Twist of Fate (Kings of Chaos 6)

“Today. I’m packing light.” I won’t tell him the truth—that it’s a last ditch effort to regain my balance and decide if this life is still for me after all.

Chapter One

Xia

I can scarcely contain the excitement bubbling up inside me like a freshly opened soda as I move into the kitchen for my daily dose of caffeine. Family meetings are a regular occurrence, but not on a Sunday. Dad’s usually a stickler for saving the seventh day for rest. Despite his creative genius, the west Texas transplant is a Southern boy at heart.

We were raised very differently from most free-spirited Southern California natives. That’s made life difficult for me. The youngest Foley, and only female of the five-member brood, I’ve had a ton of tradition and archaic thinking to combat. My father originally wanted me to stay on the business side of things and focus on landing a marriage and starting a family. I want to have those things eventually, but it’s not where my passion lies, or who I am, and I made sure he knew it.

No matter how much he wants me to be a Southern belle, I’m not. I like my mascara dark, my hair multicolored, and my fashion spooky and sexy. I’ve worked hard to prove myself to my father and tried to ease him into the truth of who I am. My patience is thin, and my wings are battered from beating against the cage I’ve been trapped in for far too long. At twenty-seven, I’m ready to live my life authentically, with or without my family’s blessing and support.

The Foley name has become synonymous with good food in the Southern California area. My father, Chef Richard Foley, had a vision, a dream, and a lot of grit. After putting in his time in the industry, he opened up a small restaurant. Fresca follows the motto—fresh, traditional, and affordable. We’re known as the tex mex restaurant with a decent selection of excellent barbecue. The niche worked. We found a fan base and grew.

In the late nineties, Fresca branched out to food trucks ahead of the trend chasers and never looked back. The family goal of growing up and working the restaurant changed for me Ellis and Caspian. The new dream was owning our own food truck. The rules were simple: we earn our degrees, do our time learning the ropes, and approach him with a cohesive business plan. Once we’re deemed ready, Dad will invest in the first truck.

I watched as Ellis and Casp worked together to create their predominantly BBQ based truck; Smoke became a force to reckon with. Two years later, they’re still growing strong, and the Foley brand is ready for new blood. I have my business model ready to go, including branding and a marketing plan. I’ve spent years of my life blogging about food and our company. I have a decent following, and Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter have made planning things so much easier. I think people love the hunt and discovery that happens when we post where we’ll be or have specials. I’ve learned a lot over the years about marketing and branding. I plan on using everything to propel myself to the top.

I feel lighter as I sip on the Crème Brule coffee with Salted Caramel creamer, leaning against the kitchen counter to watch the city wake. A life lived under the radar was a soul sucking existence I wouldn’t wish upon anyone. Today marks the end of the Foley expectations I never managed to live up to. What do you wear to the start of your life?

Dressed in a pair of black slacks with an off-the-shoulder black button down with white stars and a pair of black creepers, I’m in my element. My lips are painted in a velvet purple so deep it looks black, and my eyes are accentuated with a cat’s eye style eyeliner. I’m going to face my future the way I feel most comfortable. The fifteen-mile drive to the two-story house feels like it takes twice as long as usual. Which is saying a lot here in Los Angeles where fifteen miles will take you thirty to forty-five minutes if you’re lucky. My stomach knots as I exercise my defensive driving skills.

Over half the population drives like a maniac with an ax to grind, and an important event to get to. Add the entitled, how-dare-you-drive-the-limit attitude, road rage, and resistance to obeying traffic laws, and it’s dry kindling waiting for a match. Pulling into the driveway, I roll my eyes at the sight of the black SUV. Of course, Caspian and Ellis beat me here. The suck ups own a house not too far from my parents. The business has been kind to them, and it’s no secret, they dote on the boys. After all, they’re the ones who keep the family legacy alive.

I stifle my indignation. Ellis and Casp never asked to be placed on pedestals. The roles were assigned to us before we knew what favoritism, sexism, and tradition meant. Not that my dad doesn’t dote on me, too. In many

ways, I’m a daddy’s girl. It’s the things that make us alike that cause conflict.

I want to forge my own path, and he’s spent his life making sure his children would never have to, so it doesn’t compute. Add a healthy dose of control freak into the mix, and more than our food flavors are explosive. I step from my four-door sedan and take a deep breath. This is it.

The smell of banana bread greets me as I enter the house, and I inhale deeply. My father can cook, but my mother’s baking could make a five-star general weep. Shutting the door behind me, I reset the alarm and wander through the house to the back patio where everyone’s gathered.

The muffins, banana bread slices drizzled with icing, and fresh fruit arranged on silver serving platters make my mouth water. The champagne and orange juice don’t escape my notice. I open the sliding door.

“There she is,” Mom says, standing as she holds out her arms.

“Hey, Mom.” I hug her tight, enjoying her softness and the lilac smell that always lingers on her skin. In a land full of artifice, her realness has always kept me grounded and grateful.

I pull back and arch an eyebrow. Who’s the dirty-blond haired Adonis beside my father? With broad shoulders, muscular arms, and the prettiest set of hazel-colored eyes I’ve seen in a long time, he’s impossible to miss. I turn to my father, who flashes me a wide grin that stands out in his honey nut brown face.

The crow’s feet and laugh lines around his mouth are deeper but speak to a life well-lived. His hair is cropped close to his head and liberally sprinkled with patches of gray that make him look dashing.

“Grab a drink and a plate, and I’ll introduce our new friend, Shayne Spencer, properly.”

Oh my God. He already hired staff! I play it cool as I grab a few items, mix a mimosa, and sit beside Mom.

“Before we get started, I want to say a quick prayer,” Dad says once we’re all settled around the rectangular sandstone table. “Lord, thank you for this time we have together. For blessing us with a successful business, and for allowing us to enter into a new venture.”

“Amen,” I echo the response and cram a slice of bread into my mouth to keep from squealing like a twelve-year-old girl at a Justin Bieber concert.

“This is Shayne. He’s here to learn the ropes of the food truck business. He’ll be shadowing, helping us out on the trucks, and with the new expansion.”

Swallowing, I lean forward. My father’s eyes are twinkling. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Daaaaad,” I whine.

He chuckles. “Okay. I’ll stop.”

“Thank you,” I mutter.