by Nikki Chase
At least nobody will be able to say Ocotillo had a dull grand opening.
Claire
It’s been a long damn day.
I mean, I expected the opening day to be exhausting, but not like this. Nothing like this.
All throughout the lunch and dinner serving hours, I’ve been dodging curious, furtive glances from staff members and customers alike.
A couple times, we even had a customer ask to speak to the chef—and when Chef Alonso went out to greet them, they awkwardly explained that it wasn’t him they wanted to see; it was me. And it was never because of our delicious, painstakingly-prepared cuisine, either.
Everyone just wants to get a good look at the kitchen girl who has supposedly stolen Ben Graham’s heart.
I can only imagine what they must be thinking about me. The nice ones will probably think that we’re childhood sweethearts who have rekindled that old flame after all these years, perhaps over actual kitchen flame while we prepare gourmet food together. I’ll admit it’s not a bad story.
And the ruder looky-loos are probably calling me all kinds of awful names under their breath. Secret mistress. Gold-digger. Tramp.
I know there are lots of women out there who would kill for a date with a devilishly handsome, wildly successful, and wealthy man like Ben. If there was ever a Most Eligible Bachelors ranking compiled using all the hot young bachelors in Vegas, I would picture Ben at the top of the list. For a lot of girls, he’s the ultimate score.
But I just want to do my job—although I can’t deny the thought of also doing my boss has slipped into my mind more than once. I mean, those dark, mysterious eyes, that smooth, inviting voice, the mere warmth of his body . . .
That’s not really the point, though. Ugh, it’s annoying how he distracts me.
The point is, I’ve worked too hard and come too far to switch lanes and focus more on a man than on my career. Not now. Not when I’m just starting to get my footing.
And that’s why, once again, I’m staying late at the restaurant after everyone else has gone home. I’m wiping down the counters with disinfectant for the umpteenth time when my cell phone, lodged in my apron pocket, starts ringing. With a sigh, I pull it out and answer it, nestling the phone between my ear and my shoulder as I continue cleaning.
“Hey Mom,” I answer.
“Hi, sweetie. I’m sorry if we caused a scene at your job today. It wasn’t my intention. I just got so excited at the idea of an engagement. I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me about it. I had to find out from a tabloid! Can you imagine?” she complains.
“Yeah, actually. I can imagine that perfectly, because that’s how I found out about our supposed engagement, too,” I explain wearily. “It’s all just a big misunderstanding, Mom.”
“Wait, what do you mean?” she asks.
“Look, it’s just a clerical error. We filed the wrong paperwork. We’re not eloping, we’re not even dating, alright?” I tell her. I can just picture her face right now: stunned into silence.
After a long pause, she adds in a quiet voice, “But don’t you like him?”
I smile and groan, “Yes, Mom. I do like him. As a boss. He’s a good guy and any girl would be lucky to have him, but he doesn’t belong to me. I see why you like him, too. And I know you just want me to be happy, but I’m not going to marry some guy just because he’s good-looking and successful and clever and surprisingly kind.”
There’s a pause and then she says, “I don’t know, Claire. Listen to yourself. Sounds like the start of something more than just a professional relationship to me.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Claire, wait—”
“Bye, Mom,” I say firmly, and hang up.
I slip the phone back in my pocket with a sigh and look around the sparkling-clean kitchen, my eyes lingering over the spot where I stood this morning, teary-eyed and panicky. That’s the spot where Ben hugged me and told me everything was going to be alright.
I can’t help but think about how amazing and helpful he’s been about the whole thing. My impression of him as a cold, aloof businessman might be a little off, I’m realizing.
He has a heart. I know because I felt it beating when I laid my face on his chest. And when he wrapped his arms around me, there was a moment when it seemed like he might actually kiss me…
“No,” I say aloud, shaking my head as though to throw off the image in my mind.
Now I’m the one losing her mind. I must have imagined that moment between us. There’s no attraction, no spark of electricity. It’s all in my mind. Probably just my mother’s insinuations getting to my head. No way he’d kiss me in the kitchen where we work together, while everyone else is watching. I’m being crazy.
I resume cleaning and then wash my hands and take off my apron, preparing to head home. But just as I’m about to leave, Ben pops into the kitchen, startling me.
“Oh!” I gasp. “You’re here.”
He smiles almost sheepishly. “Well, yes. It’s my restaurant on opening day. Of course, I’m here. But so are you.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I was just about to leave. Sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?” Ben asks, lifting an eyebrow. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. In fact, I kind of arranged a little something for you. As an apology from me.”
“What? What is it?” I ask a little warily.
He chuckles and gestures for me to follow him. “Come on. It’s been a long day and I can see it in your eyes that you need to relax a little.”
I follow him out the back door to a little patio that opens onto a broad, brightly-lit alleyway. To my surprise, there’s a table set up here with food, wine, and flickering candles. My stomach growls at the sight of the food, but I give Ben a bewildered look.
“What’s all this?” I ask.
He pulls out a chair for me. “It’s a chance to decompress. I knew from the second I met you—when you accused me of stalking you at brunch— that you’re a little bit high-strung.”
