by Mia Ford
“You are a world-famous chef.”
I beamed at him, my cheeks going a little red. I knew it was true. I knew I was good and I knew my talents were worth a lot to a lot of people, but I was raised in a humble family and sometimes I still struggled when it came to taking compliments.
“Thanks!” I sang, pulling up an email.
“I have an interview with this guy tomorrow.”
Miguel took the phone and glanced at it, crossing one leg over the other. “Oh boy. You’re gonna go work for this guy?” “I’m going to go interview with him. Why?”
Miguel chuckled and handed the phone back. “That is Jamison Whittle.”
“Yeah?”
“New York’s biggest playboy millionaire.” He put on a ‘rich guy’ accent and turned his nose up just a little.
“You know him?”
“My firm has done work with some of his businesses. He owns properties all over the world and his toe dipped in several industries. I guess he’s looking to get into the restaurant game now.”
“He has no restaurant experience?”
Miguel shrugged a little and finished off his glass of wine, taking it to the kitchen. He started to put it in the sink but then set it back on the counter, pouring himself a second glass. “I’m not sure. I don’t know him personally, but I think this is going to be the first restaurant with his name on it.”
“Perfect!”
“Perfect?” He asked, settling beside me again. “I would think that would be bad news.”
“Not at all.” I sang, grinning brightly. “If he’s never run a restaurant before, then that means he has no idea what he’s doing, right? It’s like getting a slab of clay thrown in front of you. I’ll get to mold that restaurant into what I want it to be and I won’t have to spend months trying to fix whatever the last manager fucked up.”
Miguel glanced at me and then looked away. “Unless the guy running everything is just as hard headed as you.”
“I’m not hard headed.”
“Right, and the pope isn’t catholic.”
I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest. “Anyway, if he gives me any push back, I’ll just fight him on it.”
“And he’ll fight right back.”
“You’re being very negative.”
Miguel held his hands up. “Look, I’m not trying to argue with you, I just don’t want you walking into the lion’s den uninformed.”
“Well, thanks for the warning.”
“Plus, he’s a notorious womanizer, so you might want to keep your guard up?”
That was a quick transition. I glanced at Miguel and cocked my head to the side. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’re a pretty girl and he likes pretty girls, so watch out.”
Pretty girl. I’d heard that a lot in my life. My long, jet black hair and olive skin was a gift from my grandmother who was one hundred percent native American. My emerald eyes, however, were from my dad. The stark contrast often caught people off guard. I’d never really had a problem finding lover’s and flings. Men liked my wide hips, ample ass and toned arms. I didn’t really think about my beauty often, though. I wasn’t a vain person.
“I’m pretty good about not falling into the snake pit.”
Miguel chuckled and stood. “I know. If anyone can resist Jami, it’s you. Just be aware.” He stood and offered his hand to help me stand.
Once I was off the couch, Miguel led me to the guest room. It was a light purple and blue themed room with a large bed and en suite bathroom. “Man, this is a nice place. Especially for New York.”
“I got lucky.” He said, tipping his now empty glass my way. “Get some sleep. I’m sure dealing with Jamison is going to be exhausting.”
“I think I’ll be alright.”
Miguel smiled and pushed himself off the door frame. “Well, if anyone can handle him, it’s you.”
I smiled and blew him a kiss before he disappeared down the hallway. I sighed and went to the bathroom, closing the door and turning on the hot water. I’d had a long flight and I was looking forward to finally washing all the travel grime off me.
Right before I stepped into the shower, my phone went off. I glanced at the buzzing device I’d set on the counter and sighed. It was probably an email. I reached out to pick it up, but stopped short when I realized it was my dad texting.
‘U need to come home. Mama is sick.’
I set my lips in a thin line and deleted the text just like I had all the others before it. The text had dampened what was left of my evening, but I tried to ignore it. A part of me felt cruel for never answering, but there was still a burning anger in my belly. I remembered the day I told my mother I was leaving. She’d slapped me across the face and told me to leave and never come back. She’d never visit me in New York and I’d never be allowed back home. I did exactly as she asked and stayed far, far away from Bellefontaine.
I’d seen my father a few times since leaving home, but he’d always come on his own, trying to patch things up between me and my mother, but it never worked. She and I were both stubborn women and neither of us were willing to apologize.
The texts had started coming in about three months ago, but I paid them no mind. My mother had been the one to remove herself from my life and I wasn’t going to apologize for the radio silence. Maybe I should have bit the bullet and just let it go, but there was something in me that hung onto the sadness and anger from that day.
I fell into bed and was asleep before my head hit the pillow. It had been a long day and I had a feeling the next day was going to be even longer.
Lena
I’d expected to wake up to the urgent sound of my phone’s alarm, but instead I heard the sounds of birds singing and felt the warmth of the sun kiss my face. It wouldn’t have been a nice way to wake up, if I hadn’t had to be awake before the sun came up.
I sat straight up in bed, my long hair a tangled mess, curling around my face. I cursed as I kicked the blankets off and grabbed my phone to check the time. It was 7:30 and my meeting with Jami was at 8. I cursed to myself and jumped out of bed, running to my suitcase and pulling out the only real professional outfit I owned. I worked in a chef’s uniform and when I wasn’t working I could be found in sweaters and leggings.
