The phone rings. I fish it from my bag, even though I know I should let it go to voicemail. It’s my friend, Leah, the phone tells me. Don’t answer it, she’ll want you to go out clubbing, I tell myself. I don’t listen and press the button to answer.
“Leah, please don’t ask me to go out. I’ve had a bitch of a day at work, my feet ache and I want to relax.” Maybe she’ll take pity on me and not ask me to go out.
“Bloss, you have to eat. Come out for dinner. You, me and two gorgeous, hunky guys. If you don’t want to go clubbing after we eat, then I’ll ask Nathan to take you home.”
“Nathan? Who the fuck is Nathan?” She’s always trying to set me up with someone. I keep telling her, I’m twenty seven years old and I will find a man when I’m ready. Which, may be never.
“He’s gorgeous, Bloss.”
She’s gushing so I know it can’t be good. “Where did you meet the gorgeous Nathan? At the club you frequent?” Sarcasm oozes from me. Leah is heavily into kink and can often be found tied up at the local BDSM club. I’ve been with her a couple of times but it’s not my scene.
“Bloss, he’s not like that.”
“Is he a Dom?”
Silence.
“He is, isn’t he?”
More silence.
“For God’s sake Leah. I’ve told you, I’m not interested in that way of life.”
“Just meet him.” She’s begging.
“No. If you want to stay friends with me, stop fucking throwing Doms at me. I’m happy to go to the club occasionally but only as a spectator. How many more times do I need to tell you? I don’t want the type of sex life you have. I’m nobody’s sex slave.” I’m getting angry with her now. “We’ve been friends since kindergarten. You know me better than anyone and you know it’s not me. Stop trying to change me, Leah. I’m serious. I’ve had a gutful and if it continues, you’ll ruin our friendship.”
I can hear her sobbing into the phone. “I’m sorry. I promise I won’t try and set you up again. I don’t want to lose your friendship.”
I’ve heard this before. I always relent. I hate to hear her cry, but not this time. Maybe my shitty day is making me tough. “Tears won’t cut it this time, Leah. I’m not going out with you and whoever you’ve lined up.”
“This will be the last time, I promise.” She’s crying harder now and I know I’m being a bitch but I’m not backing down.
“No. I’m having a quiet evening. Enjoy yourself.” I hang up to the sound of her protests and switch the phone off so if she calls back, I won’t know until the morning.
***
My clothes are in a heap on the bathroom floor. I’m lying back in the bath with my eyes closed. The scent of my favorite perfume wafts around me in the steam. Every muscle in my body is relaxed. The argument with my manager now fading. When is he going to realize, I own the fuckin’ business, not him. None of my other managers question me, why does he. I know what I’m doing. Thanks to my inheritance from Daddy, I’ve created an empire across the country. My restaurants are all Michelin (star rated), except the one in the fuckin’ city where I live. I need a new Head Chef. I don’t give a shit whether the one we have is the manager’s cousin and he owes him a favor. I want the best and Roberto is far from the best.
I sit up and make a decision. I’m going to find out which restaurant is the best in town and have dinner there. If their food is better than what we have at Cleo’s, I’ll make a play for their Head.
I stand up and the water slides over my silky soft, fragrant skin. Stepping over the rim of the bath, my feet sink into a luxurious bath mat. I grab the towel from the rail and pat myself dry. Deodorant, face cream and a light layer of mascara and lip gloss, I’m almost done. I brush my long, wavy blonde hair and gather it up at the sides. I then pad into my bedroom and enter my walk-in closet. My choice is a blue crepe dress with a modest neckline. It’s one of my favorites. I rummage through my drawers for a pair of lacy undies and matching lacy bra. I love sensual lingerie even if I’m the only one who sees it.
It takes only minutes to dress, spray on Chanel and slip my feet into blue high heels. I flip off the light and head down the hall to the elevator. After adding my phone to my bag, I press the down button on the elevator panel. The doors whoosh open and I step inside. The doors close, I press the ‘G’ button and start to descend.
