Her New Boss: A Rouge Erotic Romance

by Michelle M. Pillow

  Zoe had completely forgotten that today was Sunday, the day her family always got together at their parents’ house.

  ‘Well, almost everyone. Ella is home. I think something is wrong with her, but she won’t talk. I don’t know if the navy is working out for her. She went out with some friends this evening.’ Beatrice paused.

  Zoe took the opportunity to get in, ‘Hi, Mom.’

  ‘Hi, honey,’ Beatrice said. ‘Did you call your sister? She’s really worried.’

  ‘Yes, but she didn’t answer. I left her a message. I’m fine, everything’s fine –’

  ‘I know, honey, I –’

  ‘Ah, Mom,’ Zoe groaned. ‘I’m tired. Please don’t.’

  ‘Tired?’ Beatrice asked. Her tone became higher-pitched. ‘Any reason?’

  ‘I’ve been cooking.’ It wasn’t a lie, just not the whole truth. But there was no way she was telling her mom about her torrid weekend at a Southern plantation. Whenever she got back to New York, the entire city would know about what she’d done with Jackson.

  ‘You know, your father would really enjoy going to South Carolina. He’s heard there’s fishing there. Any chance there’d be a reason for us to come down and visit you?’

  Knowing her mother was probing, Zoe sighed. After so many girls, their parents had given up on ever having sons – though they remained hopeful for five sons-in-law. With Kat and Megan’s marriages, plus the recent birth of Mariah, it stood to reason that their parents should have been content. But it wasn’t so. Her father, Douglas, was a retired English professor, as serious as his wife was flighty. He’d worked at several private schools, most prestigiously Harvard. He never overtly said anything about sons-in-law, but left the prodding to his wife.

  ‘Um, not really,’ Zoe said, hiding her laugh as she gave her mother an answer she wouldn’t want to hear. At the very least, Beatrice would have expected her to say something along the lines of, ‘You never need a reason to visit me, Mom.’ And Zoe would have, too, if she hadn’t known her mother would be on a flight down the very next morning with even such little prompting.

  Clearly disappointed, Beatrice’s tone fell. ‘Hmm, all right, have your mystery for now.’

  ‘I have to go, Mom,’ Zoe lied. Marta was sitting on the porch, sipping a cup of tea, her hawk eyes staring at Zoe as she neared the front sidewalk leading up to the house.

  ‘I love you, honey,’ Beatrice said.

  ‘I love you, too,’ Zoe answered, and flipped her phone to end the call. Glancing at Marta, she mustered a smile. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Talking to your boyfriend?’ the woman asked, rocking back slightly on her chair as she held her teacup in front of her chin.

  Zoe gave a short laugh, not feeling any humor, especially when she thought about the woman going through her box from Kat. ‘Goodnight, Marta.’

  ‘Goodnight, dear.’ The woman continued rocking.

  Zoe went inside to hide out the rest of the evening in her room. With any luck, her racing mind would shut off long enough to help her sleep.

  Zoe started her second week as Renée’s new chef with a renewed sense of purpose. Instead of foisting her ‘city girl’ fine dining on the country folk, she was going to give them what they were used to – only better. With Constance’s words in her head, she planned her menu as she prepped for the day. As she’d promised, the weekend cook had left a recipe book of Southern classics on the back desk for Zoe to look over. Monday would have to be trout, because that’s what she had in the walk-in fridge. Luckily, though, the grocery would bring whatever else she needed for the rest of the week.

  She decided on trout with a simple butter and garlic seasoning, breaded with cornmeal and sautéed to flaky perfection, homemade garlic mashed potatoes and green beans with bacon and sea salt for flavour. By the time Sheryl arrived, she had breakfast prepped and lunch well on the way. The waitress snorted a greeting, saying nothing as she went about her work. Monday breakfast wasn’t too busy – mostly coffee drinkers ordering pancakes and eggs with the occasional toast. Every time the front door bell rang, Zoe found herself looking to see if it was Jackson. She didn’t expect him, had no reason to, but after their weekend together she had strange fantasies of him stopping by, of him sending flowers, of calling – something – but got nothing.

