Addicted: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance (25 page)

I searched around for the buzzer box at the front door for a good two minutes before I realized the building didn't have one. It was that sort of place. I pulled out my phone again, and re-checked Kimberly's text messages. I saw I had missed one.
Third floor, apartment 304.

Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I tried the front door to the building, finding it open and unlocked. I made my way up the stairs, not trusting the elevator that looked like it had last been maintained maybe sometime around the time I'd been born. It was more difficult than I'd imagined, I'd stopped by Quads before coming over. The staff was nice, and the manager was willing to let me get a workout in. Since I was coming off of nearly two weeks with no weights, I knew I'd be sore the next day, but that didn't stop me from blasting a squat workout. The endorphin rush of getting that last squat when your back is on fire and your legs feel like they're going to explode is better than any of the so-called recreational drugs I've sampled. Not that I was ever a drughead or anything. I actually hadn't touched anything for over two years.

Either way, by the time I reached the top of the stairs, my heart was thumping and my calves were burning again. Oh yeah, I'd be using the bathtub back at the apartment for a good soak, that was for sure.

I found the door to 306 and knocked, waiting for a response. It took Kimberly a minute to respond. "Yes?"

"It's Julian, Kimberly," I said, trying to stand in front of the fish-eye security peephole. "I've come bearing chicken and shrimp."

"And fortune cookies?" Kimberly asked through the door. I heard the chain and locks on the inside disengage, and the door opened a few inches. "Because if you don't have a couple of fortune cookies, I'm locking you out and calling the police."

"I have four cookies, you can have them all," I replied, laughing. "But I'm only giving you halfsies on the shrimp."

"Deal," Kimberly said, opening the door wider, letting me inside. I walked into what I could only describe as a computer geek's paradise. The small living room was dominated by a huge four panel workstation, along with a tower computer that glowed like a Japanese street racer's car. "Wow, this setup is insane." I said, looking at the custom made case. It was big, around the size of a small refrigerator, and was made of brushed aluminum. "This thing looks like it should be powering the
U.S.S. Enterprise
" I said, as I squatted down to take a look.

I shook my head and got up, backing away slowly. A rule I learned from a tech geek that I'd hired to clean up some official records of me in California, never, ever, fuck with their equipment. It was kind of like Krystal with her culinary equipment, I thought. "I'm impressed. Krystal said you were a computer genius, but this I wasn't really expecting."

Kimberly crossed her arms over her chest and nodded. "Yep. Built the whole thing myself. It's a little expensive, but with my work it's necessary."

"Cool. So does your computer ever start asking for Sarah Connor?" I joked, sitting down on the floor next to the only other piece of furniture, a cheap coffee table. Kimberly stuck her tongue out at me, and sat on the other side, letting me take out the food and divide it between us. For about five minutes we were in a relatively comfortable silence as we enjoyed the food.

I was halfway through my portion of lo mein noodles when she sat her chopsticks down and looked at me. "So how was your first day in Chicago without Krystal?"

"Well, it wasn't really my first whole day," I replied, slurping up another bite of noodle. "Just since this morning."

"You know what I mean, wise ass. Sheesh, I can tell what she likes in you."

Kimberly's words caused me to almost choke on my noodles, coughing slightly to get the last bit down. "Sorry, hit a pepper," I said, covering myself. "But yeah, I know what you mean. I enjoyed it. After shopping like I told you, I went over to Quads. Nice place over there, I think I could make that a regular spot. I'm going to be sore tomorrow though, but the good kind of sore. How about you? I mean, how was your day?"

"Normal stuff. Some coding, some data collection, stuff like that. In fact, I have a couple of programs running now while we're eating, doing some work for me."

I looked over at the computer, which was pretty silent considering the size, and looked back. "What is it that you do anyway? I've been in town for weeks, and the most I can get is that you're into computers and jiu-jitsu, which normally don't mix. I think Krystal mentioned that you're a purple belt like her one time."

"I am, although I'm a bit higher up than her, I've got one stripe. I'm a bit of a jack of all trades," Kimberly replied. "I build of systems for people, usually high end systems for graphic designers or video editors. I do a little data mining, analysis, and a bit of hacking. All legal on the hacking, of course."

"There's legal hacking?" I asked, surprised. "What is that?"

"Companies pay me to try and hack their systems. If I can, it shows them where the flaws are in their systems, and ways they can defend against it. It's actually my most lucrative line of work since there's always new ways to hack, new protocols and new programs with holes coming online every day. That's what I'm doing on my system right now, using some of my cracker programs to probe an auto maker, see if I can get into their database. If I can, I put a marker inside their system and then e-mail their corporate security to tell them where to look, and what I did, which is tracked automatically by my computer."

