Chapter 1
T here isn't a trap door in the floor of his apartment that's going to open up and drop me out of sight. I only have one choice. I have to turn around. I need to pretend that I don't know him even though last night I literally sat on his gorgeous face and had more orgasms than I can remember.
"Jess." Cassandra's tone is more insistent now. "Turn around."
I place the photograph of Nathan back onto the fireplace mantel before adjusting the collar of the chef's jacket that Cassandra gave me earlier. "I want you to look professional for this, Jess. It's a very special occasion." The words she spoke just a few hours ago ringing in my ears with more irony than she could have ever imagined. How is it even possible that the man I've been sleeping with is dating my boss? There are how many millions of people in Manhattan and I have to crawl into the bed of the one man I desperately should avoid? Idiot, Jessica. You are a grade A idiot.
I feel as though I'm moving in slow motion as I twist on my heel and spin around. I can't look at him. I'll just stare at her.
"Jess." She's motioning towards me with her hand. "Come over here."
My legs feel as though they're weighted with an extra ten pounds each as I drag my black flats across the hardwood floor.
"This is Jess." She wraps her arm around my shoulder pulling me into her body. "She's my chef."
"Jessica," Nathan says my name. The name he calls me when he's deep inside of me and I'm screaming out in pleasure. I wish I could pull my hands to my ears and block out his voice. I wish I could quit this job on the spot and tell Cassandra that her boyfriend spends every night at a club looking for someone to fuck.
"She likes to be called Jess." Her arm drops from me and she twirls around so she's facing him directly.
"Jessica," he ignores her correction." You're her chef?" The emphasis on the word her barrels through me like a freight train. Her, the woman he's dating. The woman he sees outside the hotel.
"Yes." Cassandra gives him a nod. "She's new. I wanted to tell you about her but..." her voice trails when the shrill sound of a phone ringing bites through the air. She fishes in her purse before pulling it out. "It's work. I need to take it."
"Go in the kitchen. It's private." He exhales in a rush.
"I'll be right back." She taps him lightly on the chest before she rushes down the hallway, chattering into the phone.
"Happy birthday," I drawl once I'm certain she's out of earshot. "You're how old now, thirty-one? That's how many in disgusting, cheating asshole years?"
"Stop it," he says huskily. "I'm not cheating on anyone."
"Your girlfriend would disagree with that." I shoot back. Does he seriously think I'm an idiot? Maybe he hasn't realized I have a brain since we haven't spent more than twenty minutes in total talking since we met.
"Cassie's not my girlfriend." His tone is clipped. "You don't know what you're talking about."
I squeeze my eyes shut at the mention of the endearment. Cassie . He calls her Cassie. Of course he does. She's his girlfriend. She's not one of the random women he fucks in his hotel suite. She's not like me.
"You're a fucking liar," I seethe through clenched teeth. "She's a good person and you're a cheating bastard."
"Shut up," he hisses at me. "Listen to me..."
"I should tell her." I turn on my heel, indignation racing through me. "I'm going to tell her what an asshole you really are."
"You're not going anywhere," he growls as he pulls on my elbow.
I spin back around, my hand slapping him so hard across the face that his head snaps to the left.
"What the fuck?" His hand darts to his cheek. "How the hell did you end up inside my apartment with her?"
"Fuck you." I bite back in a hushed tone. "Maybe it's because there's only six degrees of separation between your cock and every woman in Manhattan."
"What?"
I narrow my eyes at him. "There are more places to go to find a woman to fuck than just that club. You met her at that club, you
T here isn't a trap door in the floor of his apartment that's going to open up and drop me out of sight. I only have one choice. I have to turn around. I need to pretend that I don't know him even though last night I literally sat on his gorgeous face and had more orgasms than I can remember.
"Jess." Cassandra's tone is more insistent now. "Turn around."
I place the photograph of Nathan back onto the fireplace mantel before adjusting the collar of the chef's jacket that Cassandra gave me earlier. "I want you to look professional for this, Jess. It's a very special occasion." The words she spoke just a few hours ago ringing in my ears with more irony than she could have ever imagined. How is it even possible that the man I've been sleeping with is dating my boss? There are how many millions of people in Manhattan and I have to crawl into the bed of the one man I desperately should avoid? Idiot, Jessica. You are a grade A idiot.
I feel as though I'm moving in slow motion as I twist on my heel and spin around. I can't look at him. I'll just stare at her.
"Jess." She's motioning towards me with her hand. "Come over here."
My legs feel as though they're weighted with an extra ten pounds each as I drag my black flats across the hardwood floor.
"This is Jess." She wraps her arm around my shoulder pulling me into her body. "She's my chef."
"Jessica," Nathan says my name. The name he calls me when he's deep inside of me and I'm screaming out in pleasure. I wish I could pull my hands to my ears and block out his voice. I wish I could quit this job on the spot and tell Cassandra that her boyfriend spends every night at a club looking for someone to fuck.
"She likes to be called Jess." Her arm drops from me and she twirls around so she's facing him directly.
"Jessica," he ignores her correction." You're her chef?" The emphasis on the word her barrels through me like a freight train. Her, the woman he's dating. The woman he sees outside the hotel.
"Yes." Cassandra gives him a nod. "She's new. I wanted to tell you about her but..." her voice trails when the shrill sound of a phone ringing bites through the air. She fishes in her purse before pulling it out. "It's work. I need to take it."
"Go in the kitchen. It's private." He exhales in a rush.
"I'll be right back." She taps him lightly on the chest before she rushes down the hallway, chattering into the phone.
"Happy birthday," I drawl once I'm certain she's out of earshot. "You're how old now, thirty-one? That's how many in disgusting, cheating asshole years?"
"Stop it," he says huskily. "I'm not cheating on anyone."
"Your girlfriend would disagree with that." I shoot back. Does he seriously think I'm an idiot? Maybe he hasn't realized I have a brain since we haven't spent more than twenty minutes in total talking since we met.
"Cassie's not my girlfriend." His tone is clipped. "You don't know what you're talking about."
I squeeze my eyes shut at the mention of the endearment. Cassie . He calls her Cassie. Of course he does. She's his girlfriend. She's not one of the random women he fucks in his hotel suite. She's not like me.
"You're a fucking liar," I seethe through clenched teeth. "She's a good person and you're a cheating bastard."
"Shut up," he hisses at me. "Listen to me..."
"I should tell her." I turn on my heel, indignation racing through me. "I'm going to tell her what an asshole you really are."
"You're not going anywhere," he growls as he pulls on my elbow.
I spin back around, my hand slapping him so hard across the face that his head snaps to the left.
"What the fuck?" His hand darts to his cheek. "How the hell did you end up inside my apartment with her?"
"Fuck you." I bite back in a hushed tone. "Maybe it's because there's only six degrees of separation between your cock and every woman in Manhattan."
"What?"
I narrow my eyes at him. "There are more places to go to find a woman to fuck than just that club. You met her at that club, you
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