Текст книги "Seeing You "

Автор книги: Michelle Lynn

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

CHAPTER SIX

Todd

I rub my palms together and peruse the refrigerator at CHOPs. Finally, a friend hooked me up with a possible investor. The guy wants to remain anonymous when he comes in, but he’s been looking for an up-and-coming chef to start a new restaurant. The excitement builds inside me, knowing Davis is out tonight and I can change up the special.

The note Davis left with Shawn in regard to what the special is supposed to be tonight burns a hole in my pocket. I’ve stayed clear of disobeying Davis’s wishes. Never have I gone against him or challenged him when it came to his decisions, but our work relationship has been evolving the longer I’ve been here. If I’m going to make a name for myself someday, I have to take a chance, and tonight is that time.

I bypass the scallops listed on Davis’s list and pull out the shrimp. My body fights every movement of disobeying. I’m not the guy who purposely does things that will warrant getting fired. Davis gave me an opportunity two years ago, and I haven’t forgotten it. But I’m against a brick wall now, and I need to free myself.

“What’s up, Todd?” Shawn bursts into the room with a beet-red face.

“I’m changing up the special. The scallops are bad.” I don’t look up because, frankly, I’m a terrible liar.

“Okay. Do you want me to bring the wait staff back in here?” His fingers tap on the steel counter.

I would never want his job. He’s always rushing here and there.

“I typed up new sheets. They’re over there.” My knife points to the stack by the door.

“Okay.” Shawn steps forward then rocks back my way. “Do you have a name?”

Fuck. He knows me too well, or I’m an even worse liar than I thought. I drop the knife and stare up at him. He’s about two seconds from losing it.

“I don’t have a name. Can we try to make sure everyone is on their game tonight?” I hate to ask other people to lie for me, but I’m relying on them.

“Yeah.” His palm pats the counter, and it pings from his ring hitting it. He rushes back out after grabbing the special menus in his hand.

I’m thankful for awesome bosses, Shawn especially.

My heart rate escalates as the minutes tick by. Five o’clock comes, and I hear the shuffle of guests arriving for their reservations. Did this guy have to pick a Saturday night?

We’re halfway between appetizer orders when the door opens. From the click of his shoes, I know who it is. My heart plummets to my stomach.

“Care to tell me what the fuck this is?” Davis places the menu on top of the scallion I’m cutting up.

“New special. The scallops were bad. Who did you get them from?”

If my hands weren’t in plain sight, I’d cross my fingers.

“Let me see them.” Davis rests all his weight against the counter, practically towering over me.

The joke is on him. I’m still two inches taller.

“I threw them out. They’re in the dumpster.”

Instead of standing there to continue this interrogation, I shuffle back to the stove.

Davis releases a huff, and I sense him behind me, his eyes boring into my back. But I can’t show any signs of weakness, so I continue to go about my business.

He figures out I’m not coming back over to the counter, so he breaks the distance, leaning over my shoulder. “Sous chefs aren’t hard to replace,” he whispers. Then, his heels click on the floor until he’s out the door.

My shoulders lower, and the breath that was stuck in my throat releases. He bought it.

“Hey, Todd,” Noodle says.

What a nice voice to hear instead of Davis’s.

I glance over my shoulder. “What’s up?”

“I have a guest at the bar who is asking for something not on the menu.”

She comes over to me and inches up on her toes to whisper in my ear. “It’s a guy, and he is very straight-faced.” She hands me a piece of paper where she’s written ‘New York strip, medium rare’. You choose the sauce and side.”

Shit, this guy is serious. I changed the whole special for nothing.

“Good luck.” Noodle pinches my arm and moves toward the door.

I make my way to the refrigerator to grab the best strip we have.

Noodle stops. “Todd?”

I come out of my fog to find her smiling face in the doorway.

“You’ve got this.”

The door swings closed, and I wish she could stand next to me the entire time I cook this meal. It’s one that could change my life, and I need her belief in me nearby.