"Crazy" I said, finishing off my lo mein and going on to my half of the General Tso's chicken.

We continued talking, mostly about her and her work and her love of jiu-jitsu for the next hour or so, until the sun was down and the food was all gone. "Thanks for the dinner," Kimberly said as she polished off her third fortune cookie. She'd left the other one for me, happily enough. "Now, can I ask you a few questions."

"Shoot," I replied, laying back. My legs were starting to stiffen up, and my stomach was filled to the point of nearly discomfort. "I'll answer what I can."

"How do you feel about Krystal?"

The question stopped me in my tracks, and I looked down my body at Kimberly. She was sitting cross legged, her chin in her hands with her elbows on the table, looking at me with a look I hadn't seen from someone in a long time. It wasn't judgmental, but it was interested, and at the same time discerning. I knew I couldn't bullshit her; she'd see right through me. "Damn, you picked a tough one right off the bat, didn't you?"

"I'll admit it's a lot tougher than asking about what I do for a living, but I think you can understand why. No offense, but I'm not really interested in knowing how much you squatted today."

"Four fifty for four reps, last set," I replied, grinning. "But damn. What can I say?"

"That you're nuts about her, and that despite her being your stepsister, you have a major thing for her," Kimberly said. "I've seen it in your face and your voice the entire time you've been here, Julian. It's also why I think you're actually trying to change."

I grunted and sat up, keeping my legs in front of me to minimize the twinges of pain. "I'm not a good guy, Kimberly. As my buddy in Los Angeles told me before I came out here, I'm an asshole, although a seemingly charismatic asshole. If I were a good guy, I'd leave Chicago, and not tell her how I feel about her. I'd keep her from getting dirtied by my presence and my life. Instead, I'm here, and the most I can do is not put a move on her as much as I want to. So I'm all sorts of asshole."

"You're changing yourself, which takes guts and heart," Kimberly replied. "I wouldn't call that being an asshole."

"Yeah? Well being an asshole is in my DNA. I've been an asshole to every woman I've ever been with, and done more harm than good my entire life. If I hooked up with Krystal the way I wanted to, I'd just do to her what Johnathan Castelbon did to my mother and to me. I may be an asshole, but I do have my limits. I'll save her that pain if I can."

Kim sighed and stood up, going over to her computer. She tapped a power switch on her screen, and minimized what she was doing with her main program, sending it off to one of the other three screens, which went black. "I think it's time you learned this. Come over here."

"
A
llez Cuisine
!"

Marc Dacascos was a lot smaller than I thought he would be, and his acting was hammy enough I could understand why he never really got much traction with his movie career past B movies and kung fu flicks. Still, with the clock starting, I put it all out of my mind, and sprinted up to the stage with Shannon. My first job was to help her get at least a few pounds of ground lamb, while she got the ground beef. It was a hamburger battle, and I was worried. For all of Shannon's skill and the Alinea team's abilities, ground meat was perhaps the weakest of our chances against the Iron Chef. Hell, the man owned a hamburger restaurant that was named the best in New York according to the Zagat guide!

"Get back, get that tartare going," Shannon said as I scooped my second double handful of ground lamb into my bowl. I could hear the tension in her voice, and I knew she was thinking the same thing I was. With one of the rules being that we had to have a gourmet hamburger up in front of the judges within the first twenty minutes, we were in trouble.

I got back to my station and scooped out the meat for my tartare, setting it aside to combine with the other ingredients later. Then I rushed over to the produce area of the stage, getting mint, lime, lemons, capers, shallots, and Shannon's secret, gherkin pickles. Shannon would add quail eggs later on top when they were on the plates.

One of the key differences between fine dining and home cooking is in your cuts. Your average home cook, when they read chop, starts going to town like a killer in a slasher film, often with as big a knife as their cutting board allows. While it's a lot of fun and gets the work done seemingly quickly, the result is inconsistent cuts, pieces of all different sizes, and tastes that vary.

A professional chef, on the other hand, cuts precisely, and knows exactly what chopped means. It's an actual measurement, with the industry standard being half inch pieces.

A fine chop, which I was doing, is quarter inch pieces. A mince is finer than that. You get the point. Also, we use just the right sized knife for the job. Since I was cutting mint, shallots, and other things like that, I worked with a small knife, not much larger than a paring knife, getting my cuts exactly what they needed to be.

