Chapter 16
Amanda
I had my shoes off, and sat on the edge of his desk, my legs crossed demurely because I wore a skirt. My laptop was open beside me, and I worked on it while he typed on his own a short distance away, sitting in an actual chair. I had a seat available to me, but I kind of liked sitting on the desk.
Besides, it felt good to be so near to him.
“So,” I said, staring at my screen even though I was addressing him. I noticed Evan perked up in my peripheral vision. “Are you sure that you can get Steve Martin and Martin Short to show up for this charity ball I’m throwing? Because I really don’t want to even mention it to anyone until it’s a done deal.”
He looked up at me, his brows climbing high on his face.
“It’s a done deal. When Martin lost his savings in the great financial crash a few years back, I helped him rebuild it to even higher levels than before. And my mother is Martin’s number one fan. She bakes him a pecan pie every time he comes to one of my shindigs.”
“Shut up,” I said, laughing. I punched a few keys on my laptop and then rubbed my hand across my eyes. I’d been staring at a screen for far too long.
I shut down the computer and folded up the laptop. At almost the same time, my fake husband did so as well. We kind of looked over at each other and realized we were both done for the day at the same time.
That didn’t happen all that often.
I didn’t want to leave his presence. I wanted to stay near him longer. Without really thinking about it, I spoke.
“Would you like to join me for a late dinner?”
He perked right up.
“Sure,” he said, checking his watch. His face contorted into a frown. “Although I’m not aware of any restaurants open this late. Not any that I would find palatable.”
“What, you’re too good for Waffle House?”
“Isn’t everyone?”
Now he had me there. Not just that he made a good point, but he made me laugh, too.
“I’ll inform the chef,” he said, reaching for the house phone.
“Hey, hold up a bit.” I put my hand on top of his own. “Don’t call Chef. It’s like super late and he’s probably with his family.”
He gave me a long look. “How are we going to have dinner if I don’t call the chef?”
“Uh, duh, we’ll make it ourselves. It’ll be fun.”
He shook his head. I could see him sulling up and getting stubborn on me again. I felt a wave of anxiety come over me at the thought I’d set him off again.
“I don’t understand what the big deal is. It’s Chef’s job to cook for me when he is told to do so.”
I sighed, trying to come up with a way to get through to him. “Look, why don’t you try this—try thinking of Chef not just as a tool or a robot you can click and order around. Try to think of him as a human being.”
I slid off the desk, which hiked my skirt up a little. I noticed his gaze dropping to my exposed thighs for the brief moment between when my feet touched the floor, and I pulled down the skirt.
He cocked an eyebrow as I walked around behind him and covered his eyes.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m helping you find your humanity, Uncle Scrooge.”
He scoffed, but he didn’t pull my hands away. I took that as a victory.
“Now, for a moment, pretend like you aren’t Evan Jones, fabulously wealthy business mogul.”
“Okay, who am I? Conan the Barbarian? Is this a role-playing thing? Do you want me to throw you over my shoulder and tie you to the bed or something?”
“You’re supposed to be Chef, you horny bastard,” I said with a laugh. “Picture yourself as Chef. You’ve worked all day, literally, preparing three meals for your ultra-demanding, kind of a prick boss—”
“Hey,” he said, but I didn’t stop.
“Now you’ve finally put your kids to bed, and you’ve just laid down yourself. You snuggle up next to your wife and you prepare to fall into a well-deserved slumber.”
I could feel him sort of relaxing into the idea. Once I had him lulled into a false sense of security, I pulled my hands away.
“Ring ring!” I said loudly in his ear. “Ring ring! It’s your boss, calling you because he wants you to come and make him a super late dinner. So, you roll out of bed, put your clothes back on, drive back to the manor house—”
“Okay, okay, I get your point.”
He put the phone back down.
“Anyway, this is like a thing that married people do. They cook together.”
He glanced up at me sharply. I felt my cheeks burning.
“That is, we can turn this experience into something we can tell reporters. Maybe even an Instagram story or other social media post.”
Now I was really speaking his language. I believed his pupils turned into dollar signs for a moment, but it was really late, and I had eye strain.
“Maybe you’re right.” He rubbed his eyes for a moment, a rare sign of being a human being, and stood up. “I’m sure we can muddle through our own dinner somehow.”
He moved toward the door as I looked around for my shoes. I couldn’t remember what I’d done with them. As I searched, I noticed a folder on his desk that read Project Next Level. My curiosity piqued, but I didn’t want to just paw through it right in front of him.
I found my shoes over by the fireplace, and together we went down to the kitchen. He opened up cabinets for a few minutes, staring like he was deep in thought, but I knew he was really confused.