Fuck, I forgot to find out which restaurants are said to be the best. I heard someone talking about an award winning chef the other day when I was doing some bookwork in the office. Where was it? Lorne’s? No. Ian’s? No, Leon’s! That’s the one. It’s only around the corner. I’ll walk there.
I get to the ground floor and the lobby is quiet as I cross and exit the building onto the busy street. I turn to my left and begin walking.
Leon’s is buzzing with activity when I arrive. Hopefully I can get a table. It’s 7:05, which is normally a popular time on Friday nights and weekends but this is mid-week, which is normally quieter. I guess Leon’s patrons didn’t get the memo. Cleo’s would be hard pressed to be this busy even on a weekend.
I stand in line and it’s ten minutes before I’m inside.
“Booking name?” The young girl has her pen poised above a booking sheet. I sneak a peek. The fuckin’ sheet is all but full and this is a sixty table restaurant.
“I don’t have a booking. Is it possible to get a table?”
A man in a waiter’s outfit comes over and whispers in the girl’s ear. I see her scratch through a booking.
“You’re in luck. We just had a cancellation for a table for two. Are you alone?”
“Yes. It’s just me.” I’m cheering inside. I need to know what it is about this place that draws so many people. Why didn’t I know about Leon’s sooner?
I follow another girl, the first one called over. She has menus and a wine list in her hands. I’m led to a table in the center. The perfect spot with a view of the kitchen. I pull out a chair and sit, she places the menu and drink list on the table in front of me.
“Can I get you a drink while you peruse the menu?”
I glance up at her. “White wine, please.” She scurries away and I scan the room. The tables are all taken. Waiters and waitresses move gracefully around the room. They are all dressed in black and white uniforms, very smart. The men wear black pants and white shirts, the girls wear knee length skirts and white blouses with scalloped collars. On the left breast of all the shirts is a flowery ‘L’. Cleo’s doesn’t have a uniform. They wear whatever they like as long as it’s blue and grey. The uniform looks more professional. My girls wear mini-skirts which are distracting as well as restrictive, they can’t risk bending over for fear of putting everything they own on full display. The idea of a more modest uniform warrants discussion. I whip out my smart phone, turn it on and make a note for tomorrow. I notice there are no messages from Leah. Odd.
The waitress places my white wine on the table and takes my order. I have selected Lobster Bisque, a popular dish, difficult to get right. Then I’m having Seafood Paella. Let’s see if he can get the rice so it’s not gluggy or under cooked. Yes, I’m fussy when it comes to food. Not the ingredients, the combinations and cooking.
I relax back in my seat and sip at my wine. It’s an excellent white. Light and fruity with the right amount of freshness. I sip again and check out the people around me. They are all well dressed, expensive but not ostentatious jewelry, obvious money. Leon’s is far from inexpensive so it makes sense.
The establishment has subtle lighting and I can’t see what others are eating without leaning over and being rude. I do hear regular comments about how perfect this dish is or how exquisite another dish is. When I hear “superb paella” my ears prick up and I glance to my right. The woman oozes elegance. Born to money I would guess. Someone who would expect and demand only the best and get it.
“Ma’am, may I take your serviette?”
I glance up at the waiter and nod. He has a tray in one hand with my Lobster Bisque. I mentally
tick off, polite, efficient service.
The young man expertly shakes out my napkin and lays it across my lap. All with one hand. Neater than most waiters can do with two. I’m impressed and I don’t impress easily.
He sets the bisque in front of me and stands back. The tray is held out in front of him, the other hand behind his back. He’s waiting for me to take my first taste.
I take the spoon, dip it into the bisque and bring it to my lips. I sip it into my mouth. Fuck, I’ve died and gone to heaven. It’s smooth, creamy, the taste of seafood subtle not overwhelming.
I dab at my lips before lifting my head. “Please give the chef my compliments on the bisque. If the rest is as good as the first taste, and I have no doubt it will be, I will most certainly be back for more.”
“Thank you ma’am. I’ll inform the chef it meets with your approval.”
