Bossing the Virgin: A Steamy Office Romance

by Lila Younger

  “Give it to me straight Sean,” I say to my best friend in college, who happened to major in accounting. I pulled him into this as soon as I found out what was happening. I knew that he would do a thorough job, and he wouldn’t try to sugarcoat things. That’s the last thing I needed right now. I am too tense to even sit down, and instead I pace at the front of the room.

  “It’s not good Logan,” Sean says, looking down at his papers. “You’re hemorrhaging money left and right. There have been, shall we say, discrepancies in how things are being handled from restaurant to restaurant. More than one manager has been ordering more food than necessary to keep up with appearances. I even encountered a staff member who’s been selling off the excess to put in their own pocket. Stuff like that has gone unchecked because there was only one person to answer to: your father. And I got the impression from the staff that they were too terrified of losing their jobs to speak up.”

  “How could this happen?” I ask, turning to my father’s oldest employee and friend, Kevin.

  “Things slipped through the cracks. Your father was a stubborn man. He didn’t like to be told that he was getting old and letting go of his power,” he replied, giving his bony shoulders a shrug.

  “There are other things too,” a woman says quietly. Her name is Linda, and she’s in charge of the advertising/marketing side of things. “Your father was against social media. Thought it lowered the brand in the eyes of the public. We still run full page ads in newspapers. Our clientele has aged, but we haven’t been able to bring in a younger crowd. Red Canyon Steakhouse should be the place for business lunches and dinners, and yet, it isn’t happening. One of the firs things your father slashed was the advertising budget. He thought that everyone already knew Red Canyon.”

  Up until now, I haven’t told them what my plans are going forward with the company. I’ve been busy restructuring, hiring and promoting people to fill in the gaps. I don’t want to be my father. I don’t want to handle everything myself. Not just because it put him into an early grave, but because I know that my time could be spent much more effectively if I’m not bogged down in the minute details.

  “Oh people know about Red Canyon all right. But that doesn’t mean they want to come in. There are too many restaurants doing exciting things. The scene has changed,” I say. “We need to make some changes too if we want to keep up.”

  It’s as though I’ve set off a bomb in the room. Everyone clamors to talk. I expected this, but I’m prepared and ready to field their questions. After two hours explaining both my vision and receiving their input, I finally call an end to the meeting. We have a plan in place, and I’m tired, but feeling hopeful. The most important thing to do of course is to streamline. We can’t have any more wasteful spending. The second thing we’re going to do is to rebrand the menu. Once we stop flushing money down the drain and we’re bringing people back through our doors, then we can look at rebranding everything else. So far we don’t need to close any restaurants, but that possibility remains open. I hope I don’t have to, and I argued against it because my employees don’t deserve to be out of a job. They put their trust in my father, and now me. I won’t give up on them without exhausting all my other options first.

  “So,” I say to Sean once it’s just him and I left in the room. “Think we can make this happen?”

  “I hope so,” he says. “You’re getting awfully close to bankruptcy. But if there’s anyone in our business school who could pull it off, I’d put my money on you.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I say, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

  “Are you done for the day?” he asks. “There’s a game on tonight. Feels like forever since we’ve watched one together.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. There’s a million and one things I’ve got to do now that we’ve hammered out a plan. At least we won’t have to worry about the menu. The new chef, Mikayla, is brimming with ideas.”

  “So you hired someone? Finally. Is she any good?”

  I think about Mikayla, with her big, innocent eyes and her long hair tumbling down across those slim shoulders and pert breasts. I think about that smooth, creamy skin, and how I wanted to touch and taste her. The way she stopped my brain in its tracks for a full five seconds when she walked in the door. I didn’t hire her for her body, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that my cock thanked me for it.

  “We’ll see tomorrow,” is all I say. “I’m going to get her to make me lunch.”

  **********

  Mikayla shows up at eleven on the dot, and I’m glad for the break. I’ve spent a majority of this morning putting out fires. It turns out that it’s not only my father who was adverse to change. Plenty of his employees are too. I get that they’re afraid of trying something new, especially when new is the complete opposite of what we’ve done so far. But what we have isn’t working. Surely they can see that? It makes me want to bang my head against a wall when I have to explain that for the millionth time. So when Mrs. Stiller tells me that Mikayla’s shown up, I practically jump out of my chair to greet her.

  She’s dressed completely different today, in a white chef’s coat and leggings that hug her curves. I feel desire rush down my body, and I have to make a firm decision to keep my eyes from wandering down. She’s foregone makeup, but her face is still fresh and dewy and gorgeous, even more so yesterday. She hands off her paperwork to Mrs. Stiller, and together we head toward the elevators. My dad loved cooking, and insisted that the company headquarters be fitted with a state of the art kitchen. I know that it’s been neglected in the past few years, but it was still sometimes used for work parties and the like. For the purposes of today, it would do just fine.

  I’d sent someone yesterday to ensure that the kitchen’s fully stocked. Not only will Mikayla be cooking in here today, but she’ll be training the chefs at Red Canyon Steakhouse to ensure that they are all able to execute her menu, and she’ll be using it on a regular basis to come up with new seasonal favorites. It may be pricey to continually change up our offerings on the menu, but I think it’ll be worth it.

