by Katie McCoy
I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.
“I feel great,” I told her, because I did. I had never felt this good after a performance. I had never felt good at all after a performance. Usually everything was a complete blur, like a dream I was waking from but couldn’t remember. This time, I remembered the feel of every single note. And I knew I had done amazing. Even if I didn’t win—though I fervently hoped that I would—I knew that I had conquered something inside myself. I felt like I could take on the world. Or, at least the classical music world. And it was all thanks to Jake. Jake and chicken noodle soup.
Even stoic Mark looked surprised as he came over.
“You did good,” he said gruffly. “Really good.”
“Thank you,” I told him, pride swelling inside of me. Even though a part of me knew his approval wasn’t everything, it still felt great knowing that I had done well enough to earn his praise. But my attention quickly shifted elsewhere. Jake. I had to find him and thank him. Had he stayed? Had he watched the performance? I grabbed my things and headed towards the exit, Nina on my heels.
“Where are you going?” She ran to catch up. “What’s the rush?”
“Jake,” I told her. “Jake is here. He brought the soup.”
“He came?” Nina practically swooned, and I knew exactly how she felt. My insides were doing somersaults—but good ones, not nervous, panicky ones. I wanted to see him. I wanted to apologize. To throw myself in his arms. To never, ever let go.
“That is so romantic,” Nina sighed behind me.
But when I got to the lobby he was already gone. My parents were waiting for me, though, their faces glowing with pride, arms full of roses.
“You were incredible.” My dad gave me a hug, handing over the flowers. “I never knew you could play like that.”
“I’m so proud.” My mom’s eyes were wet with tears. “Everything aligned so perfectly.”
I tried not to look around for Jake, but I must have done a terrible job, because my mother squeezed my hand.
“He couldn’t stay,” she told me, and then nodded at the flowers in my arms. “Those are from him.”
I buried my nose in the fragrant blossoms, trying to hide my disappointment. Why had he come all this way, brought me the soup, and not stayed?
“El.” Nina thrust her phone in my face. “Look at this.”
I looked at the article she had pulled up. It had a picture of Jake and the headline Grassfed’s new chef takes on the public. I scanned the piece, reading about a week of brand new menus in what was being dubbed “A Tasting in the Court of Public Opinion.”
“He’s finally getting to show what he can do,” I murmured. I looked at the date. “It starts next week,” I realized, things finally clicking into place.
“He’s probably crazy busy,” Nina pointed out. “I’m sure he would have stayed if he could.”
I knew she was right. It meant a lot to me that he had even been able to come at all—I had no doubt that he was working incredibly hard to prepare for his event. I chewed on the corner of my lip, nervous but hopeful. He had done something amazing for me. Something that said that he wasn’t giving up on me. On us. And it was a gesture I had to repay. I wanted to repay. But how? How could I show him that I wanted him, too?
“Nina,” I turned to my sister. “We need to go shopping.”
Hours later, loaded down with shopping bags, I maneuvered into my apartment, exhausted and exhilarated. I was now equipped with all the necessary trappings to garnish my gesture for Jake—jewelry, makeup (including red, red lipstick to go with my red, red dress), my first pair of sexy, fuck-me shoes, and of course, a brand new set of lingerie. I had been eying this particular ensemble for months, but hadn’t been able to think of an excuse to buy it. Extremely expensive and utterly impractical, even for someone like me who still wore garters and thigh highs, I had walked away from it a dozen times. But today, it was exactly what I needed. I could only imagine the look on Jake’s face when he finally saw it. Just imagining that expression, the way his gaze went hot and predatory, made me incredibly wet. Taking out the lingerie, I smoothed it against my body, imagining Jake’s hands there, against my waist, my breasts, my ass. I shivered, alone in my apartment, missing the way he kissed me. It had been too long since I had been with him. Since he had been inside me.
Weeks ago I would have described myself as someone who wasn’t that good, or even that interested in sex. Today, I was ravenous for it. My entire body burned for Jake.
But that—and the lingerie—would have to come later. I still needed to put several other aspects of my plan into motion. Reluctantly, I put away the lingerie and picked up my phone. I scrolled to recent contacts, finding the number I was looking for.
It only rang a few times before Dakota picked up.
“It’s Ella,” I told her. “And I need your help.”
34
Jake
I had never been so nervous in my life. Everything was set, the new menus were with the servers, the kitchen staff had been prepped, all that needed to be done was, well, make everything. And make it amazing.
“Holy shit,” I muttered to myself, pacing around my office. The restaurant was opening in twenty minutes and Marilyn had already come back to tell me that there was a line around the block. No pressure, right? It was one thing to create hype, it was another thing to live up to it. And all this was on my shoulders. My idea, my recipes, my potential funeral.
I needed a drink. But even if I hadn’t sworn off alcohol (especially tequila) for a long while, I never, ever drank on the job. But I had never been this anxious. Not since my first night in the first restaurant I ever worked in, almost five years ago. And it had never been this bad. I remembered how Ella had talked about her panic attacks, and I was starting to get a pretty good understanding of what that felt like.
