I just had to get through tonight, and then tomorrow I could start to put phase one of my plan into action: redesigning the menu.
All right, so that wasn’t phase one of my ‘seduce Michael’ plan but phase one of my ‘get this fucking restaurant back on track’ plan, but hey, I was pretty sure that impressing Michael in any capacity with the restaurant could only help my cause when it came to showing him how happy I could make him in his life and in his bedroom.
Just make it through tonight, I kept telling myself. One step at a time. Michael couldn’t possibly fire me after just one night—only one night was rarely enough to prove to a person that their hire was or wasn’t going to work out, not unless I did something really obviously awful like stand around smoking and playing games on my phone while the kitchen was on fire around me.
But I still felt a twist of fear in my stomach when Michael left. I wanted him to be impressed with me and to see the capable, talented adult I had become. I didn’t want to be pining here uselessly after him like I had in high school.
None of the dishes that I sent out were sent back, which was a good sign. Some of the line cooks—all good people—had told me that they’d been getting a lot of dishes sent back because the kitchen simply couldn’t keep up with orders and corners had been cut by the head chefs.
No way. I told them straight up that wasn’t going to happen in my restaurant. We were going to do things the right way or not at all and if customers waited an extra five minutes for their food as a result, well so be it. I would rather have a customer wait a little extra time and get a dish that they genuinely loved and was what they asked for than wait less time but get something they’d then send back.
Finally—finally—the restaurant cleared out and I could start everyone on closing duties. I made a mental note to have a serious conversation with the waitstaff, preferably with Michael there as well to back me up. They were running the place and being disrespectful to their coworkers in the kitchen and there was no way in hell I was going to stand for that.
I headed back into the office to have a discussion with Michael. I hoped that I could keep my head on straight. Every time that I saw him, it was like getting hit by a truck all over again. He was just so fucking handsome, and charismatic, and I wanted to make him feel better and also wanted him to order me around and it made my legs weak and my head spin…
Focus, Stevie. You’re there to discuss the menu, not to deal with your lust for him. That could come later once this whole restaurant thing had been resolved and I’d proven to him that I could handle things professionally.
“Come in,” Michael called as I knocked on the door.
I made sure to close the door behind me as I entered. The last thing this restaurant needed was the staff overhearing their two bosses arguing, if it did turn into an argument. “When was the last time the menu was changed?”
Michael looked up at me, blinking in surprise. “I’m not sure. Theo used to make changes every six months or so, but I asked the replacement chefs to leave the menu as it is.”
“Theo left three years ago.” I folded my arms. “That means this menu is at least three years old. It needs to be redesigned.”
“Or perhaps you need a bit more experienced to handle the menu,” Michael replied, his voice gentle.
Right, yeah, my inexperience, that’s the problem here and not the goddamn menu. “Oh, really, that’s what it is? Fucking hell that’s what it is. Tap dancing Jesus Christ on a cracker, Michael! When you’ve had, what, fuck knows how many chefs cycling through after Theo and not a single one of them can make the menu work, it’s time for some changes! This isn’t my inexperience, this is the menu just not fucking working. You have to look at the common denominator and, shock of shocks, it’s Theo’s menu!
“That menu was Theo’s, not yours, not mine, not one that belonged to any of the other chefs. You have to let them make their personal mark on it, you have to make your personal mark on it. It’s not going to work unless it’s Theo doing it, and he’s gone! He’s going to stay gone!
“You might have owned this restaurant for, what, ten years? I’m not going to knock on that. But I am the one who graduated top of my class from culinary school. I know what people want and I know that this menu is stuck in the past and stuck on a chef who isn’t here anymore to make it what it was. You have got to make changes if you want to keep the clientele you have and hopefully attract more. There is no other way to do it. No way but forward.”
I braced my hands on the desk. “Do you know what’s wrong with this restaurant? Why you’ve been struggling this whole time? It’s a fucking time capsule. It’s a time capsule as you try to hold onto what it was when you were happy, when you had Virginia and you had your best friend, and I get it. It fucking sucks that you lost them. But you can’t keep holding onto the memory of people who honestly? Don’t fucking deserve to be remembered! They shit all over you, they screwed you over, so screw them! Who cares if it’s still Theo’s menu or not? You gotta do what you gotta do to make this restaurant great again and who gives a fuck if it’s loyal to Theo or not because he sure as fuck wasn’t loyal to you.”
Michael was staring at me with a strong light in his eyes that I’d never seen before. At first my heart skipped a beat because I thought it was anger. But then, as my heavy breathing started to slow, I realized that it wasn’t anger at all—that it was stirring heat inside of me, making me want to squirm—
That it was lust.
It was like getting smacked in the face by electricity. Michael was looking at me with this—hot, heavy desire, like he wanted to take me over his knee and show me how to use my mouth for something other than berating him. I could hardly breathe for a second. God, yes, please, do something about that heat in your gaze…
Hardly believing my own daring, I stepped back, fanning my face with my hand. “And shit, it’s hot in here.” I started unbuttoning my jacket.
