Her New Boss: A Rouge Erotic Romance

by Michelle M. Pillow

  ‘Make what you like. That’s why I hired you.’ He finally set the paper down and studied her.

  ‘You’re testing me, aren’t you? My whole probationary period. But you haven’t told me what you’re looking for. I assume I’ll be judged on sales figures?’

  He continued to study her. ‘Numbers can tell you some things, but the restaurant is established. So long as the numbers stay steady and don’t decline, I will call that a plus. There is only so much market in Dabery.’

  ‘Then, I’ll be judged on customer surveys?’

  ‘Are you worried?’

  ‘Have there been complaints?’ Zoe set down her fork.

  ‘Would you really like to know?’

  Zoe bit her lip. No, she didn’t really want to know, not from him. But, if people were talking, she needed to know what they had said to him. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Roger Cumberland raves about your salsa. Sheryl has several complaints –’

  ‘Well, that’s not my fault. She’s …’ Zoe forced herself to take a breath. ‘She’s a complicated woman.’

  Jackson laughed. ‘A diplomatic answer. I’m well aware of what Sheryl is.’

  ‘What other complaints?’

  ‘Jenny Stuart offered to come help you with the meatloaf because it was a little dry. Louise Baker said you didn’t return her smile.’ He fingered his glass. ‘And Fred Louis said his steak wasn’t pink enough –’

  ‘The guy who wanted it raw?’ Zoe shook her head. ‘I gave it to him medium rare. Any good chef will tell you that’s the perfect –’

  Jackson held up his hand. ‘The point is he wanted it very rare.’

  Zoe lowered her eyes to the plate. His tone made her feel like a scolded child. ‘So you’re saying the customer is always right, even if they want me to make something that is not to the best of my ability.’

  ‘I’m saying it’s your job to cook for the customer.’ Jackson sighed, as if considering his words. ‘Part of being a chef is giving the public what they want. When you’re a big name, cooking in New York or Paris, they want whatever you want to give them. When you’re in Dabery, working in a Southern diner, what do you think the customers want? Blackened sea bass with long-grain wild rice and pine nuts? Trout with hazelnut?’

  ‘I don’t think that just because these people are small-town Southerners they can’t enjoy finer foods than bacon and grits,’ Zoe defended herself, struck by the fact that she was also defending his family and friends.

  ‘I’m glad you see that.’ He nodded in approval. ‘And it is what you have to decide how to handle. I won’t tell you what to cook. It is up to you to predict and serve the people you are cooking for.’

  Zoe frowned. His words made sense, but he wasn’t really helping her. Handing her a menu would have been better. But then, she wouldn’t really be a chef making her own decisions. She’d be a line cook. ‘I won’t let you down.’

  He lifted his glass of sweet tea in the air, silently toasting her before taking a drink. Zoe hoped it wasn’t a lie.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘THAT IS A ridiculous sum,’ Jackson said, frowning at his computer screen. The image of Contiello’s agent stared back at him.

  Mr Duncan, a thick man with a moustache that overgrew his upper lip, cleared his throat and pretended to study his blue silk tie before smoothing it down. ‘We both know my client is worth twice that.’

  Jackson laughed. ‘A bold claim, especially since we both know that little Las Vegas scheme he had brewing is falling through and his current employer is speaking with a bankruptcy lawyer.’

  The agent’s eyes shot up and his mouth worked before he caught himself and frowned. ‘I don’t know where you get your facts, Mr Levy, but I assure you my client has many options open to him.’

  ‘And I, Mr Duncan, am not interested in hearing about every two-bit franchise that will hire him after he manages to spell his name right on an application.’ Jackson knew he was being harsh, but he was tired of dealing with Contiello and his insufferably greedy agent. The chef was still one of the best options to fill his client’s needs. If he bided his time, Contiello and his agent could come around. ‘My assistant faxed you my offer. I suggest you take it to your client.’

  ‘It would help if you told me which American city it was in,’ Mr Duncan said.

  ‘And confidentiality with my client forbids it at these preliminary stages. You know how cutthroat business can be. Though, if it’s any consolation, my name is on the project.’ Jackson kept his smile slight and his eyes hard. He knew he didn’t need to say anything more. Mr Duncan knew what that meant.

