Salty, Spiced, and a Little Bit Nice

Chapter 1. A Viral Beginning

CHAPTER 1

A Viral Beginning

Most people would agree that marriage proposals weren’t supposed to make you nauseous. Yet here I was, a girl standing in front of a boy on his knees, with a stunning diamond ring in his hand, and all I wanted to do was hurl my dinner and hightail it out of the country.

The very prim and polished George Fitzgerald, aka the man of my family’s dreams, smiled at me. “Elizabeth Rae Pang,” he crooned my name, like it was a line in a Sinatra song, “will you marry me?”

The sparkly rock was winking at me, goading me to say yes. Our families were beaming at us, while all the guests had their phones up high, recording every glorious second. The Pangs’ annual NYE bash had come to a grinding halt fifteen minutes before midnight, and I’d bet my entire savings the videos would be posted online before the clock struck twelve. Hell, we might even be live streaming right now. We’d only been going out for two months—two brunches, one (boring) date to the opera, and a handful of dinners—and he wanted to get married ?

“Ellie?” George was still smiling. I never realized how disturbingly white and straight his teeth were. “What do you say?”

An involuntary shiver rippled through my body. Maybe the crystal chandelier above my head was too bright. Or maybe my glucose level was dipping low. Or because the band was playing a slow, romantic song that screeched like nails on a chalkboard to my ears. We were standing inside a heart-shaped spot, surrounded by dozens of long-stemmed roses and tealight candles floating in wineglasses. Apart from the obvious fire hazard, the proposal was textbook perfect, although all credits probably belonged to his PA.

How long had it been since George had finished his speech? I glanced at my family again, sighing when I saw Mom’s face twisting with impatience and Dad’s eyebrows knitting together. An eerie hush had enveloped the ballroom. The band was no longer screeching, and the only audible sound was my heart jackhammering behind my rib cage.

George shifted his knee, stoically hiding a wince. “I know this might seem sudden. But I think we have something special, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Okay, let’s pretend for a moment that I was delusional enough to consider his proposal. I’d do a pros and cons list on my list-maker app, and it would look something like this:

Pro:

Con:

1. He is kind, handsome, patient with children. He’d make the perfect husband, father, and son-in-law (100 points).

1. This was driven by a master plan to unite their family business with ours, which would mean I’d be pressured into working for them for the rest of my life (minus 2,000 points).

2. And the most important pro of them all (not mine, but according to both our families): The lucrative benefits and opportunities that would result from this (un)holy union. Their score would soar past 10,000 points, and from the looks on their faces, everyone was champing at the bit for me to accept.

This whole thing was never about love and marriage.

It was about profit and loss.

If I said no, my father would be furious, and my mother would say that I couldn’t afford to be choosy, because apparently at twenty-eight, my childbearing ability was rapidly deteriorating. More importantly, our collective business ventures would go up in flames, because the rejection would be an enormous scandal. I could already picture the number-one trending YouTube video of the month: Marriage Proposal Gone Wrong! Daughter of prominent businessman rejects the country’s Most Eligible Bachelor!

No. Pigs, turtles, and rabbits would fly, and hell would freeze a thousand times over before that happened. Maybe I should accept now, sparing our families the painful embarrassment, then quietly break the engagement after a few days. Just be kind, respectful, and honest, and everyone would understand.

Yes. Brilliant plan.

Then I opened my mouth, and my brain must have buckled under the pressure, because what came out was, “Nope, but thank you for asking.”

George turned beet red, while gasps from shocked guests echoed around the ballroom, the loudest (and angriest) coming from my parents. I took a few steps back, ready to flee, when my heels knocked over the wineglasses.

Yep, the ones with the lit tealight candles merrily floating inside.

Horrified, I watched helplessly as the glasses tumbled over each other and crashed like dominoes and nightmares, setting the roses ablaze. The shocked gasps escalated to panicked shrieks, and right there and then, I knew one thing was certain.

My life, as I knew it, would never be the same.

Two days later, there was a knock on my apartment door. I ignored it, willing whoever it was to supernaturally receive my message and go away. My abysmal attempt at telepathy failed, because the knock got louder, followed by my brother’s voice. “Ellie, I know you’re home.”

Sighing, I got up and peered through the security peephole before unlocking the door to let him in. “What do you want?”

Instead of my brother, another figure launched herself at me. My best friend, Naomi Park, squeezed me in a tight hug, doing her utmost to cut off the oxygen supply to my lungs. “Oh, thank God you’re alive!”

