Chapter 5
SAMANTHA
I should have had another shower in my cheap motel to clear him from my mind. He, or his energy, is still clouding my headspace.
He did something to my mind, and I need him gone. It’s not just his eyes that I can remember. It’s his sinful lips, his magnificent jaw, his aristocratic look, and his perfect body.
And the bastard commanding me to come for him, but only when he said so.
Who does that?
It’s wrong in every way. Even if it was, weirdly, so fucking hot.
As I drive through the storm, I think about the supposed chateau. Also, the old recluse I’m about to cook for.
After driving down various rural roads on the outside of a stunning town, I push on. I pass spectacular homes, and soon they fade away.
Finally, I pass mansions behind large walls and gates. Some even have names.
Names like Northwood, Pine this, Manor that, Forest other, and Evergreen Estate.
As endless leaves swirl and branches snap off and tumble past, I mumble, peering out.
The tail of the storm runs on, and it keeps me on edge.
I have come this far in my sedan. I do not want it to lose the plot, here and now. Spinning off the old winding road would end in tears.
Or worse.
After several wrong turns, I finally enter gates and find the first bridge. “Three,” I mumble to myself, remembering the email noting three bridges.
I drive down the now private road with large trees lining both sides.
Strange things slide by, including a stunning horse sheltering under trees, old marble statues surrounded by leaves, and even an old, small cemetery.
A lake becomes visible on one side, and a massive forest expands on another. A deer streaks by, and then suddenly, a large bird sweeps low over me.
As I look at my old, cheap watch, I realize I’m late. Too bad.
I push on as fast as I can, without sliding around wet corners with drizzle and wet leaves coating everything.
Finally, I slow for a second bridge. The rain has swollen this river, too, and it is deep. So deep, the classy, old-fashioned bridge may not last much longer.
Inhaling, I push on. “It better be worth it.”
After several minutes, I slow as a third bridge becomes visible ahead. This one looks damaged and partly submerged.
I stop, get out, and stand in the rain, trying to decide. Leaping in wet, I drive slowly forwards. I drum my fingers on the wheel. “Come on, baby, just this last bit.”
The wooden bridge creaks under us, and I wince.
Halfway along, the sound of wood breaking makes my stomach churn. I slow, then push on. Suddenly, a rear wheel gets stuck, and my jaw drops. I act fast and slam the gear stick forwards. I also drop a gear. Wincing, I gun the engine and drop the clutch.
We shoot forwards, and we make it up the wood and out of the water. Finally, we leap off the bridge and get back onto land with a roar.
“Hell, yeah!” I feel unstoppable.
I drive through more old gates, probably fifty feet high. I head on and pass a green field next to the lake edge. My eyes go wide at the wonder.
We pass endless rose gardens and statues. The estate is truly massive. “Holy shit!” I mumble as thunder booms in the distance.
I enter a parking area in front of a huge French-styled chateau next to the lake.
“Oh, my God,” I say, double blinking.
No one is around, so I pull up outside, next to two cars. A sleek old English Jaguar and a classic dark green Land Rover.
I know I look rough; I was supposed to change on the way. I had to put on the warmest clothes I had, that being non-conservative black leather pants and a black T-shirt.
Screw it, I decide. They will have to just understand.
Firstly, it’s partly my travel day slash arrival-and-settle-in day, and secondly, I have already signed the employment contract.
To be a personal chef to the boring and crusty old recluse who resides here. In the middle of nowhere.
I look outside through my rain-spattered window. Marble statues. Lake. Chateau. Peacocks hiding under trees, and no humans. Yikes.
I inhale as the rain comes down. I gather enough guts, then run up to the huge wooden door. I knock loudly as the cool wind freezes me.
After a full minute of waiting while being blasted with cold wind and rain, I shiver.
I knock again and wait.
Screw it. I twist the huge old door handle and push on the massive door. As I step inside, I drip onto the marble floor. “Hello?” Nothing. “Hello, is anyone here?”
I walk slowly in and do a three-sixty in the marble lobby. Suddenly, I hear steps. Spinning, I find a lone figure that has walked from a grand hallway.
“You!” he says loudly.
“What the fuc—?” I huff, my eyes popping.
“You!” Grumpy says, walking forward and crossing his arms.
“Look, do you work here?” I ask, squinting at him and in no mood for games.
“You might say that,” he says, smugly lifting his chin.
He walks closer, and the hot weirdo looks me up and down. I am cold. I am wet. My hair is plastered down. And my nipples are hard. It was also a bad time to go braless.
The arrogant bastard smiles, now inches away.
I gulp, turned on by him, but disturbed. “I’m the new chef. Please tell the owner I’m sorry I’m late.”
“The fuck you’re the chef?”
“Excuse me?” I ask, confused.
“We hired a man called Sam. Not some… hot young girl.”
“Listen, dick, and listen close. I’m a woman, and my name is Sam. As in Samantha. Please, do your job and just lead me to the owner.”
Suddenly, I know I’m screwed. Why? Because the pompous, gorgeous, entitled hunk that fucked me stupid smiles.
He then puts his hands on his slim hips. He is wearing more of those fancy cufflinks, and his pristine pressed white shirt is crisp, tidy, and warm, unlike anything to do with me.
“Madam, I am the owner of every acre of this ten-thousand-acre estate.”
We stare each other out, and it is beyond awkward.
