Chapter 9
HARLOW
"Thanks for coming in at short notice," I said.
Erin grinned over at me while she sliced the pears. "Are you kidding? I could use the extra money."
"You could also use the rest," I pointed out.
Not that I could talk, but I wanted my staff to have a good work-life balance. Working your fingers to the bone was such an antiquated concept. What was the point if you couldn't spend time living?
"One extra day of work won't kill me," Erin said. "What is this for, anyway?"
"Boner is having a party at his gallery," I said. "I said I'd make some hors d'oeuvres."
"Swan-kay," she said, sounding impressed. "Can I come? From what I've seen of Boner, it'll be the social event of the season. Or a ton of shits and giggles."
I wasn't sure how to respond to that. On one hand, I didn't want her caught up in anything that might go down.
On the other hand, I could use her help getting all of the food there.
If she stayed for a little while, where was the harm?
Besides, if I said no, she'd turn up anyway.
This way, I could keep an eye on her better.
"Sure," I said as though I hadn't run through a dozen scenarios in my mind in the few moments it took for me to answer. "It'll probably be boring, but you might get to see a few famous faces."
"Ohhh, like who?" Her eyes were wide.
"Maybe some Broadway stars," I said evasively. "That pop star you like lives over in Tribeca. Maybe she'll come."
Boner dropped a bunch of names, but whether they'd show or not was another thing. If a couple of them did, that would add legitimacy to this whole event. We might even be able to convince Eros it wasn't thrown together at the last minute. That would raise less suspicion.
"That would be awesome," Erin breathed. "She might give me a job as a backing dancer." Knife in her hand, she did a little twirl.
"With moves like that, you'll be a shoe-in," I said. Which reminded me. "Have you had anything strange happened to your phone recently? I heard some people have had theirs hacked. Presumably they're looking for…"
Erin raised her eyebrows. "You can say it, you know. Naked selfies. I don't go around taking them anyway. Besides, I suck at selfies. You should see some of mine."
"I'm sure they're amazing," I said, trying not to ask directly. "I bet you're better at taking them than I am."
I quickly washed my hands and picked up my phone to show her a photo of me with the restaurant behind me. My red hair was standing around my face like a cloud and my eyes were half closed. I looked like the morning after a hard night of drinking.
"You look adorable," Erin said. She pulled off her latex gloves, washed her own hands and pulled out her phone. "Look, I can't even take a decent photo of my own shoes."
The breath rushed out of my body. My head spun with the implications. This was one of the exact photos we found on Fairfield's phone.
"See, it's terrible," Erin said.
"It's not that bad," I said, trying not to look as though I was about to lose my shit. "Is this a new trend? Taking photos of your shoes?"
She giggled and put her phone away, washing her hands again and putting on a new pair of gloves.
"My friends and I like to share the clothes we buy," she said. "I know it's not much, these are only cheap shoes, but…" The enthusiasm seemed to drain from her.
"It's a huge thing," I assured her. "You bought those with your own money you earned by working here.
You're an independent woman, doing your own thing.
You should be proud of yourself. Besides, someday when you're taking photos of yourself wearing Prada, you can look back at those photos and see how far you've come. "
She perked up. "You're right. Can I print something out?"
"Go ahead," I said, with some inkling of what she had in mind.
She darted off to the office, coming back a couple of minutes later with two pieces of paper in her hand. The fact the printer worked so quickly was a minor miracle. Evidently she was better at operating it than I was.
She held out the printed out photo of her shoe before placing them it on the fridge and placing a couple of magnets on the corners to keep it in place.
"Motivation," she said. "Every time I look at that, I can remember to keep going. To believe in myself and what I can achieve."
Beside the first sheet, she placed the second. A photo of a pair of Louboutin heels. "And that's my goal."
"I love that," I said sincerely. "Those heels are hot."
What would the guys think of me in those and nothing else? I suspected they'd enjoy the look. They'd certainly enjoyed my mouth on them. Just thinking about that made me hot inside.
I knew what Cass and Boner got up to in the restroom. Archer and I could hear Cass' moans and the sound of him coming. Boner's red mouth as they emerged confirmed what I suspected.
For a moment, I thought Cass would storm out and leave, but then he'd ordered me onto my knees. Sucking off both men was like a dream. One I didn't want to wake up from. I didn't want Cass angry at me, but the result was, well, chef’s kiss.
"I don't suppose you can spot me a year's wages so I can buy them for tonight?" Erin said with a groan.
"Absolutely, if you don't want to pay rent or eat for a year," I said dryly.
"I mean, those things are overrated compared to those heels," she said jokingly. She sighed out her nose. "Fine, I can wait. Those will be worth it."
