12. My Boob Is Acknowledgment-Worthy
Chapter 12
My Boob Is Acknowledgment-Worthy
Tessa
I tugged at the hem of my oversized sweatshirt as I walked into the meeting room, immediately regretting my casual choice of attire. It was oversized and soft in a way that practically screamed, “I’ve given up on real clothes today.” In my defense, they already knew I could cook, and this wasn’t exactly a formal job interview. Plus, I had a massage scheduled right after, and I wasn’t about to try wrestling myself back into business wear with my muscles all buttered up like a Thanksgiving turkey.
Still, the weight of three intense stares made me wish I’d at least put on mascara. Or a paper bag over my head. Either would have been an improvement.
“Well, don’t you look cozy.” Evan’s gaze had a playfulness that appeared to be forever ingrained in his expression. “All ready for our massage later?”
I watched Archer’s jaw clench so hard I worried for his dental work. The man really needed to invest in a mouth guard if he kept that up. Liam, meanwhile, suddenly found the ceiling fascinating, though I caught the slight quirk of his lips.
“Can we focus on the actual business at hand?” Archer’s tone could have frozen hell over twice. “Personal business has no place here.”
“Right.” I sat down in the empty chair, trying to channel my inner professional despite wearing what was essentially glorified pajamas. “We were going to discuss the restaurant situation...”
Archer slid a piece of paper across the table like he was sliding over a secret offer to buy my soul. “We hope you find our offer satisfactory.”
I picked it up, and my eyes nearly popped out of my head at the number written there. “That’s... generous.” And by generous, I meant absolutely bonkers. Approaching six figures bonkers.
“It’s what we paid our previous head chef.” Archer’s tone was professional, if not a bit terse. Any glimpses of playfulness I’d caught from him in the past few days were nowhere to be found.
“Speaking of which…” I set the paper down, curiosity getting the better of me as it usually did. “What exactly happened here? You had an entire kitchen staff, and now you’re down to...” I gestured vaguely at the three of them. “Three guys who can barely make pasta.”
The men exchanged looks that contained entire conversations, complete with subtitles and director’s commentary. They might have fallen out as best friends a decade ago, but there were still hints of that strong bond there.
“Hey, I can make pasta.” Evan looked offended that I’d negatively commented on his cooking… if it could even be called that.
“Boiling water doesn’t count as cooking, Ev.” Liam tried to hide his smirk and failed.
Archer pinched the bridge of his nose like he was warding off a migraine. “When we first took over, we had a full staff with a head chef, a secondary chef, and six line cooks.”
“And then?”
“And then...” Evan leaned back in his chair, balancing precariously on two legs like he wasn’t a thirty-four-year-old man who would probably need more than a massage if he fell. “Two of the line cooks quit within the first week.”
“Because...?” I prompted, sensing there was more to this story than a simple case of staff turnover.
“Because Archer tried to implement a new scheduling system, and the staff was already struggling with the death of Gavin.” Liam earned a death glare that would’ve wilted a cactus.
“It was more efficient. There were too many cooks in the kitchen, so to speak. There was staff overlap, too, where the lunch staff was working at the same time as the dinner staff.” Archer straightened his already perfectly straight tie.
“It was a nightmare.” Evan’s chair legs thumped back to the floor. “Even I couldn’t understand it.”
Liam idly spun a pen between his fingers. “After the scheduling debacle, the head chef quit. Something about impossible working conditions and us not understanding how things work.”
“That’s understandable. The dinner staff needs to be there during lunch service to start dinner prep unless there are twice as many cooks who can speed up the process.”
“We know that now. Then the second chef quit about a month in, right after I suggested we add a breakfast burrito food truck in the parking lot.” Evan sighed, looking sad. “That would have been a stellar marketing opportunity.”
“It was a terrible idea, like most of what you come up with.” Archer looked pained at the mere memory.
“It was brilliant, and you know it.”
“And the remaining cooks?” I tried to steer us back on track before we ended up discussing mobile food ventures all morning. They bickered like siblings fighting over the TV remote. The dynamic was fascinating, like watching a three-way tennis match where nobody was keeping score.
“Apparently, word got around that we’re insufferable to work for.” Liam stared down at the table. “And that we weren’t honoring Gavin’s memory.”
The room went eerily silent, and I was almost scared to breathe. The tension was thick enough that I could practically see it hovering in the air between us.
Archer cleared his throat, clearly trying to salvage some professionalism from the wreckage of this meeting. “So, what do you think of our offer?”
I looked at the salary again, then at the three men who somehow managed to run off an entire kitchen staff through sheer force of personality. This was either going to be the biggest mistake of my life or the best decision I’d ever made. Knowing my track record, it would probably be a little bit of both. Mistakes could only lead to growth.
