by Hart, Rye
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 after 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.”
Yes, you certainly did, I thought. I licked my lips and cleared my throat. “So, can you tell me more about the position?” I asked.
He smiled at the word “position” and I wondered what was going through his mind. Tyler Jenner wasn’t a teenage boy anymore, but I got the feeling that he was still hell on wheels.
“Sure,” he said after taking a sip of coffee and wiping his lips on the back of his hand. “I plan on using this as my private retreat,” he said, nodding around the room. “Whenever I’m in town you’ll be expected to be here to prepare all of the meals. Some days that may be breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Other days it might just be lunch. It depends on how hungry I am.” He paused to gaze into my eyes. “I’m known to be ravenous at all hours of the day and night, so you would be on-call. Would that be okay?”
“Um, sure, I think so,” I said, trying to smile. I was feeling a bit like one of the three little pigs, facing down the big bad wolf.
“Since the position is on-call rather than full-time, you’d be paid a salary of $1,000 a week whenever I was in town, which will probably be six to eight weeks a year for now.” He blinked at me. “I trust that’s a little more than you’re making at the steak house.”
“It is,” I said with a nod. Jesus, a grand a week just for feeding this guy breakfast, lunch and dinner? Jackie was right. This could change our lives, or at least get us back to even with our creditors.
“Will it be okay with the old folks who own the steakhouse if I have to pull you away at times?” he asked. “I mean, will they be okay with you working a flexible schedule whenever I’m in town? I don’t want to mess up whatever you have going there.”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure they’ll be fine it.”
“Good.”
There was an awkward silence for a moment. I get nervous when no one’s talking so I asked, “What kind of food do you like?”
“I’m a basic carnivore,” he said, flashing his teeth at me. He braced his palms on the top of the island and his arms roped with muscle. “For breakfast I like eggs, bacon, toast, pancakes, coffee, orange juice. Lunch is usually a sandwich of some kind; turkey, roast beef, ham, lots of cheese. Dinner is meat and potatoes.”
He gave me a playful look and wagged his finger at me. “Do not try to impress me with anything fancy because I do not eat anything I can’t pronounce.”
He smiled at me and I couldn’t help but smile back. He drained his cup in one gulp, then narrowed his eyes at me and licked his lips. “So, what do you think?”
“I think it sounds wonderful,” I said, gushing a little. “I can start right now, if you like. You said you were hungry.”
“Ravenous,” he said, his voice a low growl. He smiled at me again and I knew at that moment, it was too good to be true. He narrowed his eyes at me and showed me his teeth, like the wolf that had just gotten the little pig comfortable and was now ready to rip out its throat.
Tyler took a step back and let the towel drop from his waist. My eyes immediately went to the thick patch of black curls below his abs and the long cock that dangled from them. His cock wasn’t erect, but it was impressive nonetheless. It hung seven or eight inches long down his right leg. The shaft was thick and veiny, with a round head the size of a golf ball.
“See anything you like?” he asked, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest again. “We could talk about other duties if you like. I could easily increase your salary accordingly.”
I could barely believe my eyes and ears. Who did this prick think I was? I shook my head back to reality and brought my eyes up to his. He was grinning proudly.
His eyebrows arched. “Well? Shall we talk about a position?”
Without a word, I slid off the stool and grabbed my parka and started pulling it on. The smile left his face.
“Wait, where are you going?”
“Thank you for your generous offer, Mr. Jenner,” I said as I wrapped my scarf around my head. “But I’d rather starve than work for an arrogant asshole like you.”
He covered his cock with his hands and gave me a confused look. His voice took on a nasty tone. “This arrogant asshole could buy and sell you, sweetheart.”
I blinked away the tears and gritted my teeth at him. “No, Mr. Jenner, you couldn’t. Because I’m not for sale. Not to you or anybody else.”
I turned and ran for the front door.
As I was crossing the marble foyer, I saw another man dressed in an expensive suit coming down the stairs with a red head that I was sure worked at the Classic Cat with Jackie.
The man was counting out hundred dollar bills into the girl’s hand.
When he saw me heading for the door, he paused for a moment, shook his head, then went on counting.
