Her New Boss: A Rouge Erotic Romance

by Michelle M. Pillow

  ‘So, what I’m hearing is, you were drunk.’

  ‘Yeah. But I was also fed up with the nonsense. These people are only nice if it suits their purpose. So, I’m giving her what she asked for – a job in her very own restaurant.’

  ‘That poor child. You are going to put some city girl in that diner?’ Callie clucked her tongue in disapproval. ‘By the way, little brother, you’ll be happy to know there wasn’t much information on her. I saw her name listed in a website for some restaurant named Sedurre in New York, but nothing else. She’s not in any of the normal publications. Want me to check schools and the obscure media listings?’

  ‘No, that won’t be necessary.’

  ‘She cute?’

  Jackson didn’t answer.

  Callie chuckled knowingly. ‘When do you need him out by?’

  ‘Couple days.’

  ‘I’ll let Bob know he’s taking me and the boys on a mini-vacation.’ Callie laughed again. ‘And don’t you dare offer to let him use your fishing cabin. I’m going to stay in a place with sheets and cable.’

  ‘You’re not going to give me hell about this?’ Jackson asked, surprised.

  ‘Oh, I have plenty of opinions about this, but I figure it’s best to mind my own business and leave you to yours.’

  ‘Since when?’

  ‘Since you said she was pretty and I know you need all the dating help you can get. And you are my employer giving me a paid vacation.’ A series of sounds came across the phone from his sister’s house. He heard his nephews running behind her, shouting something about a turtle in the yard.

  ‘It’s not like that,’ Jackson said.

  ‘Sure thing, Jacky.’

  ‘Stop calling me Jacky,’ he ordered, annoyed by the childhood nickname.

  ‘Then stop making it so darn easy to aggravate you with it, Jacky,’ Callie said. ‘Now, I have to go – something about a giant turtle getting ready to battle a neighbourhood cat.’

  ‘Hug the boys for me.’ Jackson sighed with longing, trying to catch his nephews’ voices.

  ‘Call me when you get back,’ Callie ordered. He heard her talking to the boys in a firm voice before the phone connection clicked off.

  ‘Are you sure I’m not bothering you, Kat?’ Zoe held her cell phone to her ear, staring at the old suitcase slowly being filled with her clothes. All the chef uniforms were neatly folded, taking up most of the space. Folded and rolled T-shirts lined the edges, crammed in to utilize what was left. ‘I know it’s early.’

  ‘No, I’ve been up for an hour. The baby is fussy,’ Kat’s tired voice answered before she yawned. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I’m going to South Carolina,’ Zoe said, still a little awed by it herself.

  ‘Things that bad? Did Contiello do something last night after we left?’

  ‘Nothing out of character.’ Zoe took a deep breath, shoving jeans in to make a new layer across the top of her pile. ‘I talked to Jackson last night and made a complete ass out of myself.’ Zoe quickly told her sister everything from him asking for a receipt to the strange interview, finishing with, ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think you’re going to go down to South Carolina and wow the crap out of Mr Levy with your talent.’ She could practically hear her sister grinning. ‘How can he not be impressed with you? I even bet he offers you a bigger restaurant before everything is said and done. And I don’t want you to worry. I’ll take care of everything here. I’ll deal with your landlord and see about getting you out of your apartment so you don’t have to pay rent.’

  ‘But what if I fail?’ Zoe swallowed nervously.

  ‘You won’t fail,’ Kat said. ‘You’ll be great. Just make sure you call me as soon as you get there. If it looks dangerous, you call me and I’ll have the Richmond private jet down there within an hour.’

  Zoe laughed. ‘Quit trying to find excuses to use the family jet. It’s Jackson Levy. I hardly think the job is going to be dangerous.’

  ‘I don’t know, sis. Jackson was pretty cute and that can always be dangerous. Feel free to mix business with pleasure, just call me after with the details if you do.’