Then I thought of Ella’s performance. Of how she had walked onto that stage, her head held high, everything about her radiating confidence and poise. Her dress, glittering in the spotlight, clung to her body, made for her curves. I had been spellbound, unable to look away. And then she had started to play. Suddenly I was back in her apartment, my fingers tangled in her hair, as she poured herself out through the music. The orchestra behind her playing as if they had been waiting for her. Yet, despite the music that filled the room, the theatre packed with people, it was like Ella and I were completely alone.
I felt myself relax. A calm came over me. If Ella could conquer her fears, get on that stage and play like that, then I could survive this night. This is what I always wanted to do. It was time to show San Francisco exactly what I was capable of.
I took a deep breath, straightened my apron and went into the kitchen to get orders ready and to kick ass.
Opening night was going well. Really well. The energy in the kitchen was fantastic—everyone was having a good time, probably influenced by the fact that the servers kept coming back into the kitchen to tell us how much the customers were raving over the food.
I tried to stay cool. I couldn’t let myself get cocky—it was still early on the first night of a long week ahead—but as the evening went on, I found it harder and harder to keep my big dumb grin to myself.
“There’s an hour wait.” Marilyn swept into the kitchen. “And the phones have been ringing off the hook asking for reservations for the rest of the week. People are tweeting and instagramming right from their table. Our social media accounts have exploded!” Her face was flushed in a distinctly non-Marilyn way. Not much flustered her, bad or good, but she looked pretty damn happy.
She steered herself over to my station, where I was prepping another plate of macaroni and cheese—one of the most requested items on the menu, after the chicken noodle soup, of course.
“When you suggested going back to the basics, I never thought you meant basics like this.” She leaned over, taking a long sniff of the cheese bubbling on the stove. “Mmm.” She let out an appreciative sigh. “This reminds me of my childh
ood.”
I grinned even bigger. “Me too,” I said. “These are my mom’s recipes, actually.”
“Really?” Marilyn’s eyes widened. “Was she a chef?”
“Not a professional one, but she was the best one I ever knew. I took her basics, gave them my own update—fresher ingredients, playful pairings, some secret ingredients—and there you go.”
“Well, it looks like you have a hit.” Marilyn clapped me on the back. “I knew hiring you was a good idea.”
I caught Dakota’s gaze from across the room, biting back a laugh when she rolled her eyes.
“Great work, everyone,” Marilyn said to the kitchen. “This is going to be the start of a new Grassfed. Congratulations!”
Everyone applauded and I felt a swell of pride, not just for my kitchen staff, who had worked their asses off to make tonight the success it was becoming, but also for my mother, whose brilliant recipes were getting another chance to bring happiness to a whole city of people.
But my happiness dimmed in knowing that not only would she never be able to experience this, but my dad, the last real connection I had to her, would be blind to it as well. I had been so caught up in preparing for the week, I hadn’t even told him it was happening.
“Looks like Marilyn is finally coming around.” Dakota came over, wiping her hands on her apron. “I wasn’t sure she’d let you do your own menu, let alone come in here and congratulate you in front of the entire staff.”
“One step closer to opening up my own place,” I told her, and she gave me a grin.
“Pretty big moment, huh?”
“Yeah, it’s alright,” I teased.
“Yeah, no sweat,” she teased back, but kept grinning at me.
“What?” She was starting to make me a little nervous. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” she said innocently.
“Dakota—” I warned.
She held up her hands. “I swear. I didn’t do anything.” Somehow that didn’t make me feel better at all.
Suddenly one of the servers came into the kitchen.
“Chef.” She too had a suspicious smile on her face. “Some of the customers want to compliment the chef.”
It wasn’t unusual for guests to ask to speak to the chef, but honestly it hadn’t happened much since I took over from Patricia. But apparently tonight was the night when anything was possible.
“Okay.” I gestured to another cook to take over my prep and headed towards the door.
“Wait.” Dakota grabbed my arm and gave me a once-over. She sighed. “Why do you always have to wear such ratty shirts?”
“Why do you care?” I asked, the nervousness coming back. “What’s going on?”
But she didn’t answer, instead reached up to smooth down my hair. I swatted her hand away.
“Dakota, what are you not telling me?”
Instead of responding, she spun me around and pushed me out the doors into the restaurant.
The server hadn’t told me which table wanted to speak to me, but then I saw her and all my questions flew out the window.
Ella stood as I approached and I nearly had a heart attack.
Red. Red from head to toe. Red lipstick, red shoes and a red dress. And holy shit, what a dress. It hugged every luscious curve, stopping just above the knee, giving me a nice view of her gorgeous legs. Her dark hair was loose, her perfect lips curved in a smile.
“Hi,” she said as I reached her table.
I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to grab her, mess up that lipstick, tangle her hair, and admire the dress as it lay crumpled up on my bedroom floor, but we were in a very public place, and lots of people were staring at us. Including Ella’s dinner date.
I did a double take.
“Dad?”
He stood, his napkin twisted in his hand.
“Jake.” He looked nervous.
