Authors: Karolyn James
With a lackluster social and love life, Amanda Mitchell spends her time serving food and drinks, taking verbal abuse from a miserable chef, and avoiding the restaurant owner's wife for fear of having to work yet another double shift. The only real pleasure in her job is when billionaire businessman, Alexander Porter, is in town.
Normally, Alexander Porter comes into the restaurant with associates or clients, but tonight, he’s come alone. All of her co-workers make it a point to let Amanda know that he’s looking at her. Feeling flushed, she is shaking as she serves him his dinner. Alexander has a proposition for Amanda… he wants her to get out of her shell and explore her wildest desires. Amanda must choose. Will she work another double or enjoy a night with a billionaire?
She has twenty minutes to decide...
The small bell rang for the third time and Amanda Mitchell cursed under her breath. She rushed along the main floor of the restaurant, her ponytail pulling behind her, feeling like a chain, hoping that none of her tables stopped her for another request.
She made it to the last table, the kitchen door in sight. She could see into one of the small windows as the head chef, Emilio Rockner, moved left to right, looking like a ghost in his white attire.
A hand reached out and grabbed her wrist, stopping her.
Amanda stopped and looked down to the woman. She had to be well past the middle age point of her life yet she insisted on dressing and putting enough makeup on to give the allure that she was in her late thirties.
“What can I get for you?” Amanda asked.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Emilio reach out and slam his fat hand on the bell in the back. The ringing pierced Amanda. Part of her wanted to turn and kick the kitchen door open, grab the bell and drop it into the deep fryer.
What restaurant still used a fucking bell like this?
“I could sure go for a cup of coffee,” the woman said.
“No problem,” Amanda replied. Her eyes moved to the three other patrons at the table. “Anyone else?”
The other woman looked her husband, as if she needed approval for a cup of coffee. Her husband looked at her and nodded.
“We’ll take coffee too,” the other woman said.
“Ah hell, make it four,” the final member of the group called out.
Amanda offered one last smile and then snuck away to the kitchen.
She stood at the hotplate and took the two plates waiting for her. Her eyes were locked onto the back of Emilio, praying he wouldn’t turn around. He never had anything nice to say and it seemed he hated his life for being stuck in the kitchen of a semi-fine dining restaurant.
It wasn’t Amanda’s fault for that, and if anything, she understood how he felt. Her dream job certainly wasn’t serving food to people five to six nights a week. Hell, it didn’t even cover all her bills, thanks to mounting debt that continued to mount. Amanda knew how much time she had left to borrow on her credit cards before everything came to a head but she didn’t want to think about it. Thinking about it made her sick.
She managed to get the plates into her hands while Emilio scolded one of the line cooks for not gripping a steak the right way.
She turned, feeling home free, when the door to the kitchen opened again.
If there was anyone else equally terrible in the restaurant, it was the owner’s wife. Barbara Shameski looked like a clown. That was easiest – and nicest – way to put it. Her eyes were always caked in shades of blue and she wore a red lipstick she that didn’t do a thing for her lips. She drew her lipstick line past her lips, perhaps to give the illusion of big, pouty lips, but anyone who saw Barbara expected her to pull a balloon from her pocket and twist it into a dog.
“Amanda, so glad I found you,” Barbara said. She stood taking up the way out of the kitchen.
“Yes,” Amanda said. “I have to get these plates to ta-”
“We’re short tonight,” Barbara said. “As always. We need you to cover a double.”
“Barbara, the food…”
“Beverly called off,” Barbara said. “Her hip’s bothering her again. Poor thing. Wish she could just get it taken care of. She’s so afraid of surgery. Like, come on, what year is it?”
Amanda cringed hearing the word
coming from a woman as old as Barbara.
The plates felt like weights in Amanda’s hands. Her muscles grew sore as she inched towards Barbara. It would be the only way to get her to move.
Barbara owned a restaurant but refused to do anything with it. She hated dirt. She hated grease. She hated touching other people’s food. She basically hated anything to do with the restaurant, unless it was the end of the night and it came time to count the cash. Even then, she didn’t actually touch the money but rather sat at the bar sipping a glass of wine, tapping her foot, waiting to hear the total for the day.
As Amanda moved towards Barbara, she stepped to the side.
“So, Amanda, can I count on you?” Barbara asked.
Amanda had planned for a relaxing evening on the couch with Grey’s Anatomy. It was her pathetic thing to do on a Thursday night, but sometimes it was all that kept her going. She often fantasized about touching herself while watching Grey’s, working herself into the story line. She tried once or twice but it just felt weird, so she would wait until an episode was over so she could turn out the lights. A friend of hers suggested a
to which Amanda blushed and giggled.
It had been too long since she had a man in her life, and sadly, it had reached a point of almost no return. When days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, it actually became harder for her to try to decide on a man or relationship. The saddest part was that she worked in a restaurant where a lot of businessmen came for drinks, dinner, and meetings, not to mention the bar always being full. She could have really just picked and chose, that is, if she was looking for one of those one night stand hookups.
Amanda blinked and looked at Barbara. “Yes, you can count on me.”
“Good, I figured, but Charlie always makes me ask…” Barbara rolled her eyes.