I wiggled into the fitted black dress and stumbled into the bathroom, hastily applying the bare minimum amount of makeup. The dress as riding up as I ran through Miguel’s living room, grabbing my purse and waving to him as he told me good luck, seemingly confused by my rush.
By the time I got out of the house, it was 7:50 and I still had a thirty- minute train ride. I ran as quickly as I could in heels, stumbling through the crowds and brushing past people who gave me annoyed looks, but I didn’t really care. I had somewhere I needed to be.
When I finally got on the train I slumped into one of the seats and leaned my head back against the window, closing my eyes and panting as I tried to catch my breath. I had a few moments to relax, even though I knew I’d be stressed until I got to my interview. I knew this wasn’t the only job offer I had, but I just didn’t like being late.
I ran a hand through my hair, tapping my foot impatiently until the train came to a stop. I was the first one off and soon I found myself on the streets of the upper east side, looking for a restaurant called “Jamison’s Place”. The name was unoriginal, bland and said a lot about the man who owned it. How could a playboy be so boring and uncreative?
Finally, I turned the corner and laid eyes on the large, three story stone building. The sandstone was beautiful and the architecture had a touch of old New York, even though the building was brand new. The sign looked like something from an Irish pub and my curiosity was piqued. This certainly didn’t look like the postmodern monstrosity I’d been expecting.
I walked inside, checking my watch as I wandered through a tall archway that led into a dimly lit restaurant. 8:30. Shit. Was I really an hour late? I sighed and looked up, taking in the metal tables and in
dustrial décor. This wasn’t what I was expecting, but it was nice.
“You’re late.”
I jumped and spun around when a voice spoke up from behind me. As I turned I came face to face with a tall man with sandy blonde hair and eyes the color of honey. He smirked and stared down at me as I took in his sculpted jaw, solid frame and fitted suit. He was…Perfect. At first I couldn’t speak. His full lips and well tripped beard made my knees weak and I had to clear my throat, to regain my composure. Maybe I should have been concerned with how familiar he seemed with my name, but then again, he had my full resume so it wasn’t all that alarming.
“Ah…Yes. My plane came in very late last night and I fell asleep without setting my alarm. I’m so sorry, Mr. Whittle” It was only a little lie, right?
He nodded and motioned towards one of the booths in the corner. “That’s perfectly fine. And please, call me Jami. Please, sit.”
I nodded and glanced over my shoulder before going to the booth he’d pointed at and settling in. I glanced at him, chewing my lower lip unconsciously as he slid in across from me. “I’ve read a lot about you.”
“Hopefully good things?”
“Only good things. You’re said to be the world’s best up and coming chef.” He had a light accent, though I couldn’t quite place it.
“Well, that was kind of the publication.”
“Luckily it’s a publication I trust.”
I nodded and sat still, glancing around and waiting for the questions to begin. He didn’t say anything, though. He just sat across from me, his meaty, but well-manicured hands threaded together and his eyes focused as if he were in deep thought.
“Are we going to continue with the interview?” I squirmed a little. I was afraid that if I didn’t say anything, neither would he.
“Oh, this isn’t an interview.”
“What?” I sounded more alarmed than I meant to.
“Well, I suppose it is, but I’m not going to ask you questions. Anyone who can read knows you’re a good manager and a good chef. I trust your reputation, but I wanted to taste your food for myself.”
“Oh?” I was intrigued again. I’d never had an interview where I was asked to cook. “And why have you decided to conduct this kind of interview?”
He smirked and leaned forward. “Because I want someone who can make good, southern comfort food.” His accent was stronger now, and I suddenly realized it was the same accent I’d fought so hard to get rid of.
“Comfort food?”
“Sure. This place doesn’t have anything like that. You ever try and get chicken and waffles in New York? It’s impossible.”
I was shocked at the request, but nodded. I could make comfort food. Hell, I’d been cooking it since I was a kid, but I’d never had anyone ask me to do it, especially not since I’d become a professional chef.
“Can you do that?”
“I could do it in my sleep.”
He slapped the table and grinned, standing and offering me his hand. “Let’s get crackin’ then.”
I paused but took his hand, my face heating up when he pressed a tender kiss to the back of it. What was this? Some kind of romantic comedy? I brushed the gesture off as a quirk and followed him back to the kitchen. It was one of the largest I’d ever been in and I couldn’t help but whistle as I walked through the swinging doors.
“This is swanky. You don’t see Southern food restaurants with kitchen like this.”
“If I’m going to bring Southern food to New York, I’m going to do it in a big way. Go big or go home?”
After doing some research about Jami on the train ride, I’d quickly learned that was his mantra. Everything he did big. He owned the biggest properties, the biggest stock shares and the biggest night clubs in New York. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume that he had something to prove.
“Do you have everything I need to make a full country breakfast?” I could see all the utensils, but I wasn’t sure about his food stock.
“I sure do.” He motioned towards the walk-in freezer and fridge and I grinned, ready to start.
