together at work almost every day and hanging out on our days off. I was officially a lost cause.

But when he invited me to his parents’ house for their anniversary party, the alarm bells finally sounded. He hadn’t even met my cousins, and now he wanted me to go with him to a family event? It was too much, too fast. I said no.

So, he fired from the big guns. “Come on, Erica, I already told you that me and my dad don’t get along. I need you there. You have this way of calming me down, of making me see when I’m being an asshole. This is an important day for my mom, and I don’t want to ruin it by fighting with him.”

Well, shit. How could I argue with that?

What the asshole didn’t tell me was that his parents lived on a huge estate in Holmby Hills, an affluent neighborhood in West Los Angeles. Or that they owned a multimillion-dollar Hispanic supermarket chain known as Mendes Market.

“Hold the fuck up. Your family is that Mendes family?” I shouted at him once I saw all the customized canopies emblazoned with the Mendes Market logo dotting the sprawling green lawn.

“Didn’t I mention that?” he said as he surveyed the crowd.

“Um, no, you didn’t. Wait. The family business your dad has been bugging you to take over is the supermarket business?”

“Yep.”

I immediately felt out of place in my black-and-white sleeveless romper. “I wish you’d told me, Adrian. I would’ve dressed up.”

“Why?” he asked and stopped walking to look at me. “You look nice. I like your new hair too.”

Instinctively, I smoothed down one side. “Well, at least my hair is somewhat tamed. Although, I bet by the end of the day, my wild curls will be back.”

“Good. Because I like those wild curls even more.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Should I compliment him on his very crisply pleated slacks? Even if I wanted to, though, I couldn’t. The connection between my brain and my mouth had short-circuited thanks to the way Adrian was now watching me. His expression had softened, and his dark eyes reflected something I couldn’t decipher.

And just when I thought that maybe he was working up the nerve to tell me something, his eyes moved past me and the moment was gone.

“There they are.” He pointed over my head.

I turned to see a very good-looking couple standing next to one of the canopies. He grabbed my hand to take me over there, and in normal circumstances it would have made my heart do silly things. But I was in too much shock to feel much of anything else.

The beautiful dark-haired woman in a lovely burgundy dress threw up her hands in joy when she spotted us. “Mijo! You made it!” Everyone around her turned to look as we walked up the pathway to meet her.

She threw her arms around Adrian’s neck and planted kisses all over his face. I already loved this woman, and I hadn’t even officially met her yet.

“Hello, son.”

The deep baritone voice was such a contrast to the light giddiness of his mother. I nearly gasped when I looked at his father. He was the spitting image of Adrian, just twenty years older.

Adrian pulled away from his mom to shake his dad’s hand. Then he turned to me. “This is my friend Erica. She works at the newspaper too.”

His mom smiled, and I shook her hand and then his dad’s. “It’s nice to meet you both. Happy anniversary.”

“Thank you, Erica. Welcome to our home,” she said. “I hope you two are hungry. There’s a different kind of food and drink under each canopy. I couldn’t decide on a menu, so I just told the caterer to do it all.”

“My wife never does anything half-assed,” his dad droned.

That made me laugh, and I looked over at Adrian. For some reason, he didn’t appear to think it was as funny as I did.

His mom ordered him to eat and then threatened to come find him later so he could say hello to their family and friends. We grabbed plates and settled on the tent where they were making street tacos. Then we picked up some sodas and found seats at one of the many round tables spread throughout the backyard.

“Shit. I still can’t believe you’re rich,” I said after taking a couple of bites of my carne asada taco.

He shook his head. “I’m not rich, Erica. My parents are. I live only on what I make at the News-Press.”

“But why?” He gave me a look. “I’m kidding. You know that. It’s still kind of cool.”

“In a way. It’s been such a long time, though, since I’ve been around all of this. I feel like a stranger, almost like I don’t belong.”

The regret in his voice pained me. I reached out and grabbed his hand. “Don’t think like that. Your mom is obviously thrilled that you’re here. Even your dad. They want you here.”

His gaze locked on mine. “Thanks, Erica. I’m glad you’re here with me.”

“Hello, Adrian.”

We both turned around to see a knockout brunette standing behind us. Adrian pulled his hand away and stood. “Hello, Isela.”

By their awkward hug, I figured she must have been his ex.

I wasn’t a reporter for nothing.