I take the seat he’s offering, trying to stifle the big, goofy grin threatening to spread across my face.
“No offense,” he adds quickly.
I giggle. “None taken. You’re right.”
“Anyway,” he says, taking the seat beside me. “I just thought you might like a little break. Besides, I couldn’t let you leave work today without discussing the whole accidental domestic partnership thing.”
“Right,” I answer, nodding. I reach for a slice of bruschetta as he pours me a glass of red wine. “So let’s talk about it.”
Ben smiles. “I’ve already spoken to my lawyer friend, and I think I can get this untangled pretty easily. No more drama.”
“Oh, that’s great,” I sigh with relief. I take a sip of wine, feeling the alcohol warm me from my head to my toes.
“Yes. It’ll be virtually painless. For us, at least. I think our mothers are going to be in mourning over this for awhile,” he jokes.
I laugh. “Definitely. Did you see the look on my mom’s face when she mentioned shopping for a wedding dress? I haven’t seen her look that excited since the last time Neiman Marcus had a flash sale.”
Ben chuckles and leans back in his chair, grinning at me. “I feel a little guilty about crushing their dreams. Might have to buy my mom a new necklace or something to distract her.”
We eat, drink, and chat for what feels like minutes, it flies by so quickly. But when a street musician with a saxophone shows up, I check the time and see that we’ve been at this for over an hour. The musician strikes up a jazzy tune I recognize.
“Oh, wow. This is possibly my favorite song of all time. I used to listen to this on my dad’s vintage record player as a kid,” I say happily. To my surprise, Ben gets up and offers me his hand. I frown at him in confusion.
“Come on. Let’s dance, then,” he urges me with a grin.
“What? Really? Right here?” I giggle.
&nbs
p; “Yeah, why not? You should never pass up the chance to dance to your favorite song.”
I take his hand and stand up, still a little dubious as he pulls me into the alleyway and we start to spin. His hand slides down to rest at my waist while the other is laced with mine. At first, I’m a little stiff, but it doesn’t take long for me to loosen up— especially after a few glasses of wine. We sway and spin slowly together, both of us smiling in the moonlight.
I’m a little dizzy, since I don’t normally drink very often, but I can’t remember the last time I felt so free. Deep down, I know this probably isn’t totally appropriate, but I don’t want it to end. We lean closer and closer until our faces are mere inches apart.
Looking into those beautiful dark eyes, I murmur, “You’re different from how I first thought you were.”
He grins. “So you no longer think I’m an asshole and a creepy stalker, then?”
My cheeks flush pink.
He smiles softly and adds, “Is that a good thing, that I’m turning out to be different?”
.“Yeah. I think so.”
You’re different, too,” he admits. “Stronger.”
My heart surges with genuine appreciation. He thinks I’m strong? That’s a compliment I don’t receive very often. But I like it.
And as we sway together, buzzing with wine and magnetic attraction, I think I might just like him, too. Especially when we move closer and closer together . . . and then it happens.
His lips brush against mine, sending a thrill down my spine. The kiss, soft and cautious at first, deepens. His hand presses at the small of my back while the other cups the back of my head. My heart is pounding as he kisses me more passionately now, both of us starting to lose control.
But then, just as quickly as it happens, it ends. The song fades out into a different one and the two of us break apart, both looking stunned.
“Um,” I mumble, licking my lips. I can still feel him there, a hint of something so dangerously tempting I should never have another taste.
“Uh, maybe that’s enough dancing for tonight,” Ben says quickly.
“Yeah. Yeah, I should be getting home,” I quip, running my fingers back through my hair as I rush to grab my purse.
But when I turn to walk away, I wobble and nearly fall over, the world spinning around me. Ben hurries to catch me and hold me steady and I give him an appreciative smile.
“Hey, why don’t I drive you home? You might’ve overdone it on the wine,” he suggests.
I nod. “That’s probably a good idea. Thank you.”
Ben quickly tidies up the patio and locks up the restaurant, then lets me lean on his arm while we make our way down the alleyway to the parking lot. As we pass by the street musician, I notice Ben put some cash in his tip jar, and that makes me smile. Not everyone will do that.
He helps me into his car and drives me home, taking care to drive more carefully this time, and drops me off with the promise of picking me up in the morning since my own car is still parked downtown.
I wobble out of the car, thank him with a big smile, and fumble with the keys as I stagger into my apartment. As soon as the door is closed, I sink down on the sofa, my head spinning and my heart thumping like crazy.
What just happened?
Ben
The first rays of dawn’s sunlight filter through the windows of my penthouse as I sit back in my chair, watching the forms for the termination of domestic partnership slowly come out of my printer.
I’m still wearing my workout clothes, refreshed after my usual morning routine. I take a sip of the steaming Jamaican coffee in my mug, and even though the taste is as rich and bold as ever, the only thing swimming through my head is the memory of Claire.
Last night was as unexpected as it was incredible.
Was it a date? Can I call it that?
