“Beginner’s luck,” he snaps.
I grunt, offended. “Are you fucking with me, or are you really that big of a jerk?”
Randy blows a hard breath and slams his locker shut. “Fuck it, Gina. Could you just stop being late from now on?”
I open my mouth, on the verge of unloading an arsenal of profanity.
“Because,” he continues, “I’ve shown you a lot of leniency, and the person who’s replacing me may not be as tolerant as I am.”
I flinch. “Replacing you?”
“Today’s my last day.”
I close my eyes for a second, in disbelief of what I just heard. “Today’s your last day?”
“Yep.” He passes me on his way to the door.
“Did you quit?”
He looks squarely at me. “I’m going to be on a game show.”
“A game show?” I can’t help but laugh. “Like Family Feud or something?”
“No, it’s more like a cooking competition.”
Lots of things go through my mind—and first, surprisingly, I realize I’m going to miss him. He might be a dick, but he’s one that I’ve slept with one, two—I bite my lip—six or seven times. I’ve stopped counting because each time we do it, it’s a mistake. Well, a mistake in that I wish I hadn’t spread my legs and let him in. At the same time, I find him so appealing, and I’ve tried every way possible not to think of him as sexy and attractive but have failed miserably. Second, I’m the only person working here who knows Randy’s deep, dark secret.
We only have sex on nights we close the café together. One night, after we let our desires get out of hand, he spilled the beans.
“How did you end up in Minneapolis?” I asked, readjusting my bra back over my tits. Randy enjoys sucking on them.
He grimaced at me as though I’d asked if he was wanted for murder or something.
“What?” I asked him, zipping my pants.
“It’s nothing.” He shrugged. “It’s just that I used to be a chef.”
“Oh,” I said, extremely intrigued.
He studied me scrupulously. After his prolonged examination, Randy told me he used to be the executive chef at three of LA’s most exclusive restaurants but was fired from each because he had a serious problem with alcohol. He missed workdays, screwed up recipes, and flew off the handle, pretty much yelling and cursing at his staff on a daily basis. When no other restaurant would touch him with a ten-foot pole, he was forced to check in for his sixth stint in rehab. Well, this time it worked. However, he had sullied his reputation and couldn’t even get a job at a chain restaurant—not that he would lower himself to work at one of them anyway. So his cousin Steve, who owns Calypso Café, convinced him to move to Minneapolis, work for him, and wait it out until everyone forgets.
Right now, Randy looks at me with the same expression he did the night he bared his soul. It’s as if he’s wondering if he can trust me with the news he just dropped in my lap.
I fold my arms in front of me. “Which cooking competition? There are a million of them on TV these days.”
He cracks a tiny smile. “Head Chef Total Domination.”
I unfold my arms, surprised by the emotions surging through me. Perhaps envy. Head Chef is the most popular cooking show on TV. It has ignited the careers of many previously unknown chefs. If Randy wins, he could return to his former glory. And I’m okay with that—only, I want to prove that I can be just as great a chef as he is.
We stare at each other. My emotions are coursing through my veins, and I’m lost for words.
There are two knocks. “Come in,” Randy and I barely say at the same time.
Rita, a coworker, pokes her head into the room. Her curious gaze shifts from Randy’s face to mine. “I’m sorry, did I hear you say come in?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“There’s a guy at the register asking for you.”
I sigh gravely, remembering the shiny, new red BMW I damaged. “Well… good luck,” I say, barely looking Randy in the eye.
I can feel him staring at me as I walk out.
My eyes land on the guy standing off to the side in front of the register. Before I introduce myself, I notice the lunch crowd. Normally, it doesn’t die down until after two o’clock. It’s almost that time now, but instead of thinning, the place seems to have gotten busier. I look back to the guy whose car I marred. He’s watching me with a bemused smile. I admire how his cream turtleneck sweater complements his fiery red hair. He’s also wearing an expensive black cashmere coat. Rita and Sarah can’t stop smiling as their bright eyes continuously dart to his handsome face.
