hear?” She smirks, folding her arms across her chest haughtily. Amusement glints in her expression, and it’s as charming as a dildo stuck to a ceiling.
“It’s called selective hearing, doll. Every grown man learns it.”
“Grown. That’s for sure.” She eyes me from head to toe. I’ve had it with her attitude and sassy mouth. Yeah, patience is a virtue, but it’s one that seems to have skipped out on me when Lo did. I inch forward swiftly, uncaring that I might scare her. Just as I thought... her eyes widen a smidgen right before she puts her guard up, testing me. I grip her face, wanting to be gentle, but it tends to lead to memories of her, and tenderness is the last thing I can offer. Joey’s so tiny below me, her head barely hitting my shoulder. Bending so we’re eye to eye, I hold her gaze.
Hers is full of disdain and annoyance.
Mines mirror hers to a fault.
“Only a grown man could fuck you to completion, Sous.” She shivers at my words, her body unbending in my hold. It’s beautiful, knowing she won’t conform to my touch but also realizing she can’t hide the excitement in her expression either.
“Obviously, it wasn’t to completion if I’m still walking,” she spits back, jerking her face free of my hold. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes pure amber fire, and my dick reacts like she’s the hottest fucking steak on the grill.
“Guess a redo is in order. Since you seem to question my skills.”
“Pass. Have places to go, people to do, things to accomplish... and riding your dick isn’t on that list,” she rebuts, her face lighting up with a win I didn’t concede to.
Chapter Two
Three Days Earlier
Joey
“Headed home already?” Robbie asks as I take off my apron for the last time. Robyn Goode, my tall and slender co-chef, stands opposite of the working counter.
Her hair isn’t tucked into her chef toque yet. It’s long and russet brown, strikingly straight and thick, but never done up. In the entire year I’ve known her, she doesn’t do anything special to it. Not even when we cater events.
She’s the sweetest person in this hellhole, but she’s also the softest spoken. One day, I hope she’ll flap the wings she tucks into and free herself of the burden of fear.
She doesn’t know, but I was fired.
Technically, I’m walking out before he can say it. I’m surprised Lucien didn’t make a bigger deal and scream at me like he usually would. Guess it helps that I have leverage.
Like the fact that he’s a pervert.
And I have proof.
“Actually,” I start, not knowing how to word it without sounding like I’m the bad guy. “Today’s my last day. To new adventures and whatnot.” Shrugging my shoulders, I act like it’s nothing, but really, the knowledge that I’m pretty much jobless weighs heavily on my shoulders.
She eyes me, her face one of confusion. Believe me, girl. I feel you.
In an attempt to alleviate the situation, I smile. Throwing my apron in the trash with a full good-fucking-riddance feeling, I finally feel content. While being without a steady income isn’t in anyone’s best avenue, being tortured by a pig in my own workplace wasn’t big on my to-do list either.
I’ll overcome it, I always do. Sometimes, we don’t have any other option.
“Where will you go?” she asks meekly, her face sinking with actual sadness. Her voice is uncertain, her body closed off and filled with anxiety. It’s not a pleasant look, but she’ll be fine without me. Maybe she’ll flourish without competition. Envy can squander someone’s hope, but something tells me her unassumingness isn’t from me being the better chef.
In the past year we’ve worked together, we have grown close. Well, as close as two chicks can get in a workplace that houses the devil himself.
We bonded through gossip and built each other up when our boss brought us down. It wasn’t something to write home about, but it definitely has been more than a hello and goodbye. We aren’t friends friends. We don’t speak outside of work and events surrounding it. I don’t have her number, and she doesn’t have mine. It’s not for lack of trying on either of our parts, but relationships outside of work tend to mess me up.
I’m not loving.
Or lovable.
But we exist and bring some odd comfort in the days of unpleasant menu items and screaming matches.
“I don’t know,” I finally reply, offering honesty. That much I’ll always give. I pride myself in always