by Krista Lakes
The first few days, she avoided Gordon. After their sexual night together followed by the disturbing dream, she wasn't sure what to expect from him. But, he behaved as if nothing had ever happened between them. He was the complete professional, which was good because Tracy felt like everything was falling apart at the seams.
Fortunately, Gordon stepped in to help, after finding her almost in tears because she got the wrong size onions. From that point on, the two worked seamlessly in tandem in a way that Tracy hadn’t expected. By the time the big night did arrive, Tracy was thanking her lucky stars she'd got him to work for her.
"Tracy!" One of the younger sous chefs ran up to her and pushed the bridge of his glasses up with the back of his wrist. "Baxter wanted me to tell you that we’re ready whenever you are."
Unsurprisingly, Gordon had insisted on his employees calling him by his last name only.
"Okay. Thanks." A sudden wave of nervousness washed over her.
He nodded. "Yes ma’am."
Tracy closed her eyes and sucked in a big breath of the fragrant air. There was a line of folks waiting not far from where she stood. Among them, she was sure, were local food critics and elite business women and men. Mr. Hayes had seen to the guest list, making sure that all of the right people would be in attendance.
Everything, it seemed, was perfect. Which, if experience meant anything, meant that Tracy's world was going to turn into a disaster.
She snapped open her eyes and exhaled. From there, her feet carried her to the lobby, where she slipped open the deadbolt on the front doors and pushed them open. Waiting to greet her at the head of the line was Mr. Hayes. He flashed her a toothy smile and adjusted the lapel of his tux jacket.
"You ready?" he asked, kissing her cheek. His touch was comforting.
"Yep. Marcy," she said to her lead hostess, who was waiting nearby. "Let’s start seating."
The young blonde nodded and went to work, dispatching each of her six girls with table after table of important folks and their guests. Tracy stood back with Mr. Hayes and watched all of it, her hands clasped together so tightly that her knuckles were white.
Mr. Hayes rested his hand on the small of her back. "Having fun yet?"
She cocked an eyebrow up at him. "This is supposed to be fun?"
Both of them chuckled. It was a well-needed respite.
"I’m going to go check on things in the kitchen," he said and took his hand away. "Call me on the radio if you need anything."
Tracy nodded and watched him slip through the crowd and disappear. She walked outside into the parking lot. Not far, but just enough to get away from the restless din of voices, plates and glasses.
There was a cool breeze starting to roll through the city, and it grabbed the stray hairs that had fallen from her ponytail, gently fluttering them about her face. Her cheeks were still flushed, so the wind felt even colder that it normally would have. She shivered and looked to her left, where a small alley ran between her restaurant and the designer boutique next door, leading to the next street over. Tracy hadn't been down it, as she didn’t make a habit of strolling alone at night.
Just as she was about to go back in, something drew her eyes. A little puff of smoke bubbled up from behind a streetlight. Tracy stood still and watched as another went up and subsequently carried away by the chilly wind.
It wasn’t until then that she noticed how quiet the rest of the block was. Aside from her bustling event, hardly a car went by and there were even fewer pedestrians. Tracy took a step forward and looked closely.
Behind the lamp’s halo of yellow light, a familiar silhouette made her skin crawl. He was bulky, but not very tall. Maybe even an inch or two shorter than her, though if it was who she thought it was, that wouldn’t matter.
It’s him.
She rested her hand on the car next to her, using it to propel herself forward when her feet wanted to run in the opposite direction. Her steps were slow, but Tracy had to know if it was the man from her vision, the one whose identity had eluded her for almost a month. A deep, ominous feeling in the pit of her stomach seemed to already have the answer, but she had to know for sure.
Halfway across the lot, the man flicked his cigarette into the street and pushed away from the streetlight. He started down the alley without so much as a glance her way. Tracy followed, though she kept her distance. All the while, her heart felt like it was going to pound right out of her chest. It was getting hard to breathe normally, and her head felt like it would float right off of her neck. The whole world felt like it was being turned upside down.
Tracy slipped past the streetlight and watched as he made it halfway down the alley and abruptly stopped. Her breath caught in her throat.
Did he notice me?
For a while, he just stood there. It took Tracy a while to work up the nerve to go over there, but eventually she did. To her, the risk that she was taking was worth it if it meant getting the answers that she so desperately needed.
She started down the alley, inching closer to the man as the rising tide of fear grew in her chest. Finally she reached him, though she was careful to stay an arm’s distance away.
"Who are you?" her voice came out as nothing more than a squeak.
The man didn’t answer. Going against all of the alarm bells sounding in her head, Tracy reached out to him. Her fingers barely grazed the man’s tattered jacket when he spun on his heels. Tracy jumped backwards with a yelp, sure that she had made a grave mistake.
To her surprise, the man who greeted her was not the one from her dream, but rather one of the neighborhood bums. He smiled at her with a toothless (and far from sober) grin.
"Hey there, honey!"
