The gray prince, p.12
Rewriting Us: A Fast Lanes Prequel Novella Book 0.5, page 12
REWRITING US
NOVELLA
FAST LANES
BOOK 0.5
TORI ALVAREZ
ETERNAL DAYDREAMER PUBLISHING
Rewriting Us
Copyright © 2023 by Tori Alvarez.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to an actual person living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Editor: Jaqueline Hritz, Copyeditor
Cover Design: Eternal Daydreamer Publishing
Formatting: Eternal Daydreamer Publishing
Visit my website at
https://www.torialvarez.com/
Created with Vellum
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Acknowledgments
Books by Tori Alvarez
About Tori Alvarez
To all the dreamers who believe in true love.
CHAPTER
ONE
MARISOL
My last chance. I’m not sure I believe it, but I’m also too scared to push it. So here I am, a little over a month until opening my dream. But is it my dream? Or is it something I chose at the spur of the moment to appease my father? Or to have a chance of making a living? Whichever it is, I need to stick with it, at least for a few years, before I can go crawling back asking for anything else.
Well, according to my father, this is it. No more handouts. No more chances. No more “finding myself.” He gave me my “last” financial help and told me not to come knocking on his door for money again. Two hundred thousand for whatever my heart desired, but if I blow it, too bad, so sad. That’s it. No more.
I roll my neck, hoping to stretch out the knots that have been forming there each day for the past few months. It all began on that fateful day I decided to quit yet another job. Why is it nothing interests me? I did what I was supposed to. I went to college. Got my degree. And now…now I can’t find anything that excites me. Nothing holds my attention. Nothing sparks a desire. Joy. Fulfillment. I’m a twenty-six-year-old who has held too many jobs and quit just as many. I almost didn’t land the last one because of my work history. It would be a miracle if someone else hired me again. So…my next option, open my own business.
While a cute clothing boutique sounded interesting, I feared it would tank. What if my style didn’t resonate? What about all the online shops that would be able to offer better prices with no storefront overhead? I ruled a clothing boutique out very quickly.
Now coffee. Everyone loves coffee, and let’s not forget all the influencers who love taking pictures with coffee in hand. And wine. Who doesn’t love a glass or two to unwind? My brilliant idea was to merge them together, and Sol y Luna was born. Sol, the sun, to represent the coffee and start of the day and Luna, the moon, to close it out with a delicious vino.
My logo is everything and I spent the money to make sure it was perfect. If I can get influencers taking pictures displaying my logo, it will be a huge win.
And I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel a thrill about this adventure. As much as I question and doubt, this place is mine. The idea is mine. I’m pouring my heart and soul into this, and I need it to work.
A loud crash startles me out of my thoughts.
“Dammit!” one of the construction workers shouts.
I spin around to find him picking up a couple of tools that he dropped. The construction madness is almost done. Don’t lose patience now, I think to myself.
“Hey, chica!” Natalia’s voice brings a smile to my face.
She strides through the door like she owns the world. She has been my saving grace since college. We found each other during rush week and have been best friends since. She has climbed the ladder at a marketing firm with her brilliance. She has this innate gift for helping people figure out what they “need”.
Her expertise is benefiting me—she has taken on my marketing. A big expense when opening a business, and I’m paying her in cocktails when we hit the town.
“What are you doing here in the middle of the workday?” I ask, grabbing the green smoothie she extends to me.
“Just checking on you.” She shrugs her shoulders, taking a sip from her own drink. “Checking on the progress. Dropping off the names of a couple of photographers you can choose from.”
“I’m fine. Progress is fine. And just pick someone.” I roll my eyes biting on the straw in frustration. I don’t even know why I’m frustrated. Argh!
“Right,” she drags out the word. “Everyone who is ‘fine,’” she air-quotes with one hand, “is doing great.”
She places her cup on one of the counters that has yet to be installed and lifts herself up to sit on it.
“Let’s start over.” She pauses. “How are you really doing?”
I nervously bite the inside of my cheek, scared of opening the floodgates.
“I’m waiting.” Her questioning gaze never falters.
“I’m scared, okay? What if this fails? What if this isn’t what I want? What if I just placed all my eggs into a losing basket?” The questions that have been playing on repeat in my head for the past couple of weeks are spoken out loud.
“I can only help with the success. I will help you make this place thrive! Seriously,” she says with such certainty, smiling. “Now, whether this is what you want…” She shakes her head. “You are the only one who has that answer. You have been floating in life, never wanting to settle. You don’t settle for a guy, always dumping him before it becomes too much. You drop jobs. I don’t know what you are looking for, but only you can figure that one out.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” Those words are sounding very much like the lectures my mom has given me. “So I’ve heard.”
