Chapter 8
RYDER
Ever since our conversation in my car last week, I can’t stop thinking about Aspen. It’s ridiculous. I’m like a fucking horny teenager. I wanted to tell her that I find her attractive, but I didn’t want to come off as some creepy boss.
I hate to say that I’ve tried to avoid her as much as possible this week, but that’s exactly what I did.
The best thing I can do—what I should do—is walk away.
That would be the smart choice for me, but this girl has talent.
I can feel it. Denying her the opportunity would be selfish beyond belief. I can keep it in my pants.
The second Aspen glides through the door, I accost her like some crazed lunatic.
“Come with me.” My voice is stern, with no room for question, and she forgoes stopping by the locker room and falls in line behind me. Good girl. Fuck.
I immediately put some distance between us, seeking sanctuary behind my desk.
As I take a seat, I gesture for her to do the same, but she remains standing.
Taking in the sight of her perfectly pouty lips, I drag my hands through my hair.
Leaning my head back, I stare up at the ceiling, taking a fraction of a second to compose myself.
Am I really going to torture myself with this woman?
She’s so fucking beautiful. I’m about to blow her mind with this proposal, and the thought of corrupting her perfect world has my stomach in knots.
“Have I done something to upset you, Chef Stevens?”
My eyes snap to hers. “Why would you think that? No. In fact, it’s the opposite. Take a seat, Aspen.”
“Is this about what I said last week? I didn’t mean it. I mean, obviously, you’re attractive. Hell. Sorry. I just meant that I’m not trying to hit on you or sleep my way to the top. I shouldn’t have said anything. I really want to work with you.”
“That’s not why I called you in here.”
“Oh.” She perches on the edge of the chair across from me, fidgeting with her hair, waiting to hear what’s got me so riled.
Silence spans the distance between us as she holds my gaze but refuses to speak. Fuck. I feel feral. I talked myself into having this conversation last week over drinks at Venom. In this moment, that seems like a dumbass decision I was railroaded into thinking was smart by my so-called friends.
I just have to rip off the band-aid and do it. She might not even agree to sign an NDA with zero context.
“I have a proposition for you.” I manage to keep my tone level. Aloof. Or I sound like a fucking asshole.
“Ok-ay.” She forces her knee to stop bouncing with nerves. This woman has a quiet strength that I admire.
“I want you to be the sous chef at my new location.”
“What?” It comes out so highly pitched that only dogs can hear. Fucking hell. She takes a deep breath and asks again. “What?”
“I told you there was going to be a new restaurant.”
“Yes, but I thought I’d be chopping vegetables or something. Your sous chef? That’s a big responsibility.”
“It is, which is why I plan to work the kitchen for the first few months until it’s running as well as Dulip. This is a chance for you to work directly under me, and for me to see if you have what it takes.”
“Oh my God. Yes. Are you sure? You have other more experienced chefs on your staff here at Dulip.”
“And they will remain here to run it as seamlessly as they do now. I’m going to put together an entirely new staff.”
“Well, I’m honored that you are considering me, and obviously, I would love to work under you.
” Jesus. I’m going on the fast track to hell.
All I can think about his how fucking glorious she would look under me as I work her body to a fever pitch.
I clench my jaw to stop myself from saying something inappropriate.
“Can I ask where the new premises will be?”
“That’s where it gets… complicated.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t. You’re sweet.”
“Chef Stevens, I’m not sure I know where this is going.”
Here goes nothing. I blow out a deep breath before pinning her gaze. “Before I can tell you the specifics, I require you to sign an NDA.”
“A Non-Disclosure Agreement? Is this a restaurant for the FBI?” she jokes, attempting to make light of the situation.
“I’m serious. What I’m about to tell you cannot be divulged to anyone. If that doesn’t sound like something you can do, it’s best that you walk away now.” I’m an asshole. I want her to know. I’ve been consumed with thoughts of her at Venom—in my private room—all week.
“I’m fired?” My heart starts hammering in my chest, my pulse racing. I’m making an ass of this.
“No! God, no. I just can’t consider you for a position at the new restaurant. You will still have a job here for as long as you wish.”
“Do you have the NDA ready? Can I see it, please?” I slide a sheet of paper across the desk before scrubbing my hand over the stubble on my jaw. I shouldn’t have let it get this far. This girl is not kinky.
