by Cassia Leo
As he lifts me up and down, I feel like I’m on a merry-go-round. And as my second orgasm draws close, I remove my hand from between my legs and slide my finger into his mouth. He groans with pleasure, and within seconds he explodes inside me.
His arms hold me tightly as my body collapses into him. Snuggling my face into the crook of his neck, I listen closely as our heartbeats sync up while he softens inside me.
He presses his lips to my forehead as he caresses my back. “How are you feeling, love?”
I let out a soft sigh as I breathe in the sharp tang of his sweat. “Safe.”
My response prompts him to tighten his arms around me, and this makes me giggle.
We stay like this for a while until we’re rudely interrupted by the unmistakable sound of footsteps in the staff corridor.
By the time Ethan gets his pants on and races through the “Employees Only” door, the hallway is empty. There’s no one in the restaurant or the alley behind the building.
“Maybe we imagined it?” I say as I pull my hair back into a ponytail.
But the look of panic in Ethan’s eyes tells me he doesn’t believe that for a single second. “It had to be Andy. I’ll ring him in the morning before his shift. If he saw or heard anything, I’ll set him straight. I promise.”
I nod as if I believe him, but for the first time since this flirtation between us began, I fear we may have gone too far.
Chapter 17
ETHAN
“We’re all out of meat.”
I look at Alice as if she’s speaking a foreign language. “What? That’s impossible. How can we be all out of meat?”
She shrugs as she begins leading me toward the walk-in cooler. “You probably forgot to order it again.”
“But I don’t order the meat,” I tell her. “I make it myself by hand.”
My words don’t make any sense, and I’m not sure why I would say something like that.
Alice doesn’t seem to notice the absurdity of what I’ve said. As she opens the walk-in cooler, I quickly follow her inside. But as the door closes behind me, the cold air isn’t the only thing that sends a chill over my skin.
The shelves of the walk-in are lined with framed photos of Alice and Edward posing in various sexual positions.
“See? We’re all out of meat,” she says, motioning to the pictures.
“I’ve got your meat right here.”
I spin around at the sound of Edwards’s voice and find him standing right behind me, unbuttoning his jeans.
I wake with a gasp of horror.
“Bloody hell!” I shout, throwing off the duvet as I leap out of bed.
Staring at the mattress as if it’s the scene of a gruesome crime, I sink to the floor to catch my breath.
“Get yourself together, mate,” I say, muttering a half-hearted pep talk to myself.
Once I’ve calmed down, I sit on the bed and immediately grab my mobile off the nightstand to ring last night’s closing server, Andy Sevara. But the call goes straight to voicemail, indicating he’s turned off his phone.
I have no idea if the footsteps we heard in the staff corridor last night were his. It’s entirely possible what Alice and I heard was merely someone stomping around on the floor above us. The problem with this theory is that the sound happened about one a.m., and the floor above us is occupied by a dental office and a law firm. I highly doubt their housekeeping crews work that late.
I’ll try Andy again later. I can’t remember if he’s on the schedule today. If he is, his shift usually starts an hour before we open for lunch. If he’s not on the schedule, I’ll have to hope he isn’t one of those people who leave their mobile off for long periods of time.
By the time I pull my Lexus into a space in the underground car park, I’ve convinced myself I have nothing to worry about. Even if Andy did hear—or see—Alice and I in multiple compromising positions last night, who is he going to tell? The likelihood that Andy knows Alice’s father are slim to none. The odds of him knowing Edward are higher, but still quite slim.
I reach for the door handle, but I freeze at the vibration of my mobile in my hand. Glancing at the screen, I shake my head at an SMS from Edward.
Edward: Fancy a lunch? I reckon we have some things to discuss.
A knot of anxiety forms inside my belly as I wonder whether Andy does know Edward, and I’ve missed my chance to come clean to Cristian. Then, I remember how unlikely this is, and I swipe my finger across the screen, deleting Edward’s text message.
But as I make my way toward the elevator in the underground car park, my mobile vibrates again.
Edward: You seem to forget I’ve been in NY far longer than you. I recommended some of your employees, remember?
I clench my fist around the phone and take a few deep breaths, so I don’t chuck it at the concrete wall. Once I’ve calmed down, I type up a response that will definitely send the message Edward has needed to hear since the moment he decided to cheat on Alice.
Me: You can shove your sad attempts at blackmail up your arse. I’m telling Cristian about Alice tonight. I may not keep my restaurant. But unlike you, I’ll still have two Michelin stars. And I’ll have Alice. Cheers, mate!
I type the message out, but I don’t hit send. It would be a terrible mistake to reveal to Edward how I feel about Alice. No doubt, he would see this as a vulnerability he could exploit. Not to mention, I have no intention of accelerating my own demise by admitting my feelings for Alice to Cristian.
I sigh with exhaustion as I realize I’ve spent more than a decade living in fear of getting too close to anyone because of what one woman did to me when I was barely out of secondary school.
I thought Priya was the love of my life. But I was nineteen years old. I had no idea what love was. Which was why, the moment she betrayed me, I ran. I never even considered staying at uni and fighting for us.