“Don’t get mad at me for the truth.” She sticks her tongue out, jumping off the counter. “But at least if this place is booming, you’ll have money to play at being something else.” She winks then laughs.
I flick her off, smiling. She does have a point. As long as this place is profitable, I can do something else if I want.
“Here are the names and websites of the two photographers I recommend. I’ve worked with both, and they are really good. Very professional and amazing shots. Look over their online portfolios, and text me tomorrow which one you choose. I need to book them.”
“I’ll look at them tonight when I get home.”
“Perfect. Oh, and before I forget, I have an invitation for an art showing Friday. Keep it open. We’re going,” she says, walking to the door.
“You have a boyfriend who can take you.” I huff out not enthused about looking at more art.
She stops and turns around looking at me. “And you know he doesn’t like going to art openings. That’s your job!” She teases and continues her escape.
“But you know I’m not an artsy person,” I continue my argument to her retreating form.
“I know. But I am, and I get inspiration from it. So you are going with me because you love me.” She walks out the door, not waiting on me to answer her.
ELIAZAR
Scanning the blank white walls in front of me, trying to visualize which piece should go where, sounds like an easy task. Instead, I’ve been standing in the same spot, slowly spinning around the small room I was given to showcase my work. I have dozens of canvases I could display, and my brain has nothing!
Every artist has a reason, a purpose for displaying their pieces. They tell a story. Build a reaction. Or simply just evoke some sort of feelings. My latest pieces are doom and gloom. Not the vibe I want to give off. Hey, I’m depressed. Come be depressed with me. Nope, those will not be shown.
Walking back to the storeroom, where most of my pieces are waiting on me, I try and stop the never-ending loop of Why. Why did she say no? I thought we were good. I thought we were solid. How could I have been so blind to her pulling away? Did I spend too much time behind the lens and not enough time looking at her? Did I do this? I thought we were both chasing the careers we wanted. We were both in a great place. The next logical step was marriage. Or so I thought. I thought surviving a private high school as a scholarship kid was embarrassing enough. Nope, having the girl you love turn down your proposal in a restaurant full of expectant eyes… that takes the cake.
“Still trying to decide what to do?” Nancy startles me.
“I didn’t know you were back already.” I avoid her question. I don’t want the curator to know I have no idea what I’m doing. I was able to get the small space in this exhibition because a friend of a friend pulled in a favor.
“I just walked in,” she says nonchalantly. “I moved your pieces around earlier, playing with the colors and ideas.”
She steps closer to me, and I notice the house shoes she is wearing, which explains why I didn’t
“That’s happiness. The colors, strokes, pattern…” Her head drops to the side just a tad as she’s taken in by the work. After a moment, she continues, “It’s abstract, but more. I can see the landscape, the flowers, the brightness of the sun.”
It’s odd that she mentions a sun when there is no yellow in the piece, but it’s there. I know it’s there because it was our special place by the lake. A secluded spot near her family’s vacation house.
“And then these here.” She points to the right. “These feel like you want to tear my heart out and stomp the shit out of it.”
She looks at me with inquisitive eyes. She doesn’t know me. No one does. Not in this world. I go by a pseudonym. I don’t want one of my businesses to affect the other. Not until I know they both are successful. I’m a man behind the camera as Eliazar DeLeon and a broke artist looking for a break as Zar León.
“I’ll agree with you on both those interpretations.” I don’t want to give her anything about why.
“Have you thought of doing a sort of yin-and-yang display? Forget about all this.” She waves her finger at several canvases. “They are boring in the grand scheme of shock and awe. This being your first showing, you want to wow. Light and dark is how you will achieve that.”
Damn! She’s right. I was too busy figuring out how to show a piece of everything, I forgot I needed to grab their attention first.
“Thank you!” I tell her, genuinely happy for the first time since getting the news I had this opportunity. “That is what I’ll do.”
“Good.” She pats my shoulder before walking away.
CHAPTER
TWO
MARISOL
Dragged to another boring art show, I’m walking around aimlessly as Natalia pauses for an ungodly amount of time and admires each canvas. She lives for this crap, and I don’t see the significance in any of it. A painting is a painting is a painting, really. Sure, there are different colors and that abstract-versus-real-life stuff, but I don’t understand the high price. Pick something that will go with your décor and can afford, and be done with it.
I turn the corner into one of the smaller rooms this gallery has and come across a couple of girls talking.
“I don’t appreciate this work. It’s too dark and morbid. The brush strokes are too harsh. The colors…” One of the girls leaves her sentence hanging when she sees me.
