Released: MC Secret Baby Romance (New Adult Contemporary Biker Romance)

by Casey Elliot

  Mina Cooper clearly did not fit in either of those categories.

  The girl that Gaston ushered in was in her twenties with curves that demanded attention. Her heart shaped face was framed by flaming red hair, which hung down past her shoulders in light waves. The sense of irritation that had been building prior to her arrival began to ebb in her presence. I couldn’t decide whether it was because of her charming smile or because of the lust that began to take its place.

  “Mr. Turner,” Gaston said. “This is Miss Mina Cooper.” He turned and exited the room, closing the great curved door behind him.

  Mina, who had been looking around in wonder before we were introduced, now had her eyes glued on me as I stood gracefully from my chair and extended my hand.

  “Thank you for coming, Miss Cooper,” I said. “I was worried that you’d gotten lost.”

  From the sheepish expression that took over her face, I knew that she understood my veiled criticism.

  “Sorry!” she said, reaching for and shaking my hand. Her handshake was limp. “Turns out there aren’t a lot of busses out here.”

  I gestured to the chair across from me and I resumed my seat behind the desk.

  “You’re far from the most qualified of my applicants,” I said shortly. “Tell me why I should hire you.”

  She looked surprised at how to-the-point I was. If she had been expecting friendliness, she was in the wrong house.

  “Uh,” she stammered, “because I’m a good cook.”

  “Everyone I interviewed today is a good cook,” I retorted.

  She fumbled for words, eventually coming out with “because I really need it.”

  An unorthodox way to answer the question, I thought. In its essence, her statement relied on my caring about her situation in life, which I didn’t. Still, her frankness made me smile.

  “Why do you really need it?”

  “If I don’t get a job by the end of the month, I’m going to have to go live with my mom and her weird man-bun boyfriends or start tricking.”

  That made me laugh. “Time is ticking for you then,” I said, in reference to the month drawing to a close in only two days. “I’m curious; would you rather live with your mother or sell your body?”

  “I’d rather be a cook.”

  She was bold. I liked that. She also seemed innocent, which the beast inside of me liked. It wasn’t that I thought she was a virgin — no. With pouty red lips like that, her appearance was anything but sweet and virginal. It was that she seemed somehow... unspoiled by the world.

  She was the kind of girl who believed in miracles and good things coming to those who wait. Her big brown eyes had never seen true pain. That intrigued me. I had grown up among society’s elite, and even they — with their trust funds and private education — so rarely exhibited the same kind of innocence.

  I doubted her cooking skills. I doubted her ability to be a good employee. But, the one thing I didn’t doubt was her ability to entertain me.

  Mina

  “You’re hired,” he said.

  My heart did a flip. Well, it had been doing many flips over the course of the interview. The first and most substantial one had occurred when I first saw my new employer. In a mansion so far from civilization with a wizened butler and the need of a cook, I had imagined that I would be being interviewed by a crotchety old man.

  He was crotchety, no doubt, but he certainly wasn’t old. I would have placed him no older than thirty five, and damn was he good looking. Well-built, black hair with one or two silver strands peeking through, and piercing blue eyes that I struggled to hold eye contact with. He belonged on the cover of a magazine, not hidden away in some mansion on a bus route that I thought the busses themselves often forgot about. Only adding to this strangeness was the fact that he had hired me.

  I tried to hide my excitement at his declaration, but I barely managed to stifle a shout of glee. It came out as a tiny yip, which elicited a look from him that suggested he was about to withdraw his offer.

  Before he could, I said, “When can I start?”

  He gave me a mirthless grin. “You start now. Gaston will show you to the kitchens.”

  My eyes bulged. “But my stuff…”

  “Get it tomorrow. I’m hungry.”

  I stared at him. “Are you serious?”

  He stared back. I took that as my sign to go with Gaston to see the kitchen.

  I jumped up out of my chair and over to the door, which opened to reveal Gaston waiting on the other side. “This way,” he said.

