by Rye Hart
The card read: Charlie Prescott, Executive Vice President, Jenner Investment Group, Denver, Colorado.
I held up the card. “Who’s this and why should I care?”
“This guy came into the club last night with Tyler Jenner.” She paused for my reaction. I didn’t have a clue who she was talking about, so she held up her hands and swirled them in the air. “Tyler Jenner? Billionaire mountain man? Lots of muscles, long beard, shit loads of money? Just built that huge fucking log cabin on the side of the mountain west of town?”
“Okay, so?”
“Jesus girl, you’ve got to get out from under your rock,” she said, huffing at me. “Charlie Prescott is Tyler Jenner’s right hand man. They were both in the club last night and I heard them talking about staffing up the house he just built.”
I bit into my lip to keep from smiling at her. I swirled my hands in the air to match hers. “So, you were eavesdropping on them as you served them drinks?”
She made a funny face. “Do you wanna hear this or not?”
I hid my smile behind my coffee cup and gave her a nod.
“Anyway, I heard this Charlie guy say that they needed to find a local chef to work at the house or they would have to fly somebody in from Denver.”
“A chef?” I said, leaning in as if the word was drawing me across the table.
Jackie gave me a satisfied smile. “I happened to mention that my best friend and cousin Mags was a local chef who had gone to culinary school in Denver and might be interested in the gig.”
I felt my heart sink. “Jacks, I went to school for six months. I barely got past boiling water.” I sat back in the chair and felt the fleeting moment of hope fly away.
Jackie narrowed her dark eyes at me. “You can grill a steak and bake a potato, can’t you?”
“Of course.”
“That’s probably all this mountain man eats,” she said. “Look, you can follow directions in a cookbook, can’t you?”
“Yes.”
She gave me a satisfied smile. “Good, because you have an interview this morning at eleven.”
My mouth literally dropped open and my eyes blinked like a slot machine. “What? Are you serious? I can’t interview for a job like that. Oh, shit, Jackie, what have you done?”
“I’ve gotten you the interview that could change your life,” she said seriously. “All you have to do is say ‘yes’ when he asks if you can cook something.” She smirked at me. “Trust me, if he ain’t impressed with your cooking, he’ll be knocked out by your boobs. Wear something tight. I’ll pick it out for you.”
“I’m not going to do that,” I said, giving her a scolding look. “If I can’t get the job on my cooking skills…”
“You’ll do fine, Mags,” she said. “Just be yourself. Everybody loves you. All you have to do is get the job, then you can figure out how to do it.”
“I don’t know, Jacks,” I stared at the business card in my hand.
Jackie reached across the table and put a hand on my arm. “Mags, people like us don’t get too many chances at grabbing the brass ring. This is your chance. You can do this. I know you can.”
I smiled at her. Jackie was always my biggest cheerleader.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll go.”
“Good,” she said, squeezing my arm. “And Mags?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t fuck this up.”
CHAPTER TWO: TYLER JENNER
I always meditated for thirty minutes in the morning, no matter where I was or what I was doing. It was my way of reconnecting with a higher sense of my internal self and realigning my psyche with the nature and the cosmos. It was like fucking oxygen for me.
I would find a quiet place where I could strip off all my clothes and be stark-naked and alone, then spend the next thirty minutes just breathing and thinking of absolutely nothing.
It was hard to clear my mind sometimes. Especially now that my outdoor sporting goods company had shot into the stratosphere and made me a billionaire at age thirty-five.
Shit, I just wanted to sell hunting and camping equipment like my dad did out of his little shop in Denver before he died. Now, Jenner Outdoor has become one of the largest conglomerates in the world.
Jenner Investment Group, the parent company, not only had major holdings in retail, but also in tourism, real estate, hotels, travel, communications, and technology.
I didn’t understand half the shit we did anymore.