  “You ready to do some cooking?” I ask her once we’re in the elevator.

  “Is that a trick question?” She replies with a grin. “I’m always happiest when I’m cooking. Doesn’t matter where, doesn’t matter when. In fact, your kitchen will be heaps better than the one I’m cooking in now.”

  “Why’s that?” I ask. “I would imagine that a chef’s own kitchen would be where she’s most comfortable.”

  “Oh believe me, I dream of the day when I can have a fancy kitchen in my very own home. Double ovens, a warming drawer, an extra prep sinks, tap for pasta pots. I’ve got a whole list. But right now I’m camping on my best friend’s couch, so the only kitchen I’ve got access to hasn’t been upgraded since the 80’s.”

  “There’s an opening in the apartment building near my family’s home,” I say. “I was actually planning on moving into it myself but didn’t. Anyways, I think it would suit your needs exactly. I actually passed it by because of the kitchen. I spend far too much time on takeout to ever need that much space.”

  I don’t say that I never moved in because my recently widowed mother ended up needing me to move back home. It was too empty for just herself, she says. I also agreed. She and my father were high school sweethearts. Losing him was like losing half of herself. I didn’t want her to be alone when her mind was in such a state, so I moved back into the guest house. Equipped with a kitchen, bathroom, and two bedrooms, it is more than adequate for what I need right now. I am extra glad that I hadn’t moved back to the main house so that I could keep the ugly mess my father made of the company under wraps. The last thing I want her to do was worry over it on top of everything else she’s gone through.

  “That-That sounds perfect,” she says.

  The elevator dings and opens up.

  “No problem. I’ll find the number for you tonight. It’s on my way home.”

  “I’m surpris
ed that you don’t like cooking,” Mikayla says. “I mean, as the owner of a restaurant business.”

  “My father owned a restaurant business,” I correct. “I worked most of my life at Red Canyon Steakhouse, but I wouldn’t say that this is my passion.”

  “I guess not, if you’ve got pizza on your speed dial,” she says teasingly.

  “And Thai, and sushi. I do have a varied palate. Don’t get me wrong. I do enjoy eating food. Just not making it. I don’t have the patience to sit for hours making stew or pasta by hand.”

  Our conversation is cut short as I open the door to the kitchen, and she stands for a second taking it in. Even though it’s an older kitchen, my father had sunk a lot of money into it in the beginning to make it a chef’s dream, and I guess it’s still holding its own after all this time. Mikayla walks slowly down the counter, checking everything out. She opens the door in the pantry, nodding thoughtfully, and proceeds to the fridge. Then she starts pulling out the drawers, murmuring pleased sounds as she spies something she likes.

  “Well? Think you’ll be able to cook in this kitchen?” I ask.

  “For sure! There are a few things ingredients that are missing, but for today, I think I’ll still be able to blow your pants off.” She pauses suddenly and goes red, then quickly turns around and opens the drawer she just opened moments before. “Especially in such a fancy kitchen! I can’t wait to use this thing!”

  I resist the urge to laugh at her chatter. It’s cute, and besides, I like the fact that she’s thinking about me naked. I certainly have been thinking about her. Of course, it would be a terrible idea, seeing as I’m her boss. Not to mention unethical. I may be the owner, but that doesn’t free me to do what I want.

  “I think that’s a pineapple slicer,” I say.

  “Oh, I’ve got lots of ideas for pineapple,” she says weakly.

  “Well, I’m just about ready for lunch if you want to start,” I say, letting her off the hook. “I’ll just sit over on the end of the counter here if you don’t mind. We can go over some ideas you have for the menu while you cook. Unless you prefer not to multitask.”

  “I can multitask,” she says with more than a little bit of relief. “And I’ve got lots of great ideas. I couldn’t even sleep last night there were so many. I wrote them down for you, but I’m happy to talk in detail about them.”

  She pulls out a piece of paper from her purse and hands it over. I glance at the list as she washes her hands. There are over twenty items on it. I’m impressed. I pick a random selection to go through with her, and she chats animatedly as she works. There’s a farm outside of town that make the best cheese, and another vendor at the food market downtown that’s got the freshest catch in town. More than once I find myself not so much listening as looking at Mikayla. Her enthusiasm is apparent, and damn if it isn’t incredibly sexy too.

  Maybe I should dismiss her before the idea takes hold and I act on it. But I don’t have a good reason for it, because her food is amazing. She’s managed to elevate basics, in a style all her own. Even with a limited pantry, she’s managed to make the food taste like it came from a Michelin star restaurant. This is good. This is hopeful. With Mikayla at the helm, we just might be able to pull this off. Red Canyon Steakhouse might just make it.

  As long as I can keep it in pants, I think. It’s the only thing that sours my good mood.

  Mikayla

  The next two weeks pass by in a blur for me. Sometimes I still can’t believe that I have this job. It’s been a dream for quite a long time, and to have it actually happen, when it was such a long shot really has improved my confidence. The subtle jabs about my skill from Jake are slowly being replaced as I start settling into my new role at Red Canyon Steakhouse. After I’d proved myself to Logan, he officially offered me the position. My pay was ridiculously huge, enough that I’d definitely be able to afford that apartment he referred to me, but more than that, I finally felt like things were turning around.