  I followed him down a long hallway that led past several other rooms. I tried to look in them as we passed, but for an old man, he was spry. When we got to the kitchen, my jaw dropped.

  Granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, an island with pots and pans hanging over the top of it… it was like something from the movies. I immediately knew I was in over my head. I needed to be practical if I was going to convince Mr. Turner that I was worth keeping around.

  Gaston left me to my own devices, which was both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, I wouldn’t have him hovering over me as I scrambled to make something edible. On the other, there would be nobody there to help me if things went awry.

  The stove was a gas-top, which made me incredibly nervous. Most people, I gathered, preferred that for cooking. I wasn’t sure why; I preferred to heat things up without possibly catching myself or others on fire.

  I started in the fridge; half hoping that there would be something in there that I could warm up and add a couple sprigs of parsley to or something. Unfortunately, it was stocked with fresh fruit, vegetables, and what looked to be very expensive cuts of meat. There was enough food in there to feed a family of four for a week.

  Rich people.

  I chose steak over chicken because I was less likely to kill my new boss that way, then I scanned the rest of the fridge’s contents, wondering what the hell you were supposed to serve with steak. Steak and potatoes was a thing, right?

  There weren’t any potatoes in the fridge.

  The closest thing I could find to a potato was a cauliflower. They looked practically the same when cooked, right? Great; I saw a bottle of teriyaki sauce in the side door, and decided I would use that for the steak, and then I saw some grated cheddar and figured that would go well with the cauliflower.

  I smiled. I had a plan.

  I approached the stove with hesitation. It couldn’t be any harder than a regular stovetop, right?

  It was much harder.

  First, when I spun the handle, gas just started coming out. I spun it back; terrified that I was going to cause the house to explode. It was a fancy stove; surely I couldn’t be expected to physically light the gas? I didn’t see any matches. I tried again, but this time, I pressed the handle in. My mom cooked exclusively on the barbeque, and that was how she turned it on.

  Low and behold, it worked.

  I grabbed a pan from the island and set it on the flame. That part was done. Next, I grabbed the steak and was about to set it in the pan when I realized that I had no idea how long cauliflower took to cook or how to cook it.

  I had a horrifying thought: I was a worse cook than my mother.

  Determined to; at least, do better than dry and tough turkey legs with spicy gravy, I pulled out my phone and quickly searched how to cook cauliflower. Apparently, steaming was a common way to cook it, so I grabbed the pot that most closely resembled the one in the photo and set to work. Only when the cauliflower was done did I put the steak in the pan. Then, I sprinkled some cheese on the cauliflower and put it into the oven to melt.

  In less than half an hour, I had a steak that, once drizzled in sauce, looked somewhat tasty with a side of delicious smelling cauliflower and cheese. I didn’t think I’d done too poorly, truth be told.

  Mr. Turner hadn’t told me where the dining room was or what to do when I was done, and I couldn’t find Gaston. I decided to try my luck in the study.

  Mr. Turner was still in the
study, luckily. I walked through the door and he looked up abruptly from his laptop, his expression morphing from irritated to confused in two seconds flat. Normally, he looked dark and brooding, but when he was perplexed, he almost looked innocent. It was strange.

  “I forgot to ask what to do when I was done,” I said by way of explanation, placing the plate down on the desk next to him with a fork and knife.

  His mouth was set in a hard line as his eyes went from me to the food and to me again.

  “It’s teriyaki steak,” I said. “And cauliflower.”

  “And cheese.”

  “You’ve got it!” I exclaimed brightly.

  On the outside, I might have looked bright and at ease, but on the inside, I was a wreck. He didn’t look happy. What would happen to me if he didn’t like my food? Would he kick me out and charge me for the food I’d wasted? Could I even afford a steak like that?

  But, he didn’t say anything more about the food. He simply said, “Very well.”

