by Bargo, Holly
The next two hours proceeded as planned because, however else they might behave offstage, onstage they were consummate professionals. When it came time for the final song, Kris announced, “This afternoon, we’d like to leave you with our music playing in your heads. Mick here wrote a particularly haunting tune for his new wife, Sonia, and I have to say that Iron Falcon is completely in love with this woman who can inspire such beautiful music.”
At his cue, Mick picked up his violin and Angelo picked up his wooden flute. The instrumental calmed the audience, seduced them, and would have made them weep if it weren’t for the deep and quiet joy infusing it. Sighs sounded above the crowd as women and girls dreamed of handsome men paying tribute to them with such auditory beauty. As the notes died away, the audience held its rapt silence. The lights dimmed, the band bowed, and the curtains dropped. The silence held for a few seconds longer, then exploded with wild applause and cheers and shouts for an encore.
Iron Falcon set down their instruments and walked off the stage, their blood and bodies humming with adrenaline and music. They returned to what Angelo had dubbed the “waiting room,” where cold beverages and snacks awaited. The usual crowd of groupies lay in wait for them, rushing forward with smiles and excited squeals and requests for autographs and suggestions of other things. With their usual good grace, the band members greeted their enthusiastic fans and signed paper, CDs, shirts, and even some body parts. Security firmly enforced the “no fraternization” rule and kept the most rabid of fans from following the band members into the waiting room. Mick did not miss seeing Jack and Kris both slipping pre-written notes into the palms of willing women. He knew that those women were instructed to meet them in a hotel room off-property where they’d indulge in a couple of hours’ hot, sweaty sex. Once they’d worked off their energy and excitement, they would dismiss their transient lovers, catch a bite to eat, and return in time for the evening show.
Especially now that he had Sonia, the whole fuck-’em-and-kick-’em-out scenario seemed so horribly sordid. Tawdry. Even cruel. They all knew that many of those temporary fuck buddies thought they were the ones who’d rock the rock star’s world such that he’d fall into love and keep her with him, at least for a few weeks.
He wanted to gag at the thought of a few weeks being considered some sort of long-term relationship. The very idea of Sonia leaving him, warming another man’s bed, made him boil with rage.
Dear Lord, his mother was going to get the best laugh of her life when she next saw him. She’d realize immediately that he was completely and irrevocably smitten and he had no doubt she’d hold it over his head for the rest of her life.
Which reminded him … he found his cell phone and sent a quick text message to her: Mom, I’ll be in town for the next couple of weeks. Come visit before the tour?
He hoped she would. He knew Angelo called his parents every week, maintaining a close relationship with them despite the distance. He wondered if he could get Mrs. DiMarco’s recipe for Bolognese sauce. Surely, Sonia would make it for him some day.
“That was a good show, even for a matinee,” Angelo commented as they flopped down on the well-padded furniture. He grabbed a handful of granola bars, unwrapped one, and stuffed half of it in his mouth.
“Especially for a matinee,” Davis agreed before guzzling a bottle of cold water.
“If this afternoon’s show is any indication, we’re going to kill ‘em tonight,” Jack predicted. “What do you think, Mick?”
“I think I need a snack, a shower, and then a nap,” Mick replied as he reached for a plate of assorted cookies.
“A nap?” The four other men stopped chewing and/or drinking in surprise.
“I didn’t get much sleep last night. Or this morning.”
“Hot damn!” Angelo cheered. “Who knew the wifey had it in her?”
“Oh, she’s had it in her. Repeatedly. Frequently,” Mick replied with deliberately thick innuendo. “And she likes it. A lot.”
Laughter resounded. Kris and Jack finished gobbling down everything edible or potable within arm’s reach and then excused themselves.
“Take that sofa, man,” Davis invited as he stretched out on the sofa he occupied. “A nap sounds good.”
