Her New Boss: A Rouge Erotic Romance

by Michelle M. Pillow

  ‘Before the break, we were discussing the true ownership of certain culinary masterpieces. In a few weeks, on this station, Chef Contiello and Chef Matthews will battle it out for the recipes on Battle Chefs!’ Applause met Josie’s announcement. Time seemed to crawl as the show continued. Josie asked more questions, doing her best to promote lively debate. A few times she came close, but Zoe restrained herself well.

  ‘I’d like to welcome our next guests, who might be able to shed some light on this debate.’ Josie stood, holding her hand out. ‘Please welcome Chef Matthews’ sisters, New York City Detective Megan Brady, photographer Kat Richmond and their mother, psychic Beatrice Matthews.’

  Zoe gasped, standing to see her sisters and mother. Beatrice’s ageless face made it impossible to guess her age, and only the fact she had five grown daughters suggested she must be in her fifties. Her blue eyes glowed and it was easy to see the strong resemblance between the sisters and their mother, even if Kat’s long blonde hair were streaked with blue, matching the trendy empire-waist dress and heels. A polar opposite, the more serious Megan’s dark-brown locks were pulled into a large bun, a perfect utilitarian match to her black slacks and fitted white linen shirt. All that was missing from her image was the police badge secured to her waistband.

  ‘Welcome,’ Josie announced, as if inviting people into her home. Zoe hugged her sisters and mother, exchanging questioning looks that couldn’t be expressed in words. As they sat on chairs that must have been brought out during the break, Jasie said, ‘So, Beatrice – a psychic, how interesting. What exactly do you do?’

  Zoe looked across the table at her mother. The show had gone as well as could be expected, neither wonderful nor completely horrible. Beatrice had been only too happy to give her television debut talking about the art of tasseography, going so far as to do a tea-leaf reading of Josie’s future. Fortunately, it looked bright, as far as Hollywood careers went, and the host had been thrilled. The second half of the hour-long show had mostly involved talking about reading tea leaves and how Beatrice had got into the career.

  Megan and Kat had defended Zoe’s recipes in no uncertain terms. Contiello had flinched under Megan’s stare and left making comments about being sabotaged by Josie and her producers, as there had been no one on the show to defend his position but his agent. Kat had called him several names that would undoubtedly be beeped out by whatever regulating censors the control booth used to keep profanity off public television.

  At the end of the show, before the host wrapped up, Kat had gone on to say to Josie and the audience, ‘Zoe has proven herself time and time again every bit as talented as Conti over there. It’s only a matter of time before she opens her own restaurant.’

  Even now, the comment made Zoe smile. Kat’s unwavering faith in her never failed to brighten her day. At least the show had ended on a good note.

  Jackson had ordered a limo as a surprise for Zoe, but their cosy party of two had turned into five. Instead of the intimate evening she’d envisaged driving around town and making love, they’d ended up at dinner with Zoe’s mother and sisters. Beatrice had insisted on an Asian steakhouse and they’d ended up at a place that resembled a Japanese palace. The center and one side of the table were taken up by a grill where the chefs cooked the food in front of the customers. Zoe and Jackson sat at the end. Megan was at her other side, then Kat and her mother.

  ‘So, Jack, what are your intentions towards our Zoe?’ Kat asked bluntly, eying Jackson.

  ‘Ah.’ He glanced at Zoe. ‘I really like your sister, I mean, I love her and –’

  ‘Wait.’ Kat held up her hand. ‘I was talking about her career. What do you mean you –?’

  ‘Oh, Zoe! I knew this would happen. I told you, remember, when you called and –’ Beatrice began, her chin-length hair barely moving under the weight of hairspray.

  Megan stopped her. ‘Mom, enough, please. You promised no more future-reading tonight. Don’t make me call Dad.’

  Beatrice made an exasperated noise and waved her hand. Megan winked at Zoe.

  ‘I’ve offered Zoe a job in New York at a new restaurant. She has yet to say yes, but I’ve given her a contract for the next eighteen months,’ Jackson said. The chef appeared at their table, beginning his performance of cooking. Zoe glanced at him, watching with interest as he flipped his utensils in the air, catching them before tapping the metal edges along the grill.

  ‘Oh, she says yes,’ Kat answered for her. ‘We want her back in the city. I need her back in the city. She says yes.’