  I took that as my queue to leave, but he placed a staying hand on my arm. “Please, sit. I don’t like to dine alone.”

  I wasn’t sure what I was meant to say to him, but I followed his direction and sat in the same chair that I’d been interviewed in. I watched him tensely as he cut into his first piece of steak.

  He inspected it, saying, “In the future, I like my steak medium-rare.”

  “Right,” I said. “My apologies; that piece is obviously…”

  He watched me as I looked at the piece of meat on his fork. It was mostly grey, but there was a little bit of pink in the middle. Wasn’t that medium-rare?

  “This is medium,” he supplied.

  “Right,” I nodded furiously; “of course.”

  If I didn’t know any better, I might have thought I saw the corners of his lips twitch in amusement.

  Richard

  She was an awful cook. The cauliflower was mushy, the cheese went horribly with the teriyaki, and the steak had only been seared on one side. It was hands down one of the worst meals I’d ever had.

  But, the hopeful look in her eyes as she watched me carve into it and the anxious way she bit her lip made it worth it. I knew then that even if she was a horrible cook, she would try to learn for me if I let her. Besides, I’d had plenty of delicious meals in my life. I could suffer a few bad ones if it meant not having to make do with an insufferable bore as a cook.

  Anyway, this first test hadn’t been to ascertain her culinary skill-set. It was to see how well she handled pressure, and whether my flippant attitude would be too much for her to stomach. She was still in my home and she didn’t look anywhere close to tears, so she had passed.

  “You will be given your own set of rooms in the house, consisting of a bedroom, bathroom, and sitting room,” I said between bites. “I expect all meals to be served in the dining room: breakfast at eight, lunch at noon, and dinner at six. Gaston is here in the late evenings and in the mornings, but during the day and overnight, you will be alone with me.”

  She nodded attentively. Only her eyes showed her growing concern.

  “As well as your designated rooms, you will be permitted use of the rest of the house as you see fit. The only exclusion to this is my own rooms and the basement. You are not permitted to enter either.” I gave her my hardest stare, “No matter what.” I leaned back in my chair, chewing a piece of the steak. “Do you have any questions?”

  By the look on her face, I could tell she had many, but she only said, “Do you have any dietary restrictions?”

  “You should have asked me that before cooking me this meal, Miss Cooper,” I said, “but luckily, the answer is no. I’ll eat most anything.”

  She blushed and broke away from my gaze. “Sorry.”

  I dug back into the steak. “You will be compensated at a rate of five hundred dollars per week, as well as receiving room and board. When you are not cooking, your hours are your own. The maid comes on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays — but don’t make a mess.”

  Her eyes bulged. “Five hundred a week?” she asked. “Are you sure?”

  I took a stab at the cauliflower. “Would you rather I pay you less?”

  She shook her head. "No, that's good."

  "Good," I said. "You're dismissed."

  Gaston, upon hearing my dismissal, came into the room to collect her. She followed him out of my study. I almost wished I could have been there to see her face when she first saw her rooms. She seemed to be so easily enthralled with the kind of lifestyle that I had taken for granted from a young age. It was refreshing.

  Nevertheless, I would have traded it all to live a simple life like hers.

  Mina

  I couldn't believe it. I… could… not… believe… it. I was in the most beautiful bedroom I'd ever seen —and I'd been to Ikea.

  The bed was massive, and had a thick curtain around the outside like something you would see in a period drama. Though the furnishings in the bedroom were elegant and old-fashioned, the bathroom was completely modern and clean looking. It was incredible.

  Everything about this job, this house, my employer, was so fantastical that I had to wonder whether it was actually real. Surely, something like this couldn't be happening to Mina Cooper, whom two days ago, had worried about what to do for food when her ramen noodles ran out.

  Now, here I was in the lap of luxury. Somehow, Richard had eaten my food and decided that I was good enough to stay. Surely, he'd received better applicants? Maybe not, I guessed. Maybe I was secretly a great cook, and even I didn't know it or maybe, there was something seriously wrong with him.