“Well, I have a contract!” I say fast.
“You misled me, Madam!”
I cross my own arms over my now traitorous big nipples. “I have a right to be a woman, and can the kind Sir please note where on my CV it states, 'Has a thick cock?'”
“Do not say thick cock!”
“Thick! Cock,” I say very slowly, with my eyes on his.
I can tell he’s getting hard, and he inhales slowly and long. We are now a foot apart, but I give zero Fs. I am cold and I am pissed.
“Look, here,” he says with his impeccable, stuffy old-money accent. “I ordered a male from the human resources company. I cannot be around women, hot or other. I. Will. Be. Distracted.”
“Noted,” I say again, giving almost zero fucks. “But, Sir, your problem is with the hiring company.”
He steps closer, and I am ready to fight him. The problem is he looks ready to wrestle. It is also starting to feel sexual, as if sparks are firing. I bit my lip, and my clit starts to throb.
As if it remembers him or his voice, or both.
“Don’t bite your lip.”
“I’m not!”
“You are.”
I feel my lips, and I mumble an “Oh.”
I need an exit, and I need it fast. “Anyway, it’s not because of you.” It is a lie. A big, fat lie.
The smug bastard raises a brow. “That thing last night?”
“And this morning,” I say, clarifying.
I hear him groan, and he looks at me with a devilish scowl. “That was a hate fuck.”
He inhales, and I lean in, eyeing him. I lean closer to sense him one last time before I leave. Leave and never come back. My clit throbs, and my body is starting to betray me.
Just when it seems like we are a second away from fighting or fucking, the front door swings open and leaves blast in.
“Ahhh, William,” the bastard says, “we have a problem.”
“We have more than one,” the kind old man says as he wipes water from his face with a handkerchief.
The old man in his tweed jacket smiles before looking at the bastard.
“William, I clearly ordered a man as a personal chef!”
“Because?” the old man asks.
“Because,” I cut in, for drama. “Because he can’t control himself.” I put my hands back on my hips.
“Phah!” Grumpy says.
The old man shakes his head, rubs a temple, and starts to think on his feet. “Look, what if she, you, dress as a man?”
Grumpy and I both look at the old man, then we look at each other. The Grump even double blinks. “No, that’s just weird.”
“Agreed,” I say. “It’s disturbing to agree, but the grumpy suit is right.”
“What?”
“Oh, and there is another problem, Sir,” the old man, William, says.
“And that is?” Grump says, looking me up and down.
Again, he is dressed in a navy suit, and for some reason, he looks impeccable.
Old money and classy AF, unlike me in my old clubbing gear with hard 'look at me' nipples.
“The bridges are almost all out. The accommodation for said chef is also now flooding due to the old roof. The old roof we should have fixed in the summer. May I go on?”
Grump and I are close to fighting again.
“No, please go and do what you need to do.”
William nods and trots outside, back into the storm. The cold hunk stands closer, arms crossed.
“What are we going to do with you?”
The statement disgusts me. I am not an asset. To buy. To sell. To trade. Or to take liberties with.
As he wonders what to do with me, I think about last night. And the wicked things he did to my body.
I’ve had trouble thinking of much else since we came together. I’d also not come in a month.
The idea of me feeding him and that wicked mouth of his turns me on. In saying that, I despise him. It’s as if he thinks he is better than me.
He is not!
“Look, the situation is this,” he says, calming and pacing. “I have to focus on work. Really focus, and, well, a male was supposed to remove any urges.”
I sigh, finally starting to get it.
“I’m sorry, it just won’t work. You’re not supposed to be hot. Not even a bit!”
“I am not hot!” I say firmly, adding a huff.
“You kind of are.”
“How am I hot?” I ask in protest.
His eyes are going dark again, just like last night. He walks around me again... I like it, but it’s disturbing as hell.
“You are not helping by asking. Anyway, you, here… It. Can. Not. Happen.”
“Look, Mister,” I say, “besides the storm screwing up any immediate travel plans, I just spent my last money driving here from LA.”
“Then I will have someone fly you home from here when the weather clears.”
“You have a plane and an airport?”
“Of course I do. Do I look like a peasant?”
I shake my head in wonder. “Anyway, I don’t live there now, and in fact, I don’t have a home now. Why? Because this job noted I’d be staying here.”
“Look,” he says, reaching my front again and trying to calm down. “I’m truly sorry, really.”
“The hell you are!” I say, losing it and near tears.
We are now silent, and I wipe an eye. I keep dripping, and we both look down.
“Why is it that every time we meet, you’re wet?”
He is ultra close now, and it’s like he is smelling me, taking me in.
Suddenly, an old clock chimes, and I look around at art on the walls. Also suits of armor, deer antlers, and shields.
“Look, you won’t even know I’m here.”
“I doubt it.”
“Then, forget me!”
“It’s not that easy,” he says huskily.
“Why, did you enjoy it?” I ask, all pouty and stupid. The grump says nothing, but he does growl. “You know, you have a temper,” I say, raising a brow.
“The fuck I do,” he says, as cold as ice.
“Would I have to worry you’d want to spank me?”
It was a stupid thing to ask, but in my defense, I’m getting turned on. I am also trying another angle. Normal is not working.
“No, and you need to leave,” he says coldly.
I huff, spin, and walk out fast. “Fine. Screw this and screw you!” I slam the front door and walk back through the rain.