Read Her New Boss: A Rouge Erotic Romance Online
Authors: Michelle M. Pillow
Tags: #Romance, #Erotic Fiction, #Adult
Her New Boss: A Rouge Erotic Romance
Contents
About the Book
Aspiring chef Zoe Matthews has lost her job and all hopes of a satisfying future. If that wasn’t bad enough, she’s just publicly shot down her one and only chance at culinary redemption. Restaurant mogul Jackson Levy is determined to teach the rude city-slicker a lesson in manners. What Zoe thinks will be a head chef position at one of his fancy restaurants turns out to be a job at a small town diner. Can this city girl and a country boy find common ground? Or is this just a Her New Boss?
About the Author
Michelle M Pillow is a well-known US author of erotic romance novels, and considered one of the leading lights of the fasting growing genre of female erotica – paranormal romance.
She is the author of
Bit By The Bug
,
Her New Boss
,
Degrees of Passion
,
Fierce Competition
and
Opposites Attract
, also available from Rouge X.
Also by Michelle M Pillow:
Bit By The Bug
Degrees of Passion
Fierce Competition
Opposites Attract
Her New Boss
Michelle M Pillow
Chapter One
Upper West Side, Manhattan, New York City
‘YOU ARE AN
arrogant, no-talent jerk-off who wouldn’t know the difference between tagliatelline and conchiglioni pastas if they bit you in the ass!’ Zoe Matthews yelled, hands on hips as she glared up at the head chef who happened also to be her boss. Chef Antonio Contiello’s deceitfully charming smile faltered and his dark-green eyes narrowed in warning. She didn’t care if he was angry with her. ‘And by ass I mean that over-bloated thing you call a head!’
Dark-brown hair would have touched Contiello’s chin, had it not been smoothed back into a short oily ponytail. Unlike the others in their white traditional hats, her boss didn’t wear anything over his head – unless it was for a publicity photo shoot. Zoe often mused that he was so arrogant he probably thought a piece of his hair in someone’s meal would only enhance the flavor.
Zoe sucked in a deep breath, barely aware of the audience their argument created in the back kitchen of the upscale Italian restaurant,
Sedurre
. The room gleamed, from the silver countertops to the brand new appliances and the stainless steel pots and pans. They were cluttered together to make the most of the tight space. The metal shone because it had been freshly polished. She’d spent an hour
and
a half cleaning before starting her prep duties. Janitorial services were not exactly what she’d been hired to do, but ever since the original owner, Mr Gregor, had died of a heart attack, Chef Contiello had become even more of a tyrant – at least towards her.
Apparently, Widow Gregor had a thing for cute, rumoured-to-be-gay men who got television air time. She let him have complete run of the restaurant, making the entire staff’s lives hell. At least when Mr Gregor was alive, he had been able to keep Chef Contiello’s totalitarian urges reined in. Life inside the kitchen wasn’t like anywhere else in the world. There was a hierarchy, a code, and in this world Chef Contiello ruled supreme. What the chef wanted, he got. Until now. Until Zoe.
The evening workers were there in full force, preparing for one of their busiest nights. Each of them had matching eight-button conventional chef jackets with stand-up collars and vented cuffs for easy rolling – not that Contiello ever allowed rolled cuffs in his presence. Cooking was dirty work, but you’d never know it by looking at their boss.
Tonight was special and only one dish would be prepared for the exclusive crowd. The renowned Chef Contiello planned to debut a new culinary masterpiece. Tables had been booked for weeks and the waiting list could fill the restaurant to capacity three times over. Tension ran high behind the scenes, but it wasn’t the extra workload that had caused Zoe to yell.
‘Watch your tongue, Matthews,’ Contiello warned, his Italian accent a little too thick, especially for a first-generation American who’d been raised in English boarding schools. His parents had been born in Tuscany.
‘I can’t! I’m too busy watching my back, you son of a –’ Zoe couldn’t finish. Contiello slashed his hand up in the
air
, as if threatening to strike her. The moment was brief before he pointed to the back-alley door.
‘Get out of my kitchen, Matthews,’ he yelled. ‘You’re fired! I never want to see you back in here, not even to pick up your last check. Send one of your sisters because if I ever see you in my restaurant again, I will have you arrested.’
It became hard to breathe. Suddenly, the kitchen stoves seemed to surge with heat, stifling her until she wanted to scream. She fought the urge to claw at her chef jacket. The need to get out of the kitchen, out of the restaurant, Contiello’s presence, the very city, overwhelmed her.
‘You’re the one who should be arrested,’ Zoe swore under her breath. Her oldest sister, Megan, was a police detective. Surely Megs could find something to throw this guy into prison over. Or perhaps her photographer sister, Kat, could take some pictures of him with a male lover and ruin his reputation. Contiello might act like the sophisticated lady’s man who flirted with rich old ladies, but everyone on his staff suspected the truth he tried so hard to hide. And the sad fact was that no one cared, no one but perhaps the rich, old sugar-mamas that toted him around like a big, male doll.
‘You are just jealous that you will never possess one ounce of the cooking talent I have in my pinkie finger!’ Contiello held up the small digit, pointing toward the ceiling in vindication. ‘It is my pleasure to be rid of you. Gregor should never have promoted you to sous chef. The only reason he gave you the job was because your brother-in-law, Dr Richmond, bribed him with museum function patronage. Now go, you no-talent dishwasher.’
