Unlike with Theo’s food, where he had to be there and it was so complex that once he left nobody could keep up, we could keep up while Stevie was gone. That didn’t mean that she was useless, far from it, but it was good to know that she hadn’t micromanaged things to the point where they failed without her. That, I now felt, was one of the signs of a true professional and a great chef.
We were doing so well. Our business was booming. It was all back on track and I was feeling optimistic. More than that, I was feeling confident about the days ahead.
The desire to hop into my car and go see Stevie, to tell her how things were going and convince her to come back, was so strong that it felt like there was a rope around my chest, tugging me towards her.
In fact, I turned to head towards the front entrance and—
I saw Brooke.
Oh, God.
We hadn’t even really gotten around to talking about Brooke. Stevie and I, I mean. I’d known that it would come up eventually but when we weren’t even in a proper relationship… I’d just put it off. There were so many other things to deal with, about the restaurant.
But now…
Brooke would never forgive me for sleeping with her best friend. I couldn’t possibly do that to her. Virginia broke our daughter’s trust. I wasn’t going to be the person who broke it a second time.
Things were just better this way. It was all… for the best. Stevie was going off to get a proper career at a better restaurant. I was doing well in my restaurant. It was all fine.
Just… fine.
20
Stevie
I was fucking miserable.
Not because of the pregnancy. I wasn’t far enough along yet to start doing things like wishing I could see my feet or being unable to sleep on my stomach. Although how I was feeling wasn’t helping the situation. I was sure I could handle that all better though if it wasn’t for the other thing: my goddamn job.
Look, I appreciated Dora getting me this job on such short notice and so I tried not to talk to anyone about it or complain. And it was working under a prestigious chef, Robert Macintyre. Everyone oohed and aahed over his restaurants, his dishes, hell he’d been a judge on various cooking competition shows for years. This was a damn good job to have and I knew that a lot of people would chop off my hand if it meant they got to replace me in the kitchen lineup.
But fucking hell, I was so bored and there was no fucking inspiration, no room for personal creativity, and the dishes were - frankly, they were fucking mediocre.
I wasn’t the head chef here. And I know that sounded arrogant. Like I wanted to be in charge. But to be honest, what chef didn’t want to be making their own dishes, or at least be given a little fucking leeway in how they made them? I was just making the same few dishes over and over again. If I’d wanted to do that, I would’ve signed up to be at the Cheesecake Factory or another chain restaurant.
We weren’t using fresh ingredients. Macintyre didn’t care about that. I’d tried, tentatively, to bring it up with him when I first started working at this restaurant a month ago and he’d shot me down faster than you could say ‘shut up’. I wasn’t normally a tentative person, but I’d shut up, because I had a baby to support. Quitting one job and then getting fired from another wouldn’t look good on my resumé, and it wasn’t a risk that I could afford to take anymore.
The whole atmosphere in the kitchen was exhausting and frustrating. Macintyre didn’t care about us, or about making it a fun place to work. He just cared about looking good, maintaining his image as a top chef. I wondered if this was what it was like when Theo was in charge of the kitchen as well, and I cringed.
Of course, if this was how you thought it was no matter what, if you didn’t know a better way, then you’d put up with it. But I knew there could be a better way. A better way to run a kitchen, and to make food, all of it.
I’d experienced that better way, with Michael. He’d let me run the kitchen how I wanted, he’d trusted me with the menu and ingredients. I still couldn’t understand how something that had been going so wonderfully could fail like that. Was I delusional?
The hard work in the kitchen also made my pregnancy more annoying. Or maybe it was the other way around. My feet and my back ached, and I felt like I had to pee all the time. Of course I couldn’t just constantly run out and pee, and it wasn’t like I really had to, but it just felt like it and it was the most frustrating thing. It made me twice as exhausted, and made me irritable, and I didn’t want to be that way to my coworkers who were just trying to get by same as I was.
Through it all, I missed Michael. I’d finally gotten what I’d yearned for, for so long, and it had been better than I’d imagined. He made me feel good - not just sexually, although hell yes he did, but he also told me I was beautiful, told me that I was smart and capable. He listened to me about the kitchen and praised my education and my determination. He made me feel valued, like I could do anything.
I missed that. I missed how handsome he was, how damn sexy he was, sure, but I also missed his smile. I missed the way he made sure to check on the kitchen every night, and how he knew every employee personally, and how he always checked the host stand to see how we were doing on reservations. I missed how much he cared, how he wanted to understand and be a part of all aspects of the restaurant, how passionate he was about all of it.
I tried to put him out of my mind. Michael had treated me wonderfully because that was just the kind of person that he was. It wasn’t because he thought of me as special to him. I was his business partner, albeit briefly, and I was his daughter’s best friend. Of course he would treat me kindly and thoughtfully. And he would treat any of his hook ups the way that he treated me, I just knew it, because he was a gentleman.
None of it meant that I was special to him. None of it meant that he actually had the deep feelings for me that I had for him. I had to accept that, as much as it made my stomach twist and my eyes get hot, and move on.