"They definitely will," I agreed. I wondered if I could afford a pair for myself, but decided the money would be better spent giving another donation to a women's shelter. I had plenty of shoes as it was.
We worked in silence for a while before Erin said, "It's nice that you were worried about me. Warning me about people hacking into phones, that is. Some people are assholes."
"They really are," I agreed. "It's a good idea not to keep too much personal information on devices like that."
She gave me a look like I was an old woman and she was a wise teenager.
"You know we keep everything on our phones these days, right? We do everything but make phone calls with them. You don't have to worry. Like I said, I don't take nude selfies. I do keep the dick pics I get sent though."
Now it was my turn to give her a look.
She laughed. "Not because I want them. Whenever I get one, I respond to it with one some other guy sent. They never send them again."
I grinned. "That's actually awesome."
"Right? A friend of mine once sent one to the guy's mother. I don't think he ever did it again either. Although, the mother was probably traumatized." Erin didn't look like she was too concerned in that department.
"I would be," I said.
"You wouldn't need to be," she assured me. "You'd raise your sons not to do that."
"Thank you for the vote of confidence, but I'm not sure it's that simple," I said.
Kids would be kids, but any child of mine would learn early all about consent. Boys or girls, it wouldn't matter, I'd make sure they understood.
"I bet you'd teach them to cook." She put aside the last pear and started to pull vol au vent cases out of the oven and put them aside to cool.
"Absolutely I would," I agreed. "No child of mine is leaving home without all the basic life skills. Cooking, laundry, taxes."
Whether I'd actually have children someday was another thing. I'm not sure any kid would want to be the daughter of a serial killer. What would they do if I got caught someday? Go around telling all of their friends they're the offspring of Chef Stabby?
That would come with a whole bunch of stigmatism. No, they deserved better than that. If I ever had kids, I'd have to make extra sure not to get caught.
"Can you adopt me?" Erin joked.
"You already know how to cook and do laundry," I said.
"Yes, but taxes," she moaned dramatically.
Her puppy dog eyes were almost enough to convince me to offer help, but I wasn't an accountant. Besides, dealing with my own taxes was taxing enough. Pun completely intended.
I laughed. "Nothing you can't handle, I promise. Now, I need to get started on the salmon. Can you get out the chicken and get it ready for the grill? I'm going to make little sliders." They were always a favorite amongst partygoers. Who didn't love a chicken slider?
"Of course." She headed over to the fridge and started to pull out meat. "What's this?" She turned around, a bag of definitely-not-chicken in her hand.
We must have had a small amount of someone left that I'd forgotten about it.
Shit.
I usually dealt with that in the hour before she started in the kitchen. Her finding it meant I was getting sloppy. None of us could afford for me to slip up that badly.
"Pork," I said quickly. "Throw it in the trash, it's been there for a couple of days. I'd forgotten about it."
I hoped like hell she didn't see through my obvious lie. In a place like this, we couldn't afford to forget about meat. Or any other food for that matter. We used everything while it was fresh or we sent it to one of the local shelters. Nothing went to waste. Ever.
"Huh." She peered more closely at it. "Shame." She tossed it toward the trash can and missed, the meat landing on the floor with a splat. "Sorry!"
Pulling on a clean pair of gloves, she peeled it up off the floor, bag and all, threw it in the trash and started to clean up the floor where the blood was oozing, the red almost accusing.
Sorry, not sorry, Carl.
"Sometimes I understand why people are vegetarians," she remarked. "Raw meat is kinda gross when you think about it."
"Yeah, a little bit," I agreed, trying not to act squirrelly. Instead, I forced my attention to the salmon, slicing carefully and checking for bones.
"I'd give up eating it, but I'd miss bacon and hamburgers," she said as if completely oblivious to my discomfort. "And your spaghetti Bolognese. Not to mention your meatballs. And lasagne. And… I think we can agree I have absolutely no future as a vegetarian." She glanced up at me and smiled.
I managed a laugh without choking and nodded. "Me either. I'd miss chicken nuggets."
"Oh God, chicken nuggets," she groaned. "I couldn't give those up either." She finished cleaning up the floor and washed her hands again.
"I'm starting to think I should put those on the menu," I said teasingly. "Nicely battered and deep fried."
That would help to dispose of evidence, but we didn't have a deep fryer here anyway. Nor did I want one. That wasn't the kind of food I made. Plenty of other restaurants in the city did and I was happy to frequent them.
"I'm getting so hungry right now," she said.
"Let's finish up here and we can have a break and a bite to eat," I said.
Personally, I wasn't that hungry. The meat lying in the trash can suppressed my appetite somewhat. Once I'd taken it out to the dumpster, I'd feel a lot better.
Until I replaced it with Eros, whoever he was.