I just let my right-hand man Charlie Prescott handle the business side of things so the money would keep flowing into my bank account and I could hang out in the woods doing what I loved; hunting, trapping, fishing, traveling, and fucking – and not necessarily in that order.
I stood on the balcony off of the master bedroom of the log cabin that I had built on the side of a mountain overlooking the tiny town of Mountain View, Colorado. I spread my legs and stretched my arms toward the clear blue morning sky. I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly as I brought my arms down in an arc to my sides, then inhaled deeply as my arms swept up again.
It was fucking freezing outside, but that was all part of the process. I meditated outdoors as much as possible to be close to Mother Nature. I longed to become one with nature and the cosmos, and the best way to do that was to meditate outside.
Standing there on my balcony at 5,000 feet above sea level, I didn’t think anyone from below could see me, not that it mattered. I ran around naked most of the time when I was home. I wasn’t a nudist, per se. I just felt that clothing was a way of hiding one’s true self. With me, what you see is what you get. So if you’re afraid of knocking on my door and being greeted by Mr. Cock & Balls, don’t come a’knocking.
So, here I am out on the balcony, as naked as the day I was born, breathing in and out and swaying my arms. My nipples were hard as diamonds and my balls had literally crept up inside my body to stay warm.
My poor cock had drawn up like an accordion and I was counting down the seconds in my head. Thirty minutes is eighteen-hundred seconds. I counted backward as I meditated. I was at three… two… one.
I let my arms fall to my sides and blew out a final deep breath, clouding the air in front of my face, then hurried back inside. I closed the patio doors behind me and paused at the foot of the bed to stare at the naked woman who was sleeping there.
She was a redhead, with big tits and a shaved pussy. I could tell she was a natural redhead by the day-old stubble on her cunt. There was a butterfly tattoo on her right hip. I couldn’t remember her name, but I vividly remembered everything we had done. Tanya maybe. Or Tammy. Did it really matter? I had picked her up at the strip club last night and brought her home to christen the new house. And we had christened from every possible position.
I found my phone on the dresser and carried it with me into the bathroom. I turned on the shower to let the room steam up. I pressed Charlie’s number. I could hear his phone ringing in the bedroom across the hall. He answered on the third ring, as usual. I could tell by his voice that I had woken him up.
“What?” he asked. He still sounded drunk from the night before. “What time is it?”
“It’s eight in the morning and there’s a woman in my bed,” I said as I checked my reflection in the mirror. I turned my back to the mirror and looked over my shoulder. There were scratch marks trailing down my shoulder blades. Ah, Miss Redhead had claws.
“So, what do you want me to do about it?”
“I want you to get out of bed and make sure she gets home alright. You know how much of a dick I am with mornings after.”
“Fuck you, you asshole,” Charlie said. “Why is it I always get charged with sending them packing? Don’t forget, dick head, you’re interviewing that chef this morning.”
“I won’t forget,” I said, reaching in to adjust the water. “I’m going to take a shower. I’d like for the woman in my bed to be gone by the time I get out.”
“Yes, your highness,” Charlie said. “Shall I send a slave in to wa
sh the royal dick for you, sir?”
I grinned as I reached down and tugged my cock back to life. It was still cold, but filled quickly with warm blood as it grew in my hand.
“No, I can handle that on my own. Just take out the trash please.”
“Yes, Mr. Jenner, sir. Have I failed to mention what royal asshole you are?”
I grinned as I tossed the phone on the counter and stepped into the steaming shower to wash the stain of the previous night away.
CHAPTER THREE: MAGGIE
I could barely believe my eyes as my decrepit Honda Civic finally reached the driveway to Tyler Jenner’s ‘little log cabin’, as Jackie had called it. This little log cabin looked more like a resort lodge that had been built into the side of the mountain.
It was humongous, built from large logs that had been perfectly rounded and milled to a high sheen. The front of the cabin that looked out over the town of Mountain View was shaped like the letter A and made entirely of glass. Wherever you were standing on that side of the house, you had a magnificent view of the valley and town below.
