Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Iusually love going to work in the early hours of the morning, before the world wakes up. No busy banquets, no new orders coming in, no people to distract me. Today, not so much.
This morning, it’s me, three hours of sleep, and a kitchen that feels like a battleground. No amount of coffee is enough. At this point, I need to get struck by a bolt of lightning.
I’m standing here, with a foot still caught in a hazy dream.
Heat presses against my cheeks as I slide the last tray of dough into the oven.
The warmth tingles over my skin, and suddenly, I’m back in the stranger’s hotel room, the ghost of his fingertips trailing fire over every inch of me.
I still feel the soft bite of his teeth on my bottom lip, the hot sting of his hand across my skin.
A slow, throbbing ache tightens between my thighs.
My body hums with the memory, a lingering buzz I can’t seem to shake.
I keep replaying every moment of it and find myself wanting more.
I have a sex hangover. A bangover.
“What in the world are you smiling at this early in the morning?” Arlene, the head pastry chef, walks in with a clipboard pressed against her uniform.
“Great sex,” I sigh.
“Oh, what’s that?” She laughs. “New boyfriend?”
I grab two gallons of milk and head to the mixer to start on the croissant dough. “Nope, a total stranger.” When I glance up, her expression is a bit more startled than necessary. “Come on, don’t look at me like that. You can’t tell me you’ve never had a one-night stand before.”
“I’ve been married for twenty-eight years. I don’t remember what sex even feels like.”
I pour another two gallons of milk into the mixer. “That’s tragic, Arlene.”
“No, it isn’t. You’ve never had to have sex with Earl. Believe me, I’m lucky.” She leans against the counter, checking the pantry for stock completely forgotten. “How did you meet this total stranger?”
“I met him at the Rum and Room.” I pour in the last gallon of milk and head to get some ice water. It’s unusually warm in the kitchen this morning, the dough will need it.
“Well, it suits you,” she says.
I lift my eyes from the mixer to find her smirking. “What suits me?”
She shrugs and reaches for the tray of wild sourdough starter. “That freshly fucked look you’re wearing.”
My cheeks burn hot as I grab the tray from her. That’s exactly how I feel— freshly fucked. Beneath my uniform, my nipples ache, pebbled against the fabric. My face blazes even hotter.
The rest of my shift is more of the same. Everyone keeps asking why I look so happy, so glowy. Carmella, one of the sous chefs, even asks if I’m expecting. I laugh it off, but that only fuels the chaos. Before I know it, the kitchen is placing bets on who the father could be.
I need to get laid more.
I’m about to give in to the rumors and tell them it’s triplets when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Low Balance Alert
It’s not my father this time. It’s something worse.
I have text notifications set up for my bank account in case it dips below fifty dollars. Anxiety claws at my chest as I rush to open the app, my fingers trembling as I scroll to my balance. My stomach drops.
$49.21.
I forgot to cancel that stupid recurring charge from some useless app I downloaded last month. How could I have been so careless? What the hell is wrong with me? My mind spins.
I need to dig myself out of this hole. The grand opening has to be a success, or I’ll be stuck making minimum wage in this damn casino for the rest of my life.
Casino.
The thought slithers in before I can stop it. I could play a few hands. I could win. Double my money. Then double it again.
I step back, nearly stumbling as my shoulders hit the corridor wall. My breathing is uneven, my heart pounding thick in my chest. Blood rushes in my ears, my hands starting to shake.
Nope. I’m not going to be like Vick. No fucking way.
I have to get out of here.
I can’t stay in this building another second.
I can’t end up like him.
A jagged surge of adrenaline rips through my veins, sharp and ice-cold.
Sweat beads along my spine, prickling against my too-tight uniform.
My chest constricts, lungs strangled by the panic curling through me.
I tear off my jacket and apron, yanking at the suffocating fabric, desperate for relief.
The elevator is too slow, too enclosed, and I need space, I need to move.
Instead of getting in, I shove through the stairwell doors and bolt upward, taking the stairs two at a time.
My breath saws in and out, but I push harder, higher, my pulse hammering in my ears.
I just need air. Just need to be outside.