Tracy suddenly felt like she was going to throw up. Hot tears stung the corners of her eyes and she felt the skin on the back of her neck get hot. All of the swirling emotions in her head were becoming too much for her to handle. She wondered if maybe she was losing her grip on reality, if she had gotten herself in over her head.
She backed away from the stranger, then turned and ran to the rear of her restaurant. The tears were flowing freely by the time she arrived seconds later.
Plopping herself down onto the back step, Tracy buried her face into her hands and let it all out. She sobbed uncontrollably, her shoulders heaving up and down as she sucked down air between fits of anger and frustration.
She gave herself ten minutes to cry before sneaking into the bathroom to fix her makeup. It wasn't nearly long enough, but it was all the time she had to spare tonight. Honestly, she didn't even really have ten minutes, but the last thing she needed was for people to think she was as crazy as she felt.
The rest of the very long night went about as well as Tracy could have hoped for. The guests were pleased, her staff pulled in tips that would be hard to beat in the future, and Mr. Hayes declared it a resounding success.
At long past midnight, after everyone else – including Mr. Hayes, who had to be up for a meeting the next day – had gone home, Tracy and Gordon sank down into two chairs with heavy sighs. Most of the lights had been turned off, leaving them in a spotty darkness that reminded Tracy of their sinful encounter just weeks before.
"Excellent work, Mr. Baxter," she said with a smile, stretching her arms up and over her head. The tension slowly released as she realized the day was over.
"Why, thank you." He leaned back in his chair and yanked the soiled apron off, throwing it onto the floor. "I didn’t know if you had it in you," he continued, "but I think that you handled it pretty well."
You wouldn’t say that if you had seen everything, she thought to herself.
"I don’t know about that, but I do think that we have cause for a little celebration,” she said, rubbing a sore spot on her shoulder. “Maybe this week we can all go out for drinks."
Gordon Baxter leaned forward and put his hand on her knee. "Why wait?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why don’t you come back to the hotel with me for a little w
hile?" he asked, taking his hand away but smiling a cocky half smile. His voice was innocent, but the memories of the other night were still fresh. Drinks often had a tendency to turn into something more.
She raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.
"Don’t worry," he responded, waving his hand like it was nothing. "I had a few menu ideas and vendor suggestions to go over. The hotel’s wine selection doesn’t hurt, either, I guess."
Tracy looked across the small space, trying to read him. The way he shifted in his chair, she could tell that he wanted her again, but having her alone was something different entirely. Once, with permission- and approval- was one thing. The idea of sleeping with him without Mr. Hayes knowing or agreeing made her stomach twist. She was dating Mr. Hayes. The last thing she wanted to do was jeopardize what she had with him.
Still, he was her chef. Without him, this restaurant would fall apart. He was the reason for their success, and she had no illusions about that.
She let her eyes fall down to where his hands were clasped together, trying to think of a diplomatic way to tell him no and that what they had shared before would never happen again. Her eyes focused on his hands and she nearly screamed when she saw it: a small, half-circle scar just above Gordon’s right, middle finger.
Instantly, her thoughts ran right back to her visions. She saw everything again, though it passed in fleeting, quick flashes that made her head spin. That scar. She knew that scar so well. Had she been right the whole time? Was it Gordon who had actually been haunting her all along, in some way that she hadn’t even dreamed of?
There was only one way to find out.
Tracy pushed back in her chair, sitting up straight, and forced the swelling ball of fear back down into her gut. This was her best chance to find out what the dreams were trying to tell her.
It wasn't cheating if it would save her. Save Paul.
"Sure," she said, trying to sound normal and barely succeeding. "Why not?"
Chapter 22
Inside Gordon’s room at the top of the luxury tower, the fireplace had been lit well before their arrival, warming the room to a toasty temperature in stark contrast to the cold that had settled over the area. A storm had moved in swiftly, smothering everything for miles in a icy blanket.
Tracy shivered as she looked around the room, trying to relax. A track of dim, hidden accent lights circled the vaulted ceiling, giving the room an inviting glow. Tracy walked in, her heels clacking on the Italian marble flooring, and tried to take it all in.
"This place is amazing,” she said softly. It was a beautiful room.
Gordon closed the door softly. When the handle popped shut, Tracy tried not to flinch. All that she could think about was the gun from her dream.
"Have a seat," he said and walked to the bar. "I’ll get you something to drink."
Tracy sat down on the edge of the plush couch near the fireplace. Right away, she started to sink in to it. The softness of it put her sore feet and tired back into focus, making her even more aware of how unprepared she was for a showdown. She could barely even walk, let alone fight.
"So, is wine okay?" Gordon asked from the kitchen.
"Yeah. That would be fine." She played with her fingers, trying to keep herself calm.
The soft pop of the cork leaving the bottle sent memories of Jenna Tice and her attempt to poison Mr. Hayes running through Tracy’s mind. The memory was still fresh and, if she tried hard enough, sometimes she could still remember the smug look on the bitch’s face as she handed Mr. Hayes his glass. Neither he nor Tracy ever got any real answers as to why Jenna did what she did, but the entire Tice family had disappeared after the incident, leaving behind only questions.
