"No strings attached," she assures him as her honey blonde hair falls over her shoulders. She wiggles out of her pants while Paul strips off his clothes.
"Do you want to move to a booth?" Paul suggests. "It may be more comfortable."
"I'm fine here," Jenny insists. "I want you to fuck me on this bar, so you'll think of me every time you see it."
"As you wish," Paul replies. He pulls a condom from the pocket of his discarded jeans, opens it, and rolls it over his long, thick cock. He pushes Jenny's legs apart and buries himself inside her.
"Oh, Paul," Jenny moans as he rocks in and out of her. "You feel so amazing." She clenches her pussy muscles around him as he leans down and takes one of her breasts into his mouth.
"You feel pretty amazing yourself," he tells her.
Jenny arches her back, giving him easier access to her erect nipples. "Bite me, lover," she demands.
Paul does as he's told, nibbling each breast in turn as the juices of her satisfaction flow over his cock.
"You like that?" he says gruffly. "Are you coming for me, baby?"
"Yes!" Jenny cries out. "So hard... keep giving it to me, Paul."
Paul jackhammers into her. He isn't ready to come, but he's too drunk to stop himself. "I'm going to come with you, baby," he moans.
"No!" Jenny moans. "Don't stop. I want you to fuck me all night long."
Paul tries to hold back his orgasm, but he loses all control of himself. He explodes in ecstasy and collapses on top of her.
"I'm sorry," he says after a few minutes. "I couldn't stop myself."
"That's all right," Jenny assures him. "That just means you'll have to make it up to me, some other time."
Paul hops off of the bar and helps Jenny to the floor. They dress quietly, and neither of them notices Robbs lurking on the other side of the restaurant.
"Can I call you a cab?" Paul offers.
Jenny shakes her head. "My apartment is only a few blocks away. I walk to work."
"This is a pleasant neighborhood," Paul observes. "How do you afford a place here?"
"We all have our secrets," says Jenny. "I'll see you in the morning?"
"I'll be here." Paul walks Jenny to the door and locks up behind her.
Outside, Jenny reaches into her purse and retrieves her phone. She scrolls down to Robbs' number and calls it.
"Did you get it?" she asks.
"Every last second of it," he tells her. "That was quite a show. I can't wait to play the video for Kiara."
"Just hold on to it for now," Jenny insists. "This is too good to waste. We'll keep our eyes and ears open for the right time to strike."
***
"Jenny, are you sure you're all right?" I ask as we clean our stations after the lunch rush. A week has passed since my supreme fuck up at the prep station, and Jenny has been distant with me ever since.
"I'm fine," she insists. "I'm just tired. And I'm frustrated that Robbs won this week. It's only Friday afternoon, and I'm already about to choke on all of his smugness."
"I understand," I assure her, but I don't think she's being completely honest with me. Something strange is going on at Fission. Paul is still shamelessly flirting with me, but he's softened his attitude toward Robbs. And he's been downright short with Jenny. She came in last in this week's competition, even though her lobster was decadent and my prawns were overcooked.
"I'm a little tired myself," I tell her. "Want to walk down to the café with me over our break? I could use a shot of espresso... or five."
"A strong cup of coffee does sound good," she agrees.
We walk into the employee break room to retrieve our purses and find Amy and Charlotte laughing at the table. They silence themselves abruptly when they see us in the doorway, and I see Charlotte shoot Jenny a dirty look.
"Hi, girls," I say kindly, breaking the silence. "We're going to walk to the café for lunch. Would either of you care to join us?"
"No thanks. Our break is almost over," Amy answers for both of them.
Jenny grabs both of our purses and pushes me back through the door.
"What do you think that was about?" I ask.
"Who the hell knows with those two?" Jenny says. "They're probably just talking shit. I swear half of the people in this place act like they're still in high school."
"God, I hated high school," I groan.
"Really?" Jenny asks in surprise. "I thought you'd be in the popular crowd. You have the body of a cheerleader," she says with a tone of resentment.