Mick finished off his sixth cookie, lay back, and closed his eyes. He’d take a shower later. Angelo snorted at his two best friends and turned on the television to catch the last four innings as the Pittsburgh Pirates played against the Detroit Tigers. Good thing he really liked baseball. He would have loved to have seen his great-uncle Lou, who taught him how to catch and throw and had attended every Little League game, when he had played on the Yankees team with the famous Joe DiMaggio. The wiry old man had had an impressive throw.
As Davis and Mick snoozed, an intrepid young woman quietly opened the room’s door. Thinking to sneak inside, she squeaked when a large, warm palm covered her mouth and another hand splayed across her belly to yank her against a hard, muscled body.
“You know you’re not supposed to be back here,” a warm baritone murmured into her ear. She nodded slightly, as the hand still muffled her mouth. “Since you’re sneaking in here, I can only surmise that you’re after one of two things.”
The young woman went very still as the man’s hand started sliding slowly downward.
“Either you’re here to steal something,” he murmured.
Her eyes widened and she shook her head.
“Or you’re here to get fucked,” he continued smoothly as his hand cupped her intimately.
Her muffled squeal brought a cruel smile to his full lips as he slid an exploratory finger beneath the crotch of her very short shorts.
“Honey, my mom would slap any daughter of hers who appeared in public wearing hot pants like you’ve got on,” he murmured, keeping his voice low and intimate as he fingered her. Her knees buckled. He chuckled in her ear, the sound dark and rich. “Like that, do you?”
She groaned low in her throat.
“Unzip your pants and pull them down,” Angelo ordered.
The woman’s hands trembled as she obeyed. He moved his hand so she could shove shorts and panties over her hips. The clothing slid down her legs and he held her steady as she stepped out of them. He walked her forward a few steps and silently shut the heavy door.
“Brace yourself,” he warned her as he unzipped his jeans. The hand over her mouth muffled her whimper. He pulled out his cock, hardening and lengthening obediently to his purpose. “Spread your legs, girl.”
She obeyed. He bent his knees, positioned himself at her entrance, and thrust even as his hand returned to her body to hold her in place for him. His hand over her mouth quieted her squeals. His own jaws clamped shut to stifle any of his own grunts. With cruel efficiency and the rhythmic smack of his hips against her fleshy bottom, Angelo used her body until he climaxed. At the last moment, he pulled out and ejaculated over her buttocks.
The woman trembled in his hands as he leaned forward to rest his forehead between her shoulders and catch his breath. Then he straightened. He tucked his wilting penis back into his pants. His hand still clamped over her lower face and his other hand still gripping over her hip, he pulled her back a few steps, just enough to open the door. He wheeled a foot around to snag her shorts and panties. With a kick, they slid across the floor and out into the corridor.
“You got what you wanted,” he growled in her ear. “Now get the fuck out of here.”
With that, he pushed her through the doorway and closed the door behind her. Angelo ignored her outraged shriek through the heavy door as he headed for the bathroom to clean up. Who knew how often or by how many that twat had been used?
“That was fucking cruel, man,” Davis’ voice quietly rumbled.
“She’s a whore,” Angelo dismissed her. “Like all the others. If I ever find a woman like Sonia, I’ll treat her like a queen.”
Davis closed his eyes again and let himself drift back to sleep. Yeah, if any of them ever found himself a woman like
Sonia, he knew the lucky bastard would hold on to her with both hands and all his teeth. They wouldn’t be finding sweet futures like that amid the horny groupies.
Chapter 13
Monday morning. Sonia left Mick sleeping soundly in bed and presented herself to her new boss two hours before the restaurant opened for the lunch crowd. She nervously approached the rear entrance—-the kitchen entrance—and tentatively asked if Chef Kilrook were available.
“Hey, you the new cook?” called a young man prepping what looked to be the appetizer station. “Chef said you’d be in today.”
Sonia smiled in relief and walked forward. “Yes, I am. I’m Sonia Hendriksen.” She did not extend a hand to shake, as his were busy with food.
“Hey, Sonia. I’m Juan,” the man said with a cheery smile. He jerked his chin toward a door at the back of the kitchen. “Chef’s office is through there. Go on back; he’ll be expecting you.”