The spoon is dipped into the bisque as soon as he leaves. I resist the urge to moan with each mouthful. The dish is perfection. Creamy, smooth and the seafood is crisp which indicates not only freshness but, also that it has not been overcooked. I relish every mouthful and am hard pressed not to lift the bowl and lap up the dregs.
No sooner have I finished, and the waiter has returned and scooped the dishes from in front of me. “Please tell the Chef, the bisque was deliciously heavenly. I check my watch.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I relax back and sip my wine. It complements the bisque perfectly. When I finish the glass, I catch the eye of my waiter and he hurries to the table. How can a man appear to glide across the floor?
“Another, ma’am.”
“Yes please.”
The waiter is back within minutes and deposits the glass on the table.
I make another mental note – impeccable service. Wait. Have I already said that?
I go back to surveying my surroundings and am interrupted by the waiter appearing with my seafood paella. I check my watch as he sets it on the table. Eight minutes since I finished the bisque. Excellent timing – another mental note. He stands back while I fork up the first mouthful. I can’t help the moan that escapes. I feel myself blush. I turn to the waiter. “If you tell the chef I did that I’ll, I’ll…..I don’t know what I’ll do but I’ll do something.”
He laughs. “Ma’am, your secret is safe with me. I will tell the chef, you approve.”
“Thank you.” I return to my paella. If the bisque was superb this is downright magnificent. Whoever they have in their kitchen can cook for me every night. I devour the perfect dish, savoring the mixture of flavors, the crispness of the seafood and the downright fluffiness of the rice. I have eaten in some high class establishments but none have almost caused me to orgasm over their food.
I place my fork on the plate and dab my lips with the napkin. The waiter appears as if out of thin air.
“Would you like anything else, ma’am?”
“No, thank you. I’ll finish my wine. Could you please bring me the bill and ask if I may speak with the Head Chef?”
“Ma’am, I can’t guarantee he will come and speak with you. He’s very busy tonight as they are a chef short.”
“Please ask anyway.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I watch as he walks toward the kitchen. He has a cute butt. I’m deep in thought when a shadow falls across my table and a man clears his throat. I look up into the clearest, most vivid green eyes I have ever seen in my life. The man is tall, six and a half feet, I guess. Short cropped dark hair, light beard stubble and a chest as wide as the back of a bus. Okay, that’s an exaggeration but you get the idea. I bet it’s all muscle too. And, he has tatts. I love tatts. The man is gorgeous in a dangerous kind of way.
“You asked for me ma’am?”
“Yes, thank you for coming out. I wanted to tell you the food was beyond perfect.”
“Thank you ma’am. It’s what I’m paid to do.”
He was being polite but seemed impatient to return to his kitchen. I decided that wasn’t going to happen immediately.
“What is your name?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I like to know the name of the man I’m about to offer a job.”
“Not interested, but thank you. Is there anything else?”
I feel deflated by his abruptness. Most people would at least want to know what I was offering. “No, nothing else.”
“Goodnight, ma’am.”
“Goodnight.” I watch as he swaggers back to the kitchen. Yes, he swaggers. Arrogant comes to mind.
Feeling deflated but not defeated, I catch the eye of my waiter and hand him the bill with my credit card. It takes mere moments to finalize my account and he hands me a folder to obtain my signature. I write down a sizeable tip, sign and hand him the folder. He smiles and thanks me as I stand to leave.
I step from the restaurant into the cool night air and pull my coat around me. I’m disappointed with my failure. Yes, I see it as failure. I’m used to getting my own way. The man shut me down like I was nothing more than an itch he couldn’t be bothered scratching. That bothers me.
I head toward my apartment to formulate a plan. I absolutely must have that chef. I will not take no for an answer.
Chapter Three
HAMISH
I storm back to the kitchen, fuming. Who do these people think they are? Do they think you’ll just jump at their offer for a job? Don’t they know anything about loyalty? Yeah, she was fucking gorgeous with her silky blonde hair, milky white skin and smoky gray eyes. Shit, I sound like a fucking poet. Getting back to what I was saying, gorgeous or not, she had no right to come into my place of employment and offer me another job. I’m pissed. Really pissed.