I worked quickly before sautéing the shallots in butter. While a tartare is normally a raw dish, raw shallots or onions can be a bit abrasive for a lot of people. By cooking the shallots through, it added a nice hint of sweetness while still keeping the texture. Once those cooled, I mixed it all together, massaging the whole mass together into something that would be an awesome meatball if I cooked it. By adding the pickles though, it would be somewhere between a tartare and a ceviche, which is what Shannon wanted. I threw the whole bowl into the fridge to keep it cool while we moved on. "Chef! Clear!"

"Get over here then!" Shannon yelled, and I was on to my next assignment.

The entire battle was stress from minute one. I was glad that we'd done practice run-throughs, because nothing from a normal service could have prepared us for what that one hour was like. The rush, the ad-hoc decisions, everything was different from the well-oiled machine that is a normal dinner service at Alinea.

Adding to the stress was the camera crews, the judges, and everyone else around us. I almost elbowed a camera man in the face at one point as he shoved his camera over my shoulder while I was working on preparing daikon radishes for another dish, and turned without him expecting it. You'd figure after ten years of doing the show the cameramen would be on their toes, but it seems even the best can get caught off guard at times.

Plating was a crazy situation too. Normally, I knew exactly where to put everything. Instead, for the battle we were bringing prepared ingredients to Shannon who was making the first plate for us, then having us duplicate it based off of her initial example. I could hear Smith muttering to himself as he copied Shannon's sauces on the third plate, smiling while he did so. "Madness. This is madness!"

It was an old joke in the Alinea kitchen, after a particularly overly dramatic line cook quit in the middle of a service. I hadn't been there at the time, I'd still been in High School, but the joke carried on through the years.

"One minute remaining!"
the overhead announcer said, and we somehow doubled our speed, just getting the last plate done as the final five seconds were counted off. I tossed my now empty bowl into the sink and threw my hands up, all of us elated that the hour was over.

"Great job team," Shannon said, clapping us all on the back. "Now we see just how the judging goes."

"
T
ell
me what you know about the marriage between your father and your mother," Kimberly said, clicking her trackball and pulling up some files. "Start from the beginning."

I had no idea what this was all about, but I sighed and went with it. Obviously Kimberly had a point to all of this. "Johnathan Castelbon met Alicia Youngblood while he was a grad student at Stanford University. He was twenty-one when they met. She was eighteen. They dated for about a year, then got married in a Las Vegas ceremony. I was born four years later. They divorced seven years after that."

"Come now Julian, details are important here. Why did they get divorced?" Kimberly asked, turning off the screen and turning around to face me. "What happened in the divorce that made you hate your father so much?"

"Which part are you looking at?" I half sneered, striding back and forth across the small carpet. "The fact that he cheated on her at least three times with various female employees, or the fact that he beat her and broke three ribs while I was away at summer camp, which led to her finally calling it quits? Or maybe that during the divorce, he used every slimy lawyer trick in the books to take me away from my mother and keep me for himself?"

Kimberly watched me let loose my anger, then sighed and turned towards the computer. "When your father started dating Sandra Aksoy, Krystal approached me to do some research on him," Kimberly said. "After all, Sandra Aksoy's net wealth at the time was over a hundred million dollars. While John Castelbon by reputation was super rich, he had been divorced twice, and Krystal was worried. So she asked me to do what I do. I would have done it for free, but she insisted on paying."

"So you hacked John Castelbon," I replied, my voice flat. "I thought you said you only did legal hacking, not that I'm upset about it. What did you find?"

Kimberly turned back to her computer and turned on the monitor she'd just turned off. "I didn't have to hack at all, it's a matter of public record in the State of California. While they don't exactly advertise it, most of the old records were digitized a few years ago, and that includes divorce proceedings. The majority of my work was merely doing a records search and reading the details of a very ugly divorce."

Before I could interrupt, Kimberly continued. "Case in point, the divorce of Johnathan Castelbon from his wife of eleven years, Alicia Youngblood Castelbon. During the trial, Alicia tried to claim that on the night of July seventeenth of the prior year, John Castelbon assaulted her and broke three of her ribs."

"I already said that," I replied. "I was at summer camp, and when I came home Mom's ribs were taped up, and she said Johnathan had done it. The bastard was so guilty he never even tried to deny it."

"The court found differently. In fact, considering that Johnathan Castelbon wasn't even in the United States on the night of June seventeenth, the claim that he had broken her ribs was a flat out lie."

I felt like my own ribs had just been punched, most likely by Mike Tyson. "What?"

"John Castelbon had gotten on a flight to Nagoya, Japan on the morning of June fifteenth, the day after you left for camp, to meet with representatives from the Nissan and Toyota corporations. He checked into the Nagoya Marriot, and was having breakfast with business clients at the time your mother claimed she was attacked. While she did have three legitimately cracked ribs, it couldn't have been your father who did it."

