Excerpt: The Sexy Chef – Domination – Releasing Soon!

The next installment of The Sexy Series is due to arrive very soon (August 8th or before). Following is a tantalizing peek at what’s to come… and remember, if you can’t stand the heat – get out of the kitchen!

 

THE SEXY CHEF – DOMINATION

 

I speed into the parking space and smash my foot on the brake pedal. The clock on my stereo reads 1:17 p.m.

“Shit.” I’m late. All I need is Randy riding my ass today. He can be a major jerk.

I snatch my purse off the passenger-side seat and swing my door open. There’s a loud bang.

I pound my steering wheel.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I jump out of the car and examine the deep dent I put in someone’s bright-red BMW. The paint’s even chipped.

“Damn it!” I stand and look around the parking lot and at the door of the Calypso Café. There’s no one in sight.

I take a deep breath then dig frantically through my purse and take out a pen and an old business card from Jack of All Tires. I draw an arrow, pointing toward the dent, and scribble, “Sorry about the door. Find me at the register. Will pay. Gina.” I tuck the card under the wiper blade on the driver’s side and run across the lot and into the café.

The bells on the door jingle. Randy Cousivan, our manager, is working the register. He gives me the evil eye. “You’re late.”

I grunt and swoop right past him on my way to the locker room. I swear he lives to harass me. The locker room is small and always smells of strong perfume and some guy’s sweaty socks. I open the lock with my key and swing the door open. My deodorant and lipstick fall out and hit the wooden bench and then the floor.

“Fuck,” I mutter while picking them up. I have so many books shoved in the locker that I hardly have room for anything else. I’m back in school, culinary school, and enrolled in an intensive program that’s supposed to make me a professional in just eight months.

I snatch my apron off the hook. I put it on along with my name tag, roll on some red lipstick and deodorant, then check my face in the mirror. Jeez, I look haggard. Sleep has been a rare commodity as of late, and that fact is beginning to show.

“On with the show.” I center my name tag.

There are two consecutive knocks on the door, a pause, and then two more. That signals that the person is male.

“I’m decent,” I say.

The door opens, and in walks Randy. “I didn’t think you were going to be late every day when we discussed your plans for school.”

I slam my locker shut. “Neither did I.”

He sweeps past me and opens his locker. “Why should I continue supporting you when you’re constantly late?”

I jerk back. “Are you seriously asking me that?”

He cocks his head to the side.

“Well, you didn’t seem to have much of a problem with my tardiness after my muffins and tarts sold record numbers.” A few months back, one of the bakers left in the middle of his shift. I stayed late to finish it, only instead of following his recipes, I used my own. For the next three weeks, customers didn’t stop requesting them until finally Randy put his pride aside and asked for my recipe. Now, my pastries have been added to the menu permanently.

“Beginner’s luck,” he snaps.

I grunt, offended. “Are you fucking with me, or are you really that big of a jerk?”

Randy blows a hard breath and slams his locker shut. “Fuck it, Gina. Could you just stop being late from now on?”

I open my mouth, on the verge of unloading an arsenal of profanity.

“Because,” he continues, “I’ve shown you a lot of leniency, and the person who’s replacing me may not be as tolerant as I am.”

I flinch. “Replacing you?”

“Today’s my last day.”

I close my eyes for a second, in disbelief of what I just heard. “Today’s your last day?”

“Yep.” He passes me on his way to the door.

“Did you quit?”

He looks squarely at me. “I’m going to be on a game show.”

“A game show?” I can’t help but laugh. “Like Family Feud or something?”

“No, it’s more like a cooking competition.”

Lots of things go through my mind—and first, surprisingly, I realize I’m going to miss him. He might be a dick, but he’s one that I’ve slept with one, two—I bite my lip—six or seven times. I’ve stopped counting because each time we do it, it’s a mistake. Well, a mistake in that I wish I hadn’t spread my legs and let him in. At the same time, I find him so appealing, and I’ve tried every way possible not to think of him as sexy and attractive but have failed miserably. Second, I’m the only person working here who knows Randy’s deep, dark secret.

End of Excerpt!

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