  Zoe thought of protesting, but the truth was she had no reason to other than that she didn’t want to leave Jackson. This thing they had just started and moving back to New York meant a long-distance relationship. Those rarely seemed to work.

  ‘Yes,’ she said to Jackson. ‘I’ll take it. It’s a dream come true. Kat’s right. How can I say no?’

  Kat cheered. Megan grinned. Beatrice said, ‘I knew it!’

  The chef made a joke and flipped an egg into the air, then cracked it on his spatula. Each of his fluid movements had both grace and purpose. Next, he placed rice, onions, shrimp, steak, calamari and vegetables on the grill. The sizzle of food wafted around them, carrying with it the overpoweringly fishy smell of the squid her mother had ordered.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about writing a cookbook when this Battle Chefs is all over,’ Zoe said, her stomach tight as she wondered what the future held. Contiello might be an ass, but the truth was he was a good cook: not very original, but he knew what he was doing. A show like Battle Chefs didn’t demand originality so much as perfection. The more she thought about what could go wrong, the more she worried. What if the judges happened to hate whatever she did for some unknown reason? What if Contiello’s presentation was better? Or a judge was single and he flirted with them? The man could be charming.

  Jackson’s hand slid onto her knee, squeezing her gently in reassurance. She gave him a small smile.

  ‘I think that’s a fine idea,’ Beatrice said. ‘I always thought I’d have a writer for a daughter.’

  ‘I don’t know if it’s really writing so much as creating,’ Zoe protested.

  ‘Let her count it,’ Megan interrupted. ‘I don’t want her trying to get me to write some book. I barely have time to read my case files.’

  ‘You took time off for this show, though,’ Zoe said. ‘I don’t think I’ve said thank you enough for coming. I know you’re busy.’

  ‘Ah, a few Upper East Side break-ins.’ Megan waved her hand in dismissal. Once a complete workaholic, she’d been much better about taking time for family since meeting her husband. ‘No one was hurt and the paperwork can wait.’

  ‘Excuse me, what’s this about being in love?’ Kat broke in. ‘I don’t remember getting a phone call about this new development.’

  Zoe looked at Jackson and blushed. She slipped her hand over his under the table, holding it to her leg.

  ‘Ah!’ Kat bounced in her chair. ‘You love him back! This is so great. So, what’s the plan? You both move to New York?’

  ‘Ah, we haven’t really talked about that stuff,’ Zoe answered, staring at Kat and hoping her sister would get the secret message to shut up.

  ‘It’s not an unreasonable question, honey,’ Beatrice said.

  Zoe frowned. Not her mother, too.

  ‘I have family in South Carolina,’ Jackson said. ‘And a home.’

  ‘That is a problem.’ Beatrice nodded. ‘Family is important.’

  ‘Hey, can we not talk about this?’ Zoe asked. ‘Jackson and I will discuss it when the time is right.’

  ‘Fine,’ Beatrice said. ‘But, for the record, I think a winter wedding would be beautiful.’

  *

  ‘I am so sorry about my mother,’ Zoe said, the second she was alone with Jackson in their hotel room. ‘She seems preoccupied with us getting married. It’s gotten worse since Kat and Megan took the plunge. Now she’s on me because Sasha’s still in school and Ella’s the b
aby of the family.’

  ‘It’s fine. I liked her.’ Jackson wrapped his arms around her from behind. ‘I like your sisters, too. Megan’s funny.’

  ‘Funny?’ Zoe turned in his arms. ‘I don’t think any living person has ever called her funny before. Scary, maybe, but never funny.’

  ‘But she makes all those jokes.’ Jackson placed a kiss on her neck, breathing deeply next to her.

  Zoe giggled as his long sigh tickled her ear. ‘Jokes?’

  ‘About having people arrested, the story about chasing bad guys in her underwear.’ Jackson licked along the ridge of her ear, sending a shiver over her entire frame.

  ‘Ah, those weren’t jokes. She really did chase a bad guy down in her underwear. She caught him harassing a neighbor – some escort girl she’s been trying to get out of the business.’

  ‘Mm, can we play that?’ Jackson chuckled. ‘I want to see you chase me around in your underwear.’

  ‘And I want a massage,’ Zoe said, kicking off her shoes. ‘No running tonight.’