After Priya’s betrayal, I played it safe with my personal life, reserving all risk-taking for my professional exploits. Seeing how this strategy worked so well for my career, only reinforced my desire to avoid gambling on love. Over the years, I cultivated a personal life completely devoid of risk. And completely devoid of love.
As I press the call button for the elevator, my mind is assaulted by a sudden cascade of dangerous ideas.
What would happen if I stopped hiding my feelings from the restaurant staff and promoted Alice to sous chef today?
What if, instead of worrying about what Andy did or didn’t see, I simply stop running from the consequences of my actions?
What if I were to ring Cristian tonight to tell him I’m in love with his daughter?
My breathing quickens as I realize there’s no denying it. I’m in love with Alice. And I’m done living in fear of feeling this way.
Tonight, I’m going to call Cristian and tell him I’m in love with Alice. If he uses that as an excuse not to recommend moving into the final funding phase, and I lose the restaurant, I don’t give a toss.
I’ll make it my life’s work to make sure every one of my employees finds another job. Then, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Alice in my life.
I finally understand what it feels like to love someone so much you’ll risk your career. So much you’ll risk getting your heart properly destroyed.
I love Alice.
I love her so much I’m going to risk everything for her, and I’ve never felt less afraid in my life.
When I enter the kitchen, I’m slightly annoyed to find a small puddle of last night’s mop water still covering the floor drain. I’m even more annoyed to find Alice is late. It’s possible she forgot she was scheduled to come in earlier today for the weekly meeting where we discuss the tasting menu, which changes every Friday.
As I search my emails for the contact information for my plumbing contractor, I make my way to my office to check the schedule and see which host or hostess is coming in first. We may not have the drain fixed in time to open before lunch. I’ll need someone to call the
customers who’ve booked a lunch reservation, so they can reschedule.
Mario walks past my open office door with his apron clutched in one hand, waving at me with the other hand. I nod at him and try not to allow my annoyance with Alice’s tardiness to morph into questions about whether I should promote her. The trains from Brooklyn are notorious for their delays.
Inevitably, this train of thought leads me to wonder if Edward is somehow responsible for her lateness. Shaking my head at this ridiculous paranoia, I tap my phone screen to dial the number for my plumbing contractor. After a brief conversation, Leo promises to send someone before lunch to check out the drain, but he can’t promise it will be resolved quickly.
Making my way to the dining room, I’m pleased to find my sommelier and all my sous chefs, line cooks, and pastry chefs waiting to start the meeting. I breathe a sigh of relief when I find Alice standing between Shanice and Mario with a pad of paper and pen in hand. My paranoia about Edward disappears as she flashes me a cheeky smile.
Line cooks, Misty and Warner, finish pushing together three dining tables for the meeting.
Misty takes a step back and looks at the arrangement curiously. “Why are we missing a chair?”
Alice shoots me an uncomfortable glance, and I have to suppress a laugh as I remember the dining chair with the suspicious wet spot, which I placed in the trunk of my Lexus last night.
“Just get another chair,” I say to Misty, taking a seat at the table.
As everyone takes a seat, I find myself wishing I could beckon Alice to sit next to me. Instead, Misty pulls a chair from a nearby table and squeezes in on my right.
As we discuss possible menu offerings, Misty’s gaze bores into me, and her knee occasionally bumps mine. I’m unsure why I’ve never noticed this before, but my line cook is definitely flirting with me. And judging by the way Alice keeps glancing in Misty’s direction, I’m not the only one who’s just becoming aware of this.
I ignore Misty’s hyper-focused attention. But by the time we’re all in the kitchen, testing the menu options we came up with during the meeting, Alice appears on the verge of tears.
I pull her into the walk-in cooler, trying not to think of the similarities between this situation and what happened in my awful nightmare. “Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry,” she says, her gaze focused on the shelf behind me, as if she’s unable to look me in the eye. “I promise I’m not a jealous person. It’s just… I had a bad dream last night. I dreamt you left me for a fitness influencer whose entire Instagram was just before-and-after pics of her Brazilian butt-lift. And her page had theme music, but it was this sort of disembodied voice that kept screaming ‘Fitspo! Fitspo! Fitspo!’ It was a nightmare.”
I can’t hold back my laughter this time.
“It’s not funny,” she groans. “I may need therapy.”
I shake my head. “What you don’t seem to understand is that I’m obsessed with your arse, if I’m being perfectly honest.”
She rolls her eyes. “No, you’re not.”
I take a step toward her, ignoring the way she glances nervously at the door. “Let me put it this way. If I had to choose between never eating again and never touching your irresistible arse, I’d starve to death.”
She looks shocked, but there’s a hint of a smile she can’t hide. She opens her mouth, as if she’s going to dispute this ridiculous claim, but she stops herself. Then, she looks around the walk-in cooler as if she’s suddenly realized where we’re standing.
“Wow,” she whispers. “The last time I stood inside a walk-in with a man, he said something very different about my ass.”