I form my best smile, straighten my posture, and take long strides toward the counter with my arm outstretched. “Sorry about the car.”
He reaches out to shake my hand. “Yeah, you did some serious damage.”
I sigh. “I know. Listen, I can pay whatever it costs to fix it. I just don’t want our insurances involved.”
He looks at me like he just had a million-dollar idea. “What do you say about this?”
“About what?”
“A proposition.”
I grimace. “What kind of proposition?”
“I’m willing to forgive and forget if you agree to go out with me on three dates.”
I furrow my brow then release it. “Why three dates?”
He brings his lopsided grin closer. “Because you’ve done three dates’ worth of damage.”
I glance to both sides of me to see if anyone else is hearing this. Rita and Sarah are still watching him, and I catch a glimpse of Randy standing behind me, fiddling with receipts or something.
“What if you can’t stand me after the first date?”
He smirks. “I doubt that.”
I snort. “Oh, it’s possible. Believe me, I can be pretty insufferable.”
“Then let me be the judge of that.”
There’s an eager gleam in his eyes. I feel what he wants from me is evident. I lean across the counter and put my mouth closer to his ear. “I’m not going to fuck you.” I stand upright again. “So how about you get an estimate and…”
“I think I’m insulted,” he says.
I close my mouth and then open it again. “I’m sorry, but I…”
He lifts a hand. “Gina. My name is Jeremy. And when you say ‘but,’ everything that follows cancels everything you said before it. So you’re not sorry, and I still want to take you on three dates.”
“Hey, Jeremy, back off from my workers! We’re not paying them to socialize.”
I whip my head around to see Randy frowning.
I roll my eyes and focus back on Jeremy. “You two know each other?”
“We’re cousins,” Randy says.
This time, I refrain from giving him the evil eye, even though he’s outright eavesdropping on us and it’s just bad manners.
“I see,” I say, trying to find a resemblance between them. There isn’t any. “So three dates, and that’s it? I owe you nothing?”
Jeremy lifts his hands in surrender. “I swear.” He drops his left arm and leaves his right hand up. “Scout’s honor.”
I twist my mouth contemplatively. I look to my right and see Rita restocking the pastry case. “Hey, Rita, could you be my witness?”
Her eyes widen. “Witness for what?”
I stare boldly at Jeremy’s amused yet confident expression. “A contract.”
“What are you, a lawyer?” Jeremy says.
Randy snickers behind me. I pretend I don’t hear him. Jerk.
“No,” I say, and it pains me. I should be a lawyer since I graduated from law school. However, I’ve failed the bar exam so many times that I stopped counting. “I want assurance that you won’t back out of our deal.” I rip a slip of paper off the order pad on the counter. “What’s your last name?”
He’s still grinning as if he’s not taking me seriously. Finally, he says, “Bailey.”
“Do you know your license plate number?”
N
ow he’s dropped that smile. I guess he can tell I mean business. “Sure. It’s 484AC1.”
I crack a smile. “That’s an easy one.”
“You know, we don’t have to do this. My word is good enough.”
I scoff as I look back down at the slip of paper and write in legalese how Jeremy Bailey agrees to release Gina Gilbert from any responsibility for damage to the red BMW with his license plate after the completion of three dates with no sex or physical intimacy involved.
“How about a kiss?” he asks.
“No kiss.” I hand Jeremy the pen. “Sign it, and we have a deal.”
He hesitates. I can tell by the look on his face that he finds my demeanor abrasive.
Finally, Jeremy takes the pen and signs. The guy standing at the register, who witnessed nearly all of our interaction, snickers.
Once I have our contract in hand, I tear another slip of paper off the order pad, write my phone number, and hand it to him. “Have a nice day.”