  ‘Promise a raincheck?’

  He looked so hopeful, she couldn’t help but nod.

  ‘Lie on the bed. I have some lotion in my bag.’ He tilted his jaw toward the mattress. Zoe slid out of her clothes before stretching out naked on the bed. She lay on her back, watching him move. Just looking at him made her wet. He stripped down and her breath caught. The lights dimmed. ‘You’re beautiful.’

  ‘And you’re incredible. How do you stay so fit and not work out?’ Zoe ran a hand along his arm.

  ‘I haven’t since I met you, but I normally run five miles every morning and lift weights six days a week.’ He gave her a playful wink. ‘Besides, I wouldn’t say I haven’t been getting my workouts in.’

  He rubbed lotion on his hands, then brought them to her feet. Zoe laughed, jerking the foot he’d touched away. ‘Ah, that tickles!’

  ‘Keep still,’ Jackson ordered, grabbing it again. This time, he deepened his touch. ‘You wanted a massage, you’re getting a massage.’

  His expression became serious as he set to work. He rubbed the other foot, his fingers like magic against her skin. Heat warmed her body, centering in her sex. Knowing she’d have to wait for him to finish, wait for his hands to make the trip over her body, made the anticipation both delicious and unbearable.

  She closed her eyes, taking in every touch. He worked one calf and then the other, keeping a leisured pace. Zoe made small wiggling movements against the bed. Tender hands ran over her knees, moving up her thighs.

  Jackson breathed hard, moaning loudly. When she looked at him, she saw his stiff erection towering from his thighs. His gaze stayed on her pussy and he licked his lips. Zoe shivered with the knowledge that he wanted her. To her surprise, he didn’t run his hands along the needy folds. Instead, he moved up her body, over her shoulders, arms and hands. Touching her hips and sides, he caressed his way to her hard nipples, tweaking them before grabbing both breasts fully into his palms. The lotion made their flesh glide. He leant over and sucked a nipple between his lips.

  ‘Turn over. I’ll do your back,’ he ordered, his eyes hot with pleasure.

  Her nerves already tingled and she felt relaxed. Somehow, she managed to turn around. The backs of her legs and her back received the same treatment. He pushed his thighs between hers, spreading her legs.

  Zoe’s body jolted as she felt lips brush along her ass. Jackson cupped her ass, eliciting a moan. His thumbs dipped along the edge of her slit. Insistent hands pulled her to her hands and knees, even as she wobbled in her aroused, relaxed state.

  Jackson guided his body to hers, his arousal pressing along her pussy. She thrust back the instant she felt him, taking his cock deep inside. The tight stretch felt too good and she rocked back and forth. It didn’t take long before they were both crying out, meeting their release in perfect unison.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Two Weeks Later

  ‘WELCOME TO BATTLE Chefs!’ The big voice boomed over the metallic set. Jeremy Wayne, the announcer, might have been a small man in stature, but his voice made up for what he lacked in height. A small crowd sat in the seats, lured in with promises of prizes and free food.

  Zoe nervously looked around, not hearing everything the man was saying as he introduced her and then Contiello and spoke of their individual qualifications. The feud was mentioned several times during his spiel. Contiello smiled, pristine in his white uniform. Her uniform matched his, except for the colored sashes hugging their waists – a blue one for Contiello and a crimson one for her. In the corner of her vision, she saw Jackson standing next to a cameraman. She drew strength from his presence.

  Zoe had brushed her hair back, spraying it with hairspray to ensure that not a strand fell out while she worked. The last thing she wanted was a judge finding hair in their food. Apparently Contiello felt the same way. His bulbous chef hat covered his ears while the bottom blur band wrapped around his head. All but the back ponytail of his hair was covered.

  From her perspective, the studio looked like a warehouse. To the television viewers at home it would look like she was standing inside a giant oven. Even the red lights that glowed around them made her feel like a turkey about to be cooked. Two kitchen sets were positioned facing each other so the competitors could each watch the other cook. Along the back, a row of shelves held baskets filled with different vegetables, fruits, nuts, spices and oils. A rack of cooking utensils and every kind of pan known to man sat waiting. She forced her attention back to the announcer, concentrating on keeping her smile intact.

