Page 21 of Shades of Ruin

“Yes, chef,” I call out like the obedient little kitchen slave I’m meant to be.

“Good. Now get this service finished so we can clean up and go the fuck home.”

“Yes, chef!” the entire kitchen shouts in unison.

I feel a large, ominous presence at my back, and I don’t have to turn to know Greyson is standing behind me. The other chefs are so intent on finishing up the rest of their tasks as quickly as possible that no one notices when our executive chef’s rough hands land on my hips. He fists the ties of my apron and jerksso that it squeezes hard against my stomach, but the stirring in my core has absolutely nothing to do with the sudden pressure. And I pretend that the instant pounding of my heart is fueled purely by rage and not the way he’s pressing himself against me. Or the hardness at my back that I’m almost certain is his cock.

Does tormenting me in the kitchen get the sadistic asshole hard?

“Take this dirty thing off,” he growls against my ear, his fingers moving to undo the ties. I know I’m covered in raspberry and sugar and the remnants of broken stoneware, but I don’t know why he’d care. “I don’t want any of those fuckers seeing you when you’re filthy.”

Oh. The way he says it sends fire roiling in my belly. I can’t be certain if he means he doesn’t want me embarrassing him in front of his patrons, or if his harsh words have a more intimate meaning. Before I can make up my mind or quell the inconvenient wetness between my thighs, he adds in a smooth whisper that tickles the back of my neck, “No one but me, that is.”

Jesucristo maldito.

The complete change in his behavior leaves me stricken, and I stand frozen as he strips the apron off me and throws it on the floor. The last act feels a bit aggressive, but I don’t have the bravery to call him out on it right now. Grabbing my shoulder, he turns me around to face him. His expression quickly darkens when his eyes roam over me.

“Why the fuck can I see your tits through your shirt?”

Mierda. I immediately cross my arms over my hardened nipples to cover them, hoping no one other than him noticed. “You didn’t bring me a bra when you raided my fucking closet this morning,” I hiss, trying my best to keep my voice down.

The bra I was wearing this morning smelled like sweat and sex after my self-care session with the desk, and I went without it, knowing my apron would conceal enough that no one wouldknow. Of course, I didn’t bank on Greyson stripping it off in the middle of the damn kitchen. My tits are so big that there’s no missing them, my dark nipples glaringly noticeable through the see-through material of my white button-up.

“You can’t go into my restaurant looking like that. Any asshole will be able to seethosefrom a mile away,” he snarls, his fierce eyes latched onto the sharp points of my nipples.

“Then let theservershandle dessert like they’re supposed to.” He’s the idiot forcing me to go out there to prove a point. I’m just as happy to remain safe in the kitchen and not suffer his latest punishment. Maybe going without a bra was the best decision I’ve made in a day of very questionable ones.

“No,” he grits out. “You’re going to go out there, serve Liam’s shitty dessert, and take your punishment like the naughty little chef you are becauseI said so. And you’ll do it with a smile on your pretty fucking lips.”

“Fine,” I spit, making sure to push out my tits so they’re even more obvious. I plaster the most poison-tipped smile on my face and add a spiteful, “Whatever you say, chef.”

“Christ, not like that.” He jerks me back toward him and starts to undo his own black apron. “Here,” he sighs, throwing the warm material over me. I try not to fixate on how it smells like him. “This should at least make you somewhat presentable.” He ties it tight enough around my waist that it almost hurts to breathe. “Don’t you fucking take it off until everyone in this kitchen has left for the night.”

Rolling my eyes at how he can be so possessive and yet so detached at the same time, I mutter a “yes, chef” and head to where Liam is waiting for me, looking smug. I pick up two of the desserts and start to make a run for the dining room.

“Ah, ah, ah, you’re forgetting something, Flores,” Greyson calls from the other side of the kitchen.

Groaning internally, I smile viscously at Liam and bite out the words, “Thank you for fixing my fuck up.”

“I better hear that every time you pick up a dessert, Flores. If you forget, you’ll be scrubbing dishes all night.”

Stifling the urge to stab my boss in a major artery, I hold my head up high and head into the dining room. Thankfully, the diners don’t even notice the change in staff. We’re all faceless to them, less worthy of attention than the plates their dessert is served on. I make my rounds quickly, trying to get the menial servitude over with quickly. I tell Liam thank you every time, dying a little on the inside each time I do. But I suppose the humiliation is better than staying late and doing clean up on my own.

On my very last round, I’m unfortunate enough to catch the attention of the only person in the room who does notice I exist. And I really fucking wish she hadn’t.

“What areyoudoing out here, Flores?” Collette asks, sauntering over in her too-tall stilettos to corner me before I can reach my last table. “Shouldn’t you be sweating over a hot stove or scrubbing grease stains off pots? Greyson likes to keep the front-facing areas of the restaurant pretty and presentable. I’m sure you can understand. Scurry to the back with the rest of the staff before someone sees you.”

Her uppity French accent and feline features would set my teeth on edge even if she didn’t have a toxic as fuck attitude. As it is, she’s Grey’s resident bitch and my least favorite person to run into. She’s Greyson’s oldest employee and friend from Paris, so he won’t hear a bad word about her. When I told him about her trying to sabotage my interview, he brushed it aside as a misunderstanding. Which it definitely wasnot. Collette has had it out for me since day one. I know how to handle a bully, but she’s a little more dangerous than most.

“Chef’s orders,” I snap, trying to sidestep her and get to my table.

“Oh, did someone get in trouble with Chef again?” she tuts, mock sympathy in her voice. “I hear you’ve been receiving lots of extra discipline lately.” The way she says it makes my skin crawl. Before I can slip away, she has me cornered against the wall. “Grey certainly likes to dole out punishment, but he’s usually more discerning about who receives his attention. What’s so special about a muddy little piece of trash like you?”

“Piss off, Collette.” I try to push her to the side, but she stabs the razor end of her stiletto into my foot and uses her few extra inches of height to keep me trapped. “If you don’t get your goddamn shoe off me right now, I’ll break off the heel and use it to fuck up your pretty face.”

“Ugh, you’re feral,” she hisses as she takes a step back. “It’s a wonder you haven’t given us all a disease yet.”

“Just let me serve this dessert, and you won’t have to look at me for much longer.” I almost think she’s ready to give up and let me suffer in peace, but then her eye catches what I’m wearing.

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