Michael’s gaze trailed down my chest as I undid each button. My breathing got even quicker and I could feel a flush creeping up my neck to my face. Michael kept staring as I shoved the jacket off, and he looked like he was second away from getting up and ripping the rest of my clothes away. I kept shivering, unable to stop imagining what it would be like if he did, if he tore off my pants and fucked me right there, on his desk, his large hands spreading my thighs apart…
Underneath my jacket I was wearing a tight white t-shirt, the kind where you could see my hot pink, lacy push up bra through the fabric. Michael’s eyes were glued to it.
I was so wet I hardly knew what to do with myself. I wanted to keep stripping and then beg him to fuck me.
Breathe, I reminded myself. This was going to take more than just stripping off my clothes to convince Michael to give me a chance as his life partner. And I had to stay focused on the professional front as well.
Tell that to my voice, though. It came out all flirty and breathy as I asked, “What are you doing tomorrow morning?”
Michael tore his eyes away from my chest and brought them back up to my face. “What?”
I bit my lip, dragging my gaze over his form, imagining him rubbing my clit as he told me to beg for release. “I asked what you were doing tomorrow morning.” I paused and looked up at him through my lashes. “Sir.”
Michael audibly swallowed. “I told you, just call me Michael,” he said, but he didn’t sound as full of conviction as before.
I ran my tongue across my bottom lip and toyed with the bottom hem of my t-shirt, as if I might pull it up and off, too.
Michael looked like he might be having a heart attack. “I don’t have—I have no plans, nothing’s going on. Nothing.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” My voice was still breathy, and a little husky. “Then meet me here at ten a.m. and I’ll prove my point.”
Michael’s gaze was dark, his pupils large, eyes black, looking at me like he wanted to devour me. I suppressed the urge to do something stupid, like start touching myself and tel
ling him all the ways I’d dreamed about him over the years. Instead I just winked and walked out of the office.
He wanted me. He thought I was sexy. Hell. Yes.
And I was going to prove my point about the menu, too.
5
Michael
Jesus fucking Christ.
I could barely sleep that night. Every time I’d start to doze off I’d think about Stevie. About her curves sliding against mine, about teasing her by dragging my cock through her folds as she whimpered and begged for me to fuck her properly, about tugging on her hair and kissing her senseless…
Fuck. I shouldn’t be having those kinds of thoughts, not about someone so much younger than myself or about someone who was best friends with my daughter and especially not about someone who was my employee.
Maybe it was a mistake to hire Stevie. And not because of her experience levels.
But because I was so fucking attracted to her I couldn’t even think straight.
When the hell had the woman that I’d always seen as a little girl turned into this bombshell, her sass no longer just amusing but arousing, the determined gleam in her eye not just something to admire in a child but something that made me want to kiss that look right off her face until she was moaning and begging for me?
It was temptation—she was temptation. And if my thoughts were any indication, especially after just one damn night, I wasn’t sure if I would be able to keep my hands off her.
As I got up and got ready, I firmly reminded myself that Stevie was the best friend of my daughter, and my employee. The age thing was… not ideal. We had twenty years of life experience separating us. I had a kid, I’d been married, I’d been a business owner. Stevie was only just out of her schooling. But those things weren’t insurmountable.
My being her boss, though. That created a dangerous imbalance of power. And would Brooke ever forgive me if I slept with her best friend? Not likely. Not when she was already on thin ice after Virginia’s behavior. Brooke had always liked Theo and thought of him as an uncle or big brother. He’d betrayed her, too.
Despite all my lectures to myself, I put on a pair of nice jeans, dark, with a heather gray v-neck t-shirt that I knew I looked good in. I told myself it was just looking professional.
But I knew I was lying.
When I arrived at the restaurant, I was surprised to find there was a long table set up, covered from end to end in food—all kinds. The plates were piled up. Holy shit. When had Stevie found time to make all this? Had she even slept last night?
Stevie walked out of the hallway that led to the restrooms, wearing ballet flats, a skirt that showed off her long legs, and a blouse that had my eyes sliding down to her breasts before I could stop myself. I forced my gaze back up to her face. Dammit, what the hell was wrong with me? Women didn’t turn my head like this.
“Welcome to your breakfast buffet,” Stevie said, giving me a smirk that had me wanting to grab her and slide my tongue into her mouth. “I hope you don’t mind I used the kitchen to cook all these.”
I figured she must have just changed into a nicer outfit from whatever she was wearing to cook. “No problem.”
Stevie grabbed something off of a nearby table and handed it to me. It was a menu—an entirely new one but laminated and everything. She couldn’t have done that late on a Friday night or early on a Saturday morning, especially if she was busy cooking all of this.
Clearly, she’d had this whole thing planned for a while.
I appreciated that. I liked someone with a game plan. But… still… I scanned the menu.
“These dishes all look much simpler than what Theo used to cook.”
Stevie nodded. “That’s the point. If food is too complicated people get bogged down with too much going on and so do the cooks. It becomes pretentious. Food doesn’t have to be complicated or filled with the exact ratio of four dozen ingredients in order to taste good. In fact, I think simpler dishes will help people feel like this is a more comfortable place to eat. All the ingredients here are fresh, high quality, and locally sourced. And I’ve timed all of them—the prep is half that of the dishes we were cooking last night.