  Mid-afternoon, she called an order in for the rest of the week. Lunch and then dinner rolled by, not terribly busy but with some special orders of her trout. She gave generous portions to get rid of all the fish in stock. As the last customer left, taking Sheryl with him, she stayed alone in her kitchen spending extra time cleaning, hoping Jackson would show. As she took trash out to the dumpster, she searched the alleyway for his truck, hoping he’d offer to help so she didn’t have to go near where the snake had been. He didn’t and she was forced to face the fear, kicking her feet to make noise as she ran to the bin, threw in the trash, and ran back to the kitchen.

  Finally, unable to make excuses to wait any longer, she locked up and made the trek back to the bed and breakfast. Almost hating how pathetic she was being, she found herself watching the street for headlights. A few teenagers rolled by, their music as loud as their laughter. One of the boys yelled to her, his words lost in the fast whiz of the passing engine.

  Three days and still he resisted going to see her.

  Jackson tilted his beer, taking a long pull from the bottle as he stared at his backyard. Everywhere he went in his house, he imagined Zoe. Fantasies of her danced in his head, teasing his senses and making his cock fill with hard desire. Distraction caused him to zone out during important meetings. Desire made him scream into his pillow in frustration, even as he tried to work a release out for himself. And something he couldn’t quite describe curled inside him, making him fear what Marta had told him, making him desperate to see Zoe and terrified that he would go to her.

  That was something he shouldn’t do. Each time he looked at her, he felt himself closer to saying something he would only come to regret. Thinking of it, his hand shook and he balled it into a fist, while continuing to grip his beer with the other one. He couldn’t face her just yet, not until he knew he could control what he would say to her.

  His eyes drifted to the folder in front of him. Inside was an article that had been faxed to him the night before by the editor-in-chief of the premier culinary magazine Chef d’oeuvre. The article called Chef Matthews a culinary diamond – but it wasn’t finished. They wanted a quote from him about her cooking, why he had hired her, why he hadn’t told anyone he was doing it. The author of the article, Josine Gray, referred to Zoe as his secret up-and-comer. Her list of questions for him speculated that he had big plans for his little diamond.

  If it had been anyone else, such news would have made him proud because he had discovered a new talent, but Zoe? Why couldn’t he muster any happiness for her achievement? She’d earnt it with her cooking, all on her own and in less than a week. Perhaps all she’d needed was a shot, her chance, and he’d given it to her. All her dreams were starting to come true, with that article right there in its blank folder – if he just gave Josine the right answers.

  Jackson took another drink, finishing his beer, hating the part of him that wanted to say that what Josine had eaten was a fluke; Zoe was only a diner cook, a nobody going nowhere. No one would question his word. The article would go away. Zoe would never know and then she couldn’t leave Dabery, not yet, not until he was ready to let her go.

  Jackson closed his eyes, leaning his head back in his chair as the warm night air whispered around his features. The insects seemed too quiet, especially for such a fine evening. He wouldn’t go and see her tonight.

  Zoe sighed. The third week was half over and though she spent her days in a building with an endless stream of people, she had never felt so alone. Taking Jackson’s advice, she tried to smile at everyone through the pick-up window. It worked because a few smiled back. None made conversation and Sheryl didn’t count because nothing she said was much better than a curse
. Travis tried, but he was just a kid and they had no common ground on which to converse.

  Where was Jackson? Why hadn’t he come? Why hadn’t he called? A week and a half had passed since he had contacted her. A week and a half since the weekend they’d shared.

  She hit her hand against the table, gripping the chicken bones. She’d prepared a broth to make chicken and dumplings for Thursday’s special. She’d boiled them all day, making them easier to debone. She took the meat and threw it into the big stockpot.

  Fuck him. She didn’t need to see him anyway, not if he was going to treat her like some whore who he screwed and then discarded until he was horny again. With venom, she threw one bone into the trash and grabbed another piece to tear at it in frustration.

