Her New Boss: A Rouge Erotic Romance

by Michelle M. Pillow

  Zoe looked to where Jackson sat, well away from both her and the bar. ‘Who knows what lies Contiello’s telling him now?’

  ‘Want me to have him eliminated?’ Sasha narrowed her gaze, taking a swig out of her bottle as she glared across the room.

  ‘Thanks, gangsta, but I think we’ll follow mom’s advice on this one.’ Kat gave Zoe a pointed look. ‘Go defeat him with kindness and honesty. Don’t let Contiello win. You’re too good for that.’

  ‘Since when do we listen to mom?’ Zoe asked, too nervous to take a step.

  ‘Since the tea leaves told her we should.’ Kat laughed, poking fun at their divining mother. ‘You want me to call her and tell her to put on a kettle?’

  ‘Uh, no,’ Zoe said, knowing her mother’s assistance at this moment was the last thing she needed. ‘I’ll talk to him just as soon as there is an opening.’

  ‘Smart choice.’ Sasha winked. ‘Now, how about beer number 159 on the list? I haven’t tried that one yet.’

  Zoe waited nervously for over an hour, watching for her chance to bring Jackson another drink. Once, Kendra beat her to it as she was tied up with the rowdy college boys. A part of her cringed since she had said she’d pay for them, as she mentally tallied how many beers the two men drank. She could little afford to fund their meeting.

  But covering the tab was the least of her problems. She wasn’t sure what she would say to Jackson when she finally got the chance, how she could possibly say she was sorry. In truth, she would never have imagined Jackson Levy to be so young, or so cute. Whenever culinary magazines talked about him, they showed pictures of his restaurants, never of the man. By his accomplishments, she just assumed he’d be much older.

  Zoe paced the bar. What could she say to him? The truth?

  Please hire me, I’m desperate. I’ll do anything for a job and I do mean anything. You’re my last hope, if you don’t give me a job I’ll die in bartender hell.

  When the moment came, she still hadn’t come up with the right words. Her sisters left, Kat to go home to her husband and daughter and Sasha to bum a cab ride from the richer sister. Zoe missed their silent support.

  Contiello stood, shrugging and laughing as he backed away from the table. Then, pointing, he yelled something along the lines of, ‘You know what I want, let me know when you decide.’ Zoe couldn’t be sure of the exact words, as the bar was too loud, but she saw his lips move in the dim light. As he sauntered toward the door, he winked at Zoe. She glared at him and he laughed, tossing his head back in a way that made her want to jump over the bar and pull out all his shiny hair by the roots.

  Her eyes turned to Jackson, meeting his gaze. Slowly he stood and walked toward her. The music coming from the jukebox played low and soft, a love song, as if cued by some demon force to torment her. Her heart beat just a little faster. Somehow knowing who he was, knowing he wasn’t just some actor but a man with a real job and a real accent, made him intimidating. And, oddly, it made him more attractive. Power in and of itself was a heady aphrodisiac and this man had it in spades.

  Focus, Zoe, you want a job, not a date.

  ‘I’d like to pay my tab.’ Jackson tried to hand back the card he’d originally given her.

  ‘I said I’d take care of it, sir,’ Zoe answered.

  ‘I insist.’ He didn’t smile, didn’t let on that this was anything more than a business transaction. All the charm he’d tried to bestow upon her earlier was gone. Why hadn’t she just been nice to him when she rejected his advances?

  Zoe nodded, already knowing their total bill in her mind as she turned to the credit card machine. Putting the receipt on the bar with a pen for him to sign, she said, ‘Mr Levy, sir, I’d like to apologize again for earlier. This isn’t exactly my dream job, but that was no excuse for being in a bad mood and taking it out on you. In fact, I would love the opportunity to cook for you.’ He glanced up from signing his name and she stumbled over her words as she looked deep into his steady brown eyes. ‘For, ah, a, um, interview. I promise it won’t be a waste of your –’

  A loud ring sounded and he reached for his jacket pocket. Pushing the receipt toward her, he grabbed his cell phone and flipped it open. To her, he said, ‘I’ll need a copy of the receipt,’ before saying into the phone, ‘Hello? Yeah, give me a sec, my meeting with Contiello just ended and I’m waiting for a receipt.’