  Thoroughbred County, South Carolina

  Zoe blinked rapidly, wondering how long she’d been asleep. Her head hurt from the rude awakening of hitting against the car window. Trees passed by her vision in a long blur of greens and silver. A thin veil of moss draped the limbs like long, tangled strands of gray-green hair drifting in a gentle breeze. Some reached as long as twenty feet and sprouted threadlike leaves. By the light, it was still morning, though how early was hard to tell. Because of her night schedule, she’d not slept well as she’d worried about making her six o’clock flight on time. Only after quitting her job and locking her apartment door for the last time did she realize she’d never really negotiated benefits and pay. She’d been so focused on becoming a chef. This opportunity was all that mattered to her.

  ‘I see you’re awake, ma’am. You were sawing logs there for awhile.’

  Zoe sniffed loudly, embarrassed to be told she’d been snoring. At least it wasn’t moaning in sexual desire due to the very torrid dream she’d been having about Jackson. Though waking up took some of the dream from her, she remembered there being a lot of whipped cream and peaches involved.

  She glanced at the driver, trying to remember the mumbled name he’d given her as she came from baggage claim to find him waiting with a cardboard sign with her name written on it in orange marker. Hands gnarled with arthritis gripped the wheel, as wrinkled as the old man’s face. Short, dark hair heavily peppered with gray covered all but the freckled balding spot at the crown of his head. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘About five miles outside of Dabery. Jacky boy asked me to drop you at Marta’s so you can get cleaned up before going to Renée.’

  ‘Renée?’

  ‘You’re the new cook, right?’

  Zoe sighed, hit by just how little she knew about her new job. She told herself it didn’t matter. Any restaurant would do so long as she had a chance to run her own kitchen staff, make her own menus and prove herself to Jackson. He had asked her about Cajun food and Renée sounded French. It wasn’t her specialty, but she could do it. She would do it.

  ‘Yes. I am the new head chef.’ Zoe lifted her chin, trying not to let her nervousness show. She had to keep a brave front, had to make everyone believe she knew she could do this when in truth she wasn’t so sure. What if she failed? What if Jackson hated her cooking? What if no one ate at the restaurant and she was the first Jackson Levy venture to fail miserably? She’d never get into another kitchen again.

  ‘You all right, ma’am?’ the driver asked. ‘You’re whiter than Sunday linen.’

  More of the dream surfaced. Her body had been covered in cream and Jackson had decorated her with pieces of fruit before slowly eating his way over her body without his hands. The wave of desire that flooded her made her actually gasp in shock.

  ‘Fine,’ she lied. ‘It was a long flight. Can you tell me if Mr Levy will be there?’

  ‘Jacky boy? I don’t rightly know, ma’am. His sister called me and asked me to pick you up from the airport. She’s a good girl, that Callie.’

  ‘His sister lives here?’ Zoe asked in surprise. She really knew nothing about the man aside from his work reputation.

  ‘His whole family moved to Dabery when those Levy kids were just young children barely out of diapers.’ The man glanced at her through the rear-view mirror, smiling kindly as he gossiped. ‘They have lived here ever since, more or less. Jackson’s been good to this town and owns a place outside city limits. The baby of the family, Jefferson, left for awhile but is back now. And Callie, the oldest, settled with a local boy right out of high school. They have three boys now – Tommy, Sammy and Peanut – ornery little rascals.’

  ‘And his wife?’ Zoe probed, finding herself holding her breath. Peanut? Jackson had a nephew named Peanut?

  ‘No, ma’am, he never did marry. We keep hoping, but no weddin
g bells yet. Though Jefferson is engaged to a fine lady from Savannah. I met her at the church potluck a couple weeks ago.’

  Zoe had a feeling she could get lots of information about Jackson from this man, but refrained from probing further. Instead, she turned her attention out the window. Trees thinned, opening up to a sloping valley. Nestled along the hillside were houses and farms, as beautiful as a painting. Horses grazed behind stark-white wooden fences, their sleek bodies gleaming in the sunlight. A red barn stood over a shorter brown building with black iron gates. Tall pines swallowed little trails that led off into their shadowed sanctuary, the limbs not as covered with moss as they had been earlier along the road.