She picks it up and reads it over. It’s simple enough, but I know it is intimidating.
If she signs, she’s agreeing that nothing said in this room can be spoken of outside these walls.
If she breaks the agreement, she leaves herself open to legal action.
Not that I could bring myself to sue her even if she broke the terms, but she doesn’t know that.
Why did I let Flex talk me into this restaurant?
A million micro expressions cross her face as she reads, and I’m intrigued as to what she’s imagining. A mafia establishment? Crime lords and crème br?lée.
She sits in stunned silence for a few minutes, reading it over and over.
“Say something,” I command.
Do I really want to do this to her? I’m not sure.
Can I walk away from the chance to train such a talented chef? No.
“Do you have a pen I could borrow?” Fireflies take flight in my chest, the thrill of what’s to come unleashing itself. As much as I am telling myself I’m a good guy, if I were, I wouldn’t even entertain the idea of working with a woman I’m so captivated by.
As I hand her my fountain pen, my fingers graze hers, and my breath hitches.
Before she or I talk her out of this opportunity, she signs on the dotted line, her hand trembling. I will my pulse to calm down as she pushes the NDA back across the table.
“Okay, so tell me where you want me, Chef Stevens.” My cock twitches, and there’s no going back. I’m about to endure months of blue balls in the name of mentoring her rare talent.
I shift in my seat before schooling my features. Her knee starts to bounce again, betraying her calm expression.
“I’m opening a rooftop restaurant here in Manhattan.”
“That’s amazing!”
“On the roof of a kink club.” The words come out in a rush, and I berate myself for being an adolescent, horny moron. Just saying it has me hard, knowing I’m a fucking deviant.
“Did I hear you correctly, sir?” The way her lips wrap around that one devilish word. Sir. God, it’s my kryptonite.
“It’s a kink club.”
“Like Fifty Shades of Grey kink?” Her voice is shrill as she scrambles to make sense of it all.
“No. It’s real life. Like-minded people come together in a safe, discreet place to indulge in their various… tastes. It’s a high-end venue with a need for a high-end restaurant.” It shouldn’t bother me that her go-to is the book that announced our presence to pop culture, but it irks me.
“But it’s a sex club. You want me to cook in a sex club?”
“Kink club. If you can’t get past that one detail, then you don’t have what it takes to be a chef for this particular venue.”
“I… would I have to participate in… anything?” My cock is agony right now, straining so hard in my pants it’s embarrassing. I pull my seat under the desk to ensure she doesn’t notice my current situation.
“No. You don’t expect to give patrons here at Dulip any sexual favors, do you?”
“Obviously not.”
“And it will be the same at Venom. You will cook for some of the most influential people in Manhattan. That’s it. You are not expected to become a member of the club or partake in any sexual activity.” Although you’d look fucking divine laid bare in my private room.
“Are you a member?” Her question catches me off guard, and I snap.
“That’s none of your business. I’m offering you invaluable career experience.
Your wage will be significantly higher than it is here at Dulip, but you will be expected to sign an NDA that specifically pertains to the club itself.
I will not have my staff compromise the discretion that Venom prides itself on.
And I will not tolerate questions regarding my sexual preferences. ”
“I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“I am happy to answer any questions you have as it pertains to the job.”
I’m impressed as she squares her shoulders, takes a breath, and schools her expression to be the utmost professional, as if she were about to ask me about dental benefits. “So, I don’t have to participate, but will I have to watch… kink?” Say it again. Wrap those pouty lips around it one more time.
“Not unless you’re inviting food kinks into the kitchen. It hasn’t been decided yet if the restaurant will cater to certain kinks at the tables, but you won’t be waitressing, so you will not need to concern yourself with such decisions.”
“I suppose most of us have licked whipped cream off a lover’s body. How bad could it be?”
Her naivety is cute, but I can’t help myself.
“You’re asking the wrong question. How bad could it be? How fucking mind-blowing could it be?” Fuck. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not even a major kink of mine. Not that it matters. “Again, you won’t be waitressing, so it isn’t an issue you need to consider.”
“I won’t be expected to cook naked or topless or anything, will I?” I can barely contain a smile at the thought, but I remind myself she’s a potential employee at Venom.