"Nope," I say, shaking my head. "I was kind of a loner. I never was good with other people... I always preferred to keep my head down and work."
"So you were in the smart group? Hours and hours of studying?"
"Not exactly," I say. I don't feel like revealing my entire past, but I'm compelled to give Jenny a few details, if for no other reason than to get rid of the jealousy she's directing at me. "I worked two jobs while I was in high school. Once my parents were gone, there was no one left to take care of me, so I had to make sure my bills were paid."
"Oh God, Kiara, I didn't realize that," Jenny says apologetically. "Didn't your parents keep life insurance?"
"No, they weren't big on planning for the future. I lost them so unexpectedly. It actually helped to throw myself into work. I was too busy to think about them."
We step into the café and place our orders at the counter. "Want to share a club sandwich?" I ask.
Jenny shakes her head. "I don't have much of an appetite."
She pays for her latte, and I order a macchiato and a slice of vegetarian quiche. We make our way to a small booth and sit down before continuing our conversation.
"Jenny, are you sure you're all right?" I ask again. "If you don't want to talk about it, I completely understand, but you seem a little off this week."
"I was just questioning my decision to compete for the apprenticeship," she confesses.
"But you're so talented!" I argue. "Why would you question yourself? I know that when we started, you weren't sure that being a chef is what you want. Did you find something else you're interested in?"
"No... but, Kiara, you can't tell me you didn't notice the way Paul's been treating me lately," she says softly.
"I did notice," I tell her. "Did something happen? Did he make a pass at you? Oh god, what Amy and Charlotte said that day is true, isn't it?"
Jenny hesitates before answering. "It's nothing like that. I'm just afraid that he's realized I don't belong here... not like you and Robbs."
A waitress arrives with our orders, and we sit quietly until she leaves.
"That's ridiculous," I tell her. "It would be one thing if you'd decided to change your major. But you're incredibly talented, and you deserve to be here. Even more of a right than Robbs, because you're not a douchebag."
Jenny doesn't find my joke funny, which surprises me. Since our first day at Fission, we've bonded over our mutual dislike of Robbs. "Robbs isn't a bad guy," she argues. "He's cocky, but most talented chefs are. And part of his attitude comes from the fact that Paul shows you such obvious favoritism."
Ahh, so that's the problem.
"What favoritism?" I ask with frustration. "Robbs won yesterday, didn't he?"
"Yes..." Jenny agrees. "But you're the only one of us that Paul's nice to. He flirts with you all of the time, Kiara."
"But it's harmless, and I don't reciprocate," I argue. "Is that why you've been so distant toward me lately? Do you think I have something going on with our BOSS? You know I'd never do that! We talked about it the first time we came here!"
"I don't know what you would or wouldn't do, Kiara," Jenny hisses. "But I'm certain that Paul would take you in a second, if he thought he could."
"He flirts with me, that's all," I insist. "What do you expect me to do about it?"
Jenny slams her coffee cup down on the table, slides out of the booth, and grabs her purse. "Nothing, Kiara," she says hatefully. "I don't expect you to do a goddamn thing."
She rushes out the door, leaving me alone at the booth.
***
"You've done a fantastic job today, Kiara," Paul says. "You know, your work ethic is better than any of my employees. I love the way you keep your head down and focus on the tasks at hand."
"Thank you, Chef," I reply shortly. Two days have passed since Jenny and I fought at the café, and she's barely spoken to me since. Paul hasn't noticed the tension between us, but Robbs certainly has. He and Jenny started drinking their coffee together in the mornings and disappearing with each other during our lunch breaks. I catch them sneering at me but pretend not to notice.
"Listen, Enrique was supposed to stay late and clean up tonight, but his baby is colicky and his wife's exhausted. I'd like to let him off early, if you don't mind staying."
"Whatever you need, Chef," I agree.
The restaurant is slow for a Sunday, and three of the chefs were sent home. I spend the rest of the day manning the fry station, while Jenny and Robbs work together on Robbs' scallop kabobs, the dish that won him the latest cooking challenge. I hear them whisper as I work, and I know they're talking about me. Their attitudes make me even more sure of my decision to keep my past a secret from them.