  ‘I’ll speak to him,’ Mr Duncan said at length, ‘but we’re looking at many other options at this time.’

  ‘Naturally.’ Jackson lifted his hand, as if he expected no less and didn’t care. ‘But, I should remind you, this offer is not exclusive to your client. We do want him and his talents, but we will not wait forever.’

  ‘Good day, Mr Levy,’ the agent said, nodding once.

  Jackson returned the gesture. ‘Mr Duncan.’

  He turned off the webcam, glad the meeting was over. Looking down at the list in front of him, he sighed. Only five more conferences to go and then he could get back to Zoe. Jackson would much rather be with her than in his office taking meetings.

  He looked at the door, as if feeling her near. Of course, it had to be his imagination. There was no logical reason to believe he could really sense her presence. Every part of him wanted to blow off his meetings and call her to him, though he was too responsible to do such a thing. His mind was only too happy to offer an alternative. What if she were there with him, under his desk as he did business? The men on the other end of the computer connection couldn’t see his legs. They would never know.

  ‘Except when I start grunting and thrusting into her mouth,’ he mumbled, adjusting his hips as his cock instantly lifted. ‘Shit!’

  He wondered where she was, what she was doing, what she was thinking. So far, this weekend wasn’t going as romantically as he had planned. At lunch he hadn’t been able to think of what to say to her so he’d rudely buried his face in his newspaper, not really reading it. When she’d finally talked to him, he’d ended up lecturing her on her job.

  His mood suddenly foul, he reached for a file and opened it, quickly reading over the personal details of the man he was about to talk to. Even as he committed the words to temporary memory, Zoe stayed on the edge of his thoughts.

  Zoe wished she had her cell phone so she could call her sisters. She’d even settle for calling her eccentric mother. As far as she could tell, Jackson didn’t have a phone in his house, just the cell phone he carried. After dinner, Jackson had gone back into a meeting and left her alone in his house so there was no borrowing it from him – not that she would waste his minutes when it wasn’t an emergency.

  Zoe spent the day avoiding the housekeepers, treating it almost like a game of hide and seek as they moved from room to room like efficient robots. She explored the library with its old bound books. There was a distinct musk to the room, the smell of old pages and dust, even though it looked spotless. Old painted portraits in oval frames hung from corded ropes on the wall, the faces dour in their turn-of-the-century clothing.

  Jackson’s office door stayed closed and she didn’t wish to walk in on him during his meeting. She did tiptoe by a couple times, trying to eavesdrop. But the oak door was too thick and not a sound came from within.

  Upstairs, the guest bedrooms were each decorated in distinctly different accent colours with a matching underlying style. She found the blue guest room right where he’d said it would be, far away from his own bedroom. It boasted a darker shade than Jackson’s room, with gold accents. The large bed had a scrolled wooden bed frame and a golden comforter with thin threads of blue running through it.

  On top, she found a box with her name on it. She instantly recognized Kat’s artistically flowing handwriting. Next to the box was a floral suitcase she didn’t recognize
. When she opened it, she saw a couple of her chef uniforms, a pair of jeans and one of her tank top undershirts. The floral suitcase must have belonged to Marta. Zoe made a face. She didn’t really appreciate the woman going through her things, not that she had anything to hide, and not that she hadn’t already suspected that Marta had gone through them the first moment she’d left the bed and breakfast.

  The box was addressed to her via Marta’s. It must have come the day before, when she was at work. Mildly surprised not to find it already opened, Zoe pulled on the clear packing tape. It came up easily and she found older, cut tape beneath it. The box looked too new to be a reused one and her sister always taped packages like they carried gold bricks inside them.

  ‘Nice, Marta,’ Zoe drawled sarcastically. The woman had evidently gone through the package. On opening it she found a letter from her sister on the inside. It lay flat on the top, free of creases and envelopes. Eagerly, Zoe read it. ‘Dear sis, these should get your boss’s temperature rising. Don’t be a good girl and you just might snag you a rich man like me. Kat.’