  ‘Receipt,’ she repeated softly, turning to take the customer copy from the printer. She closed her eyes tight when he couldn’t see her and took a calming breath. When she again faced him, his hand extended before she even reached to hand the receipt over.

  ‘What? No, he wants to negotiate salary. I expected it, but his terms are ridiculous. I’ll let him think about it and contact him in a week. Let him think we’ve changed our minds until then. After he starts to sweat, we’ll re-approach him if he doesn’t come to us first. That restaurant he works for is in the red since the owner died. I talked to the bank president today.’ His eyes shifted up, as if realizing Zoe still stood in front of him, listening to every word. Nodding once, he said, ‘Ma’am,’ and walked out of the bar.

  Zoe stared after him, ignoring a loud call for raspberry beer. Streetlights silhouetted Jackson as he stood outside, glancing up and down the street before walking along the sidewalk, out of her eye line.

  ‘Hey, Zoe, you all right?’ Pete asked, bumping her lightly as he passed to grab a raspberry beer from the cooler.

  ‘Ah, yeah,’ she lied, fumbling around for a towel. ‘Just tired. Long night.’

  ‘I hear ya, doll.’ Pete walked away, leaving her alone behind the bar.

  Grabbing a rag, she began scrubbing her workstation with irritated force. ‘Good going, Zoe,’ she berated herself, ‘way to fuck up your life more.’

  Chapter Three

  THE LOUD, STARTLING words came from behind her. ‘Do you know what the original recipe for Southern pound cake is?’

  Zoe gasped, just short of screaming. This time of day the street was usually abandoned. The early-morning hour stretched before her and she could think of little else beyond finding her bed. Her T-shirt stuck to her underarms. Sweat dried on her face and neck combined with the smell of bleach water on her hands. Tired and aching from a full shift that had ended in cleaning the entire bar, she wasn’t in the mood to defend herself from an attacker. She reached for her hip, pulling Mace from the clip on her waistband. Turning, her arm raised, she gasped again. ‘Mr Levy.’

  ‘Do you or do you not know what the original recipe for Southern pound cake is?’ Jackson’s arms hung easily at his sides as he studied her intently. A light-grey button-down shirt with darker grey stripes replaced the blue one he’d worn earlier, testifying to the fact that he’d changed and come back. His black suit stood in sharp contrast against the lighter-coloured shirt and succeeded in making her feel all the grungier. The elegant drape of black material and the perfect cut confirmed the suit’s custom tailoring. By the alertness of his gaze, he appeared as if he’d slept a full night when she knew for a fact he’d been up late drinking. ‘Do I take your silence to mean you don’t know?’

  Zoe opened her mouth, still trying to process his question through her tired mind. Jackson began to reach for his jacket pocket and she hurried to speak, stopping him. ‘I can’t be sure. Southern cooking isn’t my area of expertise, but I’d say basic cake ingredients – flour, sugar, eggs, butter, maybe salt or vanilla to flavor, baking soda.’

  ‘What is the difference between Cajun and Creole cooking?’ His expressionless face gave nothing away.

  ‘What is this about? Is this a job interview?’ Zoe took a slow step toward him, only to stop when she remembered how badly she needed a shower. She imagined her eyeliner to be smudged, creating dark circles beneath her eyes. Her eye shadow and blush would have surely long faded and her hair had to be frizzy.

  ‘I haven’t decided yet. Do you know the difference?’

  ‘Creole is French-based –’ Zoe paused, her mind not wanting to work pas
t the dull headache of fatigue ‘– ah, Cajun is Louisiana … It’s a trick question. They’re the same.’

  His mouth shifted into a slight frown. ‘Can you make grits?’

  ‘I can make anything you want me to if I have a recipe. Give me a day with that recipe and I’ll most likely improve upon it.’ Zoe proudly lifted her chin, trying to force a challenge to her gaze.

  ‘Southern folk don’t really cotton to people changing their tried and true recipes, ma’am.’ Jackson’s drawl thickened and she wondered if he did it to annoy her.

  ‘Then I can make it exact,’ Zoe answered, too weary to debate. This strange interview couldn’t be going well anyway. Southern cuisine was more of a regional thing and she’d never really paid attention to it. Italian cooking was her strongest suit, with French and Mediterranean following far behind.