I’ve got everything out and ready. The skillet is heating, and my sauce is simmering. It’s game time, and I’m the pitcher. There’s one last batter to strike out, and then the title will be mine.

Half an hour later, the perfectly prepared steak is alongside broccoli au gratin and shrimp pasta. I wish Noodle could take a picture of this, but my phone will have to do. I’ll want to remember the meal that got me the break. I’m fucking brilliant, I think after I snap a picture with my phone.

“Todd.” Noodle comes alongside me.

I move to hand her the plate, but she places her hand on it, pushing it back down.

“He left.” The smile from earlier has vanished. “Davis went over to say hello. I guess they know each other. They had words, and the guy threw a twenty on the table and left.”

The plate drops from my grip, and the steak slides out of place. I’m speechless. My only saving grace is that I won’t let Noodle see me lose it.

“I’m sorry, Todd.” Her arm reaches around me and she squeezes me to her shorter frame.

Shawn steps through the door. “Amelia, a customer needs you.”

She scurries off. We don’t need both our jobs on the line.

“Shit. That looks fucking awesome.” Shawn stares down at the dish.

Moments ago, that meal was going to be the one that gave me everything, making all those dreams from when I was younger come true, like my own damn fairy godmother.

“Thanks. Have at it.” I push the plate his way.

“If it makes you feel better, we’ve gotten rave reviews about the shrimp pasta.” He pats my shoulder and leaves.

Orders continue to stream in, and I have no choice but to finish the night. My stomach drops every time the door opens, as I’m waiting for Davis to interrogate me on the special change or the investor he knew was here.

My phone dings in my pocket, and my night goes from bad to worse with a voicemail from Jim.

“Hi, um, Todd. Can you come over tomorrow?” His words slur with long pauses.

Carol might as well have left the bottle of vodka next to the note.

“Sorry to bother you.”

Click.

Fuck, now I have to pick up the pieces after Carol. Maybe I’ll be forever destined to be a broke foster kid not worth his dreams.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Amelia

“Good night, Heather.” I wave to the cute redhead as she exits through the front door.

“All right, everyone.” Davis emerges from his office, venturing down the hall.

The five of us who are still cleaning up grace him with the attention he demands.

“We have a little competition tonight,” he says, rubbing his hands together and smiling widely at me.

“What’s up?” Todd asks from the barstool across from me.

“Amelia here thinks she can make a better hot chocolate than me.” He leans across the side of the bar top. “Come with me,” he instructs while nodding. Then, he disappears through the swinging kitchen door.

“When did this little bet happen?” Todd stands up and raises his eyebrows.

“At the dog park the other day,” I admit. I hope Todd can keep that information quiet.

He grips my upper arm and holds me back. “You’re seeing the boss after-hours?” he whispers as he narrows his eyes.

Isn’t this what he wanted?

I shrug out of his hold. “No, we ran into one another.” I should have kept my mouth shut.

“Amelia!” Davis hollers from the kitchen.

Todd follows me into the kitchen. The room instantly fills with tension, and I’m not sure if Todd is playing the protective brother role or what.

Davis points to Todd. “Just me and Amelia. You and the others will be the judges and can wait at the bar.”

Todd glares over to me one last time then plows through the door.

“So . . .” I place my hands in my pockets, perusing all the ingredients he’s placing on the stainless steel table.

“Ladies first.” He props himself up onto the counter.

I take my hands out of the shelter of my pockets and clench them to stop from shaking. “You can’t watch me. You might copy my method,” I joke.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m not a cheater.” He leans back on his hands, his eyes brimmed with enjoyment because I’m his entertainment for the next twenty minutes.

My trembling fingers grab the cocoa powder—probably the most expensive one I’ve ever used—the sugar, and other ingredients. Davis already has a pot for me to use on the state-of-the-art stove. I make my way to the refrigerator and pull out the milk.

“I like you in my kitchen,” he says.

I dig in his cabinets for vanilla.

You can do this, Amelia. Ignore the fact that he’s probably staring at your body—either appreciating it or judging it. Regardless, his eyes might even be fixated on your ass right now.