He’s still cheesing out as he folds the paper and stuffs it inside his billfold. He’s careful to show me all the twenty-, fifty-, and hundred-dollar bills he’s carrying. I fight the urge to tell him that his money doesn’t tempt me whatsoever. I have plenty of my own. Not that I’m independently wealthy. A month after graduating from law school, a trust my grandparents set up for me started paying. It’s a lot of money, and I’ve been saving—not for a rainy day but to buy something big for myself that will be an investment in my future.
“We’ll talk soon,” he says.
“Good-bye,” Rita says, wiggling her fingers at him.
He winks at her, and she turns beet red. All the women within view of Jeremy watch him stroll out the door and cross the parking lot. I must admit he is something to look at, but he doesn’t make my juices flow.
“Okay, the show’s over. Get to work.”
Rita, Sarah, and I turn around. Randy’s standing between the cappuccino maker and the counter, writing in a ledger. I’m sure, like me, Sarah and Rita are thinking he decided to do paperwork out front today for no other reason than to ride our asses.
2
Today, I work the register. Calypso Café is one of those places where customers order at the counter and then take their food back to their seats. As far as food items go, we serve sandwiches, three soups of the day, and a multitude of gourmet pastries and coffees, which is what people really come here for.
Randy only stuck around long enough to become irritated by my interaction with Jeremy. I haven’t seen him since then. Four hours later, the lunch and after-work crowds thin out. My eyelids are heavy as I finish wiping down two tables. It’s been a long day. I’m up at five thirty every morning for a seven o’clock class. Lately, I’ve been staying up past midnight, studying and trying out new recipes. I’ve always been a pretty good baker, but I find cooking over the stove more challenging.
I stand tall and bend my back to stretch as I think about the tangy eggplant hash I made in my cooking-methods class. Chef Ballard said my vegetables were cooked perfectly but I might want to pull back on my creative spicing method. The class chuckled, and my heart sank. I do have a tendency to overdo it.
“Hey, Gina,” Pete, the second-shift baker, calls.
I send my tired gaze across the room. Pete is standing at the register in his white baker’s coat.
“Yeah?” I say with a yawn.
“Could you finish up for me? My daughter has a thing tonight.”
Just thinking about abandoning the part of my job where I’m washing tables, taking orders, and making fresh sandwiches on request wakes me up a little.
“Sure, but are you sure Randy’s okay with me helping out?” I only work in the kitchen on days when Randy isn’t here. When I made my famous pastries that are now on the menu, Randy was out for two weeks. The day after I helped in the kitchen and Pete let me experiment with some new recipes, Calypso Café’s Yelp page blew up with five-star reviews. Ever since then, Pete has been a believer in my talents in spite of Randy.
Pete throws his hands up. “I don’t know where he is. I haven’t seen him all day.”
“I think he’s gone,” Sarah says while still thumbing her cell phone from behind the register. “Go on, Gina. It’s dead in here.”
She looks up in time to see me flash her a thumbs-up and prance off to the kitchen. Pete doesn’t hang around for even a minute. He’s left instructions for me to make mint-chocolate muffins and lemon-poppy-seed muffins. It doesn’t take me long to whip up the batter and put the muffins in the oven.
“You’re still here?”
I snap my gaze toward the door. It’s Randy. “Pete asked me to take over. He has a thing tonight.” I pull the tie on my apron. “But I’m supposed to close tonight, so I’ll go out and count the register.”
He walks into the kitchen. “I’ve already done it. Sarah’s gone.”
I check my watch. I’ve been in the kitchen for three hours already. Randy puts on an apron and plastic cap. My eyes gravitate to his broad chest and perfect looks. My best friend, Naomi Sutters, always says he looks like Clark Kent, Superman’s alter ego. I would never admit it to Naomi, but I think he’s way cuter than that. If Randy were to move to Hollywood and become a movie star, he would create a look that’s all his own. All of his facial features are perfectly placed, and he has just the right amount of everything—cheekbones, chin, forehead, nose, and sexy bedroom eyes. I love watching his face whenever we have sex. If only he wasn’t an asshole 99.9 percent of the time.
