“Why not plan something? Ask friends? People you like – not necessarily business associates. Vanessa and Sophie? You like cooking so why not make the most of a space like this?”
I looked at my feet. Remembered that I’d just woken up. Had bed hair and morning breath. It had been a long time since I’d had a man in my house.
“I should probably get a shower.”
“Why?”
“Because I look a mess.”
“You look like you just woke up. And slept well. Take the day off. Go shopping. Have a spa day at Sophie’s – that’s what she does, right?”
He was mashing avocado, adding chilli.
“I need to work.”
“Why?”
My mouth opened and closed like a goldfish’s a few times because there were both a million answers as to why I had to and several as to why I didn’t. Today. For once.
“Toad Hall.”
“So go over there. Have a look round. Play with the menu and tinker with flavours. Enjoy it because you’re passionate about food. Then go relax. Thursday is an easy day.”
It was. Neither Blue nor the Mount Street Social opened until seven pm, giving all staff an easier day. Food was a fickle business. It wasn’t the best paid until you got to the top – my chefs did well – but lower down the pecking order it was poor because there were so many people who wanted a career in food, which also meant there were a lot of people who were doing it because of an image or had the notion it was easy. It wasn’t. It was fucking hard.
“I’m not used to having downtime.”
“You’re the boss, it should be a perk. Or you should be using that time to plan dinners here where you can woo the influential.”
He had a point.
I sat down, aware that I was wearing an oversized t-shirt and very little else. No make-up, no brush through the hair. No bra. I was wearing underwear, so that was one tick in my favour, but given that the room wasn’t the warmest, my nipples were giving the game away that I could do with a dressing gown. Or turning the heating up. I wrapped an arm across my breasts and looked up at Jack, aware that his eyes were on me.
“That doesn’t really help.”
His eyes shifted from my boobs to my face.
“Sim, I’m male. I like boobs.” His eyes headed back down then up again like a yoyo. “Shit. Sorry. You have really good boobs, by the way.”
“I’ll go and put a dressing gown on. Or get dressed. I’m not used to having people here.” In fact, I figured Jack was probably only the ninth or so person to have been inside since I’d moved in.
“You don’t need to on my account. Morning suits you.” His grin was wicked.
I sent him daggers and went back to my bedroom, catching sight of my reflection. My hair was wavy and my skin looked clearer than it had done for weeks. I pulled the t-shirt in and noticed that I had lost weight, unsurprising given the busy days and the lack of regular food breaks. But the girls did look good.
I changed into sweats and a hoodie, finger combing my hair. Something tightened in my chest when I thought about the man currently cooking me breakfast, wearing his clothes from the night before and smiling. Smiling at me.
Nerves gripped me. This ocean was unchartered. I couldn’t remember what to do with attraction and I’d connected the dots and figured I was attracted to Jack. Who was my employee. I guessed he wasn’t repulsed by me, or my boobs either, but this couldn’t go anywhere, which I knew were usually the famous last words.
He was putting his used pots in the dishwasher when I went back into the kitchen, the radio on to a station playing fifties music. His foot was tapping.
I leaned against the doorframe and watched him. For a big man, he could move well. When he was younger I suspected he’d been slimmer, more lithe. He turned around and caught me watching.
“Come here.” He beckoned me over.
“What?”
He beckoned again, the music changing to a track I recognised from Dirty Dancing. I’d seen the film enough.
