Finally, I collapse into the couch when I make it home from the office. It's been two weeks since I slept with my boss, and I've barely had time to think about it. A few days after it happened, one of the baseball players Stag Law represents was arrested for drunk driving with a prostitute in his car. The office has been a mess for ten days--constant frenzied meetings behind closed doors. Everyone is tense. Tim even had to miss his trip to the Stanley Cup final because of a court date.
I've been working long hours, not just to make sure there's food for the Stag Law staff, but Donna explained that we'd be hosting prosecuting attorneys and even city officials, not to mention MLB executives. I've kept the sophisticated fare flowing.
My sister brings me a mug of tea and snuggles up next to me on the couch. I rest my head on her shoulder and sigh as she turns on the Great British Baking Show. My favorite. "Did he talk to you today," she asks.
Of course I told my sister what happened during the hockey game. I shake my head. "I didn't even lay eyes on him. I never see him. So it's not like he sees me and acts weird…he's just neck deep in this baseball scandal."
"And how are you feeling about it all?"
"Honestly, I don't know! I still think he's hot as hell, Aim. That was the best sex of my life. Easily. No comparison. But what are we going to do? Fuck once a month and then go about our business? He works around the clock, and he missed his brother's world hockey final...whatever it's called. You know family is the most important thing to me. The most important thing." I give her shoulder a squeeze.
"Is Ty upset that he couldn't be there? I mean…when you play sports for a living, maybe it means less if your family can't come to a game. And weren't you a willing participant the last time he missed some of his brother's game? Something about sneaking off and doing the nasty in the conference room in the arena?" She nudges my shoulder and I blush.
I slurp my tea and watch the show, hoping to change the subject. My sister asks me about my menus, and I smile, proud of what I've come up with this week. I did three meals a day for the general staff while offering pastries, herbal tea, and--as Donna requested--calming, comfort food for the big wigs. I'd made everything from savory crepes to strawberry-rhubarb tartlets this week, highlighting local produce. I made simple quiche with ramps, cucumber sandwiches. Fruit salads with mulberries I picked right here in the neighborhood. "Aim, I know you don't know a ton about this stuff, but I did all the ordering, timed it all perfectly, took delivery of the eggs from the Amish farmer for God's sake."
I sigh and she says, "When you talk about your day, you look so happy. I want you to be happy, Al."
"I am happy! I had no idea it would feel this good to fully control a kitchen like this. Maybe I wish things would slow down a little bit."
Three more days pass and I only see Tim when I walk into the conference room to deliver the trays of lunch. He doesn't look up at first, because he's so focused on the paperwork he's reviewing with one of the Stag Law attorneys. Something catches his eye, though, because his head turns to where I'm setting out plates. I smile at him, shyly, and feel myself blush when he returns the smile. He doesn't miss a beat, though, and resumes analyzing the paperwork.
I stop back two hours later to clear everything away and find most of the suits have gone. Tim and his staffer are still at the head of the table, and a man I recognize as one of the MLB executives is seated across from them. I smile and lean in to grab the empty tray and I freeze when I feel a hand on my back.
"Are you the sweet thing who brought us these sweet things?" The MLB suit winks at me, his hand lingering. I freeze. Anywhere apart from work, I'd punch him and tell him off, but I'm very aware that I could jeopardize the company's professional relationship with the professional baseball league. What a fucking prick, I think, sliding away from his hand. I'm about to force a smile and duck out of the room when I hear a crash.
I look up to see Tim bursting from his chair, the impact sending it flying into the radiator behind him. "Mitch," his voice is dark and menacing. "Get your hands off--"
Mitch throws his hands up, a smarmy grin on his face. "Woah, woah, easy there. It's been a long day, fellas."
My eyes dart to Tim, who is breathing heavily through his nose, lips pinched into a tight line. Mitch rises and gathers his things, saying, "I think we did all we're going to do for this anyway. I thank you boys and I'll see you tomorrow morning at the courthouse to file the motion."
As he leaves the room, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. I grab what's left of the trays and head back to the kitchen to clean up. By six o'clock, I can hear the halls are quiet. I'm sitting in my office, bent over my notebook jotting down my thoughts for next week. I'm pretty engrossed in developing a new recipe, because I need to get my mind off that creep. That definitely wasn't the first time some asshole put his hands on me in the restaurant industry. I'm sure it's nowhere near the last, either. But it was the first time I felt like the choice to react to it wasn't my own.
When I worked in the neighborhood restaurant, the owners didn't tolerate that sort of behavior and didn't mind losing a customer if he got handsy and I gave him a piece of my mind. This was a totally different power dynamic. I make a note to talk to Donna about having someone else deliver the food for the conference meetings. Surely there's an intern or something. I don't want to be near those jerks.
I feel my brow furrowed as I try to concentrate. My notes are all over the place. I bury my fingers into my hair, twisting absent-mindedly. I hear someone open my office door, and it startles me. I forgot anyone else was here.
I look up to see Tim, glassy-eyed and disheveled. His tie is loose, and his hair tousled. He leans against the doorframe and just stares at me.
"Tim. Do you want to…come in? Can I get you some water or something?"
He shakes his head slowly but doesn't move. "Alice Peterson," he says, hooking his thumbs into his pants pockets. "I've been…celebrating...our latest victory."
I snort as the fumes reach my desk. It's a small office and he reeks of alcohol. "I can tell." I reach beneath my desk where I've got a case of bottled water. I walk to the door and hand it to him and his fingers linger on mine as the bottle changes hands.
He drops my hand and takes a long pull on the water, leaning his head back against the doorframe. "I fucking hated seeing that fucker's hands on you, Alice. Did you know that?" I nod. He continues. "But then the whole time I was 'celebrating,' I kept thinking. I'm no different from him. I'm not better than him. I'm just some slimeball who fucks his employees."
"Tim, no--"
He scoffs. "I have lost all my control, Alice. All my discipline." He starts tapping his temple with the neck of the water bottle. "I'm distracted. You know what happens when people get distracted?"
I shake my head, starting to worry about him. He must be really drunk. Should I call one of his brothers, maybe? I wonder if he'd give me his phone…
Tim's voice drops to a whisper and he leans close, stroking my cheek. "People get hurt when I get distracted." He swallows and leans his forehead against mine. I've wanted to be close to him like this for weeks, but now I'm not thinking about sex. I'm worried about him. I wrap my arms around him and pull him down into a hug.
"It's ok, Tim."
He shakes his head, but wraps his arms around me. I hear him inhale deeply, feel his hands in my hair as he folds his body down into my arms.