“Simple, comfort food, done right, will get you farther than overly complicated dishes that aren’t made the right way. People can tell when you don’t know what you’re doing. And maybe those dishes worked for Theo. Maybe that’s just how he naturally is in his tastes and so doing stuff like that isn’t a big deal to him, it works for him, but that’s not how it works for me and I guarantee you that if they were really honest and took a good look at themselves, that’s not how it worked for all of the head chefs you’ve been hiring since Theo left.
“Well made food is what will bring people in here. Not elaborate, complicated food. Sure it might get them in the door to start, just to see what the hell it’s all about, but it won’t keep them coming back. And I’d argue that simple food is harder to make well than complicated food with a shit ton of ingredients. If you just give me a chance, I know that I can show you that customers will respond favorably to the changes.”
Michael looked at me for a moment, his mouth twisted up into an amused smile. Then he shook his head and turned to grab another bite of the hazelnut and pecan pie. I infused it with bourbon, and it was a recipe that I developed while in school - it was always a huge hit, I’d bring it to every party and it would always be gone in minutes.
“I suppose I have to give it a shot, don’t I?” he said, and I realized with a shock that he was teasing me, his voice low and rumbling in his chest. I shivered, wanting him to tease me more, to use that voice as he peeled my clothes off. “Since I can’t seem to pull myself away from it.”
“I’m so glad you’ve seen the light,” I replied, teasing him right back.
Michael finished his bite of pie and chuckled. “You’re damn cocky enough to be a chef, that’s for certain.”
“Hey, nobody gets by in this industry by being humble.”
“I’ll make you humble with some humble pie,” Michael replied, scooping up another bite with his fork and holding it out to me.
I dodged the bite, laughing in surprise at his playfulness. “Oh, no you don’t.”
Michael kept trying, advancing on me, backing me into the table as I laughed and twisted, trying to avoid it.
“A chef who won’t taste her own food?” Michael asked, that teasing growl still in his voice. He wrapped his arm around my waist, dragging me up against his body, and I whimpered.
That gave him the opening he needed and he popped the bite of pie into my mouth.
“Maybe it’s poisoned,” I managed around the mouthful.
We were still pressed together, and oh God, his body was firm and broad and unyielding. I wanted to spread my legs and beg him, I wanted to rip his clothes off, I wanted…
Michael’s gaze darted down to my lips as I chewed and swallowed, his eyes wide and dark. His gaze didn’t leave, even as the seconds dragged on and I finished my bite.
Dammit, I knew it was probably wrong and it was definitely a huge risk but I couldn’t help myself. I had to try. I’d wanted to kiss Michael since I understood what French kissing was, for fuck’s sake. This was my chance.
I licked my lips, nice and slow so that he was sure to see, then got up onto my tiptoes and brushed my lips against his. I slid my hands up his arms to his shoulders for balance, squeezing slightly, shivering as his arm tightened around my waist.
Michael was as still as a statue, unmoving.
Fuck, I had gone this far. Might as well.
I pressed my lips to his.
For a second, it really was like kissing a statue, as Michael stood frozen—but then, then he groaned and tilted his head as his free hand came up to tangle in my hair and take control of the kiss and oh, oh, yes.
It was all I’d ever thought it would be. No, it was even more than that. Nothing I imagined could live up to the reality of Michael kissing me hard and hot, possessive, his tongue sliding in and out of my mouth and flicking against my lip like he owned me, like he wanted to make sure I never wanted to kiss anyone else as long as I lived.
He kissed me, no, devoured me, until my knees buckled and I was whimpering helplessly against his lips, holding onto his shoulders for dear life. I was so wet, I was squirming with it, and Michael shoved his thigh between my legs. I started rolling my hips and gasped as sparks danced up my spine.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Michael growled, his teeth scraping over my jaw as he tugged on my hair to tilt my head back, exposing my neck to his mouth. “Fucking yourself on my thigh, so wet already. Such a dirty, naughty little girl.”