“Thanks, Juan” she said and walked where she was directed. She peeked through the window in the door and saw a short hallway.
“Office is second door on the right,” Juan called back to her.
“Thank you,” she called back and walked through.
Sure enough, the second door on the right was labeled “EXECUTIVE OFFICE.” Well, wasn’t that convenient? The first door on the right was labeled “EMPLOYEES ONLY.” She knocked on the door and waited a brief moment before answering the summons to enter.
“Ah, my CIA protégé,” the chef greeted his new chef de partie with a small smile. “You’re prompt. I like to see that.”
“My references will tell you I’m seldom late, sir,” she said, wiping her sweaty palms nervously against her black trousers.
“Yes, yes,” he said impatiently as he pulled a folder from a pile on his desk. “My office manager is on maternity leave, but she prepared your employment forms before she left. Some of these will be familiar to you, like the tax withholding form. Others are specific to my restaurant, including the confidentiality statement.”
“Confidentiality statement?” Her eyebrows rose in surprise.
“Yes, the recipes here are mine and if I catch any employee, past or present, divulging them, then there will be dire consequences.”
“All right,” she said, categorizing the recipes under the name of “intellectual property.” Of course, he wanted to protect his recipes. She understood that.
“Antonin will start you at the sauté station. We’ll see how you get on. Juan is our prepper. You’ll have met him when you arrived.”
Sonia nodded. He handed her a numbered key.
“That’s for your locker. Stash your purse, jacket, and anything else in there. I like to assume that everyone is honest, but let’s not offer any unnecessary temptation. Oh, please do not store any food in your locker; it draws vermin. Use the refrigerator.”
She nodded.
“You’ll get a fifteen minute break for every four-hour shift scheduled, plus another thirty minutes within each eight-hour shift. I understand that it’s necessary to taste what you cook, but sneaking food will be grounds for dismissal. If you want a plate of something to take home, you buy it. The employee discount is fifty percent.”
She nodded.
“Do you have any questions, Sonia?”
“No, sir.”
His piercing gaze glinted with approval and he gave her another small smile. “I know I sound like a pompous ass, but I’m not really that bad. I’ve found that it’s best to get the housekeeping stuff out of the way immediately so there are no misunderstandings.”
“Yes, sir.”
He glanced at the big analog watch on his wrist. “Antonin should be here in just a minute. He’s a strict taskmaster, but if you perform to expectations, you’ll find he’s an excellent mentor.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And stop calling me ‘sir.’ It makes me feel old.”
“Yes, chef.”
He sighed. Those Midwesterners with their persistent manners charmed him sometimes. “Call me Joe. We’re generally informal here.”
“Er … thank you.”
He rose to his feet and escorted her to the employees’ break room.
“Take a seat,” he said, gesturing at the group of small tables. “Fill out your paperwork. When you’ve finished, bring it back to me and we’ll get you set up at your station.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chef Joseph Kilrook rolled his eyes and left his nervous, young employee to her own devices. He had a kitchen to check on.
“Buenos dias, Juan” he bade the young man walking through the door a cordial hello. “Folks, our new cook is here. Let’s make her feel welcome.”
“Sure thing, boss. What’s her name?”
“Sonia. Sonia Hendriksen.”
“That sounds familiar. Huh.”
Kilrook shrugged and peeked over Juan’s shoulder to check on the food prep. “Any problems, Juan?”
“Not yet, boss,” Juan replied with his customary brilliant smile.
Kilrook smiled back. He had plans for Juan, who was bright, eager to learn, and showed immense promise. Too bad Antonin disliked him.
Antonin walked through the door. “Hello, Joe,” he greeted. “Is our new cook here yet?”
“Hi, Antonin. Yes, she’s in the break room filling out paperwork. I’ve assigned her to the sauté station. Start her with the scallops and risotto. If she can’t cook those, she won’t last long.”