There were several Hummers parked in front of the cabin, all dark green, with the white Jenner Outdoors logo on the side. I parked my shitty little Honda next to them and shut off the engine. I was freezing without the heat blowing, but I took a moment to check my reflection in the rearview mirror.
Because I didn’t have time and money to spare, I kept my blond hair cut short and didn’t wear much makeup. Chap Stick was my only luxury because the cold mountain air wreaked havoc on my lips.
I was wearing a pair of jeans and a heavy sweater that hugged my neck. Over that I wore a parka and a wool cap over my head and a scarf wrapped around my nose and mouth. I tugged the scarf down and checked my teeth in the mirror.
Good thing I’m not being interviewed for my looks, I thought with a sigh. It was no wonder I was still a virgin. I spent most of my life bundled in parkas or wearing an oversized chef’s jacket. A man would have to unwrap me like an artichoke to have sex with me. And I doubted that I’d be worth his while. There were too many other girls in Mountain View that wore far less and would do far more. Like my cousin, Jackie, whose favorite saying was, “You gotta use what the good Lord gave you.”
And use it, she did. I lived vicariously through Jackie. I’d learned more about sex from just listening to her exploits than an entire year in high school health class. And Mrs. Edgar, our 70-year old health teacher, did not offer descriptive advice like “cup his balls” and “swizzle the head” and “practice your gag reflex.” I may have never had my cherry popped but it wasn’t because I was against sex before marriage. I just never found the right guy. I guess I never really had the time to. Most of my adult life was spent worrying over or taking care of my mom, who came in and out of cancer. She was the most important thing in my life and it left little room to fill my mind with extracurricular activities. I didn’t mind it. I at least had Jackie’s wild sex stories to keep me entertained.
I got out of the car and hunched my shoulders against the freezing wind. I felt small as I looked up at the massive log structure before me. This was no log cabin, this was a log mansion.
I rang the front door bell and shoved my hands into my pockets to wait for someone to answer. I stood there with my shoulders hunched against the wind and my nose hidden behind the scarf. I was about to ring the bell again when door finally opened and there stood the most magnificent specimen of the male species I’d ever seen. I recognized him from the Google search I’d done before coming for the interview.
I was taken back all the bare skin on display. Standing before me, wearing nothing but a smile and a small bath towel around his waist, stood Tyler Jenner; bearded mountain man, retail billionaire, scandalous playboy, and hopefully the man who would turn my life around.
I swallowed the lump that was in my throat and forced a timid smile. “Mr. Jenner? I’m Maggie Dean. I’m here to interview for the chef’s job.”
“Awesome,” he said with a big smile. “I’m starving, so you’re right on time.”
* * *
I couldn’t keep my eyes off Tyler Jenner’s ass as he guided me through the massive house toward the kitchen. He was pointing out the game room and the media room and the living room and telling me about this animal head on the wall and that one.
All I could focus on was his broad, muscled back, and the little towel that barely covered his ass cheeks, like the miniskirts Jackie wore to work sometimes that were cut too short on purpose so the customers could see the bottom of her ass.
As much as I enjoyed the view, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was being pranked. I had to hide my school girl grin behind my scarf.
“And this is the kitchen,” Tyler said, holding out his hands to present the most amazing kitchen I’d ever seen. Holy mother! It literally looked like something from a magazine and it was bigger than my entire house. There were two commercial-grade refrigerators, two commercial ovens, and two six-burner gas stove tops. The countertops were expensive granite and the floor was Italian marble. A large island bar with a concrete counter top separated the kitchen from the living room, and on it was a coffee machine that cost more than my car. It was all very rustic, very manly, and very expensive.
“Take off your jacket and have a seat at the bar,” Tyler said with a smile. “I’ll get us a cup of coffee and we can talk.”