Naomi and I had met on the first day of kindergarten, when we reached for the same wooden block at the same time, both refusing to let go. The wooden block was quickly forgotten when we saw we both had the same cute mermaid T-shirt on, and it wasn’t long until we were laughing in the sandpit, building the greatest sandcastle ever known to five-year-olds. The sandcastle led to a playdate the weekend after, and we’d been inseparable ever since. We’d gone to the same schools, spent almost 24/7 together when we were teenagers, and had done the same finance degree in college. When she started dating my brother last year, both our families were thrilled.

Well, hers was—mine was slightly disappointed that the Parks “only” owned two very successful restaurants in Koreatown.

“Keep this up and I won’t be.” I pried open her suffocating embrace and nodded at my brother, who stood behind her. “Just the two of you? No cavalry?”

Although two years older than me, Eric was often mistaken for my younger sibling. We had the same chocolate-brown eyes and jet-black hair, only his was cut short, while mine was shoulder-length and slightly curly at the ends. He was the Golden Child: the chosen heir to the Pang Food Industries empire, the reliable one who put out fires and emergencies whenever and wherever needed.

Which was, apparently, right here, right now.

Eric closed the door behind him, a small frown on his face. “Just us. You’ve been ignoring our calls. We wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“As you can see, I am.” I collapsed on the sofa and picked up the remote. “Thanks for stopping by. Can you lock the door on your way out?”

“Ooh, you made brownies!” Naomi plopped down next to me and grabbed a piece from the plate on the coffee table. She bit into it, her eyes closed in bliss. “Mmmh. Seriously, El. Working in corporate finance is a waste of your true calling. Not to mention those pastry classes that you’ve been taking.”

“Not working in corporate finance is a waste of my expensive college education.”

“And we all know that’s a cardinal sin.” Eric’s eyes swept my living room, his frown deepening when he saw the pizza box. “Pizza and brownies? Really?”

“Really.” I flicked through my Netflix queue. “I’m starting a rom-com movie marathon, and pizza and brownies make it perfect. FYI, the brownies are carb-free, so they don’t count.”

Eric folded his arms, giving me a disapproving look. “You know what pizzas can do to your glucose levels, right? This is worse than I thought.”

I snatched my phone from the table and waved it in his face. “ Nothing could possibly be worse. Have you seen the video? Seven million views and counting. Tens of thousands of comments, ninety-nine percent of them laughing at me. Hundreds of texts from everyone and their grandmas wanting to know how I’m doing, while implying how ridiculous I was to have turned down the proposal. And don’t ask me how many friend requests came in from random strangers.” I shuddered. “It’s creepy. The only silver lining was the firefighters got there in time, or I’d probably be in prison right now for burning down an entire ballroom.”

“But you’re not.” Naomi reached for another brownie. “Can I take some of these home?”

Just then, my phone vibrated, and I groaned, tossing it to the sofa and covering it with a cushion. “On second thought, maybe prison is better. Mom has been calling to yell. At least twenty times. And Dad sent me a long email expressing his ‘deep disappointment.’”

“You shouldn’t be surprised,” Eric said. “They had high hopes for you and George.”

“We’d only been seeing each other for two months. Why would I say yes?”

“He’s a great guy. Wonderful family. Why not?”

I scoffed. “You’re just saying that because he’s your business partner.”

“No, I’m just stating the facts. You know the parents are only doing this because they want what’s best for you.”

“You need to get out of this apartment,” Naomi smoothly interrupted, before I had a chance to retort. “Let’s go somewhere fun, where you don’t have to think about George, or the proposal, or creepy friend requests. How do you feel about some Japanese food?”

“I’ve got pizza and Netflix. I’m good.”

But she was already ushering me toward my bedroom, and ten minutes later, I was being herded into Eric’s car, my protests met with cheeky grins and wide, innocent eyes. Fifteen minutes after that, I finally accepted my fate as the three of us swung into a parking lot in front of a sushi train restaurant. Eric’s phone buzzed as he turned off the engine, and he raised his eyebrows when he saw the caller ID.

“You two go ahead,” Eric said. “I have to take this call.”

Naomi linked her arm through mine as we got out of the car. “So here’s the plan. We’ll have lunch and some bubble tea as a treat. If you’re still not cheered up, we might even go nuts and see a movie or two. Sounds good?”

“Sure. Maybe we should rewatch The Proposal .”

She chuckled. “Seriously though, I’ve been so worried. How are you?”

I cringed as a couple of teenagers did a double take, staring at me as we walked into the restaurant. “Semi-famous. Thanks to YouTube.”

Naomi waved her hands. “It’s a video about the George Fitzgerald and his failed proposal. Plus, you nearly set the place on fire. It’s bound to go viral, but it’ll go away eventually.” She lowered her voice as we were shown into an empty booth and sat down. “But why did you say no? You never told me much about him, but I thought you said he’s not bad.”

