Page 10 of For the Record
Sawyer swallowed, the thickness in her throat making it difficult to speak. “You too, baby,” she rasped, dropping the call lightning fast. “Pull it together,” Sawyer scolded, her voice rough in the vehicle’s silence. “There’s not a damn thing to cry over anymore.”
“Where’s my beef filet! That Michelin star isn’t working for itself, people.” Sawyer checked the timestamp on the chit hanging on the line. She hated when orders were late going out to the dining room. It was unprofessional and usually resulted in Sawyer or her manager kissing someone’s ass and giving them a percentage off their meal. An utterly avoidable compromise if she had a competent team working with her.
“Hot behind!”
“Here you go, Chef.” Two plates of steaming beef filet with a Rossini-style sauce slid in front of Sawyer, waiting for her final inspection. Micah looked up at her expectantly, wisps of bluehair tumbling from their cap. Unshed tears brimmed past their long eyelashes. “Sorry, Chef. I-I had a little mishap with the seasoning.”
Sawyer gritted her teeth, exhausted from all the excuses this shift. All it took was firing Dustin to throw her team out of sync the entire supper rush, but it couldn’t be helped. Kelly, her front house manager, had caught him in a compromising position with a server mid-shift. There wasn’t enough time for fraternization on the best of days, let alone using a fleeting “bathroom break” to screw a coworker in a storage closet.
“Hold on a minute, Micah,” she replied when the young cook turned to leave. Sawyer focused on the plates, giving any smudges of sauce an efficient wipe before sprinkling garnish over the top. She handed them off to the waiting server. “Give table twenty-seven our sincerest apologies and discount both meals.”
“Certainly, Chef.” Connor thanked her and took off out front.
“Barb and Shane, cover the line, okay?” Sawyer held up her hand, indicating they’d be gone for five minutes or less.
“Come with me,” Sawyer instructed the young employee, not waiting to see if Micah followed. She walked swiftly through the kitchen, heading into her back office, where she leaned against the desk. Micah entered, dragging their footsteps. Their head hung low, and every few seconds, Sawyer caught the quick squeeze and release of their fists against their pant leg. Hell, Micah looked as if they were headed toward their own execution. Which was ridiculous, considering Sawyer couldn’t afford to let more staff go during service. Despite what everyone on shift might have thought, Sawyer didn’t make a habit of firing the help so close to rush hour.
“Problem-solve with me, Micah. How can we ensure I don’t have to apologize to any further customers tonight? Do you need to take your break and regroup?”
“I’m … wait, you’re not firing me?” Micah blurted, their flushed cheeks and wide eyes the epitome of confusion. Sawyer silently shook her head, and after more sniffling and tear wiping, Micah continued in a low voice, “I’m good, Chef.”
“Are you certain? Because I need you at your best out there, and I’m not just talking about the recent dish. Accidents happen when your mind isn’t in the game.” Sawyer shot a pointed glance down at the fresh burn mark on Micah’s wrist. Gauze covered it now, but the wound was a not-so-subtle reminder of how dangerous a busy kitchen was.
“I didn’t know Dustin was cheating on me,” Micah sobbed, stepping closer, and Sawyer stiffened when it looked as if the young person might try to hug her.
“Excuse me?”
Sawyer breathed in, trying to find the sympathy required in her role as head chef. Some days it was harder than others, sympathizing over trivial bullshit when the personal lives of her staff had no business there in the first place. “Micah,” she said, aware of the hardness still in her voice. Ah, fuck it. Sawyer was who she was, and sympathetic wasn't it. “I’m sorry about Dustin, but workplace romances are overrated, not to mention the distraction can lead to accidents in the kitchen. I hope you’re able to learn something from this incident.”
Cis men are not to be trusted.
No, that wasn’t right. Not all men were like Dustin and Olivier. Some out there surely treated their partners with the respect they deserved.
Micah nodded, accepting the tissue Sawyer handed them off her desk. They gestured to their face with one hand, looking demurely up at Sawyer. “Did that happen when you weren’t paying attention?”
Sawyer scowled, her own hand reaching up to touch her left cheek. The thick layer of foundation hiding the jagged, roughedges usually dissuaded questions from her staff. She gave Micah a small nod, just enough of a reply to satiate their curiosity. Swallowing down a lump of unease from the reminder, Sawyer marched past to the door. “Let’s get back out there.”
“Tonight went well despite everything, don’t you think?” Barb said two hours later as she waited for Sawyer to lock up Desmarais. “Shane seems to be catching on, and the customers left happy.”
“It was a good day,” Sawyer agreed, shouldering her duffel bag. They started out to the parking lot. The rest of her staff had left about ten minutes before, but Sawyer liked to do one last check throughout the restaurant before leaving for the night. Barb always waited for her, even though Sawyer had told her before how unnecessary it was. She loathed small talk even more than watching people squirm during awkward conversations with her.
Her SUV came into view, the shiny black of the brand-new back tire stealing her focus. Just like that, the irritating mechanic who had helped came to mind. McCoy, with her endless flirtations and annoying, know-it-all grins. Sawyer had been so thrown off by the day before, she’d forced herself to stay put in the rain to prove a point. There was no way she would have let that arrogant womanizer get the upper hand and see how flustered she’d been. Sawyer could have reached for her umbrella in the back seat, but when her retort of loving the rain slipped out, she didn’t have the gumption to go back on it.
Now, Sawyer couldn’t help but revel in the irony of her predicament. It was true she was searching for someoneknowledgeable to rebuild the McLaren, but McCoy could be the last mechanic on the face of the earth, and Sawyerstillwouldn’t call on her.
“Good night, Barb. Thanks for today,” Sawyer told her, unlocking her car. She gave her sous-chef a small wave before climbing into the Rover. She watched Barb do the same and waited for her to leave before following her out of the parking lot.
Chapter 6
McCoy
Fuck, I think I’mdead. I think she finally killed me.
Coy sagged against the restraints fastened to the St. Andrew’s Cross, unable to hold herself up for another second. There wasn’t a single part of her body left untouched by Frankie, but as Coy floated on a wave of peaceful subspace, the earlier pain had long since ceased to exist. Purple dots danced behind her closed eyes as a mist of fog enveloped her mind and body. She couldn’t muster up enough energy to flutter her lids open and see what Frankie was doing. The clang of buckles on the leather straps as they came off from around her ankles was just white noise, and yet, she was vaguely aware of her legs giving out, boneless from the time spent in such a rigid position.
“You did so well, my pet. So very well.” Frankie’s voice sounded far away, like she was in another room. Strong arms scooped Coy up, and seconds later, the restraints around herwrists came free as well. Then, she was being carried across Frankie’s playroom toward the bed. Coy’s smile was sleepy, almost dreamlike, and she nuzzled into Frankie’s embrace.
She came aware again to a warm washcloth passing over her abs and then lower, between her legs. Her eyes flickered open, Frankie’s curvy form coming into view above her. Her legs were folded underneath her on the mattress, and she was still wearing a pair of lacey underwear and an unbuttoned blouse sans bra. The curve of one heavy breast teased McCoy as Frankie bent lower, and she stared lazily at the tantalizing hint of flesh.