I stalk through the two way kitchen doors causing one to crash back against the wall. Wade and the other chefs turn to stare at me.
“Didn’t like your food, boss?” Wade’s the only one who dares to speak to me when I’m in a foul mood.
“Fuckin’ loved it. The bitch offered me a job.”
“She what?”
“Offered me a job. She comes in here, to my place of employment and in front of other patrons, offers me a fucking job with her.”
“Doing what?”
“Stuffed if I know. I told her I wasn’t interested.”
“Maybe it was your body she was after,” Rudy says. He’s the youngest of my chefs and also brave enough to speak when I’m angry. What is it they say about being young and stupid?
The others start laughing. Wade gives me a smoldering gaze. “Yeah, right. She didn’t see me until I went out there and she did compliment the food.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m surprised someone hasn’t attempted to poach you before now. You’re the best chef in the city, it was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“Don’t people believe in fuckin’ loyalty?”
“No, they believe in dollars.” Wade grabs the spoon from my hand and takes over stirring the gravy.
“I don’t get it. I was dragged up by an alcoholic mother, and an alcoholic, drug dealing father and even I believe in being loyal to those who give you a break.”
Wade pats me on the back. “There should be more like you. A pity there aren’t.”
Leon walks into the kitchen to check on how everything has been going. It’s really an excuse to grab some food. He reckons his wife’s cooking is shit. I’ve asked why he puts up with it. He says he’s been married for more than fifty years and he loves her.
“Busy night, lads?”
Yep, Leon’s British and calls us all lad even though Wade is probably in his mid-forties and a long way from being one. I guess to an eighty year old, we seem young.
“Very busy.” I move to take a lemon meringue pie from the oven.
“Boss got offered a job a little while ago.”
Rudy. I’m gonna kill the little prick before much longer.
Leon swivels to face me. “You did?”
“Yeah. Some blonde bimbo wanted to see me. I thought
it was to say she enjoyed the food, which she did, but then the bitch offered me a job.”
“Blossom Cartwright.”
“What’s a Blossom Cartwright?” I’m wondering if Leon’s losing his marbles.
“Not what. Who. I saw her leaving as I came in. I’d heard she was on the hunt for a new chef. All her restaurants are Michelin rated except the one here in town. The chef is a cousin of her manager and I hear she’s not happy. Word is the chef is lousy but the manager defends him. I also heard she wants to expand. I was gonna offer her this place.”
“What!” We all yell in unison so loud we must have been heard out in the restaurant.
“I can’t do it anymore. I’m too old for the figures and I want to relax. Holiday by the beach with Alice. We don’t have a lot of years left. Blossom owns Cleo’s and I think this restaurant would be a good addition to her others. It has the right clientele for her, not to say the best chef in the city if not the entire country.” He winks at me.
“Cleo’s. For fuck sake. We’d have to tell people we work at Cleo’s? Who calls a restaurant that?”
“Maybe she won’t change the name?” Leon looks hopeful.
“I wouldn’t count on it. Women like her are all about the power. They like things their way. She’ll want it to have the same name as all the others.”
“Maybe. I haven’t spoken with her yet. I have an appointment with her tomorrow. She may not be interested.”
“I hope not. After the way I dismissed her earlier, if she buys it, I might find myself out of a job.”
“I’ll make it a condition she keeps all the staff.”
“Yeah, that’ll work.”
Now I’m even more pissed. This bitch has the ability to screw up my life.
***
My shift is almost over and the place has finally quieted. The kitchen is clean and I’ve sent the chef’s home. The dishes are done, bins have been emptied and the floor has been mopped. It’s just me and Wade finishing up. I’m stirring some pasta for the kid. I’ve added a good sized helping of vegetables, he needs decent food in his belly.
“Jonesy?” Wade peers over my shoulder as I’m stirring.
Born To Sin (Born #1) Page 2