  ‘Hmm.’ Jackson stared at her, giving nothing away. His piercing gaze bored into her, as if taking in every nuance of her expression. She made an effort to keep her features blank yet pleasant, but as she imagined what her hair and make-up must look like, she found herself frowning. ‘All right.’

  Zoe blinked several times, shaking her head slightly. ‘All right?’

  ‘I have an urgent position open for a head chef, one I have to fill today, and unfortunately for me I have more pressing matters with a new restaurant proposal in Texas. The job I’m offering is nothing glamorous. Ah, here we go.’ He motioned to the side. Zoe turned to see a limo pulling along the quiet street only to stop nearby. Jackson walked toward the driver side of the car, meeting the chauffeur when he opened the door. ‘Thanks, Chuck.’ When he turned to her, he held two large paper coffee cups. To Zoe, he said, ‘Well?’

  ‘I need more information.’ Zoe took a slow step off the curb, reaching to take the offered coffee cup. Heat flooded her fingers and she tapped them lightly against the sides. What was she saying? The restaurant could be in the pits of hell cooking for demons and she’d say yes. Fingering the plastic lid, she tried to focus past her racing heart. ‘When? Where?’

  ‘You’ll start in two days, flight leaves tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I have to give notice to the bar and there’s my apartment.’

  He sighed, taking a step forward. Zoe glanced up, taken aback by how close he was. A small shiver worked over her, making her forget how tired she was. When he leant over, her eyes automatically went to his mouth and her lips parted. Tingling sensations erupted as she irrationally waited for him to lean closer. He didn’t kiss her, but instead reached for the door handle to the back seat. She quickly stepped out of his way and looked down at the cup, only to take a sip to hide her mortification.

  ‘The offer leaves with me and I have a plane to catch. I have a position to fill and either you want it or you don’t – on a probationary basis, of course. I honestly don’t care if you prefer to work in a bar. I can track someone down with a few phone calls.’

  ‘But you don’t even know my name.’ She tilted her head in question. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Zoe Matthews. Last time I’m going to ask.’ He made a move to get into the car.

  ‘I’ll take it,’ she blurted.

  He reached into his jacket. ‘Here is your ticket. Someone will meet you at the airport. I’ll have my office arrange for transportation and a temporary residence. Don’t disappoint me.’

  ‘I – I won’t.’

  The car door slammed shut. She stepped back as the limo rolled down the street, wishing he’d offered her a ride home. It would have saved her cab fare. Looking down at the ticket, she saw it indeed had her name on it. He’d known she’d say yes. Why wouldn’t she? He was Jackson Levy and he was giving her a last chance at fulfilling her dream.

  ‘I won’t fail,’ Zoe whispered to the ticket, squeezing it tight in her shaking hands. ‘I can’t fail.’

  Scanning the bold print, she gave a short laugh. ‘Of course the flight would leave at six in the morning.’ Her eyes went to the destination. He never had said where. He’d mentioned Texas. That wouldn’t be so bad, not ideal, but not bad. San Francisco or Chicago would be better. Tension instantly worked up her spine as her gaze fell upon the city. ‘Columbia, South Carolina?’

  Jackson resisted the urge to turn around and look out the back window. Even covered in sweat and looking like she’d hit the end of a triathlon, the woman was gorgeous. There was something to her dirty appearance, the way her hair lay flat, the way her make-up smudged beneath her eyes, making them dark. A base urge boiled inside him, filling his cock and causing him to tremble. Normally, he didn’t fantasize about unclean women and dirty sex, but with her his sudden libido seemed to create whole new fantasies. He imagined her leaning over a barstool, bent across a pool table, on her knees in the Phoenix Arms’s restroom. He suddenly cleared his throat, slightly uncomfortable with the turn his mind had taken. Instead, he forced himself to think of her in the shower – bathing the sweat from her body, kissing her wet flesh, running his fingers through soapy trails.

  This plan to bring her to his hometown had seemed like a good idea when Jackson put it into motion. What better way to teach the rude woman a lesson than to take her out of her element, luring her away with her dream job? Of course he’d been pissed off and drunk and, by the time he’d sobered some, he’d not thought to stop his plans because that wasn’t the type of man he was. Once he decided to do something, he did it full on. Besides, he’d already ordered a background check on Zoe’s qualifications and purchased her plane ticket.

