by Alice Ward
Greg loudly clapped his hands together. “Then let’s stop talking, shall we, and start celebrating. Gentlemen, a reservation is held for us at Kristopher’s, and we have two cars waiting downstairs to take us there.”
He glanced at me, looking for my approval. Inwardly, I cursed. I’d forgotten all about the reservation. With thoughts of writhing women and my favorite club Secret Door on my mind, I’d completely blanked on the celebration plans already put in place.
I pursed my lips, not caring whether or not anyone took my irritation as a personal insult. Perhaps if they did, then they would learn a lesson about speeding things up in future meetings. The bomb seeking and dismantling robot my company had been developing for years was one of the most incredible inventions in recent years. That was beyond a doubt, and soon the whole world would be privy to what we in that board room were. But that didn’t mean the whole meeting needed to be a masturbatory affair. Unlike some of the portly fellows in those plush seats, I had more than enough women clamoring to take care of my pleasure for me.
With a sharp nod, I stood. The others followed, one of the assistants scurrying forward to open the glass door for me.
My entire body jumped with electricity, the desire for flesh locked inside of me. Soon, I reminded myself, soon. First, I had to go through the evening’s motions, finish the show. After that, I would get everything I craved.
Because I always did.
CHAPTER TWO
Emma
I picked up the pace, my black work shoes pounding the pavement. Had I polished them since the last shift? I couldn’t remember. After getting off the night before, I’d fallen asleep on the couch with my chemistry book in front of me. The test was in two days.
Shit. The test is in two days.
I had way more studying to do. But when, exactly? When would I fit it in?
I paused at the corner, waiting with a gaggle of people for the light to turn. My fingers burrowed into my black pants’ pocket and found the hair tie there.
“Yes,” I hissed, making a woman nearby glance suspiciously at me.
I smiled at her. Don’t worry, I’m not a crazy person.
Pulling the hair tie out, I pulled my long waves up and into a high ponytail before tucking the ends into a bun. It was a shoddy hair job, but hopefully, it would pass. If not, my manager would sure as heck let me know the second I walked through the doors of the restaurant.
The light turned, and I booked it across the street. Late. I was going to be late. It was the last thing I could afford — literally. Rent was due next week. If I ended up getting fired, there would be no time to find another job and make the few hundred bucks I was short.
Relax, Emma. It will be okay.
I hoisted my backpack up higher onto my shoulder. It was full of books from the day’s classes and the clothes I’d changed out of in a bathroom in the Humanities building.
The facade of Kristopher’s appeared ahead, all the way at the other end of the block. A sleek black car pulled up to the curb in front of it, but I didn’t take the time to bother seeing who would get out. Kristopher’s was one of the most popular five-star restaurants in Chicago. It was a cesspool for the rich and famous. The only reason I’d stayed there this past year was because the tips couldn’t be beat. The majority of the clientele’s attitudes on the other hand? Those could definitely be improved upon. Seriously, you’d think some people’s mothers, also known as nannies in this crowd, hadn’t even bothered to teach manners.
Mothers!
Crap, my mom’s birthday was next week. Dad was throwing her a little bash in the backyard. I hadn’t given any thought to what I would get her. Assuming I could even get my butt to the suburbs for the party.
I chewed on my bottom lip and jumped over a crack in the sidewalk. My car’s battery had died the week before. The mechanic I’d talked to on the phone had suggested it was the alternator. My savvy roommate had helped me replace the battery, but I hadn’t gotten into the shop yet to get the alternator checked. Would the car be able to make a trip out of the city? Could I afford a present?
I took in a deep breath. One thing at a time. Everything would turn out all right in the end.
Hitting the tiny alley next to the restaurant, I hooked a left and headed for the staff entrance. The heavy door scraped the threshold as I stepped inside and into the kitchen. The long lines of gleaming metal tables bounced with their usual energy, the staff chopping and sautéing with verve. I hugged the wall, taking the route to the staff break room. There I dumped my bag in my assigned cubby and whirled around to join the rest of the front of house.
Chris, the night manager, hovered near the server station. His pale eyebrows shot up the second he saw me. I opened my mouth to apologize but thought better of it. The noise of the dining room creeping around the corner told me the night was already in full swing. Perhaps Chris had been too occupied to notice I was late.
“Hi,” I breathlessly said, skidding to a stop next to the drink station.
Chris’ eyes ran over my hair. I cringed, waiting for him to tell me to go and fix my bun.
“You’re just in time,” he said instead. “You just got your first table.”
I smiled wide. “Great.”
“Daniel is getting their drinks now.”
I nodded. Each front of house team consisted of a waiter, a back waiter, a sommelier, and a busser. The setup was vastly different from any other restaurant I’d worked in before, but Kristopher’s was a far cry from the breakfast diner I’d started at in high school. I’d been lucky to get a job at a fine dining establishment at all. The tips more than paid my bills. They were paying my way through nursing school.