The kitchen closes at eight o'clock on Sundays, and by quarter after, Paul and I are the only ones left in the kitchen.
"I'm going to supervise the front of the house cleanup, if you can get started on the ovens," Paul announces.
"No problem," I agree. I welcome the silence and the solitude. I know Jenny and Robbs are off somewhere talking about the fact that Paul and I are working alone in the kitchen tonight, but I don't care. Fuck them. Robbs is jealous because I'm a better chef than he is. Jenny is jealous of that too, and the fact that Paul finds me attractive. She probably just wants him for herself. Hot blondes like her always think they can have any man they want. She probably made a pass at him and got shot down. That would explain why he's been so distant with her... and why the waitresses keep giving her those dirty looks.
"How's it going in here?" Paul's voice startles me. I turn to see that he's just walked in to the kitchen.
"Good," I tell him. "Three ovens are cleaned, with two to go. Then I'll start on the stovetops." My stomach growls loudly as I speak.
"My goodness, Kiara. Have you eaten today?" Paul asks.
"I forgot," I confess with a blush. The truth is that Jenny and Robbs' attitudes had made me lose my appetite.
"Well, we're in the perfect place to do something about that," Paul says. "What sounds good?"
"I'll just eat whatever's left over from dinner service," I answer quickly. "I don't want to make a mess or be any trouble."
"That's ridiculous, Kiara!" Paul insists. "You have a world-renowned chef offering to prepare you whatever you want! You should take advantage. Opportunities like this don't come around every day." He smiles. "What is your absolute favorite thing to eat?"
"Croque Madame," I answer sheepishly. "I know it's not fancy, but it's what I like."
"That's one of my favorites too!" Paul exclaims with a broad grin.
"I can work on the béchamel sauce, if you want to grill the sandwiches," I offer.
Paul shakes his head. "You've been working your ass off all day. I'll handle everything." He disappears through the kitchen doors and returns a moment later with a bottle of chilled Zinfandel and two glasses. He pulls a stool over to one of the butcher-block tables and gestures for me to take a seat.
"I'm going to have a glass of wine," he says. "Would you like to join me?" I recognize the brand name and know that the cost of the bottle would cover my electric bill twice.
"I'd love one, thank you," I accept graciously.
Paul pours the wine, then sets off for the walk-in. He emerges with a tray of smoked ham, gruyere, butter, eggs, and cream. "Claire made some Challah this morning. Does that sound good to you?"
"Challah always sounds good." A warm, relaxed feeling fills my body as I finish my first glass of wine. "Do you mind if I pour another?" I inquire softly.
"Of course not. Pour as much as you like."
"You know," I say as I pour the wine, "I don't usually drink anything this expensive."
Paul laughs. "I remember being a poor college student. Until I opened the restaurant, I never drank the expensive stuff either. The only reason we're drinking it now is because I can write it off."
"The perks of being the boss," I say with a grin.
Paul fires two burners and sets small skillets on top of them to warm. He slices the beautiful loaf of Challah, butters one side of each piece, and assembles the sandwiches in the skillets. He fires a third burner, retrieves a saucepan from the rack, and starts on the sauce.
"This is one of the first things I ever learned to make," he tells me. "Well, sort of. Back then, it was just a grilled ham and cheese with Rotel sauce."
"That doesn't sound half bad," I tell him.
"Back then it was delicious," he agrees. "But today, you won't catch me dead near a block of Velveeta."
"Grilled cheese was one of the first things I learned how to make too," I confess. "But I rarely had any ham to add."
"I thought so," Paul says, nodding.
"You thought what?" I ask in confusion.
"That you grew up poor... no, no, I didn't mean that in a bad way," he says quickly when he sees me blush. "I grew up poor too. My father left my mother before I was born. She worked three jobs to make sure my sister and I didn't go without anything we needed. But there wasn't much left over for the things we wanted..." He flips the sandwiches in the skillets. "I was the oldest, so a lot of the cooking and housework fell on me. That's how I learned about fusing different flavors. We were all tired of eating the same stuff over and over again, so I started experimenting. I fell in love with cooking... it was my way of taking care of my family."