“Don’t get used to it. Other than hot chocolate, everything else I eat or drink comes from a box or a take-out bag.” I whisk the milk and cocoa before adding in hot water.

“Much like you with your art, I love to make people appreciate the beauty of my talent as a chef. I’m addicted to seeing the enjoyment people get when they bite into my dish.” He hops down from the counter after I pour my concoction into the mug he already placed nearby. “I’m guessing you feel the same when someone truly sees what your art means.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve experienced that feeling much more than I have.” I occupy his spot on the counter, mimicking his former position. The scenery is nice up here.

Yes, he was most likely staring at your ass, because your eyes won’t leave his.

He opens a drawer and takes out a bag of chocolate.

My mouth opens in disbelief. “Cheater.”

“I asked you if you needed any special ingredients.” He places his hands up in the air. “This is my special ingredient.”

I playfully narrow my eyes. “I’ll still win, even with your fancy chocolate.”

I shrug, and he laughs.

He moves around the space with the ease of someone at home. Never giving it thought, he just shuffles around, reaching and grabbing the items he needs to do his job. His body is nice to look at, especially his ass, which is so perfectly outlined in his slacks. But hearing him hum to himself as he whisks—the sound of someone truly in his element, so happy to be doing what he loves—is what I find the most appealing about Davis at the moment.

He brings the pot over to the mug placed next to mine. “Last thing, whipped cream.” He places the pot back on the stove then snakes his arm into the fridge, revealing the can of whipped cream.

“Please,” he says, handing me the can.

Our fingers brush as I release it from his grip, and our eyes meet again. He has a way with me no one has had in quite some time. I want to get to know him, screw him, and run from him all at the same time. When he gazes into my eyes, like he is now, I yearn to love him. That’s the scariest part of this. Screwing, I can handle. I’d probably lose my job, but one day, I’d forget about Davis Morgan. But love . . . that’s a whole other game, and I’m not ready to put my heart out there again.

I’m not familiar with the nozzle, but being the stubborn person I am, I’m not going to ask for help. When I press my finger down on the can, white foam sprays everywhere. Davis laughs, and I imagine my face is as red as the cherries he has in a bowl on the counter.

“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry,” I apologize, reaching over to grab a towel.

He stops me with his hand on my hip. My body stills, loving the firm grasp on me that’s heating my skin under his touch.

“We’ll clean it afterward,” he softly tells me. “We don’t want them to get cold.”

I twist back his way, and those alluring eyes are facing me again. I lick my lips and taste the sweetness of the sugary whipped cream.

“That’s so good,” I mention, swiping my finger across the edge of the mug with the cream on it.

“Homemade,” he informs me, taking a swipe himself. “Here,” he whispers as his finger inches toward me.

My mouth opens slightly. Is he expecting me to lick it off his finger? No, that would be terribly inappropriate. His eyes focus on my lips while his finger continues to inch closer to me. I close my eyes, waiting to feel the coldness of the white cream from the tip of his finger against the part of my lips.

Shivers run through my body when his finger lightly brushes across my neck. When I open my eyes, he’s sucking the cream he just swiped from my neck into his own mouth. My stomach flutters, and my heart races. His other hand still hasn’t left my hip as I’m fixated on his tongue swirling over his finger. When he pulls me against him, I swallow the dryness in my throat.

“Even sweeter,” he whispers.

I sway into him a little more.

“I would have much rather used my tongue, but I would’ve had to fire you first.”

He laughs, and I stare up at him like a damn idiot.

“Let’s go! Some of us have social lives outside of CHOPs!” Todd screams from the other room.

I quickly scramble out of Davis’s hold.

“Can’t forget the best part.”

Wasn’t that the whipped cream?

He pops a cherry into his mouth, and I watch it move from side to side as his tongue helps manipulate the small red circle. When he catches me staring, he smirks, assuming my thoughts. If he thinks I wish it weren’t a cherry his tongue was moving around on right now, he’d be right.