“Here are the specials tonight,” Chris said, locking his eyes on mine and running down the list. I focused intently, committing the appetizer, salad, and two entree dishes to memory. At a place like Kristopher’s, reading the night’s specials off a piece of scrap paper was a big no-no. The head waiter wasn’t supposed to do any writing. When I took the guest’s orders, I would stash them away in my head and then go over to the server station and dictate them to my back waiter, who would then place the order with the kitchen.
Chris’ demeanor grew more serious. His eyebrows furrowed and his chin tucked down. “Your guest tonight is Niall Lambert and some of his colleagues.”
My breath halted. My heart sped up. Niall Lambert. I’d never waited on him, but he’d been in the restaurant during several of my shifts. Each time his cool gray eyes looked my way, the same thing always happened. A heat wave washed over me. My toes curled.
Undoubtedly, there was something about the man. Just what it was though, I had no clue. It wasn’t his pleasant attitude. More than one story about him making servers cry circulated the restaurant.
For the record, no customer had ever made me cry. But no customer had ever made the muscles between my thighs constrict with just a glance.
Folding my hands behind my back, I headed for the dining room. The timing was perfect, with Daniel just finishing pouring wine for the table. With a slight bow, he stepped back from the head of the table.
And there he was. The jet black wavy hair. The strong jaw. The lightly tanned skin. The piercing rain cloud eyes.
I swallowed hard. I could do this.
Daniel nodded to me as we passed and I took up my position near the head of the table.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” I began. “Welcome to Kristopher’s.”
I could feel them on me. Those charcoal eyes. Their gaze was a laser, piercing the side of my face. I focused on the rest of the men at the table, specifically the ones who actually bothered to look at me. It was customary to address the host of the party, if there was one, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. That close to Niall Lambert, my knees were sure to buckle if he so much as blinked in my direction.
I went through the motions, giving a lavish description of the specials. Amazingly, I pulled it off without forgetting anything, despite the presence of the ma
n to my right.
I answered the few questions about the menu, then took an order for appetizers. Spinning on the balls of my feet, I took my leave, only breathing fully once the table was yards behind me. My back waiter took the order and went to place it while I saw to another table that had just been seated.
After taking care of the lovey-dovey couple tucked into one of the corners — a nice reprieve — I headed back to Mr. Lambert’s table. Thankfully, the man in mention was engaged in a conversation with the fellow on his left.
Before I could ask if the party was ready to order entrees, the food runner brought the appetizers. I pointed out each dish and then stepped back so the busser could top off the water glasses. With a pitcher in each hand though, he’d picked up one of them at an odd angle, putting too much weight on his wrist. His hand shook, and I reached out to take the pitcher from him. Condensation slicked the glass, and it slipped, going right through my hands...
And down onto Niall Lambert’s lap.
With a glorious slow motion effect, the water flew up like a tidal wave, striking the white tablecloth then the floor — but practically drowning Mr. Lambert. The liquid soaked his fine gray suit, half a dozen glasses of water altogether.
I froze, not able to believe it. I’d never made a mistake at Kristopher’s — never dropped a plate, never forgotten a diner’s order.
The scene continued to move in slow motion, the collective gasps of everyone around permeating the air, the man next to Mr. Lambert scooting his chair out of the way, as if that somehow might save him from water already spilled.
One set of chilly eyes snapped up, locking onto mine, and time picked up, barreling past me.
I was as good as dead.
CHAPTER THREE
Niall
I cursed under my breath, grabbing the white cloth napkin on the table and pressing it into my pant legs. The waitress dropped to her knees, her face obscured thanks to the haze filling my vision.
What the hell was wrong with people? It wasn’t as if her job was particularly difficult. Stand there, prattle off some specials, act like you gave half a shit about the customers. A monkey could do it.
Another staff member appeared behind the waitress, handing her a towel. She got to work, dabbing my legs and thighs.
“I’m so sorry,” she said into my lap, the towel furiously rubbing the pants’ fabric against my now cold skin.
My teeth ground together, a slew of words forming in my mouth. Just as I opened my mouth to let the woman know just what an idiot she was, she looked up into my face.
I’d seen her from a distance. Taken note of her before. Never, though, had she been so close. Her green eyes sparkled in an unexpected way, despite the fear and humiliation that also filled them. They were wide, desperate... pleading.
My muscles twitched. The waitress froze, still staring up at me, waiting for my reaction. I let the moment stretch on. The anticipation in her green eyes grew, making me rigid with a new feeling. The way she gazed up at me, waiting to see what would happen next.
A half dozen other reasons the waitress might be on her knees filled my mind.
“Are you all right?” someone asked. “Mr. Lambert?”
I didn’t look up to see who spoke. It didn’t matter. My longings from earlier — the ones that were in danger of only being partially satiated — were suddenly presented with a new opportunity. The promise of big game.
I stood, taking the woman’s forearm and pulling her up along with me. She went easily, light as she was.
“Come with me,” I muttered, then began walking. The dining room passed us by as I took her toward the hallway. “We’ll speak to your manager,” I said, just for the sake of the people listening and watching the drama unfold.
“I’m so sorry,” she gasped as we turned into the dimly lit hallway. “There was water on the pitcher.”
