...event hostess, ring girl, personal trainer...

Though Ravers Manor touted a grand dining room with a long, twelve-seater table made from fine well-matured oak, and adorned with cabinets full of elegant china and large, looming pictures of landscapes and portraits of men long gone, it went unused these days. When her mother and father had both lived there, Heather remembered eating dinner at the table, served by Frida, though her mother always made her help clear the table and wash the plates. She might be rich, but she was to know the importance of doing something by her own hand, and it helped to foster a healthy respect for what Frida did, day in, day out. At other times, it had its use during dinner parties and larger family gatherings, and, as she grew older, Heather realized, it probably had its uses during other kinds of parties her father was known for too.

For breakfast, however, the grandiose of the dining room was always a bit much. The most casual spot was the breakfast bar that ran parallel to the stove and countertops, where Frida could be found. Even when there wasn’t a meal to cook for, Frida would be there, experimenting, another fond memory of Heather’s was being her official taste tester. She quickly came to the conclusion that, no matter what Frida concocted, she was incapable of making something that wasn’t bursting with flavor and outright delicious.

Over by the window, still in the kitchen, a small round, antique table with three chairs, matching in style, offered the most intimate spot for breakfast. That was where the young Ravers ate every morning, joined by her father, just the two of them since her mother moved out. He made a point of eating with her, asking about the day ahead, every day before work, as if Heather needed any more evidence that she was what he cared about more than anything in the world. Today, being a day unlike any other, some things remained the same. There in the intimate little nook at the corner of the kitchen, Robert sat, drinking his coffee and reading the paper, his ex-wife beside him, devouring a piece of melon, carved by Frida, who worked tirelessly nearby.

Only Heather was the odd one out, unable to sit still, pacing along the length of the breakfast bar, energized by a mixture of anxiety and anger.

“When will he be here?” she asked, not for the first time.

“Soon,” her father gave the same answer.

“Would you like some melon, Miss. Ravers?” Frida asked, offering the dish full of slices in one hand.

“No, no thank you,” Heather paused to smile appreciatively at the chef, minding her manners despite her agitation, just as her mother had taught her.

“I wouldn’t mind some more,” Brooke requested, looking round to her daughter as the chef diligently scurried to the table. “Frida’s right, Heather, you should eat. The last thing we need is you fainting in the middle of Daniel’s explanation.”

“I just feel so…ugh,” she said, words failing her she lowered her hands to hold her belly. Her stomach felt simultaneously empty and full, undulating inside her abdomen as if she were on a rollercoaster. “There’s no way I’d be able to keep anything down.”

“That’s all the worrying. You’ll end up giving yourself a stomach ulcer,” Robert noted, glancing up from the paper at Heather’s dark eyes. “Did you even sleep last night?”

“A little,” she confessed. She would have slept a lot better if she could have crawled into bed with her father snuggled up to his warm, comforting body, but she didn’t dare risk it. Not with her mother in the house, not after almost being caught last night.

“Heather,” her mother admonished. “You need to make sure to get a good night’s sleep or you’ll end up with wrinkles.”

“Mom, I think I can be forgiven a few wrinkles given the fact that the only future I’ve ever known might be going up in flames,” Heather scoffed as she turned to pace again.

“Your mother’s right. If you don’t stand to inherit the company anymore, you might have to fall back on your good looks to make a living,” Robert teased, smirking from behind the paper.

“Har har,” Heather countered, in no mood for jokes, while her mother glowered at her ex-husband, clearly not seeing the funny side either.

“Robert!” she chastised him too. “You make her sound like a prostitute.”

“You’re the one who’s thoughts went straight to sex,” he remarked, still smiling. “There are lots of jobs that benefit from looking good without selling your body. Model, actress, sales rep…”

As her father continued to rattle off occupations, infuriating her mother further and further with each, Heather was stopped in her tracks by another plate, practically shoved right under her nose. The heavenly aroma filled her nostrils, making her mouth water and her stomach growl despite herself.

“Perhaps you simply need a better offer,” Frida suggested, waving the plate of home-made pancakes in front of the young girl. “Your favorite, topped with strawberries and chocolate.”

“Mmmm.” Heather’s eyelids fluttered as she endured the temptation.

Frida’s pancakes really were the best, thick and fluffy, made with buttermilk, that practically melted in her mouth. Fresh, chopped strawberries were scattered over the top and the whole stack was drizzled with chocolate, slightly bitter. The end result was so requested by Heather over the years that, at one point, her mother had to ban them from the breakfast table, though Frida insisted that she delighted in making them just to see Heather’s face light up.

However, as willing as her stomach now was, Heather knew she could never sit still long enough to eat more than a few bites. Not that she was willing to let it go to waste completely though. “Not right now, Frida, thanks, but…um…keep me some, okay?”

“Of course, I’ll put it in the fridge, or just ask, anytime, and I’ll make you a fresh batch,” Frida offered, already beginning preparations to store the food.

“Thanks, you’re the best,” she said, making the chef beam. Looking back at her parents, she interrupted their discussion on the merits on beauty in employment. “When exactly did Uncle Daniel say he would get here?”

“First thing,” Robert noted, whilst looking at his watch. “But it’s still early.”