  ‘… special treat for you. Not only will this be a battle to create the best culinary dish out of the ingredients provided, but the contestants will also get points for originality, presentation and ingenuity.’ A loud, short blast of low music sounded, adding to the tension. ‘There will be no assistants. For this task, each chef will have to make every cut, every decision. Judges, can we have an hour and thirty minutes on the clock please? Delivery boys, bring in the main ingredients! As you know, the chefs must use all of the main ingredients provided. The shelves along the back are extras. Every dish must contain one of the main ingredients. That does not include any garnish or sauces. Chefs, please remember you’re cooking for two.’

  Two young men dressed all in white pushed two carts into the kitchens. Long white sheets covered them. Zoe waited, staring at the cart nearest to her, anxious to see what was under the sheet. The anticipation was worse than that of a five-year-old waiting to open a giant stack of birthday presents.

  ‘Let’s see what we have,’ Jeremy said. The delivery boys pulled the sheets off with a swoosh of movement and backed away, going off stage. Small sounds of approval and interest came from the crowd, followed by a uniform clapping that made her suspect a small sign had lit up to prompt the onlookers’ response. A cameraman came close to the table, focusing in on the items. Zoe held her breath, her eyes scanning over them. The announcer continued, ‘Each chef has two Cornish game hens, two green tomatoes, cloves of garlic and a bag of haricots verts, which is a thin French green bean. That pile may look like rice, but is really orzo, a rice-shaped pasta.’

  Nervous, Zoe could barely move. The ingredients provided were basic, though she feared the green tomatoes would be hard to utilize. Clearly the challenge was to make the ordinary extraordinary. Almost in a panic, she looked at Jackson. He nodded in encouragement, giving her that charming smile she loved. Suddenly, she knew what she was going to do.

  A low rumble sounded in the announcer’s voice. ‘Let the battle begin!’

  Contiello whistled and Zoe glanced at him. He winked at her, appearing completely at ease. A large drop cloth fell between them, preventing each from seeing what the other was doing. In some ways, not seeing was worse than seeing. On the one hand, she wouldn’t be able to stare at him while he cooked and on the other, her mind would run wild wondering what he was going to do.

  Zoe took a deep breath, clearing her mind of everything but the food
. She ignored the camera as she preheated the oven to four hundred degrees. The game hens would take the longest to cook, needing to roast for about an hour. Next, she started a lime-and-orange reduction on the stove in one pan and poured olive oil into another, then grabbed the garlic cloves and smashed them with a mallet.

  ‘You can do this, Zoe,’ she whispered, only realizing too late she’d said it aloud in front of the camera. She managed a small smile into the lens before turning her attention to her work once more.

  Jackson wasn’t completely sure where Zoe was going with her creation, but she’d been moving nonstop for over an hour. He saw the tight set of her lips, the sweat on her brow, and they worried him. Did she even know where she was going? His entire body tightened as he watched her, stressed on her behalf as she moved around her kitchen. A few times she fumbled her hands, but she quickly recovered, managing not to spill anything. From his vantage point, Jackson could see Contiello as well. The man’s lips moved, as if he were talking to himself while he worked.

  Zoe wiped her brow before pouring liquor into a pan. She lit it and flames blazed, seemingly out of control. She jumped back. The audience gasped. Firelight shone over the floor and the faces of those in the front row.

  ‘It would seem things are getting a little hot over there,’ Contiello yelled arrogantly. ‘You know what they say; if you can’t take the flames, stay out of the kitchen.’

  The crowd laughed at the joke. Zoe glanced up, looking nervous. Jackson urged her to think of a snappy comeback, to give him a sign that she was all right, but she just kept working. Maybe it was for the best. His momma always said, if you don’t have anything nice to say don’t say anything at all.

  While Zoe was roasting the hens whole, Conteillo had cut them into sections as he would have cut a chicken. The tiny, delicate pieces were rolled in eggs then breadcrumbs and fried in a skillet. Frowning, he noticed Contiello scratch his ear before talking to himself again.

  He glanced around the crowd, scanning the enraptured faces watching the two chefs work. On seeing Contiello’s agent, he followed the man’s gaze to the side. There, on Zoe’s side of the stage, stood a man talking on a cell phone. The agent glanced between the man on the phone and Contiello. Pretending to go to the restroom, Jackson arced around to the side of the seating area to come up behind the man on the phone.