It didn’t take much time for me to find everything I needed to make biscuits, gravy, eggs and pancakes. It was probably a bit much, but I wasn’t worried about calorie count. I wanted to show him some of my specialties. Now that I’d met him, I was suddenly very interested in working for Jami. I wondered if it had something to do with his beautiful, golden eyes.
I went to work right away, working with the same skill and finesse that I used when making French or Italian cuisine. My skill was not limited to exotic dishes and I put just as much love and effort into pancakes as I did in beef wellington.
It took me less than an hour to finish the meal from scratch, which should have been impressive since everything from the biscuits to the syrup was made from scratch. I put everything on a plate and turned to present it to Jami, who hadn’t taken his eyes off me through the entire process.
“Very good.” He hummed, taking the plate. He cut off a piece of the pancake and put it in his mouth, groaning softly. “This is heavenly.”
I grinned brightly, opening my mouth to thank him, but before words could come out, he pressed a bite of pancake to my lips. My eyes darted up to his, but I took the offered bite, my body flushing. Somehow, this seemed incredibly intimate.
“Ah…Thank you,” I murmured behind my hand as I chewed the sweet, maple covered treat.
“If all your meals are this good, I don’t see why we can’t work together.”
My heart leapt with joy and a grin pulled at my lips. “Really?!”
He chuckled and nodded, taking a bite of the biscuits. “Really.” He turned and set the plate on the table behind him, stepping forward. “But before you go, I have one last question.” He moved towards me until I was pressed up against the prep table, my hands resting on the metal surface. I laughed nervously, looking away, unable to hold his intense gaze. “And what is that?”
His fingers rested on my jaw and he guided my gaze to his meet his. “I want to take you out.”
“Out?”
“On a date.”
I laughed and put a hand on his chest, slowly pushing him away. “I don’t think so.”
I knew my answer was a lie, but he didn’t have to know that. I could hear Miguel’s warning loud and clear in my mind. I’d just gotten home. The last thing I wanted to do was mix myself up in some kind of whirlwind romance with my boss.
Jami seemed shocked, but stepped back. “You’re saying no?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
He smirked and wrapped his arm around my waist, but I managed to sneak out of his hold. “I could show you this city in ways you’ve never dreamed.”
I snorted and rolled my eyes at the cheesy line. “You’ll have to try harder than that.” Sure, he was my future boss, but if he was going to hit on me like this, I felt like I had a reason to be a little snarky.
He smirked and tucked his hands in his pockets. “Is that a challenge?”
“I suppose it is.”
He shrugged casually and started to walk by me, heading for the doors. He paused beside me, leaning in, his warm breath tickling my ear.
“I accept.”
With that simple declaration, he left me flushed and strangely aroused, only pausing at the door to offer one last comment.
“You start work on Monday. I’ll see you at noon.”
Jami
I couldn’t get her out of my head. Even as my daily routine went on, I couldn’t get Lena out of my head. She was a beautiful woman with a shapely body and a spark inside of her that ignited me as well. I wanted her badly, but I couldn’t seem desperate. That wasn’t how I did things. Normally, I wasn’t the type to go after women. I didn’t go after them because they flocked to me, but this time I was going to make an exception. Lena was a well-traveled woman with some world experience under her belt. She wouldn’t be as easily swayed as the women I’d courted before her.
Playb
oy was the word that was often used to describe me, but I didn’t really agree with that term. It sounded slimy and unappealing. I preferred to think of myself as a connoisseur of women. I loved women. I loved having them around, I just didn’t like keeping them around. I was always upfront with the women who came to my bed, but when morning comes around they always seem to forget the conversation and the request that they be gone by breakfast time.
Some are more persistent than others and some are so offended at the fact that I don’t want to give them a ride home, that they stomp off and never come back. I prefer the second type of woman, to be honest. I’m sure they told all their friends about me, but it didn’t stop the flow of women I saw in my life. My money and my charm were too much for them to resist. Hopefully, Lena wouldn’t be any different.
I placed a tooth pick between my lips as I walked through the doors of my towering office building. The marble floor clicked under the worn leather boots I wore every day. Most of my clothes got replaced when it came time to wash them, but it was hard to find a good pair of shoes. I hung onto my shoes until they were literally falling apart at the seams.
I greeted my employees in the hall way, waving and nodding my head politely. Sandy blonde hair fell into my eyes as I approached my secretary. Rachel was one of the only women who’d worked for me that I hadn’t fooled around with. Don’t get me wrong, I’d tried like hell to get her on a date, but she was the first and only woman to ever rebuke my advance completely. It was part of the reason I kept her around as my personal secretary and assistant. There wouldn’t be anything weird in the way of our working relationship.
“Rachel!”
“Mr. Whittle,” she said, tipping her head in my direction, her eyes not leaving the computer screen.
I put my hands flat on her desk and leaned over, grinning brightly. “How many times do I got to ask you to call me Jami.”
She cocked a perfectly sculpted brow and I could see her trying to resist rolling her eyes at me. “You know I prefer to keep our relationship professional.”
I grunted a little and stood back up. “To a fault.”