CHAPTER FOUR: TYLER
As a successful entrepreneur, I knew the importance of making a good first impression. Granted, when you’re a billionaire you’re not as concerned about it as a guy who was struggling, but the point is valid, nonetheless.
Always make a good first impression, they say.
People judge you by the first impression you make, and you only get one shot at it.
Well, I’d say that I had made a pretty strong first impression on Maggie Dean. Whether it was a good one or not, remained to be seen.
My first thought of Maggie was that she wore too many clothes.
She came in bundled up like an Eskimo, and even when she shook off the parka, I couldn’t tell much about her body.
She was wearing jeans that nicely-fit her tall, curvy frame, and a bulky sweater that I think was hiding a nice big set of tits.
Her blond hair was cut short and worn messy. She had a naturally pretty face, perfect lips that curled into an easy smile, and piercing blue eyes that shot into me like lasers when she saw my cock dangling there.
Sadly, I could only imagine what she looked like underneath all those clothes. And that made me even more determined to find out. Who knew my anaconda would scare her off at one glance?
* * *
“Was that your new chef I just saw bolting out of here with the horrified look on her face?” Charlie asked as he came into the kitchen and found me standing at the sink with a fresh cup of coffee in my hands. When he saw my cock hanging out, he scooped up the towel from the floor and flung it at me.
“Oh for Christ’s sake, Tyler, not the old ‘can I stir your coffee with my cock’ routine again? You know that never works.”
“Sometimes it works,” I said with a shrug, slinging the towel over my shoulder. I scratched my balls and sighed at him. “You get the trash taken out?”
“Your overnight guest has left, yes,” he said, picking up Maggie’s cup from the bar and setting it in the sink. He pulled down a fresh cup and filled it with coffee, then took the empty seat at the bar. He tugged his iPhone from inside his jacket and tapped the screen.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He held out the phone. “I’m Googling a local employment agency,” he said. “To find you a chef that doesn’t run off at the first sight of cock. I wonder if there are deaf, dumb, and blind chefs.” He paused to glance toward the door. “Hey, maybe the redhead who just left can cook.”
“She can cook, but probably not in the kitchen,” I said, flexing my eyebrows at him. “Her particular set of skills are much more suited to the bedroom. Or under the table at the strip club.”
Charlie chuckled as he fiddled with this phone. “So, I’ll call an agency and get some interviews lined up for later today. If you think you can keep the python in your pants long enough to interview them.”
“No need to call anyone.” I nodded toward the door. “I want her.”
He frowned at me. “You think you can convince her to come to work for you?” He nodded at my cock. “After you’ve shown her that? You’ll be lucky if she doesn’t file a complaint wi
th the sheriff’s office.”
“I don’t think she’d do that,” I said. I drained the cup and set it in the sink. “She’s broke, raising two teenage brothers, and doesn’t have a lot of options. She’s a smart girl. She’ll come around, trust me.”
Charlie rolled his eyes at me. “Trust you? Jesus, Tyler, you flashed your cock at her and she ran out of here like she’d seen a ghost.”
“Or a monster,” I said with a smirk.
“Look, I know you’re used to women falling all over you, but that one’s not some lap dancer that’s gonna blow you under the table in a club or fuck you in the back of a Hummer. She’s a nice, local girl. If she goes to the sheriff and files a complaint…” He shook his head. “Look, all I’m saying is, we do not need trouble with the locals, so please, keep the fucking monster in your pants.”
“Don’t worry, Charlie. I’ll straighten things out with her.”
“By that you mean that you want me to straighten things out with her.”
“Duh,” I said with a grin. I slapped him on the shoulder and started to the door. “I’m going to get dressed. The monster is cold.”
He called after me as I went up the stairs. “Hey, don’t forget, we have to be back in Denver this afternoon for the meetings with the architects on the new project.”
“I won’t forget,” I said, trotting up the stairs. “I’ll be ready in an hour.”
I smiled as I went up the stairs two at a time.
I just needed Charlie to get Maggie Dean back to the house, then I’d do the rest.
She resisted my first offer, but everyone has a price.
All I had to do was keep upping the ante and at some point, Maggie Dean would say yes.
She would be naked and in my bed and begging me to fuck her.
I’d spent my life pursuing elusive game.
And I always bagged the prize.
Always.
There was no reason why I couldn’t do the same with Maggie Dean.
