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To shit.
***
Cupcakes. That’s what I spent six of my eight-and-a-half-hour shift baking. Fucking cupcakes. Not that I had anything against cupcakes, I didn’t. But it was another punishment from Landry, all because I had the audacity to call him on his shitty behavior.
I could have screamed and thrown a tantrum but it wouldn’t have done any good. Landry was a complete asshole and would always be one. So I went back to the first day of culinary school and made cupcakes. Butter and chocolate and strawberry. Boring but easy work.
The perfect way to spend the day after the most erotic morning of my life. My body still hummed at the memory of what Savior had done to me. The way his tongue, his fingers and that beautiful, thick cock brought me pleasure was intense. If I had five minutes and some privacy, I could get off just from the memory of his touch.
“Sutton, I need those cupcakes!” His big round body scooted to my work station and grabbed the cupcakes that I had just pulled from the oven.
“About damn time,” he grumbled.
“Those are still warm, Chef.”
I knew he heard me because I saw the small hitch in his step but he plowed forward, already preparing the next scathing comment. After cleaning my hands, I leaned against the table and watched as Landry passed several tables filled with already cool cupcakes, perfect to slather on his shitty sugary frosting.
Nevertheless, he took the warm ones straight to his station.
“They don’t teach you to let cupcakes cool before frosting them, at fancy New York culinary schools? Perhaps you should have gone to Paris, like I did,” he snickered, so fucking proud of his dim wit.
My gaze shot to the clock. Ten minutes left on my shift and then I could say goodbye to this place. For a few hours anyway, though the desire to leave forever grew stronger every shift. Ten minutes without killing my buffoon of a boss and I would make it another day.
“Is your hearing shot, too?” He laughed, looking around and waiting for the others to join in but they didn’t. They never did. It always made me laugh.
“Maybe if you weren’t so determined to try and humiliate me you wouldn’t have wasted a dozen cupcakes fresh from the oven.”
It’s not like he made the trip all the way over to my station because his fat ass enjoys exercise.
I should have kept my mouth shut but I couldn’t help it. I offered, “Or maybe in Paris they don’t teach you that cupcakes fresh from the oven shouldn’t be frosted right away. Chef.”
Two minutes on the clock and I began wiping down my station, ignoring his loud bluster. I was sure I would be without a job soon and I couldn’t find it in myself to give a damn. I’d come here to learn from him. Now, it didn’t even matter. I knew all I needed to know. He was a mean vile son of a bitch and I didn’t need him to advance in my career. Not anymore.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.
I looked up at him, trying to keep attitude out of my glance. “Away from here. My shift is just about over.” By the time the stainless steel was clean and dry, it was two minutes past time to go.
“I don’t think so. You owe me a dozen cupcakes.” Arms crossed, he held an angry scowl as his red face darkened in anger.
I forced a smile to hide my true feelings. “The ones you took were the extra batch. For your mistakes, of course.”
There were actually two dozen, but he could figure that out after I was gone.
“Later gators,” I called to the rest of the kitchen staff who always seemed amused by my run-ins with Landry.
As soon as the sun hit my face, the tension band holding my shoulders snapped and I could breathe. Finally. As happy as I was to be gone, to be away from Landry so I could press rewind on my morning with Savior, it was just temporary. He hadn’t fired me and I hadn’t quit, which meant I had to go back tomorrow.
I’d much rather focus on Savior but that wouldn’t do me any good. There was nothing to be done about him in the immediate future. Despite what he’d said last night, he’d told me all about his horrible, awful family as a warning. He couldn’t or wouldn’t give me more, and it didn’t matter to him that I hadn’t actually asked for more. It was a preemptive strike, just in case I got any ideas about him and forever.
As if.
“Mandy, Mandy, Mandy.”
Shit. I didn’t recognize those voices, which meant they were trouble. The kind of trouble I didn’t have the tools or weaponry to deter. My car was still too far away for me to make a run for safety, so I took a few steps forward before turning to face them, my fight or flight senses already kicking in. “Do I know you?” I said to the three assholes with the Roadkill MC patch on their kuttes.
“Not yet. Tell us you’ll have the money you owe us and you won’t have to.”
The blond with the buzz cut acted as spokesperson or maybe it was the jagged scar that ran from the corner of his right eye to his mouth.