Finally, we escape the figuratively steamy and dangerous kitchen. This is the only time in my life when I’d be okay with losing a bet.

Davis ushers me to take the lead out to our panel of judges at the bar. This only makes me paranoid that he’s most likely checking out my huge ass. Guess when I debated between a thong and hip-huggers this morning, I made the wrong choice.

Should have wiggled my way into my Spanx.

Todd, Shawn, two waitresses, and a busboy are sitting around the bar, casually consuming their drink of choice. Todd brings his beer bottle up to his lips when I open the swinging bar top to venture behind the bar. His lips purse, and his eyes bore into mine. I wonder how much gossip is brewing among the staff about the boss and me. I guess I can convince myself it’s only Todd who senses the sexual tension between Davis and me, but I’d be kidding myself. I handed them the flint to start the wildfire by allowing myself to be alone in the kitchen with him.

“Help yourselves,” Davis says, placing the two mugs filled with hot chocolate on the lacquered wood top.

Todd steps up first, prodding others by hurriedly waving his hands in the air. His eagerness tonight is rare since he usually escorts me back to my apartment then sometimes comes in for a few drinks. Tonight, I notice he’s all dressed in nice jeans and a plaid button-down shirt.

Wait, is his hair damp? Did he take a shower? Is there a shower at CHOPs?

His hand grips the first mug and brings it to his lips. His head flips from side to side, giving me the impression that he thinks it’s okay. Then, he passes it down the line and tentatively sips from the other. His eyes widen, and he nods. Obviously, that’s the winner for him.

Damn it.

It’s Davis’s.

While the others take their respective sips, I direct my gaze to each reaction. I wouldn’t mind Davis cooking me a nice meal, but I’d still hate to lose. Other than when Todd whips up something for the two of us, my usual meals involve takeout and quick ones I pick up after long days. I practically drool over the things Todd cooks, so my mouth is salivating from the mere thought of what Davis could put together.

“Would you guys want to make it anonymous, or are you okay with straight-shooting?” Davis asks.

All their eyes turn in my direction. Great, they feel bad and don’t want to hurt me by saying I’ve lost.

“Whatever gets us out of here faster,” Todd says, drumming his fingers along the edge of the bar top.

Seriously, Todd, your date can’t be that hot.

Everyone points to the one they pick, and it’s four to one, in favor of Davis. Why I made this bet with a chef, I have no flippin’ clue. Todd releases a deep breath, and his eyes veer to me. Smirking, he points to mine, making him the only one to not pick Davis’s, which I know for sure he preferred.

I give him a big smile and mouth, Thank you.

He nods in response, but his eyes immediately cast down. I’ll prepare myself for a lecture tomorrow.

“Well . . . thank you all for staying late. You’ll be the first to leave tomorrow night, if you choose. Good night.” Davis dismisses everyone without divulging who the winner is.

I’m assuming he doesn’t want questions about wagers and who will be cashing in on what between us.

All of them quickly wave good-bye, and I notice my coat and purse lying across the bar. Todd motions toward it with his head, and I scrunch my eyebrows at him. He in turn widens his eyes, and his head points a little more exaggerated this time. I shake my head, and his lips form a tight line while his jaw juts out at me. Someone should remind him that he isn’t my father, and I don’t need his permission to stay.

The others file out, leaving me, Davis, and Todd.

“I know you have that date, Todd. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure Amelia gets home safe,” Davis tells Todd.

I raise my eyebrows at Todd, silently saying ‘you have a date, so leave me alone’.

Todd’s chest rises and falls. He’s struggling inside of himself, and I’m curious to why. He’s the one who wanted me with Davis to distract him from the kitchen.

His eyes find mine, asking me if I’m okay with it, and I silently nod. Hopefully, Davis can’t pick up on our nonverbal communication.

“All right.” Todd’s body weaves back and forth. “Yeah, I’m already kind of late due to this whole lame hot chocolate contest.” He releases an uncomfortable chuckle. “Noodle, we’re still on for tomorrow morning?” he asks.