  But did she have a right to be mad? It wasn’t like she’d demanded a relationship, demanded he’d treat her like a girlfriend or even a lady. She’d gone to him eagerly, desperate to touch him, to have him inside her. The memory of his touch made her body ache. Her nipples swelled against her tight undershirt with the built-in bra, and her pussy nearly wept with cream at the thought of being filled. Even now, she could remember his smell, the taste of his wine-tinted kiss.

  ‘I need you to cook for me.’

  Zoe nearly screamed with fright at the demanding words. She would have recognized his voice anywhere, even hoarse as it was now. Turning, she placed her hand over her heart to glare at Jackson’s face through the pick-up window. Unable to answer right away, she turned back to finish deboning the chicken. The metal door swung open.

  ‘Kitchen’s closed. Try coming back during business hours,’ she answered, scooping up the last of the meat and throwing it into the pot using a little too much force. Liquid splashed out of the side, running onto the table. With a brush of her hand, she swept the bones into the trash can.

  ‘Are you upset?’ he asked, sounding surprised.

  ‘No, of course not,’ she lied. Zoe told herself not to tell him, to play it cool like Kat would, to be confident like Megan. She failed. ‘I often spend an entire weekend fucking someone only to be ignored for weeks afterwards.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ His words weren’t an apology so much as a request for clarification.

  ‘Yes, you are,’ she mumbled, her temper beginning to flare. At least when she’d got pissed at Contiello, he hadn’t acted surprised. He’d known he’d been an asshole and deserved her rage. Jackson had the gall to stand there with a stunned look of shock on his handsome face.

  ‘Did I miss something?’ He glanced around, as if that would help answer his question.

  Zoe picked up the pot, struggling under its heavy weight as she carried it to the stove. She hadn’t planned on heating it back up tonight, but the task gave her something to do with her hands, gave her a way to channel her frustration so she didn’t turn the full force of it on him. ‘I guess not,’ she answered sarcastically.

  ‘Will you stop for a moment and talk to me?’ he asked.

  ‘You ordered me to cook, boss,’ Zoe said, turning the stove on with an angry jerk of her hand. ‘So I’m cooking.’

  ‘You’re mad because I didn’t call.’ He leant against the table, arms crossed over his chest.

  The obvious statement made her quirk a brow. ‘No, I’m mad because you …’ Zoe frowned. The not-calling part was most of it, but she wasn’t in a mood to agree with him at all. ‘You didn’t treat me very well.’ She picked up a rag and began cleaning furiously, wiping up the mess she’d made with the chicken.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Jackson demanded. His stricken look as she brushed past him made her pause in her tirade. Lifting the lid to check the stock, she absentmindedly threw down the rag. ‘This isn’t the 1800s, you could have called me. Should I be offended by the fact that you didn’t try to get a hold of me?’

  ‘That is beside the …’ Zoe glowered at him in frustration. ‘You’re the man. It’s your job. Besides, you’re my boss. Like I’m going to call you socially.’

  ‘My being your boss never came into play when we were together. I never pressured you to …’ He took a deep breath. ‘I never forced you. Don’t you dare cry –’

  ‘Don’t you dare finish that insulting sentence,’ Zoe warned, lifting her finger. She paced to the counter to finish cleaning it and frowned when she couldn’t see her rag.

  ‘I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair. A man in my position has to be careful about women who try to –’

  ‘Don’t you dare finish that one either.’ Zoe frowned, eyeing the floor. To herself, she whispered, ‘Where in the world did I put it?’

  ‘I don’t understand what it is we’re fighting about or why,’ Jackson said. ‘I only came here to ask you to cook for me. I realized you’d never actually cooked a meal I could eat and I came to rectify that. If I’m to tell people about your cooking, I should be able to tell them I’ve sampled it.’

  ‘Fine. Tomorrow’s special is going to be chicken and dumplings – homemade, thanks to the recipe book Constance left for me. I’m afraid the roast I made for today is all gone. Sold every single last piece of it.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘You don’t have to sound so surprised.’ Zoe frowned. ‘Will tomorrow work? I’m tired. It’s been a long day.’