“I’m in, but I have conditions.”
“Name them,” Archer said, all business, at the same time Evan asked, “Does this mean I can get the food truck?”
Was he being serious? I honestly couldn’t tell. What was next? Would he try to convince me that deep-fried butter was the next big thing?
“No food truck,” I said firmly, trying not to smile at his crestfallen expression, “and I want to handle all kitchen staff management, including scheduling.”
They all stared at me for a moment before Archer nodded slowly, like someone who wasn’t used to compromising but was willing to try. “Deal.”
“Great!” I stood up, glancing at my phone. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a massage to get to. I’ll have to fill out paperwork afterward.”
“Don’t forget about me.” Evan jumped up, following me to the door like an eager puppy.
A short walk across the lobby was all I had to question what the hell I was doing. We barely had to wait before the spa attendant led us to the “Couples Serenity Suite.” The name alone made me want to laugh hysterically. There was nothing serene about the way my nerves were firing on all cylinders, making me feel like I’d chugged three espressos back-to-back.
“You can undress to your comfort level and slip under the sheets,” the attendant said cheerfully, as if this was totally normal and not at all the beginning of a disaster. “Your therapists will be in shortly.”
The room was beautiful with warm wood and soft lighting and had two massage tables placed parallel to each other. They were close enough that if I reached out, I could probably touch... nope. Not doing that.
Though I had to admit, the eucalyptus-infused air and gentle instrumental music would’ve been perfectly relaxing if I wasn’t about to get mostly naked next to my new boss. One of my new bosses. Oh God.
“I’ll turn around.” Evan’s voice came out unnaturally low in the quiet room, with an edge that suggested he was enjoying my discomfort far too much. “Unless you want help with?—”
I summoned my best drill sergeant impression. “Turn. Around.”
He chuckled but complied, and I heard the rustle of his clothes as I quickly stripped down to nothing but anxiety and regret. The sheet was warm against my skin as I scrambled onto the table, trying to arrange myself with some semblance of dignity. At least I’d remembered to shave my legs this morning. Not that it mattered. At all.
“All clear.” I immediately hated how breathless I sounded, like I’d run up three flights of stairs.
Evan let out a grunt as he got himself situated on his table. “This is nice, isn’t it?”
I didn’t have time to respond before I heard the door open, and I tried not to tense up as two sets of footsteps entered. My face was firmly planted in the face cradle, giving me an excellent view of the floor and absolutely nothing else. The industrial-grade carpet suddenly became fascinating as I counted the subtle geometric patterns woven into its surface.
“I’m Aiden,” a deep voice introduced himself, “and this is Luna. We’ll be your massage therapists today.”
“Any areas you’d like us to focus on?” Luna’s voice was warm and professional. She reminded me of my favorite yoga instructor, who never judged me when I face-planted during crow pose.
Before I could answer, Evan let out a dramatic sigh that belonged in a soap opera. “Everything. My friend here has been working me to death in the kitchen.” The way he emphasized “friend” made me want to flick him with the hair tie around my wrist.
The massage started normally enough. Luna’s hands were strong and capable as she worked the knots out of my shoulders. I was just starting to relax, mentally composing menus and ingredient lists for the restaurant, when Evan let out a sound that belonged in an entirely different kind of establishment.
My whole body tensed. Oh God.
“Right there,” he groaned. “That’s perfect.”
I was going to kill him. Slowly. With a spatula. Maybe two spatulas. I’d make it artistic.
At one point, my hand dangled off the side of the table, and I nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt Evan’s fingers brush against mine. It was probably accidental. But then his pinky hooked around mine for a moment with deliberate intent that sent tingles up my arm, and I knew it was about as accidental as my tendency to hit snooze five times in the morning.
Another appreciative moan from his direction had me biting my lip. The room suddenly felt ten degrees warmer, like someone had cranked up the thermostat to tropical vacation levels, and I was hyperaware of every sound. The soft instrumental music faded into background noise compared to the symphony of Evan’s reactions to his massage. Was the music getting steamier, or was that my imagination?
“Time to turn over,” Luna announced after what felt like both an eternity and no time at all.
I carefully maneuvered myself, trying to keep the sheet in place. I’d done this dozens of times before without incident, but of course, today would be the day the sheet slipped. Just a little. Just enough. Because the universe clearly hadn’t finished having its fun with me yet.
Evan’s sharp inhale told me exactly what he’d seen.