Charlie was Barbara’s husband. The inner workings of their marriage scared Amanda to death. She was certain that Charlie had his name on everything and the only way Barbara got any money was when she had sex with him.
Amanda had her foot out, touching the door, when she sensed Emilio. A second later, his voice boomed, “Ah damn, Mandy, get that food out there! Come on, girl.”
Amanda looked over her shoulder to Emilio’s dark, hate filled eyes.
“Quick staring at me and get serving,” he called out. “I do my job and you hold me up. Do your job.”
Taking the high road, Amanda opened the kitchen door and hurried to her table. Of course, they were at the farthest end of the restaurant and after holding the plates for what felt like two days, her arms felt like rubber and she wanted to cry.
She served the food and the party of two, a man and woman, dug in and enjoyed. Next stop was to get the coffee for the table near the kitchen.
She filled a carafe with fresh coffee and balanced it in the middle of a tray with four coffee mugs, sugar, and a silver container of creamer.
As she stood, perfecting her balance, her only friend in the restaurant, Becky, came rushing towards her. Her brown curly hair was always messy and there was nothing Becky could do about it. It added to her charm and suited her perfectly once you got to know her.
“Holy shit,” Becky said and smiled wide, almost bouncing the last few steps to Amanda.
“What’s wrong?” Amanda asked.
“He’s here… he’s here… holy shit, he’s here…”
. Your boyfriend. Alexander Porter…”
Just hearing his name made Amanda’s heart flutter. Her body warmed over like she were standing in front of a raging fire. Her cheeks were burning already, red as apples, but that compared nothing to what was happening inside her body. Becky said something else but Amanda didn’t hear her. She mentally begged herself to not get turned on…
do not get turned on
Amanda bit her lip as she felt the soft moisture between her legs.
She was wet.
“He’s sitting in your section again,” Becky said.
Amanda couldn’t respond. She just walked by Becky, feeling her panties moving, almost squishing between her legs, all thanks to Alexander Porter.
She turned the corner and made her way out to the table that needed the coffee.
First things first.
As she did, she couldn’t help herself as her head turned to the right, to the left corner of the restaurant, where all the businessmen usually sat. There was always one corner booth saved and left empty, unless Alexander Porter was there.
And sure enough, there he was, sitting with his arms out across the top of the booth. He didn’t just look around the restaurant or even aimlessly stare. His eyes, his dark eyes, even from their distance, were locked on Amanda. When she made eye contact with him, Alexander Porter half smiled and winked.
Amanda moaned and then felt the tray with the coffee, mugs, sugar, and milk slide from her hands.
When Amanda regained all her senses – including the wild flood of sexual energy pouring in and out of her body thanks to Alexander Porter – she smiled and batted her eyes.
“Glad you think this is funny.”
Amanda then realized she was standing in front of Emilio.
She looked at his white getup, only seeing the usual dirty spots of being a chef. Thankfully she didn’t find a large coffee stain on his clothes. If that were the case, it would be something that would never be lived down in the restaurant.
On the floor, a much bigger mess waited. Most of it was the creamer as the lid opened when it hit the floor. The carafe, however, did its job, not wasting a drop of coffee.
Becky came to Amanda’s aid, crouching down next to her with a few towels.
“You okay?” Becky whispered.
“Shit, I didn’t even see Emilio,” Amanda said back.
“Yeah, you were eye fucking Alexander Porter.”
Amanda’s cheeks reddened again as another wave of heat came over her.
“I want this mess cleaned up,” Emilio said. “We aren’t McDonald’s here. This is a great restaurant.”
Amanda looked up and could see the enjoyment in Emilio’s eyes; two women on their hands and knees at his feet, cleaning.
“What are you looking at, Mandy?” Emilio asked. “All you do is hold this place up. It’s a wonder why Charlie doesn’t send you packing.”
“Don’t you have something to cook?” Becky shot at Emilio.
Amanda admired Becky for her ability to be such a bitch. It was like she had an internal switch that could just flip whenever she wanted it to.
“Yeah, I do,” Emilio said. He left the conversation end at that but not before sliding his foot forward, under one of the creamer soaked towels and flipping it towards Amanda. It smacked her arm, splashing creamer on her silky skin.
Amanda sighed and slowly felt herself deflating.
“What a fucking asshole,” Becky whispered.
Amanda just nodded. She tried to casually look over her shoulder at Alexander Porter.
What the hell was she thinking?
Did it even matter that he was here?
It had been months now since Amanda first waited on Alexander Porter, and it had been months since she had fantasized about the sexy, suit wearing businessman. He was tall, thick, and spoke in a clear voice that didn’t need to be mean to be commanding. He could speak with his eyes too. Those who joined him at the restaurant were usually on the other end of a business deal that always resulted in a firm handshake from Alexander Porter.
Amanda had tried to investigate a little into her hot crush, learning from here-say and a Google search, that he founded an international company called Porter, Inc. which handled business mergers and acquisitions, along with several small tasks right down to financing. It turned out the billionaire had earned so much money, he ended up buying the bank that used to finance him. The bank hit hard times during the economy collapse and instead of switching banks, Alexander Porter came up with an undisclosed amount to not only save the bank, but actually buy it. On top of that, he was known for buying entire neighborhoods of foreclosed properties and homes, saving people’s houses, and turning them for a profit when the time came.