It almost slipped my mind that we have a photo shoot with Gia, the female model I’ve been working with.

“Yeah, ten o’clock. Don’t be late.” I point my finger at him.

His lips stay in a straight line. “Never. See you then.” He bends over the bar and kisses my cheek. His hot breath erupts goose bumps along my neck when he lingers longer than usual. “Be careful,” he whispers in my ear.

When he pulls back, all that anxiety I just heard in his words are vividly clear in the lines of his face.

“Good night, Todd. Have a fun date.” I smile, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he shakes Davis’s hand. When Todd reaches the door, he glances at me one more time before the cool night breeze streams into the restaurant with his departure.

“So, you owe me a tour,” Davis whispers in my ear, the bristle of his five o’clock shadow rubbing along my cheek.

My heart races with his nearness.

“I always pay my bets,” I whisper back.

His hand lands on my hip.

Hoist me up onto this bar, and take me now.

“Hmm . . . I think I made the wrong wager.” His palm tightens, and his breath tickles my ear, making me scrunch my shoulder up in response.

“That’s okay. A tour of art will be fun, too.”

My body falls into his, and his hand glides to the small of my back with his fingers resting on top of my ass.

“A tour of something more beautiful would have been nicer,” he adds.

My hand grips his bicep, so I can remain upright—although, I doubt Davis would let me fall.

“All the art I’ll show you is beautiful.”

“Unless they’re replicas of you, there isn’t anything more beautiful than what I’m looking at right now.”

My knees buckle slightly, and Davis pulls me toward him. My other hand grips his opposite bicep, and our eyes lock together.

“You’re killing me, Amelia,” he breathlessly says.

“Why?”

“I want you so bad, but I’ve never—I mean, never—had a relationship with someone who works for me.”

His honesty is refreshing. It’s something I’ve wondered about—if I’m just another spatula in his kitchen, so to speak.

“We should stop,” I tell him, my eyes closing with the thought of never being in his arms again.

“I know,” he says with a distinctly wavering voice. “I keep telling myself to leave you alone, to walk away—”

“But?”

Both his hands linger just below my hips, and I crave his strong hands to be all over my body.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he grabs my ass and thrusts his pelvis into mine. The hardness inside his pants is pressed against me. My core clenches as I think of having nothing between us, him sliding in and out of me.

“Just give me one taste,” he says as he bends down.

One hand roams along my back, leaving a quake of shivers up my spine, before it lands on the nape of my neck, and his fingers splay through the strands of my hair. With a light tug, he positions my head exactly where he wants it, and his soft lips press firmly against mine with his tongue creeping into my mouth.

My own hands stay planted on his strong muscles while his tongue dances with mine. He growls into my mouth, and I release a moan of my own. I move my hands to the back of his head, and he hoists me up by my ass, propping me on top of the bar. He positions himself between my legs, and I wrap them around his waist.

“One taste just won’t do,” he murmurs against my lips.

Before I realize it, his fingers start manipulating the buttons on my shirt.

The want and desire of having his hands on my bare skin practically has me combusting. He’s about to open my shirt, revealing my striped satin bra, when the door flies open.

“Are you open?” A drunk college kid stumbles into the bar.

Davis pulls back, and I grab the ends of my shirt and hop off the bar. Davis leaps across the wooden obstacle and is within inches of the kid before his friends come in and pull him out.

I turn the opposite way of the door, button up my shirt, and grab my jacket. By the time I’m ready to go, Davis is locking the door. When he turns around, his forehead scrunches but quickly disappears. He knows as well as I do that we just got carried away in a moment of lust.

“I’ll drive you home.” He strolls by me and heads toward his office.

“You don’t have to!” I yell after him. I can’t help but be a little upset that he didn’t try to persuade me to continue our make-out session.

He shuffles into his jacket and meets me the dining area. “I told Todd I’d get you home safe. I’m a man of my word.”

His change of personality has my mind reeling on what just happened. He flipped from ‘I’m going to devour you’ to ‘You have a contagious disease’ in a matter of seconds.

