by Sennah Tate
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jasper
I’m strutting around 28 like I own the fucking place — though, I guess I sort of do. Though none of my own money has gone into the restaurant, plenty of my reputation is at stake. And if it fails, I’ll be the one everyone looks to, not the investors.
It’s only a month until our official opening. Even less till we have our preview night for the investors and press.
Surprisingly, even though I’ve been tangled with Susie for the past few days, the place seems to be running with the precision of a Swiss train.
Ricardo and the rest of the staff have the full menu prepared for me to taste and I’m making my way through the dishes, making notes, comments and adjustments.
Meanwhile, my mind couldn’t be further away. Every bite I take I’m imagining my mouth on Suzette instead. Every time I glance down, I’m picturing her naked, on her knees with my cock in her mouth, her lips doing delectably sinful things to me.
That woman…
She’s something else, I have to say.
What exactly, I’m not sure. But I know that I’ve quickly grown obsessed with her. Wanting to spend every moment with her. Buried in her. Hearing her cries of ecstasy.
It’s nearly unbearable to do normal things with the filthy highlights reel playing in my mind and all I can think about is getting this over with and wrapping myself up in Susie again.
And again.
And again.
That shit is scary. The fact that being with her and only her doesn’t frighten me at all is especially concerning. My lack of trepidation makes me worried.
Then I think of the sinful curve of her lips. The generous swell of her impeccable tits and that sweet, sweet pussy drawing me in, making me cum like I’ve never cum before.
I think about all of that and my worries fade.
Elliot’s waiting for me when I finish the tasting and he has a whole slew of new appearances for me to make.
“You’ve not been in the press at all recently, Jasper,” he says. “For a successful opening, we’re going to need a great deal more coverage.”
“Isn’t that what the interview with Susie is for?” I say before catching my error in using her given name.
Elliot — ever the picture of professionalism — doesn’t bat an eye. Hell, he probably assumes I sleep with any woman I get in private quarters.
Before Suzette his assumptions wouldn’t have been wrong.
Of course, she’s the only woman I’ve been in close quarters with, so I suppose technically he’s still not wrong.
“How is the piece with Ms. Quincy going?” he asks with an arched brow.
I know my smug smile gives away more than I’d like, but I simply can’t suppress it when thoughts of Susie arise, “Well. I think the biography will be quite flattering,” I say, all too pleased with myself.
Elliot ‘hmphs’, pulling up his mobile, scrolling through it as if he’s completely uninterested in what I have to say.
His attitude has been somewhat grating lately. Perhaps my fame has altered Elliot. He certainly enjoys his cut of my fortune, but now I’ve begun to wonder if I’m still his priority or just his gravy train.
“Well, that’s still not coming out for a while and we need to get your face out there. I’ve got just the thing,” he says.
“El, I don’t want to be a part of any more of your publicity grabbing schemes, please. Can we just drop all that ‘bad boy chef’ bullshit?”
Elliot offers me a full-toothed smile and just claps me on the shoulder, “Not to worry, lad. You’ll enjoy this one, I’m certain of it.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Susie
“Okay, you can do this,” I say to myself, taking one long last look in the mirror.
I’m taking Al’s suggestion to heart and going all out. Skimpy lacy lingerie, sky-high heels, and a trench coat.
That’s it.
That’s all I’m wearing.
I might be fucking insane.
I haven’t heard from Jasper since this morning and that makes me a little nervous. What if he’s not there? What if he has other plans?
But he told me he wanted to see me tonight and after this morning, I can’t imagine him changing his mind.
The thought brings a sly smile to my lips and I tie the trench coat closed, hugging my body. No one will know by looking at me, but I know.
I know that I’m going over to a man’s place nearly naked.
For sex.
I know that Jasper is the only person that can make me howl in pleasure and cry out his name as stars burst behind my eyes.
And I know that I’m already wet thinking about it.
I climb into the back of the taxi and feel my whole face flushed with excitement and arousal.
As I mutter the hotel name in a quivering voice, I swear the cabbie knows exactly what I’m doing, too.
This is crazy.
I’m crazy.
But the thought of showing up at Jasper’s door and just dropping the coat spurs me on. I’m emboldened by the way he looks at me.
Brazen enough to believe the things he says to me in the throes of passion.
To believe I’m incredible and irresistible.
No one else has ever said those things to me. And no one’s ever made me believe them.
But when Jasper says something like that, with lust burning in his eyes and his cock buried deep inside me, there’s no option for me to doubt him.
He’s been driving me up a wall all this time, making me chase after him and leaving me panting. Now that we’ve finally crossed that hurdle, I want to prove I’m not the good girl he thinks I am.
I want to show him my naughty side.
And I want to rock his world.
The whole ride in the elevator I’m bouncing on my toes nervously, thinking back to that first elevator ride with Jasper.
My how far we’ve come.
Then I only imagined what those lips pressed against mine would feel like. Now I know.
I know the hungry forceful way he captures my mouth. I know how his tongue slides expertly against mine until I’m panting with need.