"That doesn't even make sense . . . then who?" I asked, my throat tight and raw. I could feel something inside me straining, and I was afraid of what it was.

"The courts never did figure it out, but photographic evidence taken from a surveillance camera the night of the attack showed your mother in the company of a Javier Salamanca, a known crack dealer in the area at the time. They were seen getting out of her convertible and getting gas approximately a half hour before she checked into the hospital."

"No . . . no . . ." I whispered, shaking my head. "NO!"

Kimberly sat there quietly, then pointed to the screen. "It's all there, Julian. The photos, the hospital records, all of it. The judge found her lies so unbelievable that she actually cited her for contempt of court, and she spent a time in jail about it. Have a read for yourself."

Kimberly got out of her chair, turning it over to me. My legs were numb as I dropped into it, and started to read. It started with the final decisions of the court, including the citation for contempt of court against my mother. Afterwards, I started in on the transcripts themselves, and certain words kept popping out to me. Words like adultery, theft, and embezzlement. Words that seared into my heart, because none of them were against John Castelbon. Instead, it was Alicia Castelbon, my mother, who was seeing men on the side. It was her who stole family heirlooms and sold them off, and had tried to embezzle money from the family business.

I read until I heard a ding, and realized that tears where streaming down my cheeks. I looked around, and found that Kimberly had left the apartment. "Kimberly?"

A key rattled in the door, and Kimberly came back in, carrying a small plastic bag. "Sorry I stepped out. I said something, but you were too far into your reading to hear me I bet. I just ran down to the Circle K down the block."

"Oh," I said, getting to my feet on wooden legs and walking stiffly across the room. "Your computer dinged a few seconds ago."

"Thanks," she said. She stopped and looked into my face, and saw what I had learned. "I'm sorry, Julian."

Her words almost burst the dam inside me, and for the first time since I was nine years old, I truly felt like crying, but I wasn't going to let Kimberly see that. Instead, I sat there in shocked disbelief.

Was this what life with Krystal was going to be like? Just a week ago, I was basically broken down when I realized what a worthless son of a bitch I'd been most of my life. Now, I'd just learned I'd been treating my father like shit my entire life for no reason at all. Jesus, I wasn't even sure I was Julian Castelbon any longer, not that being Julian Castelbon was all that special.

Finally, I gathered myself and looked at Kimberly. "Thank you, Kim," I said, "give me a few minutes? Go check your computer."

She looked into my eyes and then rose without a word, going over to her computer and fired up the other three monitors. I couldn't see much other than her profile as she clicked and typed for about ten minutes, then a single ding as whatever she was doing was completed. Finished, she turned back to me. "You want to talk about it?"

Every other time someone had ever asked me that question in my life, I'd told them to fuck off. I'm an Alpha, and I don't need to talk about my feelings like some pussy on
Dr. Phil
. Instead, what came out of my mouth was, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did John . . . why did my father let me hate him for so long? He must have known what I was so angry about. It makes no sense."

Kimberly nodded. “I’m sure he did. But, and this is just what I think based on what I learned, that your father didn't say anything because he wanted you to have a good image of at least one of your parents. After he saw that Alicia's lies had already taken hold in your head, and at the age you were, he didn't want you to hate her too. So, he let you think he was the bad guy."

"And the mistresses? Were those lies too?" I asked numbly. "The court records mention them, but nothing about proof."

"There were never any mistresses," Kimberly said. "Each and every one of them, there was proof that supposed adulterous meetings either never happened, or were innocent. Two of them were business partners, again with surveillance footage, one was a doctor he went to because he was having some trouble with his stomach, and the final one had never even met him."

I just shook my head, feeling like someone had taken a hand mixer and stuck it in my brain before turning the whole thing on high. I sat there like that, with my forearms resting on my knees and my head drooping for a while, then I looked up again. "So what now?"

Kimberly looked at me and smiled. "Now, you know the truth. You're Julian Castelbon, you're richer than most of Chicago, and you're young."

"Which doesn't mean shit," I said honestly. "I'd trade it all away in three seconds if I could have Krystal."

Kim shook her head and looked at me like I was insane. "Hey dumbass," she said, before I interrupted her.

"You keep calling me that."

"You keep deserving to be called that. Julian, Krystal is my best friend, I've known her for years. And she is head over heels for you too. When you came to Chicago, she said you could stay with her for a few days. How long has she let you stay in that apartment?"

"A few weeks."