  Zoe held her breath and read it again. If Marta had opened her box and read Kat’s note, she wouldn’t know her sister was joking. The soft folds called to her and Zoe climbed on top of the giant bed. She let her body sink into the feather comforter, only then realizing how exhausted she felt. Closing her eyes, she let the tension drain from her limbs. She didn’t want to think and worry any more. What the future held would come regardless.

  Jackson stood at the end of Zoe’s bed, watching her sleep. She’d kicked off the jeans and they were now a crumpled pile on the floor at the foot of the bed. The T-shirt covered her down to her upper thighs and, since she rested on top of the covers, the long lines of her bare legs spread out over the gold comforter. Warm sunlight streamed in through the window, past the brightness of midday but not yet heavy with shadow. A box and a suitcase sat on the edge. He’d sent Rachel to town for Zoe’s clothes before taking his meetings. His web conferences were finally over, having lasted two and a half hours past the time he’d allotted. It was well after six o’clock and the housekeepers had left for the day. On Sunday they had the day off and he’d have Zoe all to himself.

  He set the tray of food he carried down on the floor and crawled onto the bed with her. Lying on his side along her back he lifted his hand, hovering it over her body without touching her as he traced his fingers over the gentle swell of her hip. Jackson inched closer to her, part of him willing her to wake up and turn to him, while another part of him willed her to sleep so he could have this moment next to her. It struck him how lonely his life could be. He had his family, business associates and friends. Anytime he wanted a party, there was one. Anytime he wanted company, he’d find some. But what about the times in between?

  What about the times when he’d had a hard day like today? He had nothing in particular to complain about, but it was just tough and long all around. What about the nights? When he didn’t want sex? Who would hold him then? Who would whisper secrets, laugh with him, spontaneously dance around the house? Who would bring him soup when he got sick? Who needed him in a way that had nothing to do with money or power?

  As she slept, it was easy to imagine she could be that woman. But his mind, always logical, refused to buy into the fantasy. He knew what Zoe wanted. She’d made it clear enough. Before she’d found out who he was, he hadn’t got one kind word from her. She was with him because of who he was and what he could do for her. Jackson lowered his hand, touching her smooth outer thigh. He might as well get something out of this, too. Pleasure.

  Zoe wiggled her hips, moaning softly. Jackson scooted closer to her, spooning his body to hers. His arousal met the soft cleft of her ass.

  Reaching for his waist, he unbuckled his belt and unfastened his pants. With one hand supporting his head, he pulled up her T-shirt and pressed against her once more. His silk boxers caused him to slide against her as he rocked his hips.

  Zoe inhaled a deep breath, her sudden movement attesting to her alertness. Jackson slid his hand up to the soft folds of her pussy. The warm lips parted to his gentle probing and he easily discovered the hard bud of her clit buried in the velvet hold. Intimately massaging her, he felt moisture pooling around his fingers. Her butt held his cock tight against it, moving along with his circling hips.

  She arched against him, her voice heavy with sleep as she whispered his name. ‘Jackson.’

  He increased the pressure of his exploring hand, letting a finger dip inside her. The walls of her pussy enclosed him, contracting lightly. Jackson pressed his face to her hair, smelling his shampoo in the locks. Licking the back ridge of her ear, he continued to fuck her with his hand, becoming more aggressive the more she responded. Zoe reached around, grabbing his ass to hold him along her back. The soft pants and weak cries washed over him in bittersweet torment. He wanted her so badly, wanted to pull her into his chest and never let go.

  Her ass rocked harder and he let the pleasure of it overtake him, not holding back as the tension of release built inside his cock. His tender balls ached and he found himself bucking hard against her. Zoe came against his hand, jerking violently. It was enough to send him over the edge and he came inside his silk boxers.

  Zoe let go of his hips, turning to face him. His boxers stuck to his cock, glued to his flesh. She placed her hand over her mouth, clearly blocking her breath. His fingers slipped from inside her, still wet with her cream.

  ‘You’re done with your meetings. How did they go?’ Her lashes dipped lazily over her eyes as if she were still only half awake.

  ‘Fine,’ he answered, brushing a strand of her hair back from her forehead. ‘Are you hungry? I brought up food.’

  ‘Mmm,’ she moaned, smiling. ‘I thought I smelt something.’