I know how his lips feel further south, too. It’s that thought that makes me rub my thighs together in anticipation, my heart fluttering with giddy excitement with each floor number that lights up.
And then, I’m at Jasper’s floor. The elevator doors open and I take a deep gulping breath as I step out.
Here goes nothing.
What do I have to worry about anyway? It’s not like I have to wonder if he’s attracted to me. Clearly we’ve covered those bases.
Many many times.
I stop in front of his door and hear music from inside; odd. Maybe he’s prepared a nice evening for us, I think with a little thrill.
There’s a little romantic streak in Jasper, I think. He has so many facets that I feel like I’m only beginning to uncover.
I knock on the door and swear I hear voices on the other side. Plural, voices.
The door swings open to reveal a gorgeous, tall redhead in nothing other than a skimpy bikini.
“False alarm, it’s not the champagne,” she says with a frown.
After a moment of sheer shock, I look past her to see three more just like her. All equally tall, slender, and drop-dead stunning.
I clutch the coat around me a little more tightly, feeling my insides turn to ice. Feeling suddenly inadequate and less than.
There could be an innocent explanation, I try to reason.
The other girls all whine in disappointment and then Jasper’s pushing the redhead aside, shoving his way into the doorway.
“Susie! I wasn’t expecting you,” he says.
“Clearly,” I say, hoping to lace my words with as much venom as possible.
You were an idiot to think you were anything special to him.
Damn it, Susie, you know better.
I want to scream. I want to cry and curse and hit something. But I do
n’t do any of that.
Actually, I don’t do anything at all. I just stand there, numb.
One of the other girls comes up from behind Jasper and I see her manicured fingers slipping under his shirt, caressing him, “Chef,” she purrs in his ear, looking straight into my eyes, “we’re waiting for your instructions.”
I turn to walk away and Jasper calls after me, “Susie, wait.”
Don’t cry. Don’t do it. Don’t you dare cry.
I turn to him and try my best to steel my spine and look completely unaffected, “This is obviously a bad time. You seem to have your… hands full.”
Then I’m walking away, my eyes stinging with tears I refuse to shed.
I hear one or more of the girls making whining noises of protest, but Jasper’s footsteps are catching up, “Susie, will you just hold on a second, please?”
I turn to face him, regretting it the instant I do. Why does my heart have to lurch so painfully just from looking at him? And this sick feeling in my stomach just keeps getting worse with every word he says.
I want nothing more than to run far far away and forget I ever met Jasper Wild.
“What’s there to say Jasper? Clearly I made much more of this than I should have. I was the stupid one thinking there was something different, but you’re just being you. I get that.”
“Suzette,” he says, taking a step closer to me, but I’m still hugging myself, trying to edge my way to the elevator and out of his life, “those models are nothi—”
“Models?” I say an octave too high.
Of course they’re models.
Of course he’s not with one or two models, but with a whole fucking flock of them.
This isn’t anything new. This isn’t anything that he hasn’t been in the tabloids for before.
So why am I taking it so personally?
“It’s fine. I knew going into this that you were a manwhore. I expected to be cast aside. Hell, I even told myself I was using you for sex.” I shake my head with a sad laugh and finally reach the elevator call button.
“Don’t delude yourself, Suzette. You aren’t without fault. You only saw me as another rung in your career ladder,” he says, getting defensive.
What the hell is he upset about? Being caught?
It’s not like we were anything official. I can’t even be mad at him.
I’m mad at myself.
“And I was just a way for you to get more publicity,” I say, my chest aching with the angry words.
He crosses his arms in front of his chest, “That’s right, sweetheart. Make yourself the victim. You weren’t using me at all,” he jeers.
“Like it meant anything at all to you?”
The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them and once they’re hanging in the air between us I realize how hurt and vulnerable I sound. How desperate and clingy.
God damnit, I hate him for making me this way.
“No,” he says quickly, then “maybe,” then a frustrated groan, “I don’t fucking know, but I suppose it doesn’t matter now, does it? You’ve got everything for your story, don’t you?”
I grit my teeth; he’s so fucking stubborn. So infuriating. I can’t wait to be rid of him once and for all. How I could have ever thought I… that I felt…
Well, clearly that was a mistake.
“Yep. I have everything I’ll ever need from you.”
“I reckon you can find your own way out the door then, can’t you, luv?”
Right on cue, the elevator dings behind me and the door opens. I step inside, but not before one last look over my shoulder, “Goodbye, Jasper.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jasper
“Goodbye and good fucking riddance,” I say as the elevator doors close on Susie’s solemn face.
I fucking told Elliot I didn’t want any part of his schemes. I fucking told him to leave me out of it. To let my reputation fall to waste. What the fuck do I care? I’m a bloody chef, not a movie star.
Then I got home and they were all there waiting for me.
Elliot fucking sent underwear models to my hotel room. Who does something like that?
In different times, my answer would’ve been: One hell of a manager, that’s who.
But not in this time. Not after seeing the devastation in Suzette’s eyes.