She wanted to insult him, but nothing would come from her closing throat. As she stepped toward the back door, a violent shiver worked its way along her spine. What had
she
done? Chef Contiello would never give her a recommendation for a new position. Without his word, no one would hire her.
Zoe kept her head up, faking a confidence she no longer felt as the last threads of her temper slipped, only to be replaced by fear. Everything she had worked so hard for lay behind her. A low murmur started amongst the staff and a heavy pot clanged, causing her to jolt in surprise. Soon, other sounds of cooking stirred behind her. Life in the
Sedurre
kitchen was going on without her.
Turning, she glanced at Contiello who still watched her intently. For the briefest of moments, she thought to beg his forgiveness and try to salvage what career she had left. The head chef gave a smarmy, knowing look. He wanted her to beg him, but he would never forgive. Her chance to be a great chef with her own kitchen someday had never seemed so far away. At the age of 27, her life was over.
She had two options. Cry and run, or scream and run.
Ah, what the hell
, she thought. Zoe chose neither.
Arching a brow, she stated so everyone could hear, ‘And your new walnut sauce tastes like boiled sewer rats!’
Contiello’s expression hardened. Those in the kitchen gasped in shock. Zoe gave him a vindictive look and stormed her way out of the restaurant, slamming the metal door shut behind her. Anger kept the ominous, anxiety-causing walkway between buildings from penetrating her senses as she marched along the uneven concrete toward the lamplit street. Pale evening sky darkened the sidewalks with heavy shadows and the cool early-spring air gave a chill she didn’t feel in her frustration.
Already cars were pulling up along the curb, ushered away just as quickly by red-uniformed valets. Pulling the hat from her head, she found herself walking toward the
front
of the building, staring into the windows. The long, skinny building could only fit two rows of tables down each wall, leaving a single walkway for the waitresses to go down the middle. Brown vinyl booths were along the sides in the far back, surrounded by more crowded tables. White walls, matching tablecloths and linen napkins gave testament to the minimalist decor. There were a few paintings of Venice and Rome but, aside from the vases of fake flowers, that was it.
‘I should have just kept my mouth shut and let him have the damned recipes,’ Zoe whispered to no one in particular. A valet brushed past her. Normally, they didn’t have workers parking cars, but this was a special night after all. If people liked Contiello’s new dish, he’d be offered his own cooking show and endorsements, and with them a lot of fame and money. Every part of her wished she could say he didn’t deserve it but, though an asshole, Contiello was a well-trained, talented chef.
A slight vibration along her thigh caused Zoe to look away from the window. She reached for her phone and pulled it from her pocket. Flipping it open, she said, ‘Hello?’
‘Hey, sweetie, I thought I’d get your voice mail,’ Kat said, her voice bright. ‘You have a second to talk?’
Zoe glanced around. ‘Yeah, I think I have a second or three.’
Kat couldn’t have called at a better time. Even though it was through a phone line, just hearing one of her sisters’ voices made her feel as if she wasn’t so alone. She sniffed. Though her nose burned with the threat of tears, her watery eyes began to dry. In total there were five sisters – Megan, the oldest at 30, then Kat, Zoe, Sasha, and the baby, Ella. Zoe didn’t get to see Ella as much as she’d like,
because
the youngest had joined the navy. The other three often came to
Sedurre
for lunch when Zoe was alone cooking in the kitchen.
Their parents hadn’t been blessed with sons, so instead they’d pushed for son-in-laws. Megan was married to a forensic photographer. Kat had married an entomologist, Dr Vincent Richmond, who ran his own laboratories in the DJP Department of Entomology at one of the museums on the Upper East Side. He was filthy rich, adorably absent-minded, and lacked the arrogance that ran prevalent in the rest of his family. Kat had just given birth to their daughter, Mariah. The chubby babe had the same fair complexion as all Matthews women and the blonde hair inherited from Zoe’s mother, Beatrice, just like Zoe, Kat, and Ella. Megan and Sasha took after their father’s dark brown.
‘I just wanted to wish you luck tonight on the big event. May Chef Tyrant meet with success that takes him far from
Sedurre
so you can have his kitchen!’ Kat laughed.
Zoe sighed. ‘You should’ve called ten minutes ago and wished me a quiet tongue. I just yelled at my boss and got fired.’
‘What?’ Kat demanded, her tone instantly changing. ‘Where are you? At the restaurant?’
Zoe started walking down the long street. She hadn’t taken anything to work with her besides twenty dollars in her shoe and her phone. ‘I’m walking home.’
‘Are there no taxis?’
‘Can’t afford it, especially now,’ Zoe said. ‘But stay on the line and keep me company?’
‘Hail a cab and get over here. What’s the point of a rich husband if I can’t at least buy you a ride? Vincent’s still at the lab working, but one call to his mother and I’ll have
Chef
Tyrant out on his ass by morning. And one call to an old friend who shall remain nameless and that restaurant will be filled with rats and cockroaches.’
‘I’ll be right over.’ Zoe gave a small laugh. Even as everything around her crumbled her sister still managed to cheer her. ‘Don’t call Mimi and don’t sabotage the restaurant. Too many people work there. I just want to get out of this uniform and maybe drink up a good portion of your husband’s wine collection.’