  Jackson rolled off the bed. Leaning to pick up the tray, he said, ‘I didn’t have much to work with in the refrigerator. Rachel and Rita normally only leave me enough to snack on while they’re not here.’

  ‘You cooked for me?’ She honestly looked surprised.

  ‘I might not be a world-renowned chef, but I have picked up a few things over the years.’ He set the tray next to her and grinned. ‘A very gourmet roast beef sandwich on wholegrain gourmet sliced bread. Gourmet chips fresh from the grocery store bag.’

  Zoe laughed. ‘Gourmet tea straight from the pitcher?’

  ‘No, I milked a tea cow for that.’ He grabbed a potato chip and popped it into his mouth. ‘It’s a lot more difficult than you think.’

  ‘You know –’ Zoe picked up a chip ‘– I’ve heard that.’

  Jackson laughed, trying to ignore his sticky boxers as he buttoned his pants. ‘I’m going to go change out of my work clothes.’ As he walked to the door, he added, ‘There are some days I really want to hurt the person who invented webcams. Before that, I could wear whatever I wanted for phone conferences and the client never knew the difference. I even stopped wearing my cowboy hats around the same time everyone went to webcams because everyone expected me to be some kind of eccentric cowboy when they finally met me in person. I got tired of being taken to strip joints and being offered cigars.’

  ‘Thank you for the sandwich,’ she called after him as he left the room.

  Jackson went straight for his shower, his steps lighter than they’d been before.

  Despite the fact that it was later in the day and she had nowhere to go, Zoe wanted to look pretty. So she shed the oversized T-shirt and slipped on one of the dresses her sister had sent to her. The cobalt-blue wrap was simple, comfortable, and definitely more feminine than baggy denim jeans. White piping along the hems gave it just enough accent to make it stylish, as it fell to her knees. The deep V of the neckline worked well with the new bra-and-panties set her sister had sent with it. Kat had even included shoes, cute little blue pumps with open toes and a low heel.

  She stepped out of the room and began walking down the hall. As if by some divine timing, Jackson’s door opened. He wore a pair of flee
ce exercise pants with a dark-red strip down the sides and a black, tightly fitted V-neck muscle tank.

  ‘Wow,’ Jackson said, taking a couple of steps toward her before stopping. ‘Hold on, I’ll change.’

  ‘Wait, no.’ She lifted a hand to stop him, though she was too far away to make contact. The tight shirt looked really good on him and she saw no reason for him to change. ‘It’s fine.’

  His gaze called to her and she willingly answered. They walked toward each other, their eyes dipping unashamedly over the other’s body as they met at the top of the stairs. Zoe stared at his body, from his strong, naked feet to his damp hair. She wanted him, always wanted him, but it was more than just a physical attraction. She wanted to know him, to connect to him, to understand him. But she was afraid of what taking that route would mean for her career and their relationship. Jackson hadn’t so much as hinted at anything serious with her and who was she to start that kind of conversation? To do so might make her lose what she did have with him. Besides, if she said she wanted more, how could she do so without making him think she was into him because of who he was?

  He smiled at her, an adorably handsome look as he nodded down the stairs. ‘I thought maybe we could go horseback riding tomorrow. The Thompsons have a new stud I’d like to check out.’

  ‘Oh, OK,’ Zoe answered, biting her lip.

  ‘Have you ever been?’

  ‘Ah, once. They had pony rides at Central Park. I was pretty young and the horses went around in circles. I always felt so bad for them, walking around and around all day long, carrying child after child. I used to have fantasies that I could sneak away and free them.’

  ‘Yeah, those horses never look happy.’ Jackson nodded. ‘They really don’t belong cooped up in the city. They need open fields and grazing pastures, fresh air.’

  ‘You can tell they’re not happy?’ Fascinated, she glanced at his mouth as he spoke.

  ‘Each horse has a different personality, but normally you can just see it in their eyes.’ They reached the bottom step and Jackson lifted her hand, placing it on his shoulder. Holding her close, he began dancing with her in the front hall. There was no music beyond the soft sound of his voice as he talked. ‘Their coats can lose a bit of their sheen, they lose interest in things around them, pin their ears back whenever someone comes near, they can pace, not eat. In many ways they’re just like humans. If you know how to hear them, they will tell you what they’re feeling.’