Bartender with Benefits

by Mickey Miller

  My mind drifts to my first encounter with the man, one that apparently didn’t even register very much with Sebastian.

  I get up out of my chair and pull out one of them, dated seven years ago, when I was sixteen.

  I’d hoped somewhere in my heart that Sebastian Blackwell, the cocky asshole, would remember me after all these years. I suppose I wasn’t even a blip on his radar when we kissed all those years ago.

  I thumb through my journal, finding the entry from July 4th, and read the short story I wrote from that day.

  July 4th -

  “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

  -Brett Blue.

  Okay, allow me to explain that. I’ve been having an interesting time working at my new job. It’s only my second week working at Blackwell Country Pizzeria, and today, I had the best and worst customers ever. I figured Mrs. Saracimi, my English teacher, would be proud of me for quoting A Tale of Two Cities. Now, without further ado, here is the story I wrote about the hottest man in Blackwell.

  Sebastian Blackwell, who owns Blackwell Country Pizzeria, came in with his little brother Liam and I got to wait on them. He’s looking more handsome than any man has a right to. I kept stealing glances at him as I passed by his table, and my heart raced every time our eyes connected. The best customer ever.

  Now, let’s get to the worst.

  A little later in the evening, a party of eight rolls in, and from the first moment I walk up to them, they are weirding me out, and I get the sense they’re gonna be trouble.

  They order four pizzas, all custom-built. I take detailed notes, double-check their order, and then punch their order into the POS system. I get double-sat right then, so I go and take orders and got drinks for those two tables. Well, about fifteen minutes later I go to check on their pizzas, since that’s how long they typically take to cook normally.

  Marcus, the cook, is confused when I ask him about the four custom-made pizzas.

  “I’ve only gotten two pizza orders in the last twenty minutes. And they went out to table six on the patio already.” Marcus check the receipts of the orders in front of him. “Yeah, I’ve got nothing.” He shrugs.

  A brick suddenly forms in my stomach. “Oh,” I say.

  “Did you put it in the system?” he asks condescendingly.

  “Yes! I did!”

  “Well you better double-check it.” He shrugs. “I can’t make a pizza if I don’t have the order.

  I race over to the nearest computer system to check on the order.

  It’s right there. I put it in seventeen minutes ago.

  I run back to the kitchen, sweating bullets. I need to tell Marcus.

  As I’m running across the restaurant, the guy who is at the head of the table grabs me by the elbow.

  “Hey, lady! Where the hell are our pizzas? We’ve been waiting a while.”

  I take a deep breath, straighten my spine, and look him in the eye.

  “Sir, I’m sorry. We had a kitchen error, and we’re remaking the pizzas right now.”

  He sneers. “You’re joking right?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  He rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath to the guy next to him. “Figures we get an airhead blonde for a server. It’s like talking to a wall with her.”

  My chest swells, and I feel tears bubbling to the surface. “Excuse me?”

  The guest chuckles, then looks me dead in the eyes. “Alright, well I might as well say it to your face. You’re not the smartest server here, are you? You took an easy order, messed it up, and ruined our night because you are incompetent. It’s pizza, lady, it’s not rocket science.”

  I sniffle, holding back tears. I’m at the brink of crying, when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

  It’s the owner, Sebastian Blackwell.

  He’s the strong silent type, but when he speaks, the whole room listens. He just has this presence that has the ability to take over the room.

  “What’s the problem here, Sir?” he bellows, his voice deep.

  “The problem,” the guest sneers, “is that your server here doesn’t know how to take an order. She has one job. Take the order. Write it down. Put it in the machine. It’s so easy, a monkey could do it. But wait, I bet a monkey could do a better job of getting our order to us on time. We’re fucking starving here.”

  My heart beats so hard, I think it might explode. Sebastian turns to me, and I’m wondering if he’ll unleash on me for messing something up.

  Instead, he turns back to the guest.

  “I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Sebastian says calmly and authoritatively.