I feel like I’ll never get that image out of my mind. It’s burned into my corneas for eternity.
But hell, am I supposed to feel guilty when she couldn’t even give me a bloody chance to explain? Would it have been so fucking hard to let me talk long enough to say ‘My agent is an arsehole’?
Apparently so.
So good riddance. Suzette is clearly unhinged. Far too emotional. Too quick to jump to conclusions and dismiss the evidence right in front of her fucking eyes.
I notice my hands are balled into fists at my side and then I feel a soft hand snake around my torso, “Jasper,” Annabelle — the sexiest ginger I’ve ever seen — whispers, “we need you.”
She certainly knows how to play her cards. I’d have fallen for it a few months ago. But not now.
Not with Suzette’s voice calling me a ‘manwhore’ playing over and over in my head.
Not when I can still see the tears shimmering in her eyes no matter how hard she’s trying to look strong.
Not when I still want to chase her across the bloody city and apologize just to hold her in my arms.
Not that she’d bloody listen to me. The hard-headed fool. Can’t she see that I…
You fucking prick. Let it go. She was using you.
Of course she was. I knew it all along, so why is it such a shock to me now?
Annabelle’s hand trails down my abs, just barely skimming my waistband.
As much as I’d love to give in and fuck Susie’s memory out of my mind — with four eager models, mind you — I can’t.
“Let’s take the fucking pictures so Elliot is off my arse,” I say, breaking free from her.
She gives me a little pout that I’m sure has brought many a man to his knees, but it does nothing for me.
I’m in an empty hollow daze as the models pose with me for their instatweets and facegrams. I’m not even sure how many pictures they’re taking. They’re all trying their best to rouse my interest in something more sexual, but I have nothing in me to give.
I gave it all and it was ripped to shreds.
“It’s been a lovely evening,” I say though it’s not even half-past eight, “but I think it’s time you gals leave.” I stand and open the door, sweeping my arm to shoo them.
Courtney, a dazzling blonde, gives me a simpering look, “You don’t really mean that, do you?”
I tsk my tongue once and wave them toward the door again, “‘Fraid so. I’m sure it’s a novel experience for all of you and I wish I could better savor being your first, but I just don’t give a flying fuck. Goodbye now.”
The looks they give me are a mixture of anger, disbelief, and completely insulted.
Who the fuck cares? They’re models. They’ll have three dozen people stroke their massive egos before daybreak.
Once the models are gone, I call Elliot and leave the most profanity-laden voicemail in all existence. It’s probably for the best that he didn’t actually answer.
It’s probably for the best that I don’t talk to anyone right now. Not in this frame of mind.
Still, I find myself trying to call Susie.
Of course she doesn’t answer. Why the hell would she?
She’s done with me. She said as much herself. I should be grateful. Usually the hardest part of these little affairs is extracting myself when they’ve run their course.
Suzette’s gone and done the hard work for me. Can’t be upset about that.
And the drink I’m pouring is celebratory, I tell myself. Not at all a product of my despair. Certainly not an attempt to get pissed enough to forget her smile, her laugh, her incredible moans.
The second drink is just to carry o
n the party. The party I’m having all by myself in my hotel room. Staring at the wall in silence with only my traitorous thoughts to keep me company.
Don’t let her go.
You miss her.
She’s different.
I drink until those voices shut up. Until I’ve convinced myself that this is for the best and it’s what Suzette bloody wants.
Christ help me, even as pissed and angry as I am, I still want to give the girl what she wants.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Susie
With my deadline creeping ever closer, I decide to actually go into the office to work.
After all, I can only let myself wallow for so long before I’m annoyed with myself.
Jasper isn’t worth the melancholy.
“Hola chica, you’ve been a stranger around here, lately,” Marcel says, popping by my desk.
“Yeah, I’ve been buried up to my eyeballs with this Wild piece,” I say. Well, it’s partially the truth.
Marcel sucks his teeth and shakes his head, “Have you seen his latest?”
My heart stops. Did someone scoop me? Son of a bitch if he gave another interview while toying with me I’m going to be so fucking angry.
“Latest what?” I’m nibbling on the end of my pen — old habits die hard apparently.
Marcel flits off to his desk and returns with a copy of Star World our rival tabloid. He tosses it down on my desk like a gauntlet and there, splashed across the front page is Jasper, tangled with a gaggle of models and the headline CHEF WILD’S MODEL BEHAVIOR.
I groan and push the paper away from me, swearing I don’t care at all.
Nope, not even a little.
Marcel reads me like a fucking book. I wish I knew how he did that.
“Oh, honey, were you two...?”
“No!” I say too quickly and Marcel gives me a pointed look.
“A little. It wasn’t serious… clearly,” I say with a grimace toward the paper.
Marcel claps me on the shoulder, “You know what you need to do? Write. Harness all that anger in you and put it in print.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I mutter, turning to look at the blank document before me.
“Of course I am! Who better to write about the bad boy than someone that fell victim to his charms? Knock it out of the park and Ivan will have to move you upstairs.”