“I called him,” Ella explained.
“I’m glad she did,” my dad said, gesturing towards the table. “Your food was delicious.” The surface was covered with empty plates. “It reminded me of—”
“Mom,” I finished for him. “They’re her recipes.”
“But yours too,” He gave me a smile. “I can tell.”
“I wanted to do something that she would be proud of.”
“She would be.” My dad had tears in his eyes. “And I’m proud of you too.”
I was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, and grateful that Ella had brought my dad here tonight. It was an amazing gift.
“Thanks, Dad,” I told him, feeling closer to him then I had in years.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been very supportive,” he said gruffly.
“It’s okay.” And it was.
One of the servers came by and whispered in my ear. “Dakota says you should take your break now.”
I looked up and saw Dakota and half of the kitchen staff peering out through the kitchen window. I shot them a look and they scattered, except for Dakota who gave me a thumbs up.
“I’m guessing she had something to do with this?” I asked Ella, who looked a little sheepish.
“She got me your dad’s number.”
“Thank you,” I told her, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. “You look amazing.”
“Thank you.” She blushed and my heart did a little flip flop. God, how I loved it when she blushed.
“And thank you for the soup,” she told me. “It really helped.”
I swelled with pleasure. I loved everything about her. I loved her. Wait. What? The realization hit me like a punch in the gut. Holy shit. I loved her. I loved Ella. Completely. Utterly. But before I could do anything about it, she gestured for me to take a seat.
“I’m going to let you guys catch up.”
“You’re not going to stay?” I asked, surprised, and still reeling from my realization.
She shook her head. “You two probably have a lot to talk about.” Leaning over she dropped a kiss on my forehead. “I’ll be waiting for you when you get off,” she murmured.
My heart went soft and my cock got rock hard as I watched her walk out of the restaurant, turning heads as she went. Back off, world. This one is all mine.
35
Ella
It was the one night I didn’t mind waiting. Okay, that was a lie. I was jumping out of my skin waiting for Jake’s feet outside my door, but I understood why I was waiting. He needed time with his dad, with his staff, even with himself, to take in everything that had happened that night. Tonight had been an important moment in his life. And sometimes it took time to process that. So I could wait.
But it was barely after one a.m., just after closing, when the door to my apartment flew open, and there was Jake, breathless and gorgeous.
I rose from the piano as he slammed the door behind him. I was still wearing the red dress. He didn’t say a word as he strode across the room, his eyes blazing, and took me in his arms.
His mouth was hot and desperate against mine, and he kissed me as if I was a well of water and he was dying of thirst. His hands were everywhere, sliding through my hair, clutching my ass, cupping my breasts. My lips parted for him, my tongue seeking his, a moan escaping me when they finally tangled together. I was dizzy with desire.
We broke apart, both gasping for breath.
“You damn near killed me with that dress,” Jake growled, his hands holding my hips tight against his. I could feel him, that hard, wonderful length, straining against his jeans.
Even though I was wearing heels, I still had to lift myself on my toes to whisper in his ear.
“And you haven’t even seen what I’m wearing underneath,” I purred and nipped at his earlobe.
“Fuck . . . ” he groaned, then captured my mouth with his.
While his tongue tangled with mine, his hand moved up my back to the zipper of the dress. But I only allowed him to ease down halfway before I pulled back. I had a plan.
“First things first,” I told him, as I steered him to the piano. �
�Sit,” I ordered, directing him to the bench.
He did, the hard line of his cock evident through his well-worn jeans. He arched an eyebrow at me, and leaned back against the closed piano.
“I missed you,” I confessed to him.
Jake’s face softened. “I missed you too, baby.”
Even though I had stood in front of him, completely naked, in that moment, I felt utterly exposed. I knew what I wanted. Was I brave enough to ask for it?
“No one ever had faith in me,” I told him. “Not the way that you did. And no one has ever seen me the way you do. Mark—” I swallowed. “Mark always told me that our problems were because of me. That I didn’t enjoy sex because there was something wrong with me.”
Jake frowned and I saw his fists clench. “That jerk,” he muttered.
I reached out and pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen onto his forehead. “But I know now that he was wrong. About everything. And that’s because of you.”
“I just helped you see what was already there.” Jake took my hand and linked his fingers with mine. “I’m sorry I was a jerk.”
I smiled at him. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen.” I took a deep breath. “I don’t know what this is, but I’m not ready for it to end.”
“Good.” Jake smiled. “Me neither.” Then his smile went wicked. “Though I am ready to see what you’ve got on underneath that sexy red dress.”
“Oh you are?” I teased, just slightly lifting the hem, giving him a peek of the top of my stockings.
“You have no idea how ready.”
Smiling, I reached back and slid the zipper all the way down. Then I let the red fabric fall from my shoulders and flutter down to the floor, leaving me in nothing but lingerie and heels.
“Holy shit,” Jake let out a whistle as he took in my black stockings, black garters, black lace thong, and black satin corset. It cinched my waist, exaggerating the slope of my hips and giving my breasts some impressive cleavage.