“Ju-just for you,” I promised, my hips thrusting frantically to chase my high as Michael stepped forward, making me stumble back a bit. His mouth was sucking at my neck, his stubble scraping against my soft skin and I thought I might actually orgasm on the spot.
I grabbed his hand and shoved it up my skirt, his fingers brushing against my underwear, feeling how slick I was, how much I wanted him—
Michael jerked back like he’d been burned and I nearly fell to the ground.
His hands moved to my hips, steadying me, both of us breathing hard.
Michael shook his head. “That - no. This shouldn’t - Stevie this can’t happen. That shouldn’t have happened.”
“What?” I felt dizzy, like I’d gone through whiplash. One moment he was talking dirty to me and getting me off against his thigh and kissing down my neck, the next he was stepping away and saying we shouldn’t be doing this? What the fuck?
Michael shook his head. “That was - I’m sorry. That was unprofessional. I’ll…”
He let go of my hips and took a proper step back. “Go ahead and change the menu. You’ve proven your point. And I’ll…see you tonight.”
He gave me a curt nod and then turned on his heel, striding out the front door.
I sank back against the table.
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
Okay, okay, okay, sure. He was worried about being unprofessional. I could get that. Understandable. But I wasn’t going to let that stop me. I wasn’t going to let anything stop me. I’d just have to be patient and persistent.
Step one was complete as far as the restaurant went, anyway. I was going to get to change the menu, and I had to get started right away. That should distract me today and keep me from thinking too hard about the kiss.
The mind blowing, heart-stopping, panty-wetting kiss.
Once I got this menu changed and everyone saw how good the food was, customers would come back. They’d fill the restaurant again.
I just needed to follow my plan, my carefully thought-out plan. I’d done it all for a reason, and if I just stuck to my guns, I’d get exactly what I wanted and I’d show Michael that I was perfect for him, in both the kitchen and the bedroom.
7
Michael
I took a nap when I got home—I stayed so late at the restaurant Friday and Saturday nights and we were closed in the morning so I usually slept in until noon. Getting up early to get down there for Stevie was unusual, and after our kiss…
Fucking hell.
I’d nearly fucked her right there on the table. The way she was writhing on my thigh like she was seconds away from coming, her neck arching for my mouth, the adorable desperate mewling noises she was making… how she’d shivered when I’d dirty talked her…
No. No, she was my employee, and I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t believe I’d let myself let it get that far. It was wrong on so many levels. I never should have kissed her.
And yet, when I lay down for my nap, I found that I dreamed of her.
I couldn’t remember how we got there, the way it is with dreams, how you start in the middle - but we were in a meadow. It was warm and sunny, and I felt content. Stevie’s hand was in mine and she was tugging on it, laughing, leading me somewhere.
We fell into the grass, warm and soft grass, far softer and warmer than in real life. Or maybe the grass rose up to meet us. I couldn’t be sure, in dreams. I pushed myself down on top of her, spreading her legs, and kissed her over and over until she was begging me to fuck her.
Please, please I’ll be so good for you, Michael, Michael, please touch me, please…
It was intoxicating. She was shivering with need, and I slowly peeled the clothes off her body, taking my time, kissing every inch of her. I rubbed my thumb against her folds, finding her so wet she was practically dripping. Fuck, yes.
Only when she was sobbing and chanting for me, unable to even speak properly, did I line myself up. I was just getting ready to sink into her properly, to fuck her until she screamed, until she couldn’t walk…
When I woke up to my alarm.
Oh for fuck’s sake!
My cock was throbbing with need, leaking, and all it took was a quick pull or two from my hand to have me coming hard. I could barely even see straight.
I hadn’t had a sex dream like that in… fucking hell, in years. Since before Virginia and I split. I sometimes had vague moments in dreams where I would be with someone, and I’d wake up hard just because I’m a damn man and it’s what we do, but nothing like that. Not anything so much as near that.