  ‘Of course. We’ll do this later, during business hours.’ Jackson looked as if he wanted to say more. ‘I’ll leave you be.’

  He turned to go. Zoe felt an acute disappointment that he hadn’t even tried to seduce her. She missed his touch, ached for it, and he was just going to leave? Not that she’d given him any reason to stay.

  Stopping at the door, he pointed at the stove. ‘I might have to miss tomorrow. You threw your rag in the pot.’

  Zoe gasped, hurrying to her stock. On opening the lid, she saw that the cleaning rag dancing atop the rolling boil. She cursed, hurrying to fish it out, even as she knew the stock was ruined and she’d have to start over. By the time she threw the rag into the trash, Jackson had left and she felt no better for having yelled at him.

  After closing up, she went back to the bed and breakfast. A clean towel awaited her in the bathroom, having been laid out in one of Marta’s nightly rituals. The woman had never once said Zoe had to bathe after work, but the small implications were there. Zoe didn’t mind. She liked to shower the day’s work off before bed.

  As the hot water hit her flesh, she closed her eyes. She wished she could take back how she’d handled Jackson. Her words hadn’t been lies. She had been hurt by his neglect over the last few days. That hurt had caused her to strike out in anger.

  The soap trailing over her flesh caused her nerve endings to tingle as she thought of him. Why had she fought him? If she’d just played it cool, acted like she didn’t care, she could have been with him right now, satisfying the fire burning deep inside her.

  Touching herself was a bittersweet sensation next to the memory of Jackson’s flesh, and no matter how she stroked her clit, dipping her fingers inside her slick pussy, she couldn’t make herself come like he could. When she climaxed, the weak pleasure it gave caused her to cry out softly. Tonight, he hadn’t even tried to make it better between them and it was quite possible that it’d be several more days before she saw him again.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘I LIKE HER. She’s got spunk. Your dad would have liked her too.’ Constance Levy eyed her son. ‘A good, clever mind, too. Willing to learn and accept different things. I think you’ve done very well for yourself with this one.’

  Jackson eyed his mother in turn, glad she was finally back in town so he could see her and ask her about Zoe. She’d been in Louisiana visiting relatives for the last week. He would have called her, but he’d wanted to have this conversation face to face, so he could read her expression. ‘I don’t remember asking for your advice.’

  ‘Please.’ She laughed, waving him to sit beside her at the glass table on her wooden deck. It was the house he’d grown up in, the first house his father had bought for them when they moved to Dabery. Jacks
on had helped add a couple of rooms onto it for his mother – a craft room and a dining room. He’d never offered to buy her a new home. She’d never take it. This was where the family’s memories lived and it was where she would stay until the day she died. ‘The first words out of your mouth the second you came out here were, “So you met the weekday cook,” not a “Hello” or an “I love you, Momma” or “How was your trip? Did you enjoy yourself? How’s the family?” You came here for the sole purpose of getting my advice about Zoe.’

  ‘Marta says she’s a gold-digger after a rich husband and I know for a fact that she’s interested in me because of what I can do for her career.’ Jackson sat and his mother automatically poured him an iced tea from the pitcher on the table. He didn’t even try to deny her claim a second time. He was there for advice.

  Besides the shorter cut of her hair and a few wrinkles, Constance looked as she had when they’d first moved in. There was an ageless beauty to her, a vitality and a quiet strength. She was a good mother and a fantastic grandmother, spoiling his nephews terribly.

  ‘Marta is a gossip. What evidence does she have of this besides her own boredom? The woman means well and must be tolerated for it, but I raised you smarter than to take someone like Marta’s word as fact.’ Constance sighed. ‘As for Zoe’s career, good for her.’

  Jackson laughed. ‘You want a woman to be with me because of what I can do for her?’

  ‘Don’t pretend you stole a frog’s brain this morning. You know I want the best for all three of my children. But think of it this way. She is honest, told you about her career. Your father knew I wanted to work when we first met. He never stood in my way and I loved him for that. If there was a way he could help me, by God he did it.’

  ‘She doesn’t fit in here,’ Jackson said.