  I decided I didn't care. So, what if I worked a few weeks and came to resent working here? Then, I could take my stupid amount of cash and hit the road... and if he didn't pay me? I'm sure I could get a decent amount for literally any of the beautiful paintings hung in my room and the surrounding hallways. I wouldn't even have to take the front door. I could just pick up a canvas and slide it out of the window holding a bed sheet rope. It would be fun.

  Gaston gave me a brief tour of my rooms and the other rooms of the house that I was permitted in. We finished in the kitchen because he guessed — correctly — that I was starving.

  For my own meal, I just snacked on the various dried meats and cheeses in the fridge. There wasn't really anything microwavable. After a brief look around, I realized that there also wasn't a microwave; awesome. Well, I supposed it didn't matter.

  I was a professional chef now, after all.

  Gaston had told me that there was a spare set of pajamas in the closet in my room, and that there were toiletries in the bathroom. I thought it was weird that I had to stay the night, but perhaps it was some sort of test. Whatever the case, I wasn't going to turn down a night in a bed that looked more comfortable than an actual cloud; honestly.

  When I asked for the wifi password from Gaston, he gave me a bit of a sneer and told me where I could find the modem to look. Maybe he wasn't used to that kind of thing.

  By the time the tour was finished, I had some food in my belly, had found the wifi password, and had texted all the relevant people to let them know where I was. It was getting late. I crawled into the plush bed, sighing as I sunk into the downy softness of it.

  How I had ever gotten so lucky, I didn't know.

  *****

  Bang!

  My eyes shot open.

  Bang!

  What the hell was that?

  I looked around the room, but everything seemed quiet. Then, I heard the noise again.

  Bang!

  It sounded like it was coming from downstairs. Briefly, I wondered whether I should get up and investigate. What if someone was trying to break into the house? According to Richard, there was only him and I there at night. Whatever was going on, he might not even be aware of it, and then it would be up to me to save the day.

  I hesitantly slid out from under the covers, tiptoeing across the carpet to the door. Cracking the door open, I took a look down the hallw
ay; nothing.

  I also didn't hear anything else, so I thought that maybe I'd been hearing things.

  Bang!

  Never mind.

  I began slowly padding down the hallway to the stairs. If it was a burglar, what would I do? I didn't have any weapons and unless I got to the kitchen, I also didn't know where I could find any in the house.

  I descended the staircase and listened intently, but heard nothing else.

  "Hello?" I called out, as if a curious thief might introduce themselves and ask how my day was going.

  As I had expected, my only reply was silence.

  Bang!

  The sound was more muffled now. Unmistakably; however, it was coming from beneath me… the basement.

  Had Richard not wanted me to go down there because there was some sort of ghost that resided there? Gaston hadn't even shown me the basement door. I wouldn't have been able to figure out how exactly a person got there. Perhaps that's what he intended.

  Well, whatever was going on, it wasn't worth me getting all in a tizzy about it, I decided. Was I socially awkward; yes. Was I scared by random bumps in the night? Not something I was known for.

  I retreated to my room, fancying that there was a poltergeist who lived in the basement named Casper. Maybe of him banging away down there was just his way of saying hello to the new person in the house.

  Anyway, it wasn't any of my business.

  When I got back up to bed, sleep came readily for me. It was one of the best sleeps of my life.

  Richard

  My morning brought me anything but rest. I was hungry — famished, really — and irritated. With such a calming sensation the girl had had on me, I expected to have an easy night.

  I was wrong.

  Internally, I must have still been thinking about her, and about all the little pieces of her that I hadn't taken time to understand.

  It had driven the beast inside of me wild.

  I was ready for breakfast; that much could be ascertained. After a brief shower, I headed to the dining room. It was 7:58 AM, and nothing was on the table. I wondered if maybe she had left during the night.