  ‘This can’t be right. The restaurant is here? But this is …’ Zoe rolled down her car window, sticking her head out to look around. The smell of pine assaulted her, mixed with fresh air and dust. Eerie quiet surrounded them, punctured only by the sound of the car engine. To herself, she finished, ‘This place is too small.’

  ‘Is it done?’ Jackson asked, leaning against Mac’s car. He’d known the old man since he was a boy and Mac looked the same now as he had then, down to the arthritic hands. The only difference was a pronounced limp when he walked, the legacy of having fallen off a horse while drunk. Jackson made sure the man always had work with local stables and odd jobs around town.

  ‘Sure is, boss,’ the man said.

  ‘Good.’ Jackson discreetly handed the man a couple of hundred dollars before pushing up from his car. The warm spring air scented with wildflowers drifted from the forest behind Marta’s Twelfth Street Bed and Breakfast. Trails led from the back of the house into the oak and pecan trees, to a little pond and creek hidden from those not familiar with the area. Bass fishing, camping, hunting and hiking were popular pastimes for the residents of Dabery and they did not share their secret haunts with outsiders. It wasn’t unusual for people to see deer grazing along the tree line.

  The bed and breakfast was over a hundred years old. Like most of the businesses in town, he’d owned it for a short time until the owners could afford to run it on their own. It was one of the few properties he didn’t make a small profit on, though he’d never tell Marta that. He would have been happy just to break even, but it was a matter of town pride that he earned something for his investment and he did not take their pride from them.

  Stark-white siding with barn-red trim and green window boxes looked freshly painted. The front porch wrapped alongside the house, sporting wooden chairs with padded floral seats. In truth, the house should never have been a bed and breakfast, as it was too small, but he managed to make it work. Widowed and childless, Marta had no one. So Jackson encouraged her to use her strength, which was taking care of others.

  ‘She asked about you,’ Mac said as Jackson began to walk toward the first restaurant he’d ever owned and the only business property still under his name in Dabery. He heard the telltale teasing to the man’s tone.

  Jackson knew he should keep walking, but he couldn’t stop himself from turning back around. Zoe preoccupied his fantasies, stirring the kind of constant lust he thought he finally had under control once he hit his mid-twenties. But one thought of Zoe had him as randy as an eighteen-year-old boy hiding in the girls’ locker room during shower time.

  ‘She asked if you were married.’ Mac grinned. ‘And about your family.’

  ‘Normal questions,’ Jackson said, though inside his stomach tightened.

  ‘Did the secret code change? Because when I was your age and a pretty woman asked if I was married, it meant –’

  Jackson laughed. ‘Mac, tell the truth. When did a pretty woman ever ask you anything?’

  ‘Boy, you’re not too old to bend over my knee,’ Mac warned, suppressing a good-natured grin. ‘But you are sure as hell old enough to know you won’t be young forever and if a pretty girl is interested you ask her out on a date.’

  Date his new cook? A woman who he had brought down here in a drunken fit to punish? Jackson gave a small laugh. ‘They have laws against dating employees.’

  ‘We’re from the South.’ Mac winked. ‘Since when do we worry about laws?’

  ‘Jackson pumped new life into the town. He bought shares in the old stables, rebuilt them better than ever and created jobs. Now Dabery’s stallions are bought all over the world. Once they were operating enough to support themselves, he sold his share to the original ranchers and became a local hero.’ Marta smiled, pointing at the pictures along the walls of her bed and breakfast. The old newspaper clippings were from the mid-1900s when horse shows seemed to draw much of the town’s attention. ‘A run of bad luck struck this town in the 70s and we all struggled. People were moving away and this town almost died, but Jackson brought us back to life.’

  Zoe nodded, following Marta’s hand to more recent editions of the Dabery News. Jackson’s face graced the clippings. Some of the earlier ones showed him with hair to his chin, in T-shirts and blue jeans, then later in business suits and a crew cut, to the most recent with short, styled hair expertly mussed with gel, and designer-label clothing. She paused, captivated by his frozen smile and the happy light in his eyes. Her heartbeat quickened. If she were a teenage girl alone in her room, she would have pressed her mouth to the photograph. She tried to ignore the attraction she felt for her new boss, but it was there – raw and so very real.