The head chef nodded and continued walking back to his own office, a smaller version of Kilrook’s. Kilrook accompanied him, warning him in a low voice so as not to be overheard, “Don’t seduce this one, Antonin. I’ve seen her husband and he’s a jealous brute.”
“I’ll do nothing she does not want,” Antonin replied evasively.
Kilrook settled a heavy hand on his head chef’s shoulder and said, “Antonin, she’s connected. Hands off this one.”
The younger, suavely handsome man nodded his understanding that an affair with this young woman could have negative repercussions for the restaurant.
“I’ll be discreet.”
“I’m not talking mafia, Antonin. Our new girl’s married to a celebrity. The bad press could kill us if you don’t behave.”
“Nothing will happen,” Antonin assured his boss. Besides, he already had his eye on the pretty fry cook who’d just ended a relationship gone bad. Conchetta surely needed soothing and affection and he would be pleased to give it.
Antonin walked into the break room and stared at the bowed head with its tawny hair pulled back into a severe bun at the nape of her neck. The other two cooks who had entered a minute before he both ended their gossipy chat and bade him a respectful hello.
“Hello, you must be Sonia,” he greeted politely. “I am Antonin. I’ll be mentoring you.”
Sonia looked up from the form she had just signed and smiled tentatively at the slender, astonishingly handsome man who had just entered the room. The two cook’s assistants who had just left had already introduced themselves to her and briefly cautioned her not to get too friendly with Antonin. She politely replied, “Hello. Yes, I’m Sonia. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
He extended a hand to her and she shook it politely, meeting his gaze. She felt unexpected strength in his slender hand. He released her hand and decided to get to business.
“Have you finished with the paperwork?”
“Yes, I just signed the last form.”
“Good. Collect them and return them to Joe. Then find a jacket. We have a variety of sizes, so you ought to find one to fit you properly. There’s a hamper in the employee restroom for soiled jackets. We have a laundry service that supplies them and launders them, so you’ve no need to purchase your own or take any home.”
She nodded, somewhat intimidated.
“When you’ve done that, return to the kitchen. Just about everyone on the first shift is here. Did Joe give you your schedule yet?”
“Not yet.”
Anto
nin nodded. “This week, you’ll work half shifts, four hours, through Saturday, ten o’clock to two o’clock. You’ll have Sunday and Monday off for the time being. Joe does not typically work his employees both Saturday and Sunday, so they have time over the weekend to spend with their families. Payday is twice monthly on the fifth and twentieth. Anyway, we’ll see how you do. When I’m convinced you’re ready, we’ll bump you up to full time.” He smiled at her. “Any questions?”
“No, sir.”
“So polite. Call me Antonin. We’re informal here.” And I’m not your dom, he added silently.
“Er … thanks.” She stood, gathering her papers.
Antonin gave her a flinty smile, something insincere that would convey interest—of which he had none—in her life. “Joe told me you’re newly married.”
Sonia returned his empty smile with a genuine one that astonished him. Well, well, well, she really was quite the pretty little thing after all. He almost didn’t hear her gushing response: “Yes, Mick and I were married just four weeks ago. So far it’s been amazing. I never would have imagined that someone like Mick would want someone like me.”
Antonin put the husband’s first name and the new cook’s last name together: Mick Hendriksen. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’re married to Mick Hendriksen?”
“Yes,” she replied, starry eyes shining.
He remembered seeing tabloids with glaring headlines and slightly grainy pictures. He peered more closely at the young woman before him. Yes, she certainly did resemble the girl-next-door wife of the womanizing rock star.
“Do the others know?”
“No, I hope not,” she replied soberly. “I wouldn’t want to disturb anyone because my husband’s famous.”
Antonin nodded. Joe’s instincts were usually spot-on and he thought that the boss had got it right that time, too. This young woman was no more than she appeared: enthusiastic, friendly, and innocent. He hoped she could cook, because even Joe Kilrook wouldn’t hire anyone whom he did not believe could meet his exacting expectations.
“Well, Sonia, let’s head to the kitchen.”