“For god’s sake, Heather, just sit. You’re making me nervous just standing there,” her mother ordered, but Heather ignored her, pacing once more. “Besides, I’ve been thinking, your future may not be all that bleak.”

“Just mine, huh,” Robert remarked without looking at his ex-wife. “How do you figure that out?”

“Daniel taking over doesn’t necessarily rule her out from succeeding your brother at some point in the future,” Brooke explained. “The board didn’t back her now because she’s still young and has a lot to learn, both in life and about the business, even if she did practically grow up in that company. But Daniel has no children, not even a wife, so Heather is still the most logical choice to take the seat when he retires.”

“You really think you can trust a man who screwed over his own brother to keep it in the family when the time comes?” Heather asked scathingly, her uncle’s betrayal having been a real shot in the back of the head to her opinion of him.

“Heather,” she was scolded again, this time by her father, who, despite recent events, found it difficult to believe that his brother wasn’t still a good man at heart. “We still don’t know the exact reason for this coup, so let’s hold off on judging him until then.” He turned then to Brooke. “You too. It doesn’t do anyone any good to speculate until we know the facts.”

“Alright, alright,” Brooke relented, her ex-husband’s asperity obvious. “We’ll wait and see what he has to say for himself.”

“At least have some tea,” Frida insisted, this time thrusting the cup into Heather’s hands before she could decline.

From the aromatic, earthy scent wafting from the steaming dark water, Heather knew that it was Ashwagandha, one of Frida’s secret weapons. She often brewed it when Robert was feeling under the weather, to energize him for the day ahead, or when he had a big presentation and needed to clear his mind. Heather had only ever tasted it once or twice, only to try it, since she rarely got stressed, and though it was slightly too bitter for her liking, it was absolutely perfect when served with honey, just as Frida had now.

Defeated, she took a deep breath and sipped at the tea, letting the warm, good feeling spread throughout her body. And yet, just as she was feeling herself beginning to relax, the unmistakable sound of tires crunching against the gravel outside sent the waiting trio into high alert. Setting down her cup before her parents were even on their feet, Heather sprinted into the foyer, pivoting towards the door. Behind her, Valeria descended the stairs, having heard the approaching vehicle and anticipating visitors.

“I’ll get it, Val” Heather announced to the Majordomo, already at the door and reaching for the handle.

Upon opening the door though, she was surprised to find a honey haired somebody already standing on the doorstep, a cardboard storage box under one arm, while the one hand was raised, finger extended, poised to ring the doorbell.

“Did I already ring the doorbell?” The blonde asked the teen, genuinely puzzled by the opening of the door.

“Chastity?” Robert said, arriving behind his daughter and equally surprised to see the Ravers Enterprise receptionist at his house.

“Oh, hiya, boss,” she greeted him cheerily. “Oh, shoot, guess I can’t call you boss anymore, can I?”

“Chastity, what are you doing here?” Robert asked directly. “I was expecting Daniel.”

“New boss is here too. I’m just helping,” she held up the box with both hands. “Where do you want this?”

“I don’t even know what it is,” he rubbed his head, Chastity’s bubbly, simple-mindedness not making the situation any easier to comprehend.

She slapped her forehead, realizing what she thought was her mistake. “Of course. Right. It’s your stuff, from the offices.”

“My…my stuff?” He watched as Chastity entered the manor and placed the box on a nearby table, as directed by Valeria.

Clearly his brother had wasted no time in shipping out all of his belongings to have them brought to his home the very morning after having him fired. As his eyes followed Chastity back towards the door, he saw his brother for the first time since the news, standing where the receptionist had just stood on the doorstep, an identical box in his hands.

“You bastard! How dare you show up like this, usurping my dad’s company and now just throwing his things out with him like trash. You should be grovelling and apologizing!” Heather launched into the tirade she’d been preparing all night, as she stepped forward, her hand open, ready to slap some humility into her uncle.

The strike rang out through the foyer, though it wasn’t Heather’s doing. The dark-haired teen’s eyes went wide when she saw her mother had beat her to the punch, or slap as it were. Daniel staggered back, his face glowing crimson, only Chastity rushing to tend to the mark she’d left.

“I trusted you, and you lied right to my face,” Brooke said simply, her words hurting him almost as much as her hand.

“That’s enough, both of you,” Robert ordered, the authoritativeness returning to his voice. He looked to Daniel. “If you have anything to say for yourself, you should say it now. Though I’m quite surprised that you’re with him.” He gazed pointedly at Chastity. “My family has supported your family for three generations, and this is how you repay me?”

“Was that wrong?” Chastity asked with her head bowed, her eyes round, like a scolded puppy. “I only said yes because of your family were always so good to me, Boss, I mean, Mr. Ravers. When Daniel said-”

“That’s enough.” The younger Ravers brother cut her off. “I’ll explain everything. It’s what I came here to do, after all. We’re just waiting on him.”

Daniel stepped inside the house, placing his box with Chastity’s on the table. In the vacant space left behind him in the doorway, a young man with dark hair and blue eyes followed, carrying a third box of his own.

“Sorry, I was locking up my car,” Zack said. “What’d I miss?”