I wished more than anything that the dream was a reality, as stupid as it was.
But it couldn’t be a reality. I’d already crossed too many lines. Stevie had to stay a fantasy, and nothing more.
I got up and went down into the kitchen, making myself some coffee.
Brooke, who always slept in until at least noon on Saturdays, breezed in. “Hey, Dad.” She kissed me on the cheek.
I grunted in response.
“Paging Mr. Grumpypants,” Brooke said, grabbing a mug for coffee and holding it out. I poured her some. “What’s got you in such a bad mood?”
Her tone was playful, but I caught the worry underneath. She liked to keep things light as much as she could but I knew that she worried for me.
I shrugged. “Nothing really, just one of those mornings.”
Brooke reached into the fridge and pulled out some fruit, passing it to me. “You need to eat something other than coffee.”
“I thought I was the parent here?” I replied.
Brooke popped a grape into her mouth as if to say see?
I sighed and accepted the fruit. Virginia used to be the one to make breakfast in the morning. She wasn’t a professional chef but she loved cooking. Our whole family had been about cooking. When Theo had come over and he and I would cook in tandem… I’d always thought I was so damn lucky to have such a great best friend, a son almost, and then my wife and my daughter…
I’d thought I had it all.
Virginia hadn’t been one for cooking lunch or dinner type meals, but she’d loved making breakfast food. Pancakes of all kinds, waffles, cinnamon rolls, omelets, eggs any way you wanted them… huevos rancheros and biscuits and gravy… if someone ate it for breakfast somewhere in the world, she would make it. She even made breakfast pizza sometimes.
Since she left three years ago, the only hot meals I got were at the restaurant. I hadn’t touched anything in our kitchen. Brooke tended to just use the microwave. She was never a big one for cooking, although she loved to eat.
The thought came before I could stop it - what about Stevie? What if I woke up from a sex dream like that not alone in my bed but with her curled up in my arms?
Waking her up with my fingers between her legs and driving her wild before sliding into her from behind, fucking her roughly, my hand wrapped around her throat as she buried her face and those noises of hers into the pillow. Then going downstairs…
I bet she made a mean breakfast.
No matter how hard I tried - no pun intended - Stevie stayed on my mind all through the day. When I finally got to the restaurant I found myself praying it was busy not for financial reasons but because I needed a damn distraction from her. I needed an excuse to stay away from her or I was worried I’d do something stupid like bend her over a table and fuck her, not caring who was around, just wanting to make her scream and moan.
I didn’t have a whole lot of hope that I’d actually have a busy restaurant to walk into. The weekends were a busy time for any restaurant, and they were still better than our weekdays, but the traffic had slowed down significantly. I stopped at the host stand to check our log books on OpenTable and…
Hey.
We actually had a few reservations. Not many, but it was better than having none, which was how we’d been looking lately. That was… that was good. Word must have gotten around from last night. News traveled fast in this city, just like any other.
Maybe things were looking up - and if they were, then I knew who I had to thank. Stevie.
It was probably stupid, but hey, maybe she really could change things around. She was determined enough for it, anyway.
My plan to stay away from her evaporated and I strode back to the kitchen, eager to see her again. I had to, like an itch I couldn’t scratch, deep in me down to my bones. I knew this was nothing short of dangerous. I was attracted to her more than I’d been attracted to anyone in so long, I could hardly stand it. It was like my body was on fire and I had to let it burn, couldn’t put it out.
As I got into the kitchen, I halted, lightning striking my chest, a growl bubbling out of my throat.
Cameron, Mr. Charismatic himself, was standing on the line, his arm around Stevie’s shoulders as he motioned towards the grill, saying something in a voice low enough that I couldn’t pick it up across the space.
Stevie started to laugh in response to whatever he was saying, and Cameron grinned in triumph. He leaned in a little closer and said something else.