"A few weeks," Kimberly replied. "A few weeks to a man that she'd only known for a grand total of seventy-two hours beforehand. Hell, you've practically moved in, and she hasn't complained one peep about it, other than when you gave her some grief at work. You two have spent more time together in those two weeks than she and I have, which is very rare, by the way. When we do spend time together, she almost never shuts up about you. Since you moved in, the only two topics of conversation she seems to be interested in is the damn cooking show, and you."

In my heart, I could feel a warm ball of hope blooming. Was there really a chance for me? Could I be more than just the asshole I'd always been? "You really think there's a chance for us?"

"I do. Now, I know what I should say at this point. You two are family, even if it is stepsiblings, it's wrong, yada yada yada. You know what? I don't really care about any of that. What I care about is Krystal being happy, and Julian, you're the closest any man has ever come to making her happy since Danyal Aksoy died. And yes, she's causing you to become a better man too, so that's kind of a nice side benefit. But the ball's in your court now, dude. What are you going to do?"

"
A
nd the winner is
. . . Chef Shannon!"

Although the producers had me and the rest of the Alinea team off to the side, we were celebrating just as hard as Shannon was as she was congratulated by the Iron Chef. Turning, we were allowed to come back onto the stage and shake hands and embrace her too. We celebrated like we'd just won the Super Bowl, which in a lot of ways, we did. After leaving the stadium, I stopped to watch as the production crew quickly cleared away all the mess, setting up the next battle. They filmed three or four episodes a day, and had to work hard to get Kitchen Stadium spotless in between.

"Shannon?" I said, turning around. Shannon, who was shaking hands with a producer, came over.

"Great job out there, Krystal," she started, giving me another hug. "What's up?"

"Uh, I wanted to hang around a bit longer, just watch and see if I could get an autograph from Iron Chef Morimoto. You mind if I catch up with you guys at the hotel later?"

"Of course not. How about you do what you want, and we'll all catch up in the lobby at six or so. Drinks are on me, and then if you want, we can light up the town a bit."

I nodded politely. "Okay, but I may have to crash early. I'm exhausted after the past few weeks, and could look forward to a spa treatment and a long night's sleep."

"Done deal. Drinks at six, you've got a spa appointment at seven, on me. You did good Krystal."

Shannon left, and I turned back around, leaning against the wall to watch the production crew. I was just about to see if I could find a seat when there was a tap on my shoulder. "Miss Aksoy?"

I turned and was almost left speechless as Masaharu Morimoto stood in front of me. He was dressed in his competition uniform, and looked just as cool in person as he did on television. His accent was strong, but easy to understand. "Alton Brown said you were looking for me?"

"Chef Morimoto, it's truly an honor," I said, shaking his hand and bowing. He returned the bow, smiling softly the whole time. "Wow, I didn't think I'd be this star struck."

"It happens," Morimoto said. "By the way, I saw your effort during the last battle. You do good work. Am I correct in that you are a newly promoted line cook at Alinea?"

"Yes Chef," I replied. "I just got a place on the line about two months ago."

"With work like that, keep going, you'll be a sous or executive chef very quickly. Now, what can I do for you?"

I quickly explained Yuki's request for him, and his smile grew the entire time.

"You must be a good friend. All right, I'll sign something. Hold on just a moment." He turned and left me standing where I was, still somewhat star struck. He came back a few minutes later with a bag in his hand and handed it to me.

I opened the bag and felt my jaw hang open. Sitting inside was another of Chef Morimoto's jackets for
Iron Chef
, complete with the Japanese flag patch on the left arm. Across the chest were a bunch of Japanese calligraphy, along with his name in what I guessed was both Japanese and English. "This is . . . this is amazing."

"To the victor goes the spoils," Morimoto replied. "Just remember, if you ever come across me in the stadium, I won't be so kind." He smiled, and I could see both the good humor and the competitive streak within the man. I bowed deeply, and he returned the gesture.

Good luck, Miss Aksoy."

"Thank you, Chef. You too."

He headed out towards the stadium to do a last minute walkthrough with the production staff, and I went upstairs, looking for a seat. One of the production assistants pointed towards a small area behind the main cameras where I could sit without being in the shots for the episode, and I relaxed for the next two hours as the next battle continued.

G
etting back
to the apartment the next day, I still felt like my mind was whirling from everything Kimberly had shown me and told me. She'd let me crash on her floor that night after I spent the next four hours reading her files on my father, and I'd woken up with my legs and lower back in pain, but my heart lighter than ever. My entire soul felt like it was in a liquid state of change, and the world contained more possibilities than it had in years. I'd thanked Kim and caught a taxi back to K Station, still trying to decide what I wanted to do next.