“Don’t mind me. I’m just here for the free wine.” I say as I lift my wine glass wanting her to know I could care less about the critique she was giving.
I glance around the room and notice the piece she was speaking of. Her eyes dart around the room, and she remains quiet. Her friend does the same.
“I’ll agree about it being dark.” I roll my eyes. “Is it just me or is slapping paint on a canvas, what they consider ‘art’ these days?”
The girl who was making the earlier critique quietly laughs. “Sometimes. But there are quite a few really great artists still around though.” She is quick to defend the profession.
“Yeah, sure.” I wave my hand around the room. “But this? Is not it.”
A male clearing his throat startles me, and I spin around to look into a familiar set of clear blue eyes. Eyes I would admire from afar but never admitted to enjoying.
“Still the mean girl I see,” he says evenly.
Caught by surprise and taken back to memories of high school so suddenly, I’m speechless.
“Just like before. Talked all your shit when you thought people weren’t looking. Had to keep that sweet prom queen persona going?” He raises a brow with his arms crossed as I stand dumbfounded in front of him.
Before I could think of a reply, he turns and walks away. By the time I get my feet moving, I lose him in the crowd of people mingling around the entrance and bar area. Ugh! Me and my big mouth! When am I going to learn to just keep my mouth shut when I’m uncomfortable or feel out of place?
“We aren’t leaving yet,” Natalia says, grabbing my hand and pulling me behind her.
As she drags me through the room, I scan the area trying to find him. She takes me back to the room I had just vacated.
“Now these are amazing.” She’s smiling, getting a closer look at each one, then stepping back to admire from a distance. I wish I could look at the world through her eyes. When she sees beauty, she isn’t scared to say it. Appreciate it. Cherish it.
“What do you see?” I ask stupefied that all I see is colors mixed on a pulled piece of fabric.
“In this room I see life.” She spins slowly. “The good and the bad. The joy and the sorrow. Happiness and anger.”
I mimic her slow spin, wanting to see something. Anything.
“These are life. This is how I draw inspiration. In marketing, you have to evoke emotions about the products you are trying to sell. Draw people to them. Convince people they need them.” She takes a deep breath and stops in front of a dark piece.
I stand next to her.
“What do you see?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“Well. Just your first impression. Start talking,” she encourages.
“Black. I see black.” I shrug my shoulders.
“Sure, yes, there’s black, but there’s more. Look deeper.”
I wish I knew what she was talking about. All I see is blobs of paint with no rhyme or reason. “I don’t know,” I huff, frustrated I don’t see what she does.
“See that speck here?” She points at a spot in the painting, one that’s free of all the random, colored madness that the weave of the canvas shows.
I nod.
“That’s hope.” She points, then waves her hand around the rest of the painting. “This is anger. This is frustration. The colors. The paint left in places, not brushed out in gentle strokes. But here…here in this tiny spot, hope resides. Maybe in all of this pain or anguish or I don’t know, but right here, it can start over.” I look in awe at my best friend and notice a single tear slide down her cheek.
“This one means something to you?” I ask.
“A story for another day.” She shakes her head and wipes the tear gently away, making sure not to ruin her perfect makeup.
A story for another day? She has secrets?
ELIAZAR
The gallery showing was pretty good. Over the last week, a couple of pieces sold. One of the happier pieces and another that wasn’t displayed. Someone asked if I had other pieces and came back a few days later so Nancy could show them the work I had in the back. It’s nice to know I evoked something so powerful, they want to live with my work.
I’m packing up my equipment to meet a client. I’m glad I’ve impressed Natalia from Cedar Lane Marketing, because she’s keeping me busy. Not only busy, but well paid too. And that is the reason I agreed to lower my rate as a favor for her. She is helping some friend of hers open a new coffee and wine bar. It’s not like the city doesn’t have enough of these, but Natalia is insistent this spot will be the place to be.
I park in front of a large warehouse area, which has been renovated into a new commercial site. This area of town is exploding with condos and apartments, restaurants, outdoor areas, and shops. It dawns on me why she believes it will be a hit. Not only do the residents in the area frequent these places, but it attracts everyone in the city with the atmosphere and newness. Old meeting new, refurbishing these buildings that have been abandoned for decades. The developer who had this insight was a genius.
Loading the bags of equipment into a wagon for easy transport, I hear, “Hey, Eliazar!”
I turn to see Natalia walking toward me. I wave at her as I place the last bag on top of the mountain of things I brought. I knew I would be taking some shots, but I wasn’t sure what kind of light I would be working with or what exactly she had in mind. This job was very spur of the moment, and I had no time to prep the location, prepare for the time of day, or pull together ideas. That’s what favors will do. Leave you unprepared.
