Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 32772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 164(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 164(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
“They taught you well in school. I hate when teachers try to tell the students that taking shortcuts is okay. Because flavor matters. Flavor is what gives your food the edge you need to keep people coming back.”
“I like edge,” I say, my voice breathy.
Monroe smiles and licks his lips as he turns to face the counter. I'm peeling potatoes, one after the other and dropping them into a giant bucket. The room smells starchy, and acidic from the lemon. But I can't stop shifting my attention to him.
His muscles bulge and tighten, creating a wave that spills down his back as he cuts the lemons. His neck thickens as his arm lifts, and he glides the knife through the rind. His skin glistens under the overhead lights. The thin sheen is on his neck and arms, making him sparkle like a cooking god.
I'm mesmerized. I can't take my eyes off his back and arms. I want to feel his hands on my body and his arms wrapped around me. My brain runs wild with more images of him taking me. On the counter. Against the wall. Using my body anyway he wants.
This guy is going to drive me to insanity.
“So,” he says. “How do you like your meat?”
“What?” I ask, snapping out of my daydream.
He flicks his head over his shoulder, his eyes landing on mine. “Your meat? Rare, well done, how do you like it?”
“Oh, medium. I like it medium.”
“Medium is good. Soft and juicy, pink in the center, and it melts in your mouth.”
God damn, what is he doing right now?
The way he's talking is making my body defy me. I don't want to be turned on by my boss, but I am. I don't even want to think of him this way, but he's making it hard not to. I can feel my panties dampen and my pussy start to pulse. It's wrong. So very, very wrong.
I just can't stop it.
“Shit,” he says, setting down the knife. “I need some heavy cream. I need to make the filling for my lemon meringue.” He walks to the fridge in the back, giving me time to get myself together.
I exhale a slow breath and close my eyes. Settle down, I think, trying to calm my body. Being alone with him, so close like this, is making every cell in my body buzz with electricity. My nipples are hard, and my thighs keep tensing, trying to stop the ache between my legs.
Get it together, Arisa. This is your job now, get used to being around to him.
When I open my eyes, I realize I just finished the last potato. Time for the brisket.
Monroe comes back in the kitchen. I wipe my hands and smile as I say, “All done. Looks like it's time to learn a secret.”
“All right,” he says. Crossing his arms, he taps his chin. “How about this? Since, there's no way for me to know how well you can keep your lips sealed just yet, we both share a little something. I think it's only fair that since I'm sharing a secret with you, you should share a secret with me. It can be my extra security.”
“So, you want something to blackmail me with?”
“Not in those words, but yes.”
My brows raise up and my mouth curls into a playful smirk. “Share a secret with you?” I think about it for a second. “If I say yes, what's in it for me?”
“You'll be learning the best brisket recipe on the east coast.”
“Yeah, but you'll be learning a secret about me. I'm not sure that's a fair trade.”
“Okay, well, maybe we can make this a little bit more interesting. How about you guess what you need for the recipe, and for every ingredient you get right, you can keep your secrets to yourself. But, for everything you get wrong, you have to tell me something.”
A big smile forms on my face and I nod in agreement. “I like that better.”
Monroe leans back against the counter and folds his arms over his chest. “Me too. All right, I'm sure you learned in school about rubs, what do you think the brisket recipe has in it?”
There's a giant rack of spices against the wall behind me. I spin around and start to read all the labels. I know it needs salt; every good rub has salt.
“Salt,” I say, pulling the bottle from the rack.
“That's the easiest one. What else?”
“Garlic.” He gives me a nod. “Onion.” He nods again.
“I might be getting the short end of the stick here,” Monroe says with a chuckle.
“No, these are just obvious.” I pull out the black pepper, and oregano next. But now I'm not sure. “Hm,” I hum out.
“Ah, this is where it gets interesting. Go on, what's next?”
“I'm thinking,” I say, letting my fingers dance across the different spices.