“I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself,” I assure him, not wanting anything more from him than the humiliation he’s about to put me through by driving me home.

“I know, but will you humor me?” His flirty personality has returned.

He’s more confusing than a nun in a strip club.

I roll my eyes but follow him out the back door. There sits a sporty two-door black Lexus. It screams fast and dangerous but mostly expensive as shit, probably costing more than my whole college tuition.

“Nice car,” I say dryly. I refuse to give him any indication of how bad his dismissal is eating away at me.

“It’s a Lexus LFA, one of my only splurges,” he brags.

Well, I can only imagine our definitions of splurge are on opposite sides of the spectrum. I doubt it’s worth the same as a pair of seventy-five-dollar boots like me. That took me two months of contemplating the purchase before I actually bought them.

“Amelia.” He places his hand on my knee.

How did I even get into the car?

Brain, please relent from silent rambles until we are locked safely in the apartment.

“Sorry. What did you say?” I shake my head and turn to his direction. My knee warms with his palm still pressed against it.

“Where do you live?” he asks.

Oh, this should be good.

“West Village.”

He tips his head to the side. “Nice neighborhood,” he mentions.

I wish like hell he hadn’t just found out where I live.

“Believe me, it doesn’t reflect anything about me.” The words spill out before I can clamp my mouth shut.

“I didn’t think it did.” He drives out of the alleyway.

The dark streets are vacant, with the fine-dining restaurants closed for the night. His fingers tap on the steering wheel to the beat of “Sleeping with a Friend” by Neon Trees streaming out of the speakers. The ironic coincidence of the song isn’t lost on me in this moment. If it were my car, I’d have already turned the station by now.

“Can I ask you something?” he says.

“Sure.”

“You and Todd, have you . . .” he tentatively questions.

I’m half-tempted to lie. A vindictive side of me wants him to know that I’m not about to get down on my knees and be thankful that he’s showing me interest. I’ve dated many guys who think their wealth of money makes women do about anything to be with them. Not this girl—at least not anymore.

“No. We’re only friends,” I say, not revealing much else. It’s really none of his business. “Turn right here, and I’m in the third building on the left,” I instruct him, happy to escape from the car.

“I don’t mean to pry. I was just curious.” He double-parks his car and flips the hazard lights on. With the narrow road, he won’t be able to sit here for long.

“Thanks for the ride.” I rest my hand on the door handle.

“Amelia . . .” He sighs, and his fingers thread through his hair.

“Don’t worry, Davis. I get it. You’re the boss, and I’m the employee.”

“It’s just—”

I place my hand in the air. “Just let it be. I understand.”

A small smile crosses his lips. “We can be friends,” he suggests.

My fingers grip the handle, and I yank the door open. “You and I both know that can’t happen. Let’s keep the line drawn clear in the sand. You don’t step over to my side, and I won’t waver over to yours.” I finally leave his car, making my escape.

I don’t turn around when I reach my door. My keys fumble in my shaking hands.

Get it together, Amelia.

I release a breath when I find the right key, and the lock clicks open. Once I’m in the lobby, I contemplate checking my mail, but I just want to go upstairs and grab a frozen Snickers bar, chalking this night up to a disaster, much like the rest of my life. My hand is about to press the elevator button when strong hands whip me around, and my back slams against the hard metal of the mailboxes.

Davis’s lips claim mine, and he lifts me. Meeting the tongue that filled my mouth just a half-hour ago, I allow myself to feel the warmth of him. His hips pin me, and my back scrapes along the etched steel. My fingers run through his soft, dark waves while I tighten my thighs around his waist.

Much too soon, I’m brought back down to earth, and my feet touch the floor. His chocolate-hue eyes peer down, and his forehead rests against mine.

“You owe me a date,” he softly says, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. “I’ll be here, in the lobby, tomorrow at two.”

My knees weaken, and if he lets me go, I’m sure I’ll melt into a puddle on the floor, never to recover.

“Good night, Amelia.”

The next thing I hear is the clicking of the front door.