I was ashamed to admit how much I cried over the course of that first month. Part of it was, I knew, the hormones. But I was pretty sure that I would’ve been crying that much anyway, pregnant or not. I had been so close to my dream that I could taste it. My dream restaurant, my dream menu, my dream job, and my dream man. And then it had all been snatched away from me by that fucking critic and a stupid twist of fate.
Now there was nothing to do but move forward and try to forget.
Brooke kept texting me, trying to find out why I moved away so quickly. I should’ve known that she would be suspicious, that she wouldn’t take my simple explanation at face value. I’d told her that I was quitting because my one-month trial was up with her father and I hadn’t turned his restaurant around the way that I’d promised. Quite the opposite, I’d signed its death warrant. Now I was taking a new opportunity, starting smaller as a sous chef, the way that I should have in the first place. I had to move quickly to take the position before it was given to someone else.
Personally, I thought it was a plausible explanation, but I think that I underestimated just how well Brooke knew me. She knew that I was someone who thought through everything carefully and didn’t make rash decisions. So far her working theory was that I’d broken up with Cameron.
Ugh. Cameron. I’d honestly forgotten about him, and about what I had let Brooke assume about my relationship with him, in all the kerfluffle. Now that was coming back to severely bite me in the ass.
Brooke told me I’d never run out because of a boy before, but that since he was my first real relationship, she understood. She also said that boys were stupid all the time and asked me to come back home. She even said that she’d spoken to him, and that sure as hell gave me a fucking heart attack, but then she told me that Cameron hadn’t said anything about me.
It’s since he thinks that I’m going to run and tell Dad on him. You know how protective he is of the women who work for him. He’s very strict about dating and all that. And he’s extra protective of you.
That text was like a stab to the lung, taking all the breath out of me in the most painful way possible. It was stupid false hope, to think that Michael might be extra protective of me because of romantic reasons. It was really just because he knew me best, and probably remembered me from when I was a kid. That was all I would ever be to him - a stupid kid.
I replied, of course, just telling her that I’d wanted a change and that everything was fine, and no, my heart wasn’t broken or anything. That last part was a lie but the last thing I wanted was Brooke thinking I’d been bawling my eyes out over an idiot like Cameron. The guy was handsome and could be charming but he was an outrageous flirt who didn’t appreciate professional boundaries and spent more time schmoozing than doing his job. No, thanks. Not for me. I preferred people with depth.
Brooke seemed to accept my answer, but I knew that it was only a matter of time until she stepped up her interrogation, and what was I supposed to do then?
Tuesday was my day off, and I savored it, trying to ignore the calendar. It had been exactly a month and a day since I’d moved to Sacramento. I had stayed with Dora for the first two weeks while I’d searched for a place, and then gotten my own little studio apartment. It wasn’t much, and I had yet to find the time to really decorate, but it was home.
And it did have one lovely thing about it.
I had done my research the moment I’d gotten to Dora’s and could take a few hours to look up pregnancy. Normally I would’ve asked my mother but I hadn’t been able to find a way to tell my parents about the whole baby thing just yet. I figured I’d give myself another month to figure it out and had been quietly pushing back my panic attack over that ever since.
After my research, I had known that there was one thing I definitely needed in my apartment, and that was a gigantic tub to soak in. And dammit, I’d gotten it.
I drew a warm bath, warm as I could stand, and then climbed in. Oh, God, it felt so fucking good for my aching muscles. The baby was barely developing and already my body was acting like I had to carry ten gallons of cement on my shoulders. I couldn’t even imagine how crazy it would be in the ninth month.
Lying in the water, I looked down at my stomach. I could see that it was starting to swell slightly—not much, but enough that you noticed it if you cared to look for long enough. My breasts were fuller, too, and a hell of a lot more tender. I was convinced that if I, or if someone, if Michael…touched them in the right way for long enough, I would actually orgasm just from my breasts alone.
He would get a kick out of that. I just knew that he would. He’d have me squirming and begging as he pinched and toyed with them, flicking his tongue over my nipples, shaking his head playfully when I pleaded with him to fuck me properly. Not until you come for me, baby, he’d say.
Almost without realizing it, my hand slid down my body through the warm water.
I didn’t feel very beautiful at the moment, since I felt like shit basically all the time. And having tender breasts like this wasn’t exactly fun. Every day when I took off my bra I felt the biggest sense of relief.
But Michael had always been good about making me feel beautiful. Making me feel desired. If he was here, all of my annoyances with my body would go away, I just knew it. I’d feel beautiful again.
I kept moving my fingers along my body, trailing them up and down, trying to tease the way that Michael would. He was good at that, at making me desperate, at making me beg for him. It was like I was an instrument, and he was trying to play me.
What if he was here in the bath with me? What if he joined me in the shower… I wouldn’t be in the tub part, that wouldn’t be big enough for both of us, but standing together under the spray, the hot water sliding down our bodies… getting all soapy and slippery together, letting him push my hair out of the way to kiss down my neck…
I started to stroke myself with my fingers, my other hand tugging at my hair the way that I imagined Michael would. He’d turn me around and have me brace my hands against the tiled walls, kissing my neck as he dragged his hard, thick cock against my ass.