I might not have been able to tell what he was saying, but his body language spoke fucking volumes. He was flirting with her.
I couldn’t even begin to process the feeling at first, it was so strong and so unexpected. I hadn’t been like this in three years, hadn’t felt like this in three years, not since I found Theo fucking my wife.
Jealousy.
8
Stevie
Cameron was… one of those guys who thought he had it all. Who thought that everyone wanted him and all he had to do was say a few smooth words and they’d be his.
If he thought that I didn’t know what he was doing, or that I liked it, he was going to have another thing coming.
He put his arm around me as I was trying to get the steaks ready for the night, telling me that Theo had told him that the perfect grill temperature for a steak is 480 degrees.
Right. Yeah. Thank you. I’m the head chef and I went through culinary school but I definitely need a server to tell me how to cook a steak.
Ugh.
“I’m way hotter than that,” Cameron said. “I could cook a steak just by touching it.”
Okay, that was such an awful pun it was actually kind of funny. I laughed, and then—Cameron leaned in.
“I feel like we got off on the wrong foot,” he told me, his voice warm. “How about I make it up to you? Take you out for drinks, we can get to know each other… see what else we can learn about each other…”
Oh for fuck’s sake.
I was just about to get his arm off me and tell him I was his damn boss and no fucking way, when I felt another presence coming towards us.
Growing up, I loved watching those nature documentaries about lions and other big cats. And sometimes, one random lion would try to make a move on a lioness that was in another pride.
The way the male lion would stalk towards his rival was exactly what I sensed in Michael now as I turned and saw him striding towards us. Holy shit. I swear my knees nearly buckled.
“What are you doing on the line?” Michael barked, looking at Cameron like Cameron was spitting on the steak. “You’re supposed to be working the front of the house. I don’t want to see you lounging around and I especially don’t want to see you trying out your worn, corny pickup lines on my kitchen workers.”
Cameron’s eyes went wide and I doubted Michael had gotten that firm with him before. But he nodded, letting go of me and scurrying out of the kitchen like his ass was on fire.
Tha
t was extremely hot. I couldn’t help but be surprised at the anger in Michael’s voice, though, as pleased as I was that he seemed to be jealous. Earlier he said that it was a mistake for us to kiss and then he all but ran. Could he be changing his mind so quickly?
I hoped so. I turned away to hide my smile. If he was jealous, then our little make-out session had more of an effect on him than he wanted to admit.
Which meant I could take the calculated risk of making another move.
Michael nodded at me gruffly, and then went back to his office. I focused on cooking my heart out. We had the new menu tonight and I had to make sure that everything was perfect, not a single mistake, so that people would be open to the changes and accept the new vibe of the restaurant.
The whole time, though, my mind kept trying to wander back to Michael. Back to the idea of making a move.
Was I really bold enough to do it? Could I?
Back in high school, I’d tried a few things to get Michael’s attention behind Brooke’s back. I had thought, at the time, that I was being very sexy and clever and sophisticated. Of course looking back I now knew that I had been a silly teenager and probably either horribly obvious or just coming across as weird. If Michael had noticed at all. He’d been so distracted by Virginia leaving him, and the fate of the restaurant, I wasn’t sure that he would’ve noticed if a parade of elephants had come through his house.
But Lord, that hadn’t stopped me from trying. I’d worn my skimpiest outfits, outfits I had to change into once I got to Brooke’s or at school, away from my parents who would’ve killed me for dressing that way. There was nothing wrong with how I dressed, it was just far too mature for a seventeen-year-old.
That wasn’t all, though. I was constantly dropping things and bending over, my ass in the air, to get his attention. I’d purposefully spill things like caramel sauce on my chest while Michael taught me how to make dessert. Once, at the Christmas party my parents had hosted, I’d mimed doing a blow job on a candy cane for a full half an hour, hoping that Michael would notice.
Best Friend’s Daddy Page 5