I didn’t answer, instead kept walking, setting my destination for the end of the hall. The bathrooms flew by, and we turned the corner.
The waitress spoke up. “Th-there’s nothing down here but the supply closet.”
“Good.”
I spun her around, pressing her back against the wall, keeping her far away from everyone else. Her eyes were still wide, a bit of her dark brown hair having come loose to dance along her eyebrow. She froze, her face mere inches below mine. She was undeniably beautiful, as well as younger than I thought. Although somewhere in her early twenties, the fear on her face made her seem even younger.
“Please don’t go to my manager,” she begged.
The smile tugged at my lips. I liked that tone of voice. And I liked it even better when the woman using it didn’t have any clothes on.
The idea that had grown in me during the trek across the dining room was now fully formed, ready to come out and stake its claim.
“I won’t go to your manager,” I said, keeping my voice low.
She sighed in relief, her shoulders sinking. I kept my hand on her arm, not done with her yet.
“On one condition,” I continued, but waited to finish until she met my eyes again. “You spend a weekend with me.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Emma
My eyelashes fluttered of their own accord. I looked back into his icy orbs, then tried to look away. But there was nothing else to see. The man hovering over me was suddenly everything. His grip on my arm, his musky scent. His breath washing down against my face.
I licked my lips and forced myself to speak despite the heat in my cheeks. “A weekend?”
“Yes,” he breathed, the sweetness of the one word making me shiver. “A weekend. Forty-eight hours spent with just me.”
I swallowed hard. Was the man actually suggesting what I thought he was?
“What would we do?” I asked. My voice sounded weak and fearful, so unlike how it was supposed to.
One corner of his mouth twitched. “Things I’m sure you’ve only dreamed of.”
Okay. So he was suggesting just that.
The heat from my cheeks swooped down to occupy the spot between my thighs, my body betraying me in that one quick second. Just having Mr. Lambert so close, his gaze so fixed on me, had an effect I’d never experienced.
I braced my feet, using all my strength to reach deep down in myself and find some semblance of rationality. “Is this a threat? Are you telling me you’ll try and get me fired if I don’t sleep with you?”
Mr. Lambert’s head cocked slightly. His grip on my arm loosened, his fingers trailing down my white sleeve. My whole body shivered from the touch. I tried to hide it, tried to not let him see the effect he had on me. It was futile though. I could tell from the look on his face that he knew all too well he possessed the upper hand.
Clearing the last bit of space between us, he leaned forward to let his mouth hover right near my ear. “I can see you like my touch. My presence.”
I swallowed hard, desperately trying to think of an answer.
He went on. “I can give you so much more than just that. I can show you pleasure you’ve only dreamed of. The kind that you’ll be craving the rest of your life once we’re done. I can possess you, twist you around my finger.”
His mouth moved closer, his lips grazing my skin. “I can dominate you, make you beg for me. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
My breath came out ragged. “You’re propositioning me.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “I’m giving you the opportunity to live out your most forbidden fantasies. Tell me...” He leaned back slightly so he could look down into my eyes. “Do you ever think about pain and pleasure? How the two are so inherently bound together?”
I didn’t say anything. I thought about pushing him away; thought about running. But God help me, I didn’t want to. What he suggested was something no man had ever offered me. Not the one serious boyfriend I’d had. Not the men I’d casually dated since then. Not the one drunken one-night stand I wanted to forget.
Pain and pleasure... so inherently bound together.
> My body ached to understand the full extent of his words. Just what it craved I didn’t really know. But I intuitively knew the man before me held the answer.
“I...” The sentence was impossible to finish. I wanted to tell him no, but I just couldn’t.
“Think about it,” he purred, removing his hand from me and stepping back. A white business card appeared between two of his offered fingers. “You have twenty-four hours.”
With that, he turned and disappeared around the hall’s corner. Still frozen in place, I stared at the wall in front of me, trying to steady my shaking knees and trying to make sense out of what had just happened.
***
The rest of the shift passed in a daze. Deeming me too much of a disappointment to continue to wait on Mr. Lambert’s table, Chris gave the party to another server, which was fine with me. I got busy tending to my other customers, making my main task avoiding the man who had so quickly upended my world.
Six hours later, the torture was finally over. I sat cross-legged on my living room couch, my two roommates nearby, hanging on every word of my story. When I finished the account, they just stared at me for a second... then exchanged looks... then stared at me again.
Jess’ mouth hung open, her big blue eyes even wider than they usually were. “What... the... fuck?”
Laine adamantly shook her head. I knew the words that were coming before they even left her mouth. “Don’t do it, Emma. No.”
Jess made a dismissive noise. “Whatever.”
Laine pursed her lips and shot our roommate a reprimanding look. Although they had been friends for years, the two of them were like night and day. With her long blonde hair and bohemian wardrobe, Jess often liked to say that she let the moment guide her. If something felt right, she did it.
Laine, on the other hand, tended to think through everything. That included her wardrobe comprised mostly of polos and button-up shirts, which Jess constantly made fun of. She shook her head, her black hair sweeping along her shoulders. “No, Emma. Don’t do it. You don’t know what could happen.”