I ignore the pang of jealousy in my gut and the hesitation in her eyes as I take her face in my hands. “Those days are over, love.”
She smiles as she seems to sigh with relief. “We should get back to work.”
I nod as I let her go, landing a soft slap on her bottom as she reaches for the door. “See me in my office after your shift. I want to talk about your promotion.”
She freezes with her hand on the door handle. “Are you rescinding the offer?”
I chuckle as I shake my head. “No, no. Nothing like that. Just see me after your shift.”
“Okay,” she replies then presses her lips together to temper her grin as she exits the walk-in.
Throwing caution to the wind, I palm her arse-cheek on our way out. As she jumps forward, I sense the vibration of her mobile in her back pocket. She looks over her shoulder, as if she’s confused whether the vibration came from her phone or my hand. But she flinches when it vibrates again.
Panic washes over her face as she pulls it out and looks at the screen. “Hi, Dad,” she says, shooting me a worried look as she answers the call.
I force myself to maintain an impassive expression, but my heart is hammering against my chest.
“You want to have lunch today? But I have a lot going on at the restaurant today. We’re planning—” She looks annoyed as her father cuts her off.
I motion to get her attention, then I mouth the words, “Go ahead. We’ll be fine.”
I really don’t need to give her father a reason to be upset with me before I ring him tonight. But this is definitely not how I envisioned today going.
Every week, when the cooking staff plans the new tasting menu, we sit down for “family meal.” This is where we eat our “test” dishes to see which ones will make the cut. The sense of family and community we get out of this ritual is my favorite part of working in this business. I was really looking forward to sharing a proper meal with Alice.
“Are you sure?” she mouths to me, and I nod adamantly. “Okay, that’s fine,” she says to her dad. “Eleven o’clock? Isn’t that kind of early? Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there.”
As Alice wraps up her conversation, Shanice steals my attention with a question about the foie gras confit for the first course. But I’m only half-listening, as my brain is still concentrating on Alice, on high-alert for any indication Cristian knows about us.
“What do you think?” Shanice asks.
I blink at her. “About what?”
She glances at Alice and smiles. “A black truffle vinaigrette over the foie gras instead of a champagne vinaigrette? A champagne vinaigrette might be too crisp.”
I nod vigorously. “You’re absolutely right. A truffle vinaigrette sounds perfect.”
She nods and retreats to her workstation as Alice ends her phone call and heads toward her own station. I fight the urge to pull Alice into the walk-in again, to grill her on the conversation she had with her father. But I need to keep my cool.
Just a few more hours and all this sneaking around and worrying will be over.
Chapter 18
ALICE
As I enter aRoqa, a small, modern Indian eatery a block away from Forked, I spot my dad sitting in the center of the single line of tables running along the right side of the restaurant. The entire left side of the dining area is occupied by a slick bar, with a private dining room tucked away beyond that. The hostess smiles as I wordlessly indicate I’ll see myself to my father’s table.
My father has never seen me in my casual Forked-branded black T-shirt and distressed jeans uniform. I always leave for work after he’s already left for the office, and I arrive home after he’s gone to sleep at nine p.m. sharp.
He looks at me curiously as he plants a kiss on my cheek. “That’s not what I imagined you wore to work at a fine dining restaurant.”
I shrug as I take a seat across from him. “It’s dressed-down fine dining, Dad. All that stuffy sports-coat-required nonsense is a relic of your generation.”
He pretends to be offended. “Are you calling me old?”
I shake my head as I glance over the lunch specials menu. “What did you want to talk about?” I ask, eager to get this lunch, and whatever awkward conversation my father has planned, over with.
He looks genuinely offended now. “What’s a matter? You can’t make small talk with your
old man anymore?”
I cock an eyebrow, not falling for the guilt-trip.
“Fine,” he says, glancing at the bartender as if he’s hoping someone will come and save him by taking our drink order. “We need to talk about your boss.”
“I knew it.”
He holds up a hand. “Relax, mija. This is not what you think it is.”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly to calm my fight-or-flight response. “What do I think it is?”
He purses his lips. “Don’t play dumb with me. I know you think I brought you here to yell at you for getting involved with your boss.”
“His name is Ethan,” I reply, sounding as bored as I possibly can while also refusing to deny his accusation.
And suddenly, I truly don’t care if it was Warner or Andy or Emilio or Edward who told my dad about Ethan and me. I’m tired of sneaking around like a naughty teenager.
He sits up straighter, his face hardening as he realizes I’m not going to apologize the way I usually do.
The server arrives with some ice water, and my father and I both spout off our drink and lunch orders without hesitation. She seems to pick up on our urgency and, without further ado, quickly sets off to put in our orders.
My father stares at the glossy surface of the dining table for a moment before letting out a sigh. “I’m not here to tell you what to do with your life,” he begins. “You’re an adult.”
“You just noticed?”
His mouth is pressed into a hard line as he glares at me. “Can I have a moment to speak without you interrupting me?”
“I didn’t interrupt you.”
Anger flashes across his features, and I’m reminded of how I saw that expression every time I was caught cutting class in high school.