  The limo turned the corner and Jackson glanced at the dark window separating him from his driver. He slipped off his jacket and placed it on his lap, eager to take care of the growing erection pressing against his dress slacks. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket before unbuttoning his slacks and slipping his hand beneath the silk boxers. A low sigh echoed from his mouth and he bit his lip.

  Zoe’s image danced behind his closed lids. The gentle rocking of the car vibrated along his back and thighs. Jackson fisted his cock, hating the dry rub of his flesh even as he imagined what she would feel like instead. It was difficult, stroking in a way that wouldn’t be noticed by anyone passing. Even with tinted windows, there were times when the light hit just right and people could see inside.

  He gripped tight, digging his heels into the floor as he moved his hips in shallow thrusts. Jackson wanted to fuck her so badly, wanted to order the driver to turn around so he could grab her and throw her down on the limo seat. Sweat beaded his brow. Release was close, so close. He took his handkerchief, cupping it along the tip of his cock, catching his seed as it jetted warm into his palm.

  For a long time, he breathed hard, opening his eyes to watch the passing buildings. Jackson righted his clothing, knowing he had to get himself under control. Masturbating in a limo wasn’t his style. He pushed all sexual thoughts from his mind and grabbed his cell phone. Only when he’d regained complete control over his thoughts did he punch in number five on his speed dial. It didn’t take long before the call was answered by his assistant’s enthusiastic voice. ‘Jackson! I didn’t expect to hear from you again for a few days. Don’t tell me you aren’t coming home. You know it will kill Tommy if Uncle Jackson isn’t here for his birthday party. We have the whole day planned.’

  ‘No, I said I’d be there and I’ll be there. I haven’t missed one yet, have I, Callie?’ Jackson laughed, thinking of his three little nephews. Callie wasn’t only his assistant, but his sister. ‘I’m actually coming home today.’

  ‘That’s great news. I’ll tell the family and we’ll have a big dinner tonight.’ The soft accent of her words made him feel safe.

  ‘That’s not why I called,’ Jackson said. ‘I need to talk to your husband. Is Bob there?’

  ‘He’s out back carrying on with Mr Davis about lawn-mowers or Weed Eaters. The old coot was up before dawn mowing his lawn. Amazingly, I was up at that time searching the internet databases for your Ms Matthews.’

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Jackson said.

>   ‘That’s all right. It is what you pay me for, little brother.’ Callie laughed. ‘I know a drunken man when I hear one. Why do you need Bob? Is something the matter?’

  ‘Not really. I just have to fire him from the restaurant.’ Jackson paused, waiting to see if he would get a rise out of her.

  She sighed, clearly unconcerned. ‘What did he do now? Is this about the industrial-sized pickles? I asked him to bring them. We’ll pay for them and for the ketchup.’

  Jackson laughed, watching the tall buildings pass in the early-morning light. Streaks of gold and magenta raced over the glass fronts. ‘I don’t care about the pickles. I told ya’ll to take whatever you need.’

  ‘Then, what is this about? You’re not really firing him, are you?’

  ‘Just for a few months. I need the chef position for someone else. Don’t worry about your bills, they’ll be covered. In fact, if he takes the time off, it’ll be doing me a great favour.’ Jackson knew he’d have to explain why, not only to Callie, but to the rest of his family. ‘I’ve hired a chef from here in New York. A real uppity piece of work.’

  ‘Ah, so this is why you had me looking up Chef Matthews at two in the morning.’ Callie instantly drew the connection, not that it was too hard. ‘If she was so bad, then why’d you hire her?’

  ‘To teach her a lesson.’

  ‘Sounds like more work for you than her.’

  ‘She insulted me, my accent, my heritage and I’m pretty sure several other things I can’t clearly recall right now. I’ve just had it with these rude, arrogant people who think they’re better than everyone else.’

  Callie hummed thoughtfully. ‘You’re telling me you lost your temper and offered her a job in your favorite restaurant?’

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘Sounds like it is twelve beers too many complicated, if you ask me.’ Callie hummed softly, as if suppressing a chuckle.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he admitted. ‘I was interviewing Contiello and he went on and on about how she tried to steal his recipes and ideas only to come on to him and how he had to fire her. The guy’s a real jerk. I’m not sure how much I believe of his account of things, but then she wasn’t the nicest person either until she found out who I was. As soon as she heard my name, she became all sweet, begging for a job.’