“Walk upstairs and take your clothes off, you’ll be noticed.”
“Fuck, even the thought of that scares the shit out of me. I don’t know how you do it.”
“I don’t. I watch other people do it.”
“Why don’t you? Flex could strut around this club with his dong swinging, and his swagger wouldn’t falter for a second.”
“His confidence is endless.”
“It got him the woman of his dreams. He must be doing something right.”
“You’re right.” A year ago, I would’ve considered Flex the eternal bachelor. I pitied him at times, thinking myself so superior to have found a long-term sub. How wrong I was. Now, I’m an onlooker to his happily ever after, with no submissive standing at my side.
I hear her laughing across the room, and it’s more than I can stomach, so I drain my glass, say goodbye to Eli, and head upstairs to find solace for the night on the voyeur floor.
Chapter 7
ASPEN
Working at Dulip is a dream come true. I come home every night exhausted, sweaty, and too tired to shower. I’ve simply started peeling off my clothes and crawling under the covers naked before sleep takes hold in a matter of seconds.
I’m no stranger to hard work, but it’s always been doing mundane tasks. Stacking shelves, folding clothes, waiting tables. This is the first time in my life that I’m cooking and earning money for doing so. It’s not much. I mostly shadow Leonard, but he has me help with the basics. I’ve sautéed onions and made béchamel sauce, such small tasks that I find completely thrilling.
It’s been four weeks since I stopped waiting tables, and although my basic wage is higher, I lose out on tips. I’ve always made great money that way. I’m always enthusiastic, attentive, and efficient, plus, it helps that I’m somewhat pretty. It’s not a big deal. This job isn’t my main source of income, so I’m not sweating it. Heck, I’d work for free if I had to. My other job more than pays the bills, and I live in a lovely apartment by anyone’s standards.
I’ve been putting money aside for years, waiting for the day I have enough to open my own restaurant. Of course, I’ll needto wait until I’ve worked my way up in someone else’s kitchen. I may have a dream, but I’m not stupid or cocky enough to believe I can open a restaurant without a hell of a lot more experience than I have now. Chefs like Ryder Stevens don’t come along that often, and when they do, their success is born of hard work, training, and a good head for business.
I’m close to having the capital. This past month marks the beginning of working in the best kitchen in Manhattan, and I’ve been taking business classes online for the past six months. It doesn’t leave me much free time, but I’ll sleep when I’m dead.
I find myself putting a little extra into my appearance since I started working with Ryder. I try to convince myself that it’s just the excitement of my new job, but I definitely spend longer in front of the mirror on the days I know I’ll be seeing him. I know it’s dumb because he’s my boss, and he’s Ryder Stevens. He’d never look twice at a woman like me, but a girl can dream. There was a moment that day at the restaurant. I thought for a split second that he was going to kiss me, but it was only because I invaded his space with an unprofessional hug and kiss for giving me this opportunity.
Neither of us has mentioned it, and I understand that it was one-sided. I’ve seen pictures of him online with beautiful women who look nothing like me.
From afar, Chef Stevens is undeniably handsome by anyone’s standard, but up close, he’s hot as hell. I’m mesmerized by every detail when he’s at my side. The way the tightly corded muscles of his arms move when he kneads dough. How graceful his hands move as he cooks, in a decadent dance. The way he shakes his head to get his dark blond hair off his face. He could be memorialized in marble next to the David and put him to shame. He’s lean but muscular, and his skin is tanned by the gods.
Tonight, I’m working alongside Leonard, and as excited as I am to be in the kitchen, there’s a pang of disappointment thatI won’t see Ryder. I shove that feeling down into the darkest recesses of my mind where it belongs. This is my career. A man isn’t going to derail that for me, even if he’s completely unaware of what he does to me every time he smiles my way.
I shove my jacket in my locker and slip into my chef’s whites. Rick appears at my side. “How’s life on the other side?”
“Hey. I feel like we haven’t talked in ages.”
“I know, girl. You totally ditched me for the hot chef. How dare you.” He laughs.
“I haven’t ditched you.”
“To be fair, I’d ditch you if he looked at me the way he eats you up.”
“Shut up. He’s professional and way out of my league.”
“Bullshit. That man is lucky to breathe the same air as you, Aspen. You need to get with the program, girl. You’re hot as fuck and everyone but you knows it.”
Rick is my biggest supporter next to Jude. Considering we both find the same guys sexy, I don’t put much stock in his opinion of my sex appeal. I’m pretty, but I am not beautiful, elegant, or in any way modelesque.
“It doesn’t even matter. He has no interest in me outside of food.”
“Yeah, eating it off your naked body.”
“Stop. I won’t be able to look him in the eye.”