  Marta’s cheery disposition fit the Victorian-decorated farmhouse atmosphere of her business. Her blonde, upswept hair created a curled effect around her smooth face. Tiny lines gave away her advanced age, but it was impossible to tell how old she really was. Dangling crystal earrings and a matching jewel necklace added flair to the rose-embroidered jacket dress she wore.

  Wooden floors, fireplaces and antique furniture graced the many rooms. Equestrian-themed paintings and small horse figurines covered the walls and many shelves of the downstairs sitting room. Zoe had already been shown to her room upstairs. According to Marta, it was one of three, though the others were empty. She’d been placed in the largest room, with a king-sized bed, white-painted walls and rose porcelain vases.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I should get going.’ Zoe touched Marta’s arm lightly as she pried her eyes from the hypnotic smile on Jackson’s picture. She hadn’t really been listening to what the woman had been saying anyway. ‘Can I borrow your phone to call a taxi?’

  ‘Taxi?’ Marta laughed, waving her hand in the air. ‘Sweetie, the restaurant is only two blocks that way.’ She pointed toward the west side of the house. ‘And there is no taxi service in Dabery.’

  ‘Of course there isn’t.’ Zoe looked down at the chef uniform she wore, having a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Though with all the horses it was possible the restaurant had a booming tourist business. A rich, powerful clientele who demanded the best wherever they went – whether it was a Swiss ski resort or Dabery, South Carolina.

  She left the house, her head down as she quickly descended the steps. Hearing an engine, she saw the car that had dropped her off an hour before driving away down the street. Her eyes followed it, automatically going down the sidewalk in the direction of the restaurant. Seeing a man in blue jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, she stumbled. Without seeing his face, she knew it was Jackson. He might not be in a suit, but the tilt of his head, the stride of his walk, the controlled movements of his arms gave him away.

  She made a move to catch up with him, running her fingers through her hair. Suddenly, he turned and she stumbled again. Dark eyes pierced hers and her breath caught at the intensity in his gaze. Nerves fluttered in her stomach, and her heart beat faster. Hating the breathiness in her tone, she said, ‘Hi.’

  His gaze slowly roamed over her chef uniform and a small smile lifted the corner of his mouth. When she reached him, he began walking next to her, not saying anything.

  ‘I wanted to thank you for this opportunity,’ she said, feeling some mysterious need to fill the silence. ‘I won’t disappoint you.’

  ‘Just try not to be
rude to the customers.’

  She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She nodded, not looking to see if he noticed. It wasn’t as if she could blame him for the jibe. Businesses clustered the long street, a continuous front that only broke at the end of each block. Wooden signs carved and lined with gold inlay hung along the eaves of each one – a general store, clothing boutique, jewellery, curios, horse supply, shoes. The quaint little shops weren’t like any she’d seen in New York. Walking under a sign that said DINER, she looked forward for a restaurant set off from the rest of the town.

  Jackson cleared his throat. Zoe stopped, realizing he was no longer beside her. She found him waiting, a door held open to the diner. Unsure, she glanced at the front window. In white and gold window paint, old-fashioned letters like the script from a wanted poster spelt out the single word, ‘Renée’.

  Her eyes wide, she looked from the window up to the diner sign and back again. ‘I …’

  Jackson motioned inside. ‘We’re closed today because of the re-staffing. Otherwise, you’ll open at nine, close at seven thirty. You’re off Saturdays and Sundays when the relief cook comes in. You have no say on the way weekends are handled and the weekend staff will not interfere with what you do. When you arrive is up to you and you leave when your work is done. Come in, get acquainted with your area, figure out if you need to order anything, numbers are on the back wall of the kitchen. Food orders are delivered by the local grocery and they can have whatever you need dropped by with only a day’s notice – unless it’s something fancy they don’t keep in stock. Then you’ll want to give them a couple days. The waitress takes care of deposits and you just need to keep your receipts together for the accountant who comes in at the end of each month.’ Pulling his key from the lock, he handed it to her. ‘Your copy.’