“Because I don’t know him well enough. We’d only been going out for two months. And ‘not bad’ isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement to accept a proposal, is it?”

“But when you know, you know, right?” Naomi argued. When I only made a noncommittal grunt, she raised her eyebrows. “Well, why did you go on the second, third, fourth dates with him? There’s got to be something that made you stick around.”

I winced. I never told her this part because I was embarrassed. “Our mothers set us up. They encouraged us to meet for drinks, which turned into a few dinners, and now here we are.”

Naomi groaned. “ Again? Didn’t we have a similar conversation already, when your mother tried to set you up with… oh, whatever the hell his name was. The heir of that Indonesian palm oil conglomerate?” She let out a dry laugh. “Ellie, we’ve talked about this so many times. Stop letting your family run your life.”

I shrugged, pretending to be unconcerned. “If I said no, I’d hurt their feelings. They’re just looking after me. That’s what families do, right?”

Naomi’s tone became gentler. “Sure, but mine doesn’t set me up with rich heirs to expand our family business. Look, I know how difficult your parents can be, and how they handle you with kid gloves because of your diagnosis. But it’s a super-thin, blurry line between looking after you and micromanaging your life.”

“I’m used to it.” She hit close to home, but I wasn’t discussing my dysfunctional family relationship in the middle of a busy restaurant. Before I could change the topic, Eric slid into the seat next to Naomi.

“That was George. We haven’t even launched the brewery, and the new CFO resigned this morning. Said she had an urgent family matter in her hometown.” Eric’s sharp gaze landed on me. “Could you handle the finance duties for us?”

My eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “After I rejected his proposal? You’re kidding, right? Also, news flash: I already have a job. In fact, I’m swamped right now, getting a client ready for their initial public offering.”

“Is that a no?”

“You have two degrees and an MBA. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“Only until we find someone. You know how picky Dad is.”

Eric had a point. Henry Pang had built his business empire from practically nothing, and earning his trust was tougher than teaching a donkey to play the piano. It took George’s family a year of wooing and convincing Dad that they were the right business partner for Pang Food Industries, even though Fitzgerald Creek Wines was the biggest and oldest winery in the country. The partnership had resulted in Eric and George’s new craft beer company. Eric had succeeded in expanding the family business into hotels, supermarkets, and catering companies, and this was the latest step in his bold conquest for world domination.

But after the NYE debacle, I wasn’t going anywhere near the family business.

“Think of all the new experiences you’ll be exposed to,” Eric said. “You’ll learn heaps.”

Suuureeee, I’d always wanted to “learn heaps” while working with a guy I’d publicly rejected and humiliated. Almost as much as I wanted to do the macarena through Times Square buck naked during rush hour. In fact, they were items number one and two on my bucket list, ranked even higher than my dream of opening a bakery.

I sighed, stopping myself from thinking of more snarky comments. What was it that my mother always said?

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Ellie. It’s inappropriate for a woman.”

“We all know it won’t be temporary. They’ll guilt me into staying forever.”

“I’ll make sure they won’t.” When he saw my pained expression, Eric chuckled. “I promise. Once we find someone new, you can leave.”

It sounded simple, but nothing was ever straightforward with my family, especially my mom. “I’ll think about it.” I ignored Naomi, who had paused from enthusiastically plucking plates of sushi rolls off the conveyor belt to give me a side-eye, as her words earlier came back to shame me. “Anyone want some genmaicha?”

“Sure. By the way,” Eric turned to Naomi, his eyes softening as he watched her pour soy sauce into three small dipping bowls. “Alec texted. His sister’s getting married in a few months. We’re both invited.”

Naomi squealed as my ears pricked up with interest. It had been a while since I heard that name. Did Eric mean who I thought he meant?

“Which sister? Is it Sienna?” Naomi’s eyes lit up when Eric nodded. “Oh my God! Sienna’s getting married?”

Okay, so it was exactly who I thought it was. Alec Mackenzie, who used to be Eric’s Ride or Die, before he suddenly left the city without even saying goodbye ten years ago.

The guy who was my childhood crush.

But also, the absolute fucking bane of my existence.

A sudden wave of irritation surged through me because (1) Why wasn’t I invited to the wedding? Followed by (2) Did that mean he was coming back home?

“I didn’t know you two are still friendly,” I said to Eric, my tone a little accusing.

“Are you still angry at him?” My brother shook his head. “It was a long time ago, Ellie. And it wasn’t his fault. We talked about this.”

Maybe we had, but that didn’t mean I was ready to forget, forgive, and move on.

Because how do you forgive someone who not only broke your heart into tiny little pieces, but almost killed you, too?