  The man’s face turns into a severe frown.

  “The fuck you are,” he scoffs. “We’re getting our pizzas, and you’re giving them to us for free.”

  Sebastian doesn’t flinch in the slightest.

  “I’ll not tolerate that attitude, nor your verbal abuse of my employee. I’m going to say it nicely once more so I’m clear, Sir. Please leave. Now.”

  I see the man clenching his fist. Suddenly, he jumps to his feet, and takes a swing at Sebastian.

  Sebastian sees the move coming, and he ducks like he’s Keanu Reeves in The Matrix. I put my hand over my heart.

  He then grabs the guest’s arm and takes the man down to the ground and holds onto him, pressing his body against the floor.

  A collective gasp goes up from the all guests in the restaurant.

  “Sir,” Sebastian says. “You’ve just committed assault. I’m going to hold you here while Brett calls the cops.”

  “I’m sorry.” The man can barely breathe. “My father just died suddenly this week. We’re all here after the funeral. It’s got me on edge. I’m being an asshole. I’m sorry.”

  Sebastian’s face softens at this news. He loosens his grip and lets the man up.

  The guest looks at me. “I’m sorry I called you those things.” He shrugs. “Been on edge all week. And I’ve been looking forward to that damn pizza.”

  “I’d better go check on my other guests,” is all I manage to say.

  I watch Sebastian from afar as he and the guest chat for twenty straight minutes. The pizzas arrive and the guest pays them no heed. Eventually they shake hands. Sebastian comes over to me.

  “You’re very smart, you know that, right?” Sebastian says to me.

  “Yes?” I answer in a question.

  “‘Yes.’ Say it like a statement. I watched the entire interaction from start to finish. The guest was just telling me that, all things considered you actually handled their table like a pro. So good job.”

  “You were...watching me?”

  “I don’t miss anything that happens in my restaurant.” He smiles slightly, tapping his head. “You did good.”

  “You really think I did good?”

  He nods, and I notice how Sebastian’s long eyelashes are the perfect complement to his dark eyes. When I inhale, I can’t help but take in a waft of his woodsy, masculine scent. I wonder if that’s his cologne or his aftershave or what. Whatever it is, it’s intoxicating.

  My heart speeds up. I don’t know exactly what I want from him, but I want...something.

  Though I should definitely not be thinking about him like this. He’s six years my senior. Still, I can’t help wondering what it would feel like to run my hands up and down his muscular arms.

  Our eyes meet, and his linger on me.

  I glance quickly around the restaurant to make sure there isn’t anyone staring at us.

  This is half premeditated, half impulsive, but I can’t help myself. There’s an opening and I go for it.

  I lean in and kiss him on the lips.

  My toes curl and butterflies flutter in my stomach. I’ve kissed boys before, but I’ve never been made to feel quite like this. It’s electric, and my whole body shakes with desire for him.

  He pushes me off lightly, and I swear I see reciprocating desire in his eyes too. But his words sadden me.

  �
��Brett,” he says softly. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I’m...thanking you,” I mouth.

  “You’re great. You really are, but we can’t do this. Please, you should find a guy your own age. And who’s not the owner of this restaurant.”

  “Okay,” I breathe.

  My heart speeds now, as I read the story I wrote about the cocky bastard, even though it was seven years ago. At sixteen, I crushed on him hard, like only a sixteen-year-old girl can. Yet today, he doesn’t even know who I am. He’s probably got plenty of girls crushing on him like this.

  “Asshole,” I mutter, closing my journal. I jump into my bed, on top of the covers.

  Why is it that the assholes are always the hottest? It’s like some inevitable law of nature that is totally unfair.

  Even now, as I think about Sebastian, I can’t help but skim my hand over the lace of my underwear a few times, then hover on the sensitive part.

  I’ve always wondered what Sebastian would feel like on top of me—if he’d be rough and in control, or the kind to drag out my pleasure until I just couldn’t take any more. When he’s in a suit, his pants pressed with a perfect crease down each thigh, he’s the epitome of a man in control, a man who’d stop at nothing to get what he wants.