“I’m sure you know this already, since you’ve got a decade of restaurant experience behind you, as you were so kind to remind me, but if you can get food to the table faster it not only satisfies the customers but they eat faster, and we can turn tables faster. I did the calculations and using these recipes instead of Theo’s we can turn the tables an extra time each night, get in a whole other rotation, which means more customers and more money in your pocket.”
I set the menu down. “I appreciate the business thought you’ve put into this,” I told her. Hell, I didn’t just appreciate it, I was impressed by it. None of my other head chefs had thought a damn about turning tables and the financial side of things. They just cared about imitating Theo’s dishes, trying to be just like him.
Maybe Stevie had a point about the menu.
But she wasn’t out of the woods just yet.
“None of this is going to matter if the food isn’t good,” I pointed out to her.
Stevie shrugged, smiling wickedly at me like she had the most delicious gossip she was about to share—or a naughty secret. It made a hot thrill shoot down my spine. “Well, the proof’s in the pudding.” She winked at me, grabbing a spoon. “Literally.”
She dipped the spoon into some bread pudding she’d made, and turned back to me, holding the spoon out.
Now, I was not the kind of guy who went in for being… taken care of. I took care of other people. I was the boss, in charge, damn it, and I liked it that way. But this didn’t seem like Stevie was treating me like she was in charge - it was more like she was teasing me, daring me to take a bite.
I realized that I couldn’t resist her with that gleam in her eyes.
I took the bite she was offering me, and the bread pudding melted into my mouth, warm and gooey and perfectly balanced, not too sweet. A surprised noise shot out of me as I tasted it. Holy shit, I hadn’t had something this good in ages.
Stevie pointed to a pork dish she’d made. “I used a mustard sauce glaze for this, my favorite,” she said. “Try it.”
I sliced off a bit and took a bite. Fucking hell, that was cooked to the perfect level of tenderness. All right, so she was starting to win me over, a bit. At the very least, she knew what the hell she was doing with food.
When I turned to tell her so, I found another forkful hovering in front of me, laden with roasted vegetables. I gave it a shot, and another surprised, pleased moan shot out of me as I tasted the zest, the just-spicy-enough zing to them as the flavor exploded on my tongue.
Everything was damn good. I had to admit - as good as Theo’s food.
I was also…well…
I could feel my pants growing tight as she fed me more bites of various dishes. Stevie’s gaze was hot and heavy on me, her pupils blown wide and dark, her lips parted. She looked like it was turning her on to do this to me, and it was sure as hell turning me on, at least. I wanted to shove that pretty skirt up and her underwear down and get a taste of something entirely different - and not stop tasting until she screamed my name.
Oh yeah. I was in deep trouble.
6
Stevie
Oh God. I was getting wet listening to Michael’s moans of approval as he tried all my dishes. I knew I shouldn’t be thinking about that. I knew I should be good.
But fuck, it was just so hot to hear him making those noises. I wanted him to make them while I was on my knees, his cock in my mouth, his hands tugging at my hair. I wanted him to make those noises as he licked into me, his tongue curling over my clit. I wanted him to sound like that as he fucked me and I screamed and begged, writhing in delicious torture—
Jesus fucking Christ, I had to focus. Focus!
I could tell that he liked the food. He wouldn’t be making all those noises just for show. That wasn’t the kind of person that Michael was. He was a straight sh
ooter who said what he thought and did what he wanted, honest to the core. I could only hope that his obvious fondness for the food would be enough to convince him let me make the menu changes.
Michael sighed as he finished, looking over at me. “The food tasted phenomenal. You know what the fuck you’re doing. Easy to see why you were at the top of your class.”
I felt my face heating up and knew I was blushing like an idiot. “Thanks.”
“But.” Michael braced his hands against the edge of the table, long fingers curling over the edge. God I wanted those fingers stroking along my skin, up my thigh… “I’m not sure this is the right path to go down.”
He gestured at the food. “My customers - your customers now too - are used to fine dining. And they’re used to routine. They might not like the change, and even if they do, they might feel that this is… well. This is comfort food, Stevie. Hearty and satisfying and delicious, but comfort food, not fine dining.”
I shook my head. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
This, I was prepared for. I’d known that he’d say this, because a lot of my teachers at culinary school had said it as well. And I wasn’t about to back down on it. I knew I was right, and if I was given the chance, I could prove it.
“You’re stuck with the idea that fancy food has to be complicated. So does the rest of the damn restaurant business. I’m sick and tired of seeing all these fancy places… these gastro pubs, and these deconstructed plates, and these tasting menus. It was cool to see people pushing the boundaries of what food is and what we can do with it, but now it’s just become pretentious. We have to get back to our roots.
“Fancy food isn’t arranged in a little pile with colorful smears on the plate. It speaks for itself. Take ramen, for instance. Ramen is comfort food in Japan. And ramen places just have a handful of ramen dishes that they do, all the same, no alterations no substitutions, no fancy additions. And I know of at least one in Tokyo that has a Michelin star. They only serve three kinds of ramen there!
Best Friend's Daddy (Forever Daddies Book 3) Page 4