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Chapter 1
(Selah Jones)
I started working at The White Duck restaurant about five years ago as a waitress. It’s a fine dining establishment and my paychecks are significantly more than if I had taken a job at a lesser job; for instance, a fast food restaurant, or the laundry service across from my overpriced apartment, or even as a secretary to some of the big companies here in Chicago. Still, it is no white-collar job, but I love it.
Dawson was already a regular when I started my job. He is handsome. So handsome that I can hardly think straight when he’s in attendance. I was assigned his table the first time because his regular waitress had been out sick that evening. Then, every time he came in, he asked for me by name.
We only chatted idly about things that didn’t much matter in the bigger world back then. But, by the time he had been coming in and asking for me for a year, we were discussing politics, religions, waxing nostalgic about our teen years, and philosophizing about the state of the economy.
It was fun. We enjoyed each other’s company and he always gave such large tips. At first, I thought the hundred on the table had been an accident, but he had meant to give me that large of a tip simply because two more people joined him unexpectedly and without reservations—I accommodated them even though the maître d’ wasn’t happy about it. It almost got me fired and it did get me written up, with a verbal warning not to blatantly override the maître d’s authority ever again.
I haven’t yet, but that’s only because I haven’t had an opportunity, or the notion, to do so again.
Dawson came in one evening, looking particularly sexy in his smoke-grey suit. I knew he would be in the mood to flirt; he always wore the grey suit when he was feeling frisky. This was just last year, and I had often lain awake at night wondering what it would be like to share his bed. He’s single. I’m single. So, when he asked if I would join him after my shift, it only seemed like the natural procession of things.
I’m not naïve, I knew what he wanted. I knew partly because it was the same thing I wanted. That’s why we had spent the better part of four years posturing and getting to know each other bit by bit through our conversations at The White Duck.
Anyway, his car was parked out front when I got off work that night. He opened the door and I got in, he scooted in after me and ordered the driver to take us “home”. I was so nervous I could have threaded a sewing machine with the damn thing running.
That was my first time being in his home, well, that’s an understatement. The place was as big as a resort, it was a palace fit for royalty. I’m sure I looked like a tourist, with my jaw hanging slack as he took me in the main entrance and through the main hall. I thought places like that only existed in movies and fairy tales.
I was wrong.
Our first attempt at lovemaking was awkward and we were both fumbling and bumbling so much that I half-expected him to send me away. I also feared he might be angry or disgusted with me for being such a nitwit about sex. It’s not like I’d had a ton of boyfriends; hell, I was just out of my second year of college when I pulled up my roots and shook the dust of Southern Texas off my boots to move to Chicago. There, I had worked two jobs for a while and then I found The White Duck, and my love of everything culinary, so I put myself through several culinary training classes. I hadn’t taken time to learn much about mind-blowing sex.
On our first night, I wished I had done so. I was embarrassed as he kept having to instruct me in what I needed to do and when.
After that, we fell into a sort of routine. I would see him at The White Duck in his grey suit, that evening I would get into his waiting car, and we’d spend the night together. The sex was mind-blowing, and it didn’t take long for each of us to figure out what brought the most pleasure to the other.
Sometimes it was sweet and slow; other times it was hard, hot and sweaty, leaving us both exhausted and satisfied. It was the best time of my life.
Then, everything changed.
Dawson and I were sitting together, snuggled under the rumpled duvet. We drank wine and talked about our hopes, dreams and goals for the future. I told him about my dream to own one of the finest high-end restaurants around—only I wanted it to be in Texas. I wasn’t exactly sure of the location, but definitely Texas. I had already drawn up rough sketches of what the place would look like, inside and out; the menu was partially done, too. Hours of operation, estimated cost of construction, and the estimated cost to run the place for the first year. I didn’t tell him that I had gone so far as to make up a mock-schedule for the first year, but I had.
He told me about his dream of being able to pull away from work within the next few years, running the business remotely. Then he handed me a set of keys and told me they were for the house; his house.
“I want you to feel free to come and go as you please, Selah. My hope is that you’ll eventually move in here with me. The place is plenty big enough, and we could remodel rooms to your liking; even make you an office from which to run your restaurant.” He had smiled and kissed my temple as I sat staring mutely at the ring of shiny new keys. “I love you more than you’ll ever know.” He put his arm around my shoulders, drawing me close. “What do you say?”
Stammering, I shrugged. Words wouldn’t come. We hadn’t professed love for each other before. I did love him. With all my heart and soul, I loved him. But I didn’t want to move in with Dawson. I wanted to move back to Texas and start on building my restaurant soon. And, I was doing quite well for myself, my bank account proved that. Most of all, I didn’t want to give up my independence.
That set of keys was our undoing. Most women would have swooned and shed tears at the sentiment, I suppose, but not me. I was determined not to end up like so many women I’d seen in the past, dependent on some man, at the mercy of his ever-changing whims. Nope. Selah Jones was independent and hard-working, and no man, regardless of how rich he was or how much he said he loved her, was going to take her independence.