  But without the tie, he’s someone completely different. He’s not your average over-the-top alpha male billionaire. He has this relaxed demeanor, like the country boy next door who can get down and dirty with the best of them. More casual, more layered than some suited businessman.

  Still, he does look damn sexy in a suit.

  My clit swells, throbbing with heat and need, begging for relief. I slip my hand beneath my panties, and the first soft, desperate moan escapes.

  Why have I not gotten over him?

  Sebastian’s the type of guy who would seem to have unlimited patience until you crossed his line, and then he’d unleash on you.

  I dig the fingernails of my free hand into the pillow above me.

  I’d love for him to unleash on me.

  My hips rock ever so slightly with each stroke of my finger.

  As I touch myself, a scene unfolds in my mind, almost uncontrollably. I don’t fight it, nor do I question what it means. I just give in and allow it. I visualize it and give the details free rein.

  He enters my room, a country boy in a charcoal grey suit.

  “Hello Brett. You’re so wet thinking about me, aren’t you?”

  Yes. God yes.

  He stares at me with his dark brown eyes, taking off his suit coat and tossing it onto the back of a chair. His frame is slim at the waist and wide at the shoulders.

  “I’ve been thinking about this for years,” he continues. “Fuck, Brett, you look so damn sexy. When the hell did you grow into a woman?”

  I rub my finger over my swollen clit and another moan escapes me, louder this time.

  Still with a laser focus on me, he removes his tie.

  Followed by his light blue collared shirt and undershirt, showcasing his beautifully toned body.

  He takes it all off.

  My breath hitches as he removes his pants, and his dick is as big as his presence.

  He slowly strokes it as he walks toward me.

  “I can’t wait to be inside you, Brett. But first I want to do this.”

  Sebastian unhurriedly kisses each of my legs, starting at my calves, until he lands between my legs with his head.

  “I’ve wanted to taste you for so long.”

  Softly, he tongues my clit, barely touching me.

  I moan again.

  Finally, he takes out his thick cock.

  “Beg for it.”

  “Please.”

  “Please what?”

  “Please fuck me.”

  He penetrates me slowly, inch by naughty inch. It’s not long before he rocks into me with his whole weight.

  Oh God.

  I moan louder, and glance at the door to make sure it’s closed.

  Screw it. I throw my panties off and spread my legs. I’m so wet.

  I press my fingers on my swollen nub, rubbing in a tight circle.

  My other hand drifts to my breast and I pinch my nipple.

  “Oh God,” I mutter as I come, panting.

  3

  Sebastian

  It’s an old rule of sales.

  If you can’t beat someone, hire them.

  On the surface level, it might seem counterintuitive. But a hallmark of a good entrepreneur is knowing when and how to put your ego aside for the good of the company.

  And yeah, I admit. I have a nice-sized one.

  Ego, that is.

  I know talent when I see it. And Brett Blue is the very definition of talent with a capital “T.”

  I smile as my eyes drift over Brett’s resume. Somehow, she managed to stretch her twenty-three years of life, including just two and a half years of college, into one and a half pages of bullshit.

  I have to hand it to her though, because she’s got some decent writing skills to do so.

  I peruse her very first bullet point.

  Blackwell Country Pizzeria – Server – two years

  -Worked twenty hours/week in Blackwell’s most bustling restaurant at the time

  -Ensured maximum satisfaction for patrons

  -Extensive knowledge of a menu featuring over eighty different items

  -Kept calm in the face of unruly customers

  Holy shit. That’s where I know her from.

  I snap my fingers in realization.

  In my early twenties, I was all in on starting the ‘Blackwell restaurant renaissance’ in this town.

  Brett worked for one of my restaurants. “Tomboy” Blue is what the crew used to call her. She was just skin and bones back then. And having a name that was typically reserved for a guy made it easy for the kitchen staff to give her crap.

