"For you, maybe," Lyla snapped. "I'm not complaining, but if I didn’t work the hours that I did, we wouldn't be standing here right now."
"No," I sighed. "I'd be in town by now. Come on, take the afternoon off. Go surprise your boyfriend with a little free time. Relax. Do something fun. A few hours will not derail this whole operation."
We stepped aside as a team of caterers hauled warming trays into the kitchen. Lyla waited until they had passed and then scowled at me. "I don't have any free time to give."
"What does your boyfriend say about that?" I asked.
"What boyfriend?" Lyla snapped. "And, no, I don't want to talk about it. Stop trying to sidetrack me. You always do this, Landon, and it's not going to work this time."
I knew she didn’t have a boyfriend, but I hoped the dig would push her away and allow me to finally break free. I turned and trotted down the steps to the driveway. "We don't have to have this conversation every day, Lyla."
"Really?" She chased me across the driveway to the five-car garage. "Is this the part where you actually grow up and start taking care of your responsibilities?"
I paused with my hand on the door of a small, sporty convertible. "What responsibilities? All you need me to do is put on a suit, smile, shake hands and sign checks. A monkey could take care of my responsibilities."
"Your guests expect to see you."
I swore until the tops of her cheeks turned pink, then I took a deep breath. "I'll be there, Lyla. Of course, I'll be there. Is that good enough for you?"
"Good enough? When are you going to stop pretending that all of this is a burden?" She motioned to the car, the grounds, and back to the house.
"This coming from the girl who's practically breathing fire over a party that you hired someone else to plan," I snapped.
"Landon, this is important, and I know that underneath your childish attitude, you know it as well."
I yanked open the car door and jumped in. "I already said I'd be there. Can you turn off 'bitch mode' now?"
She stepped in front of the sports car and put her hands on her hips. "You want 'bitch mode?' Then how about we talk about your appearance again. Honestly, Landon, when was the last time you shaved?"
I twisted the car key and revved the engine. "Get out of the way."
"No. If I look unhappy and bitchy all the time, then it's only fair to point out you look like a loser. Scruffy jeans, a faded button-down, constant stubble. Who do you think you're fooling?" Lyla asked. "One of these days you’re going to have to own up to who you really are."
I cranked the sports car into reverse and skidded away from her. She remained planted in the center of the driveway. I revved the engine to drown out the expletives burning my lips, but she heard every word. She didn’t even blink.
The worst part of it was she was right. Someday I was going to have to give in and acknowledge my responsibilities, but I wasn’t ready yet.
I inched the car past her and gritted my teeth. "I said I'd be there, and I will. See ya later, Ly."
She threw her perfectly manicured hands into the air, but finally stepped aside. I hit the gas and peeled down the driveway to the first sharp curve. Behind me, Lyla turned back to the house, already shouting orders to the staff. I watched in the rearview mirror as she marched up the sweeping marble steps and disappeared into the cavernous foyer. The mansion had a way of swallowing people whole.
I wanted to race along the driveway but two catering trucks and a florist van forced me down to a reasonable speed. If a driver didn’t know every turn and switchback of the steep drive like I did, it was a white-knuckled route. I waved to the drivers as I coasted past. Luckily the sun was warm, and it was enough of a relief to be leaving that I could relax. By the time I passed the imposing stone pillars that marked the property line, almost all of the tension had melted out of my shoulders.
The car idled eagerly as I pulled out my phone. "Hey, you at the office?" I asked when a calm voice answered the call.
"Where the hell else would I be on a day like this?" Andrew said. "The real question is where are you? Flying to Ibiza?"
"God, did Lyla tell you about that?"
Andrew chuckled. "When are you going to learn that everybody tells me everything?"
"Yeah, yeah, you're better than a confessional. I'm on my way. Any chance you can have my regular waiting?"
"Consider it done," Andrew said.
I tossed my phone to the passenger’s seat and revved the engine again, considering the straight avenue ahead of me. Too bad the street that led to my driveway was a residential area. Two doors down, a little boy dragged a red wagon to his mailbox and waved at me. I waved back and started toward town at a reasonable speed.
"Tell your mom the roses look great," I called.
The little boy smiled and ran back to his house to deliver the message. The road was clear and I slammed my foot on the accelerator until I came to the next intersection.
The rest of the short drive was painfully slow. Rare traffic sprawled around the two hotels just before the intersection of Highway 1. I recognized the grocer's son wrangling a Ferrari while his best friend jumped into a monstrous Cadillac SUV. The hotels hired the local young folks as valets to help control the congestion, but it never really relieved the problem.
"Every year, same crap," I muttered. I nodded to both boys and threaded my way past the overflowing hotel parking lots.
Two miles down Highway 1 and cars had filled the parking lot outside The Sand Dollar. I cursed the crowd and drove around to the side of the building. Luckily, no thoughtless tourist had taken my spot on the grassy stretch between the dumpster and the edge of the cliff.
Music and colorful conversation pumped out the screen door as I yanked it open and stepped into the busy kitchen.
“I need more tomatoes, cabrón!” someone shouted.
“I’ll get you your tomatoes when you stop yelling at me, pendejo,” someone shouted back.
"Hey, hey, watch your language,” I called. “There are proper people around."
The chef stopped chopping and held up the glinting knife. "I don't see no proper person," he said.
"Thank god. Ruiz, you're the best," I said. "Don't let these tourists say anything else."
"Like I'm gonna listen to them." The chef laughed and turned back to his work.
I nudged open the swinging door to the bar. Only a few stragglers had wandered away from the five-star dining room and the breathtaking balcony overlooking the water. My regular stool was still open. I dodged past the red vinyl booths and slipped onto it.
"Oh, god. Don't tell me. Lyla's on a tear," Andrew said. He had long been the go-between for Lyla and me when we clashed. Andrew was the only person my cousin ever confided in, though mostly, she just ranted about me. "Please tell me she's not going to call looking for you."
“Promise. If she calls me, I’ll answer this time.” I took a long swallow of the porter he set in front of me. "At least she likes you."
"Right. That's why she called me an uncivilized cliff-dweller the last time we talked on the phone." Andrew leaned both hands on the bar and shook his head. "I know the beard's a bit much, but do I really look like some sort of caveman?"