As I imagined him sliding his fingers into me from behind, I did the same with my own. It wasn’t exactly a match - my fingers were so much smaller, so much thinner than his. They couldn’t fill me up the way that his did, couldn’t stretch me the same way. But I made do.
Michael would take his time, work me open nice and slow, tugging at my hair and kissing all over my back, my shoulders, my neck, so I tried to do the same with myself, imitating the way that he would touch me. Making it feel more real.
At last, right when I was begging, right as I thought I was about to lose my mind, he would slide into me.
God, I wish I’d brought my dildo into the tub with me so that I could at least pretend it was his cock. He was so thick and hard inside of me, it always made me feel like I was right on the edge of too much. It was delicious.
I could practically hear his voice in my ear, telling me to ask nicely for him to start fucking me. I would hold out, of course, because I was stubborn, but eventually I would give in. I’d beg him, and then…Oh – then ---
21
Michael
I could so easily imagine it, fucking Stevie in the shower.
I was taking a shower myself, and missing her, and one thing just… led to another.
Fuck, she’d be perfect, the water sliding down her generous curves, her dark hair made black by the water. I’d brace her against the tile and tease her, get her worked up, until she begged and then—then I’d fuck her properly.
She’d have to beg me first. I could see it in my mind’s eye, my hand a poor substitute for her soft, hot cunt, as Stevie pleaded with me to please, please fuck her properly.
Then I’d finally give in and thrust into her over and over, my hand working her clit, rubbing, sending her ever-higher. I’d want to feel her coming around me, I’d want to use her orgasm to fuel mine… I could practically hear her moans and gasps in my ear. I’d bite down on her neck, suck, make a little bruise there. She could cover it up with makeup if she wanted or try to hide it in the collar of her chef’s jacket, but I would know it was there. I’d know that she was mine, that I’d marked her up like this. Nobody else.
I came with a low grunt, imagining that I was coming inside of Stevie instead, her slick pussy milking my cock for all it was worth as she came too.
I stood there in the shower, letting the water wash away the evidence of my dirty thoughts. God, it felt so wrong to be thinking of Stevie like this, when she’d made it clear that she wanted to be gone and away from me, when I’d screwed it all up this badly.
But at the same time, it felt right. Even just fantasizing about her as I touched myself felt more right than actually having sex with someone else. Even with Virginia. Sure, being with Virginia at the time had felt good, and I’d loved her, but I had never been swept away like this. The temptation to track Stevie down and apologize, and then fuck her senseless, was so strong it was like a physical ache to ignore it.
But I had to. I had to do what was right for Stevie, and clearly what was right for her was not being around me. I just wished that I could’ve apologized to her properly before she’d left.
I couldn’t help but think that if she’d just stayed a few days longer, she would’ve seen business starting to pick up again. She would’ve seen how things were okay. Maybe then - maybe then, she would’ve stayed.
There was no use beating myself up over what might have been, though. I’d done enough of that with Virginia and Theo and I couldn’t let myself do it again with Stevie. No matter how badly I was tempted to go after her, I had to respect her wishes. Especially when she had never done anything but treat me decently, unlike Virginia and Theo and their selfish, backstabbing behavior.
I reluctantly got out of the shower and got ready to head into the restaurant. I hadn’t realized just how much Stevie had invigorated me, how eager I had been to get to the restaurant while she was working there, until she was gone. Anothe
r classic example of my own idiocy, of not realizing how good I had it until the good thing was taken away from me.
One month, one month without Stevie and I was reduced to this. She’d really done a number on me. Dammit, why had I been a fool and not realized how much I cared for her? Why hadn’t I done more to give her a reason to stay?
I had to practically drag myself to the restaurant. Not that I disliked being there, exactly, it was just that it felt so lifeless without Stevie there. But when I got in—for a wild second I forgot about Stevie, because Brooke was in, well, the kind of tizzy she hadn’t been in since Virginia had packed her bags.
“Dad!” She grabbed my arm the second that I stepped in the door, dragging me through to my office. I shot a look at one of our hostesses, who shrugged as if to say your guess is as good as mine.
I hoped that everything was okay. “Brooke, honey, what—”
Brooke shoved open the door to my office and to the computer, where she had a video of some kind up and ready to go. “I can’t believe them, I can’t believe either of them!” she said, her voice cracking.
Uh oh. I was starting to figure out what this might be about.
Brooke hit play on the video and I realized within seconds that it was Theo’s new show—the first episode.
I sat down, watching as the show opened with a montage of Theo doing various cooking things, and walking all over different places, like watching fishermen pull up the day’s catch or hiking up a mountainside. All the while, a faux-deep voiceover played where Theo talked about who he was and his mission.
“I’m the type of guy who doesn’t settle for mediocre,” the voiceover said. “That’s why I make sure I only work with the best of the best, and I’m ready to go the distance for it.”
Best Friend’s Daddy Page 15