  At first I thought that I wouldn’t see that much of Logan, but in fact, the complete opposite happened. He showed up almost every day, usually around lunch time. I was making food often, experimenting with recipes and discussing with various people about quality of ingredients and scalability, and I guess Logan didn’t want the food to go to waste. I didn’t mind at all of course. That man is seriously easy on the eyes, and as long as I was talking about food, I was too excited to get embarrassed. It was my comfort zone, where I didn’t stumble over my words or feel stupid in front of a guy.

  And believe me, Logan could make me stumble. Every time I look up into those aqua blue eyes, that powerful body, the easy way he carries himself and commands the attention of everyone around him. It’s like getting close to the sun. I can feel my body straighten, every nerve acutely aware of where he is in the room, a thrill of desire curl around my belly. I can’t help it. I have no illusions though; a man like Logan probably has a girlfriend, someone equally beautiful and successful as he is, who could easily move around in his social circle. Best not to go down that road at all.

  “So this is the last dish,” I say as I put down a plate of grilled salmon tacos in front of Logan.

  “Wow!” he says, “This is an amazing plate of color you have. It looks and smells fantastic.”

  “It tastes fantastic too, I promise,” I say.

  I watch as he takes a bite and closes his eyes momentarily.

  “It is good,” he says, once he’s swallowed. “This stuff is fantastic. And you think we’ll be able to have them in every restaurant?”

  “Oh for sure. It cooks really fast, and the avocado salsa can be incorporated into salads and burgers easily. The corn makes a great side too, giving the customer more options for their entrees.”

  “I love it,” Logan says, taking another bite. “You’re catching on fast.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “I’m really enjoying the challenge.”

  I sit down across from him and dig in to my taco too. This is the last dish that I’ve made for the menu relaunch and I wonder what will happen now. Will Logan disappear back to his office? I find myself thinking of different ways that could bring him back. I’m really enjoying our lunches together.

  “So would you say this is true to your cooking style?” Logan asks once he’s finished devouring one of the tacos on the plate. “I notice you’ve got a medley of cuisines in your food.”

  “Not exactly,” I say with a smile. “You wanted Red Canyon Steakhouse to be representative of the area right? And even though I know Mexican food really dominates in California, there’s also the idea of fresh and local, Asian foods, all of that. I don’t think you can say American food is just burgers and apple pie anymore. We have so many different peoples and cultures all coming together that a little crossing over is natural, and I think that extends to food too.”

  I pause for a moment to think.

  “I think if I could pick one cuisine to cook forever, it would probably be closer to Italian food. I’d love to be able to spend a long vacation in Europe one day, learning how to cook regional foods in Italy. Poking around in a local’s kitchen, learning what their grandmothers passed down. Making pasta by hand. That sort of a thing. Not right now of course,” I say quickly, remembering that I’m talking to my boss, not a friend. “But maybe in a few years when things have settled down.”

  Logan looks at me thoughtfully.

  “That makes sense to me,” he says. “Cooking doesn’t seem to be a static sort of thing. It’s a skill that continually evolves and gets better. I think there’ll always be room to grow and improve when it comes to food.”

  “Exactly!” I exclaim. “And what about you? Were you always planning on taking over your father’s company?”

  “No, it was never my plan. That was totally my father’s. I wanted to live up to his expectations though, so I went to business school and put in my dues at the restaurant. I figured I’d have another twenty years before I’d be asked to step in.”

  “What wou
ld you have done instead?”

  “Something in the tech world maybe. That’s where all the exciting stuff is these days.”

  I’m surprised by the fact that a guy like Logan would want to go into tech. It seems to me something well, sort of geeky. Definitely not for a guy who looked like the star quarterback in high school. He catches my look and laughs.

  “Tech isn’t just for nerds anymore. It’s made its way into every facet of our lives, and soon anyone who doesn’t understand it will never make it in business. I might not be the one actually making an app, but I want to be able to decide which one will be the hot new thing, or what companies to invest who’ll become the next Apple. That sort of thing.”

  “And what if you make a mistake?” I ask.

  “That’s the risk you have to take,” he replies. “But that will have to wait for now. I can’t take off until I know that Red Canyon Steakhouse is doing well again. It would be wrong to just abandon the company and cost everyone their jobs.”

  I’m surprised that Logan cares so deeply. At first I assumed that he was all about the money, but his words show different. It’s not something I’m used to from guys like him.

  “There’s something I want to discuss with you today before I forget,” Logan says, interrupting my thoughts. “I was hoping that I could bring in the executive chefs from each restaurant for a tasting of the new menu. I think it’s important that they taste just how it should be done, and get to ask you questions to make sure that they are able to do it properly. It’ll have to be tomorrow because of the time crunch. This launch is the most important thing we can do. We only have one shot, so it’s got to be perfect. I’ve already started running advertising, and the original Red Canyon Steakhouse here in the city is going to host a big dinner and inviting all the food critics and bloggers in. Do you think you would be able to do that for me?”