“Oh my God, I know you saw my boob, and I’d really appreciate it if we could pretend that didn’t happen because I have to work with you now, and that’s going to be super awkward if we acknowledge it. Not that my boob isn’t acknowledgment-worthy. It’s a perfectly nice boob, but that’s not really the point, and why am I still talking about my boob?” The words tumbled out like marbles spilling across a tile floor, impossible to stop once they started rolling.
The room went dead silent except for the soothing sounds of pan flutes, which suddenly seemed wildly inappropriate for my moment of mortification. Like elevator music at a funeral.
“I didn’t see anything.” Evan was clearly suppressing a laugh, his voice full of amusement. “Maybe it was your boob’s way of reminding you to schedule that mammogram for nine years from now.”
Luna coughed in what I suspected was an attempt to cover a laugh, and I seriously considered asking her to smother me with the face towel and end my suffering. I could already imagine my epitaph: “Here lies Tessa Callahan, done in by an errant sheet and questionable timing.”
The rest of the massage was an exercise in exquisite torture. Every time Evan made one of those sounds—which he seemed to be making more frequently now, the jerk—I felt it like an electric current through my body. Our hands kept finding each other, innocent touches that felt anything but, and I was achingly aware of his presence mere inches away.
By the time it was over, I wasn’t sure if I was relaxed or wound tighter than before.
“Now it’s time to flush out all those toxins in the sauna.” Aiden pulled back a partially open curtain I hadn’t even noticed and then pointed to two robes.
I stared at them as if they were live snakes ready to strike.
Right. The sauna. Because apparently past-Tessa thought future-Tessa would enjoy prolonging the exquisite torture of a couple’s massage by sitting in a small wooden box with a nearly naked man. It was supposed to be my new husband, but even so, what had I been thinking?
“Fifteen minutes is the perfect time to let those muscles really relax,” Luna said cheerfully, completely oblivious to my internal crisis. “Don’t forget to take your water with you.”
As soon as the therapists left, Evan hopped up from his table with the enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas morning, and oh... oh my. Those boxer briefs left very little to the imagination, and my imagination was already working overtime. My eyes seemed to have developed a mind of their own, refusing to look anywhere else.
“Here.” He handed me my robe, our fingers brushing. When our eyes met, there was something deeper and more intense in his.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll, uh, give you some privacy.” He turned around, slipping into his own robe before disappearing into the sauna, grabbing two water bottles from a table as he went.
I took a deep breath. I could do this. It’s just fifteen minutes in a hot box. People did this with friends and strangers all the time. Completely normal. Nothing weird about it at all.
When I stepped into the sauna, the heat hit me like a wall. It was small. Like only for two people small. Evan sat on the bench, his robe parted enough to show a slice of chest that made my mouth go dry. I perched on the bench, as far away as the small space would allow, which wasn’t nearly far enough.
“So... this is cozy. Not cozy in a romantic way. More like a ‘we’re both adults who can handle being in a small, heated room together without making it weird’ kind of cozy. Though I guess pointing that out kind of makes it weird, doesn’t it? Like when someone says ‘no offense’ right after saying something offensive. Not that I’m offended. Or offensive. I?—”
“Tessa.” Evan’s voice was soft but amused.
“Yes?”
“You’re cute when you’re nervous.”
I groaned, dropping my face into my hands. “I’m not nervous. I’m... experiencing an adverse reaction to excessive heat combined with...” I gestured vaguely at him without looking up.
“Combined with what?” I could hear the grin in his voice.
“You know what.” I peeked through my fingers at him. “With your... everything.”
“My everything, huh?” He shifted slightly, and I caught another glimpse of that chest that belonged on a magazine cover.
“I think the heat is making me delirious,” I muttered, fanning myself with my hand. “Also, why is fifteen minutes suddenly feeling like fifteen hours?”
“We could always make the time pass faster.” The suggestion was heavy as his voice dropped to a tone that made my stomach flip.
I looked up at him sharply, my eyebrows shooting toward my hairline. “By doing what exactly?”
“We can play twenty questions or truth or dare.”
“Evan, we’re grown-ass adults.” I tried to sound stern, but the absurdity of suggesting playground games while we sat here in robes made a laugh bubble up in my throat.
He shrugged, the motion causing his robe to slip a fraction lower. “And? Adulthood is overrated. What’s the point of working so hard if I can’t act like I don’t have a care in the world when I’m not working?”
“That’s really philosophical.” I bit my lip, considering.
Playing games with an almost-naked Evan was a terrible idea, but it might be a welcome distraction from all the exposed skin. “Fine. We can play twenty questions.”
That seemed like the safer option because there was no way I would pick a dare. In this tiny sauna, with this gorgeous man, ‘dare’ felt like playing with matches in a room full of gasoline.
“You go first.” I was willing to bet those were my famous last words.