I raise my arms up to stretch my back. “Well, I’m almost done here, so I’ll load the dishwasher.”
Randy opens a container of flour. “Could you stick around a little longer?”
I tilt my head curiously. “For what?”
“I want to make something for you.”
My heart thumps like racing hooves stomping the earth. That familiar feeling lingers in the air. This is how it always starts between us.
I narrow my eyes to search past the door. “Are we the only ones here?”
He’s measuring flour and then dropping it into the bowl of the electronic mixer. “Yep,” he says without looking at me.
I could choose to say that it will only take twenty minutes or so to clean the kitchen and then I have to go.
I let my instincts guide me, and I walk over to stand beside him. “What are you making?”
He glances at me with a half smile. “It’s a secret.”
“Why are you making secrets for me tonight?”
“Why not?”
“Because earlier in the break room, you weren’t that nice.”
He’s measuring a teaspoon of vanilla. I go to the rack and get the lemon extract. “Use a teaspoon of this too?”
“No.” He adds three eggs.
“Yes.” I pour the lemon extract into the batter.
Suddenly, Randy flips the mixer off and snatches off his plastic cap, and in a flash, I’m in his embrace.
“Why are you so goddamn difficult?”
I take a whiff of his deep breaths, which are crashing against my nostrils. My mind is spinning and discombobulated. Suddenly, Randy lifts me off my feet and sets me on the counter. His strong hand presses upward against my thigh. I shouldn’t. I won’t. My thoughts battle his intractable pull. My mouth falls open, and I breathe, hoping a fresh breath will clear my head and make me raise a hand and tell him to stop. But instead his mouth finds mine. We kiss, and now every last defense is gone.
My hands grip the lower part of his back and pull him closer. He puts space between us to undo my apron and pull my T-shirt over my head. Now that I’m nearly topless, Randy steps back to admire my tits in my bra. I’m glad I wore the flesh-colored lace one today. He blows a hard breath and then tugs the cup from over my breasts and sucks my right nipple deep into his warm, moist mouth, and then he does the same to my left nipple.
I tilt my head and moan. Damn, that feels so good.
“Fuck.” He increases the intensity of his
biting, sucking, and licking.
I can feel the wetness pouring out of my pussy. The desire to repel him slips further away from my grasp.
I undo his pants, becoming the aggressor. Randy is thick, and it always feels so damn good when he slides inside me and thrusts. Now that he’s sprung free, he unzips and snatches my pants off and then my panties and tosses both articles on the counter beside us. His manly hands separate my thighs and then pull my hips up and closer to his cock. I suck warm air between my teeth and let my head fall back as I wait for him to plunge his manhood inside me.
“What have you done to me?” Randy says with his mouth against my ear.
I open my eyes. Randy’s cheek is against mine. My breathing is heavy as my gaze locks onto the industrial-sized mixing bowl against the wall on the opposite side of the room. It’s a steady reminder of where I am and what we’re doing. But why does my heart feel so full?
Randy kisses me indulgently on the cheeks. His tender lips make my insides flutter. The sweet yet manly scent of his skin. His touch. His warmth. My head is spinning. I close my eyes when his lips meet mine. I want to cry, but instead I moan. The deeper we kiss, the farther we journey into unfamiliar territory. He spreads my legs farther and then… I gasp.
He thrusts himself inside me. In and out he shifts, every inch of him stimulating my walls. It’s as if I’ve floated up to the ceiling and am looking down at myself making love. However, I’m staring right into his bedroom eyes. We’re holding each other tightly, each of us breathing heavily on the other’s face.
Randy moans and hugs me tighter, causing our eyes to break contact. I pitch my hips higher so he can journey deeper into me. He starts mumbling something indecipherable. But I’m also losing my marbles as sensations intensify in my pussy. Randy groans louder, and I hold him tighter as his body jerks and spasms.
Her Perfect Man- The Complete Series Box Set Page 49