I finish my second glass of wine and pour the third as I reply. "I started cooking out of necessity. You're right, I grew up poor. But I didn't have anyone working to take care of me. Both of my parents were alcoholics and addicts. If I hadn't learned to cook, I'd have starved to death."
"You said your parents were addicts... have they recovered?" Paul asks gently.
I can't believe I'm opening up to him, but something about the way he's looking at me makes me feel safe. "I wouldn't know," I answer plainly. "When I was sixteen, I came home from school and they'd moved without me." I tell him about the note that's still hidden away in my closet as he plates the sandwiches, drenches them in sauce, and gingerly lays the fried egg on top.
"I can't imagine what that must have been like for you," he says softly. "Why in the world did you save that note? I'd think that it would be a painful reminder."
"It is," I agree with a nod. "But it also makes me grateful. My life has been far from perfect, but things started looking up for me once I was on my own. It was difficult, of course, keeping a roof over my head and keeping my grades up at the same time. But I shudder to think of where I'd have ended up if my parents had stuck around."
"Wait, you were completely on your own?" he asks in awe. "No aunts or grandparents to help you?"
"No one," I answer sadly. "My grandparents were gone before I was born, and my parents burned every bridge they had during their downward spiral."
"And you were too proud to ask for help," Paul guesses.
"What makes you think that?" I ask.
"The way you carry yourself... the determination you show in the kitchen. It says a lot about your character."
"Thank you, I think," I say, smiling. With a large fork, I pierce the egg and let the yolk gush over the rest of my sandwich. The first bite is heavenly. "This is the most delicious thing I've ever put in my mouth."
"You're just hungry," Paul insists. "I can do much better. Wait until you taste my empanadas."
"So, you're planning on cooking for me again?" I ask.
"I'll cook for you whenever you like," he answers seriously. He's looking at me again, in that way that
makes me feel like he's imagining our future together. Suddenly I'm reminded of the hostility I've been getting from my fellow competitors. Emboldened by the wine, I decided to bring up the issue.
"You know, I'm pretty sure Jenny and Robbs have been gossiping about us," I tell him.
"They have?" I can tell that he's not surprised. "What are they saying?"
"I haven't heard anything directly from Robbs, but I know Jenny thinks you've been showing me favoritism... because you're attracted to me."
"Well, Jenny is absolutely right, and absolutely wrong," he says firmly.
"I don't understand. What do you mean?" I ask with a wine-induced giggle.
"I am attracted to you, and you are my favorite. But you're not my favorite because I'm attracted to you. You're my favorite because you're the most talented competitor."
"Do you really think so?" I ask. "I only won one of the challenges, and you and I both know the sauce was broken."
"The flavors of that dish were perfect," he says quickly. "And I wouldn't expect a perfect sauce from a second-year culinary student. Sauciers spend years perfecting their craft. Ask Cole, if you don't believe me. I do, however, expect second-year students to be able to cook a plate of pasta, which Robbs did not."
"If a man had served you the dishes I prepared, would you think he was the best?" I ask with suspicion.
"You've been listening to the gossip around here," Paul answers with a grin. "Kiara, I made mistakes. I got involved with people I shouldn't have, and some of what you heard about me is probably true. But I'm serious about who I put in my kitchen, and you're the best chef I've seen in years. And, yes, I'd feel the same way if you were a man."
"Thank you," I say with a sigh of relief. We sit silently for several minutes enjoying the food in front of us. "That was delicious," I tell him as I push my empty plate away.
"Thanks," he responds. "I look forward to cooking for you again."
"Paul..." I begin slowly, "a few minutes ago, you mentioned getting involved with people that you shouldn't have. I'm one of three people competing to be your apprentice. Am I not the definition of 'people you shouldn't get involved with'?"
Fifty Recipes For Disaster - Book 1 (Fifty Recipes For Disaster New Adult Romance Series, #1) Page 5