“It’s been a long time since you cooked for yourself, hasn’t it, dear ?” I teased.
“Yes. I would imagine it’s been a while for you as well.”
“Well, I was never a chef or a maestro in the kitchen. However, Ramone and the other chefs at the restaurant showed me a few things. I’m sure we can whip up something.”
I checked the pantry and the cupboards, and my lord was there a ton of food there. I couldn’t believe our options, but at the same time it was late, and I wanted to do something simple. Something we could accomplish together.
“I’m thinking we’ve got mushrooms, we’ve got butter, thick cream, and this bag of tortellini. We’ve got everything we need to do a kick-ass pasta with creamy mushroom sauce.”
“If you say so,” he said, sounding a bit dubious.
“I say so.”
He allowed me to take the lead, which surprised the hell out of me.
“Now, look in that hanging wire basket and tell me if you see any garlic bulbs.”
He rummaged around without complaint until he came up with one.
“Will this do?”
“That’s perfect. Go ahead and grab an onion while you’re standing there.”
I cut a thick slab of grass-fed European butter and flopped it into a saucepan. I gestured to one of the cast iron pots on the wall.
“Hey, take that down and fill it with water, about three inches from the top.”
“That seems like a lot of water for a small amount of pasta.”
“Trust me, tortellini are going to expand like crazy, and some of the cheese is going to get into the water. You’ll want that extra volume, so the pasta doesn’t get a coat of slime.”
“All right.”
I showed him how to crack open the skin of a garlic clove, and the right way to dice an onion for a shop. I was no Gordon Ramsey, but I probably looked like an expert to him.
Once we had the mushrooms, onions, and garlic good and sauteed in the butter, I added the cream in by degrees until we had a rich, brown sauce.
We poured it over the pasta and sat down to eat at the counter. I do believe that Evan had a lot of fun. Plus, you always appreciate food more when you have a hand in its creation .
“Thank you,” I said as he stuck his fork into the morass on his plate.
“For what?”
“For making the effort. For listening to me and not giving me a hard time when I told you how to do something in the kitchen.”
He shrugged. “I try to listen to experts, even if I don’t always agree with them. Besides, it was a lot of fun. I’m kind of surprised that I enjoyed it so much, to tell you the truth.”
“Oh, yeah?” I said as I bit into the tortellini. It was perfect, the sauce mellowing out the saltiness of the cheese stuffing. “Well, maybe you should let me be in charge more often.”
He gave me a long look and then grinned.
“I don’t know. I might need more convincing that this is a good idea.”
I put down my fork and came around the table. I kissed him first for a change.
“How’s that for convincing?” I teased.
He grinned and put his arms around my waist. I slid into his lap, straddling him like I had in the limo. Our lips met as I undid his necktie.
I slipped it from around his neck, then tossed it around my own. I smiled as I undid his top button. He smelled so good, and his kisses were fire, as always.
He kissed my neck, and I gasped sharply. I ground myself on his lap. My hand worked its way down between us and undid his belt.
Evan shifted on the seat, enabling me to undo his trousers. I fumbled his big, thick cock out of his underwear, pulling it out. I lifted my hips and started trying to work my panties off with one hand.
“Would you like me to give you a hand with those?” he asked as if he were the employee and I the employer.
“Yes, please,” I said, laughing as I used one hand braced on his shoulder to keep my balance.
“Okay. Whatever you say.”
He slid his hand up my hip, sending goose bumps along my flesh. Then he hooked his finger in the waistband of my panties and jerked his hand back. I gasped as my panties tore off me with a sharp ripping sound.
“There you go,” he said.
I lifted myself up into the air and slid back down onto his cock. I gaped as it slid deeply within me. My eyes fluttered closed at the sharp pinch as I settled fully upon his throbbing rod.
“I feel so full,” I gasped. His mouth was on my neck, and I clasped my arms around him. My mouth flew open in a deep moan as he mauled my neck.
I started gyrating my hips, swiveling about like a stripper. I’d never done this before. Taken the initiative during our lovemaking. He seemed to enjoy it. I writhed around on his lap, building toward the crescendo of a truly massive climax.
I let out a sharp cry as golden fireworks exploded behind my eyelids. My pussy clamped down on him with quick, tight convulsions. He came inside of me, filling me with his sticky seed.
I collapsed against him, resting my forehead on his shoulder. We filled the air with our heavy pants as our sweat mingled and cooled.
“That,” he said between pants. “Was the best meal I’ve ever had. Maybe there’s something to this domestic life after all.”