“Great, thank you,” I said, trying to keep my eyes from the bulge that was pressing against the front of his towel. I swear, if the towel was half an inch shorter I would have been able to see his balls dangling between his legs.
I took off the parka and unwrapped the scarf from around my head. I slid onto a stool and blew warm air into my hands as I watched him fiddle with the coffee maker.
I couldn’t help but be mesmerized by his presence. He seemed larger than life, like a guy you’d see in a magazine ad or on a TV show about surviving in the wilderness.
I’d never seen a man so handsome with so much facial hair. His dark hair was cut short on the sides and left longer on top. His moustache was trimmed neatly above his mouth, but the corners were long and blended in with the whiskers on his cheeks and chin. The beard was dark and luxuriously-thick.
My eyes drifted across his thick chest to his nipples, which were dark and hard like little thimbles. My eyes drifted lower, following the little trail of dark hair down his abs and across his belly button. I could see just a hint of black pubic curls peeping at me from the top of the towel.
“So, tell me about yourself, Maggie Dean,” Tyler said as he measured out coffee beans and scooped them into the top of the coffee maker. “Your cousin said you were a chef at a local restaurant?”
“Yes, I work at Robert’s Steakhouse on West and Main.” I didn’t mention that I was just a chef-in-training because he probably would have laughed me out of the house. I tried to ply him with other details hoping he wouldn’t dig too deeply in to my background. “It’s a family-run restaurant, Carl and Doris Roberts are the owners. It’s been there like thirty years. The best steaks in town. Do you know it?”
“I know of it,” he said. “But I don’t think I’ve ever eaten there.”
“You should. The food is really good.”
“I’m sure it is,” he said. He pressed a button and the coffee maker started grinding the beans. He looked at me and smiled. “This shouldn’t take long. Honestly, I miss the good old days when all you had to do was dump in a spoon of coffee into a cup of hot water.”
He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. He stretched out his long legs and smiled at me. I tried to focus on his eyes and not the bulge that seemed to be getting bigger behind the towel.
“Your cousin said you had taken culinary classes in Denver,” he said. “That’s my home town, you know.”
“I do, yes,” I said, licking my chapped lips. “I was taking classes at the Culinary Institute on Grand Avenue. Then my mom passed away and I had to move back home to look aft
er my brothers.”
“How many brothers do you have?” he asked.
I was a little taken aback by his ability to carry on a casual conversation while wearing a loincloth that was starting to protrude from his body. Oh my God, was this guy getting a boner?
“Two younger brothers,” I managed to say, trying desperately to keep my eyes from wandering south. “Jimmy and Robbie. Fifteen and seventeen. I’m their legal guardian.”
“Teenage boys can be tough,” he said, shaking his head. He turned toward the coffee maker and pulled two cups down from the cupboard. He filled them both to the rim and brought them to the island.
“Cream or sugar?” he asked as he reached across to set my cup in front of me.
“No, black is fine,” I said, inhaling his scent along with the coffee’s. He smelled like soap and pine. I picked up the cup and warmed my fingers around it. I blew a cooling breath into the steaming liquid, then took a careful sip. It tasted amazing! So this is what real coffee tastes like.
“It must be hard,” he said. “Raising two teenagers all by yourself.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “You can’t be too much older than them.”
“I’m twenty-four,” I said. I felt my cheeks flush. Jesus, I was blushing like a silly schoolgirl. “And yes, it’s hard sometimes, and they hate me most of the time.”
“Ah, don’t take it personally,” he said, shaking his head. “They’re teenage boys. Their hormones are raging. Their little peckers are doing the thinking for them now. They won’t have cognitive brain function for at least another ten years or so.”
I felt my cheeks getting warmer. I glanced at him from over the rim of my cup and smiled. “I guess you’re right.”
“Hey, if there’s one thing I know, it’s teenage boys.” He took a sip of coffee and let the smile fade. “Trust me, I gave my dad lots of grief. I was hell on wheels, but I like to think that I turned okay.”