I definitely couldn’t see myself behaving like that with just any employee, even if one impressed me as much as Claire did. She can really pull her weight in the kitchen, and Jorge texted me after the evening was over to let me know that hiring her was a great call.
But it’s more than that, obviously. I don’t get a hard-on in my pants every time one of my staff members does something right.
Claire is proving to be something else, something more than I expected. Every now and then, I have to stop, step back, and think about how I’m feeling. It’s unusual for me to develop feelings for someone, much less someone I’ve only known for a few weeks.
Technically I’ve known her for years, but she’s not the kid I used to know. She’s got those amazing curves, for starters. Having known each other so long ago, we both do and don’t know what kind of person we’re dealing with.
I keep wondering what we would have been like if we’d known each other through our teenage years. Would we have been friends, or maybe even something more? My mind goes down little rabbit holes of what-ifs, and it’s dangerous to do that, but Claire fills my mind so much I can barely help it. I regret not keeping in touch with her, but how could I have?
I learned something last night that I don’t know if I can ignore any longer.
If she hadn’t been so drunk, I would have invited her to my place.
It just felt like the natural thing to do. That’s the strangest part of all this, how natural it feels. Whenever I talk with Claire, walk with her, dance with her, touch her . . . it feels like we’ve already been dating for years. It’s dizzying.
I’m a man who always knows himself and how to handle himself in the world, but this is beyond new territory.
Stranger still, I’m not unhappy with it. I normally hate unknowns, but this kind of twilight zone of newness mixed with familiarity makes me look forward to seeing her every morning.
I can’t ignore the primal urges in my body.
I wanted to kiss her all over last night, just like I do every time we’re close and touching. I wanted to tell her what a fabulous job she did in the kitchen, all while stripping the clothes off her piece by piece. I wanted to look into her eyes as they followed my hands, watching me explore her curves and grope her hungrily.
The way her body melted into mine when we danced makes me want to take her dancing somewhere nice every evening and then in my bed every night. I want to make that body of hers feel things that make her never want to leave the bedroom.
And that kiss…
I still can’t believe it happened. Maybe I had a little too much wine, like her, or maybe it was just the stress of the evening building up to a head. Hell, maybe I just wanted it to happen—and she did, too.
Shit. I can’t tell myself that.
The thought gets me too excited. We have a good thing going right now, and I don’t want to complicate that by making any moves that wouldn’t be good for both of us. I could turn the kitchen into a completely uncomfortable space, ruin our working relationship, destroy the whole agreement, lose my business all over again . . .
But then, I have to ask myself . . . what if we both want it? Is it still bad for us then?
I give my head a light shake as the papers finish printing, and I finish off my coffee. I can’t let myself get caught up in that kind of thinking. It’s going to get me into more trouble than it’s worth.
After stapling the papers and jumping into the shower to wash off, I get dressed in a light gray suit. I check in with Claire by text to let her know I’m on my way, then grab the papers and hop into my car, shoving them into the glove box.
Claire is waiting for me on the sidewalk when I pull up to her place. She gives me a nervous smile and waves. As she climbs into the car, I notice tension in her muscles. She’s stiff as a board.
“Morning, sunshine,” I greet her. “Rest well?”
“Yeah,” she says, avoiding eye contact.
I watch her for a moment, waiting for her to say something else, but she just buckles in and smooths her uniform out as I put the car in gear and peel off the curb.
“Hope you don’t mind the roof being down,�
� I say as we drive. “It’s too nice a day to pass up.”
“Definitely. Yeah.” Her voice is a little distant. She’s twirling a lock of golden hair around her finger as she gazes off into the distance.
I notice her glancing at me periodically, and I see a little color come to her cheeks whenever I talk, but it’s like she’s hiding something from me. I want to press, but I hold myself back.
“I figured you’d like the chance to see what my car can do when it’s not cutting you off in traffic,” I tease, looking directly at her at a stoplight.
She takes the bait and gives me the briefest glance back ever, blushing red when she does. “It’s a smooth ride.”
I wait for her to say something more, but the light turns green, and we’re back to the awkward ride.
Something is definitely off.
She doesn't look like she regrets what happened last night, by the way she keeps fighting back a smile when I look at her and blushing when I talk. Is she just embarrassed?
I want to bring it up, but between the sound of the wind rushing around us and the fact that we have a long day of work just a few minutes ahead of us, I know it’s not a good time.
The way she squirms when she catches me looking at her make me want to tease her more. I wish we could take the day off and blow off all our responsibilities, just so I can see how far I can push her.
Even in her work uniform, she looks beautiful—not the oversized one she interviewed in, but a fitted one. There’s nothing flattering about the uniform in and of itself, but somehow that makes the idea of stripping it off her all the more exciting. It makes me wonder what she looks like underneath all that fabric.
Fuck, I have to clear my head.
We don’t talk for the rest of the drive, and it only gets more awkward as the drive wears on, but I can’t shake the feeling that both of us desperately want to break the silence and say something about last night. The debate rages on in my mind all the way to the restaurant, where I pull up to the back and park the car.