  I reread the line she wrote, ‘kept calm in the face of unruly customers.’ My memory goes wild, and I remember one fourth of July when a customer got out of hand and tried to punch me.

  And she went in for a kiss to thank me.

  Brett Blue planted one right on me in a completely inappropriate fashion.

  Damn if she hasn’t come into her own since then. She’s anything but a tomboy now, though the way she tried to hide her feminine beauty with that baseball cap showed shades of her past personality.

  Fuck, she was hot when I saw her yesterday. Sea blue eyes, those hot lips, and blushing cheeks. I doubt she even had any makeup on.

  Is getting a boner during a negotiation an acceptable reason to lose a deal?

  No, fuck that.

  Only soy-boys can’t control their attraction. You know the type I’m talking about. The type of “men” who are more likely to be able to make a soy latte than to be able to do anything with their hands, or go hunting and actually come back with a kill.

  Soy-boys.

  Me?

  I’m more comfortable on a tractor than in an air conditioned, sterile office. I live for the battlefield--which for me is one of snapping necks and cashing checks. And despite the affinity I’ve developed for my array of custom-made suits, I’d take a day on the lake fishing any day over the office.

  There’s a knock on the door, and before I can react at all, it opens.

  I’m expecting to see Brett, the little shit. I don’t doubt she would be the type of girl to knock on the door and not wait for me to tell her to enter, even on her very first interview.

  But instead, in enters Blackwell Industries’ in-house lawyer, Kim Murphy.

  “Oh, hi there,” I say, rising from my chair. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  Kim flashes her eyes as she comes toward me. Today she’s got on lots of mascara that emphasizes her eyes, to go along with the power pantsuit she’s wearing today.

  Once at my desk, she shakes my hand with a wry smile. “Like you always said, surprise is one of the best weapons to have in your arsenal.”

  I cock my head and squi
nt her way, examining her face to see if it reveals the true nature of her visit. “Last I checked you were working for me. Not against me.”

  She smiles. “Of course, of course. That’s a figure of speech. Now, I have a couple of updates for you. And Fiona told me you have an interview coming in today for the open sales role, so I thought I might sit in on it.”

  I sit back down in my chair, and motion with an open palm for Kim to take one of the seats in front of my desk.

  “What updates?”

  “I was reading through the details of your Shallowater Distillery proposal. I know you’re waiting on my ‘okay’ before crews break ground on that one.”

  “And what did you find?”

  “Not good. Even though most of the development is in the southeast corner of Blackwell County, surveyors found that one wing of the design falls in Furview County, which is dry.”

  “Fuck,” I say, slamming my hand on the desk. “We can figure something out though, can’t we?”

  “Yeah, sure. We can…it’s just going to involve redoing the entire architectural design. Could take months with all the details involved. We’re thinking about an “L” shaped design.”

  I clench my fist and take a deep breath. “Alright.”

  “What about the Oro Valley deal? Did you snag the Blue Estate yesterday?” Kim says, and I wonder if she’s already found out but is just looking to twist the knife. “Fiona said you went out there yourself. Must have been serious.”

  “No, I didn’t get the property I needed,” I say, my voice a low growl.

  “Why not?” Kim arches an eyebrow at me.

  “I’ve been busy. I’m probably hiring someone new.”

  “Oh, okay. What’s his name?”

  “Brett Blue. And it’s not a--” My intercom buzzes, interrupting me before I can finish my thought. I push the button to listen to my secretary.

  “What?”

  “Sir,” Fiona says. “Miss Blue is here.”

  “Great. Send her in.”

  Kim scrunches her face up at me. “Brett’s a girl?”

  The door opens, and she has her answer as Brett enters my office, her long blonde hair falling freely around her shoulders. She dons a blue dress that hugs her hips and falls to her knees. It’s tight yet classy, and if I’m being honest, she looks stunning. A far cry from the farm girl with a baseball cap I met yesterday morning, though I found that version of her equally attractive, if not more so.