Gordon appeared behind her and lowered her glass to her hands. He rubbed her shoulders for a moment, and she did her best to try and relax rather than tense at the touch.
"Thanks," she said quietly.
He sat down next to her, just close enough for the edges of their knees to touch, and raised his glass.
"To success,” he toasted.
Tracy met his glass with hers and pretended to take a sip. It didn’t seem like he was watching her very closely, but she was still careful not to give herself away. She wasn't about to drink anything he gave her. The dancing firelight flickered and popped. Neither one of them spoke for a while.
Gordon broke the stillness with a gesture. He put his hand on top of her knee, then leaned forward and finally spoke. "You know, Tracy, I’ve been thinking about the other night."
She looked down to his hand, where the scar stared back at her as plain as day, even in the room’s darkness. Seeing it made her want to jump up and run, but she knew that the answers were so close.
She bit the inside of her cheek and asked, "What about it?"
He took her glass and put both glasses on the table.
"I was thinking about you," he said and squeezed her thigh, "and the way that I felt when I was inside of you."
His hand continued to massage upward, getting dangerously close to her pussy.
Tracy, despite her misgivings, was becoming aroused by his touch and the things that he was saying. There was no doubt that the two of them had amazing chemistry, but she knew in her heart that he was up to something. There was no shaking it.
This was her chance and she knew exactly what to do.
She let him pull her legs apart, exposing her black panties under the short dress. Gordon bit his lip and caressed the smooth fabric.
"Wait, Mr. Baxter," she said and pushed his probing digits away. "Shouldn’t we take this elsewhere?"
"You’re right," he replied and stood up. He leaned over and pulled her to her feet, then reached around to fondle her ass with both hands. Tracy let him guide her into his bedroom, where a large four-poster bed awaited. She gritted her teeth, hating the way his hands felt on her, but knowing she needed to be in a controlled situation before she could do anything.
The couple tumbled onto the bed. At the very last moment, Tracy spun them around so that when they landed, she was perched on top of him. She sat up straight and swept the wild hairs out of her face, holding them up with both hands. She gently rocked her hips against his bulging girth, glad that her underwear was there.
"So, you want to fuck me again?" she asked, trying to keep the fear out of her voice.
Gordon tried to reach up and fondle her breasts, but she pushed his hands away and ground over him a little harder.
"I asked you a question," she repeated.
He seemed a little surprised and answered, "Yes."
"Good," she replied. She rocked her hips again. "But if you want to feel this again, you’re going to have to do something for me."
He responded with a familiar answer, "Anything."
"Don’t move," she commanded.
Tracy climbed off of him and walked over to his closet. She flung open the door and knelt down, quickly spotting what she was looking for: shoes. There were almost a dozen pairs, so she picked two pairs of his boots and quickly unlaced them. When she was done, she took her four new ropes and walked back over to the bed with them dangling from each end of a fist.
"And what do you intend to do with those?" he asked, his voice light and playful. If he only knew what she had in store...
She climbed back on top of him and grabbed one of his wrists.
"Oh come on now, Mr. Baxter," she said and cinched it tight. "I let you tie me up. Now it’s my turn to have my way with you."
"You let me?" He raised his hips and lifted her off of the bed, pressing their genitals together. "You wanted it."
She leaned over to take his other hand and pressed her chest into his face, thankfully silencing him for a moment.
"I want a lot of things, you know," she said, tying both of his wrists to the headboard. Gordon was still playing along, though he licked his lips like he was nervous. He hadn't seen her this aggressive.
"Like what?" he asked.
Tracy could feel him test her
knots at his wrists. She pressed her chest further into his face. He mouthed at her nipples, causing them to perk through the fabric of her dress. She didn't want to respond to him, but her treacherous body didn't know what her mind did.
"I want to tie your feet, too,” she murmured, pretending to enjoy his touch.
"Go ahead," he responded.
She sat up, turned around and bent over to work on his ankles, making sure that he could see her panties. She took her time, however, to give him enough time to remember her silky folds and the way that she had screamed his name before. Finally finished, Tracy turned around, straddling his hips.
"What else?" he whispered, desire echoing through his voice.
She left the question hanging. The anticipation on his part was palpable; she could feel just how badly he wanted her right then. Though neither one of them spoke, there was no denying it. He needed her as much as the big gulps of air that he was taking.
She rocked her hips, feeling his erection straining for her. She wished her body didn't crave release, especially from him. She closed her eyes and thought of Mr. Hayes. She needed answers for him as much as for herself.
"Do you want to know what I want now?" she whispered.
She reached down, slipping his swollen member out from behind his boxers. Her hand moved up and down over it slowly, stopping each time to gently squeeze the purple tip. His hips bucked, searching for her body. He wanted her more than he wanted to breathe.
"Yes," he cried, desire making his voice rough. "Anything, please."
The moment of truth had arrived. The decorated chef had been pushed to his limit. Tracy could see it in his eyes, just as she had seen it before in other men. At that moment, he would have given her his own legs to have what was between hers.