By the time I reach the exit, my vision is blurred with tears. The neon EXIT sign wavers, and then I’m through the doors, bursting out, gulping in great, shuddering breaths of cold, salty ocean air.
The world outside is crisp and vast, but it doesn’t stop the trembling in my limbs. I bend over, hands clutching my knees, nails digging into the fabric of my pants as I fight for control.
A brown paper bag appears in my line of sight.
“Here you go,” Arlene says, her voice calm, steady.
I snatch it without looking at her, pressing it to my mouth, inhaling, exhaling, forcing my breath into something controlled, something manageable. I hate this. The embarrassment claws at my throat, like it always does.
“Third one this month, kiddo,” she murmurs, her warm hand rubbing slow, reassuring circles on my back. “Going solo in that little bakery of yours is stressing you out way too much.”
She doesn’t understand. How could she? It’s not just the stress of The Frosted Spoon. That place—it could be good. I know it could.
I can bake. I can really freaking bake.
It’s everything else. The chaos pressing in from all sides.
My father, demanding more money.
Taylor, still with that guy when I got home last night, laughing, squealing, so loud. I lay in bed for an hour, staring at the ceiling, trying to drown them out. When I left for work, they were still up. And now? Less than fifty dollars in my account.
Terror sinks its claws into my ribs, a weight so heavy I can barely breathe. The fear isn’t just about money. It’s deeper than that. A creeping, suffocating sense of doom, curling around everything I’ve built, whispering that it’s all going to come crashing down.
And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing into the bag. Inhale. Exhale. Focus on Arlene’s hand, the slow circles, the steady rhythm.
Then, another image flickers into my mind: hazel eyes, flecked with gold and green.
My breathing slows.
I really liked those eyes. Liked the way they looked at me.
Is he still at the Rum and Room?
He took my mind off everything last night. Would he be up for doing that again? I straighten, pulling in another deep breath. The air is sharp in my lungs, but it doesn’t chase away the lingering tremors in my hands.
Arlene pulls her hand from my back, watching me with a furrowed brow. “Please don’t tell me you have a shift at the bar tonight.”
“I don’t,” I murmur. Thank God. I shake my head and tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Thank you.” My voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.
Arlene exhales, her shoulders relaxing a fraction. “What happened? You were all smiles earlier, basking in your after-sex glow.” She takes the crumpled paper bag from my fingers, crushing it in her fist.
“It’s nothing. I just didn’t get enough sleep last night.” I drag a hand down my face and force a smile, but my heart is still racing, the panic lingering like a bitter taste in my mouth. “I’m going to go home, take a long, hot shower, and go to bed early.”
Arlene studies me for a moment before nodding. “Are you coming back in for your coat? It’s cold out here.”
I bite my bottom lip, nodding without thinking. I don’t want to go straight home. Not with Taylor and her bear-sized friend still there, making the apartment feel suffocating. I want to go back to the Rum and Room. I want to knock on my mysterious stranger’s door.
Arlene squeezes my shoulder, grounding me. “Why don’t I just grab your stuff for you? I’ll be right back, okay?”
I nod again, my mind already drifting. I bet his name is something rugged like Axel or Jax—something that fits the way he touched me.
I lean back against the outside wall of the building, shivering as the cold from the brick seeps through the thin material of my shirt. Why the hell didn’t I stay in bed with him? I should have called in sick. It’s something I never do. I could have woken up tangled in those sheets with him.
I tip my head back, squinting into the hazy afternoon sun.
But what’s the point of thinking like this? Waking up next to a stranger wouldn’t have changed a damn thing. I panicked because of a bank alert. I have to think reasonably. Payday is only a few days away.
I just have to be careful. That’s all.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been in this situation.
And it sure as hell won’t be the last.
The back door swings open again, and Arlene steps outside, my coat and purse in her hands. Concern pinches the corners of her mouth.
“I’m sorry about before,” I say quickly, reaching for my things. “I promise, I’m fine. Just going to go home and relax.” I hug my coat and purse close to my chest, but I don’t put the coat on right away. The cold bites at my skin, but it’s a welcome sting—something to keep me grounded.
Arlene’s lips pull into a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “See you tomorrow.”
“Bright and early.” I take a few steps back, then turn toward the ramp leading to the boardwalk.