Kitchen Boss

He sets the tray down on the table in the corner.

As I glance at the table, my eyes go past the alarm clock. Wait. What time is…?

Another wave of panic washes over me as I realize it’s already almost nine. And it’s Monday. What the hell? I’m late for work.

I sit up and swing my legs out of bed but find myself unable to stand because of my headache.

Shit.

“Ken is so going to kill me,” I mutter.

“No, she won’t,” Jackson tells me as he turns around. “I’ve already called her and told her you’re not going to work today because you’re not feeling well. I figured you’d have a hangover.”

“And whose fault is that, hmm?” I glare at him. “Who was the one who told me to drink wine?”

“I told you to taste the wine,” he reminds me. “You were the one who asked for full glasses.”

“You also told me you wouldn’t get me drunk.”

“Well, I shouldn’t have. I realize now that you can’t stop someone from getting drunk. That is entirely up to them.”

I frown. “So you’re saying it’s my fault I got drunk?”

Jackson doesn’t answer that question. Instead, he grabs the glass of juice from the tray and brings it to me.

“Here. Drink this.”

I look at him. “Are you going to say it’s also my fault we had sex?”

Jackson grows still.

“Well?”

His face grows somber as he sets the glass down on the bedside table. “If you’re asking me if you were the one who initiated it, yes you did.”

My eyes grow wide. No way.

“Why would I do such a thing?”

“Because you were drunk, and when you’re drunk, you tend to be more honest with yourself and more willing to act on your desires.”

I give him a puzzled look. “You’re saying I’ve been wanting to have sex with you.”

“Haven’t you?” Jackson asks me.

I look away. True, there have been times when the look in his eyes made me feel hot, when a brush of his fingers made my heart stop. I’ve looked at him and wondered how it would feel to have a man’s body next to mine. And fine, maybe I’ve wondered how sex with Jackson would be like.

Does that mean I’ve been wanting to have sex with him?

“You should have said no,” I tell Jackson. “You should have pushed me away.”

“I tried.”

“Not hard enough.”

“Maybe,” he admits. “I haven’t had a woman since Evelyn died, so my self-control is a little rusty.”

The confession takes me by surprise. I’m the first woman he’s been with since his wife died?

Still, I frown. “You promised me that nothing would change because of our ‘engagement’. We’re just supposed to be… a fake couple. We’re really a boss and an employee. Or friends. Nothing more.”

“So it’s my fault that I indulged you?”

“I didn’t want you to!” I raise my voice then bow my head as I shake it. “I wasn’t expecting you to. I thought you saw me as a little sister. Didn’t you say I was practically family?”

“Because you work for me,” Jackson says. “I treat everyone who works in my restaurants as part of my family.”

Oh. So that’s what he meant.

“And for the record, I never saw you as a little sister.”

My eyebrows go up. What?

“But you’re right,” he goes on. “It’s all my fault. I’m your boss. I shouldn’t have told you to drink. And I’m older than you. I’m the experienced one. I was the sober one, the one who was supposed to be thinking clearly. But I didn’t. I let my emotions and my senses carry me away. I gave in to desire.”

I fall silent. I should be glad he’s taking the blame. Instead, the pain in his voice is just making me feel more guilty.

“But my biggest mistake is that I thought you’d grown up. Clearly, I was wrong about that.”

Jackson leaves the room. I lie back on the bed and put the pillow back over my face, my head hurting even more than before.

Now what have I done?

~

By noon, I decide I’m tired of doing nothing all day.

Besides, I feel better. Thanks to the pain reliever Jackson brought me, a few more hours of sleep and a shower, my headache is nearly all gone. After throwing up one more time and then eating the soup he made for me, my stomach feels more settled. My back doesn’t hurt anymore, either, and I’m no longer sore. Or sticky. I am feeling guilty for being mean to Jackson when he came to my room to take care of me, but physically I’ve just about made a full recovery, so I see no reason why I should stay at home.

I change into some work clothes and head to the front door. I find myself unable to go through, though, because someone is standing right in front of it, seemingly about to ring the doorbell.