Deal of a Lifetime

"I can't fucking stand you!" she screamed. "Get OUT of MY kitchen!"

"The feeling is mutual, honey, but I'm not going anywhere," he declared, egging her on.

"Vat tis the meaning ov dis...dis...velling?" the maitre'd asked in his thick accent as he burst into the kitchen from the front of the house. "Yous are dee-sturbing my guests!"

"Get that VILE man OUT of my kitchen and everything will be FINE!"

"I hate to tell you, sweetheart, but it's not YOUR kitchen," he said with a smirk as he continued delicately slicing the foie gras she'd had imported just this morning. "It's OUR kitchen."

"Ugh! I can't work like this!" she screamed, throwing her knife down onto the cutting board, then ripping off her chef's hat and tossing it into the sink. She turned and stormed towards the back exit.

"Vait!" yelled the maitre'd. "Yous can't leave! Dinner is avout to ve served!"

"Tell it to the Neanderthal," she said over her shoulder.

After pacing for several minutes, telling one of the waitresses about her kitchen woes, and downing a snifter of brandy courtesy of the bartender, she'd finally calmed down enough to creep back into the kitchen. She'd almost managed to return unnoticed, but apparently he'd been keeping an eye out for her, knowing she wouldn't abandon ship once she'd cooled down. "Ahhhh, the princess is back! Everyone stop what you're doing! We must bow and curtsey at once!" he yelled. He bowed properly, then chuckled, before returning to smoking the fingerling potatoes.

She calmly made her way over to his station, slamming her fist down on his cutting board. "You can cook tonight, but mark my words, you will NOT be in this kitchen before the week is out, do you hear me?"

"Yes ma'am, I hear you ma'am, me thanks you for letting me finish out da night," he said sarcastically before bursting into laughter once more.

"You won't be laughing when you're out of the job, buddy. I WILL be the ONLY head chef around here soon enough," she said before returning to her station.

"You don't have a prayer in hell, darlin'," he declared.

As the night wore on, the two chefs didn't talk to each other, but plenty was said. Elbows were thrown into his ribs, mashed potatoes seemed to keep making their way from his mixer into her hair...the rest of the staff did their best to stay out of the way.

Finally, the night was drawing to a close. The entire staff had gone home...except for the two stubborn chefs. Each was afraid they would somehow get screwed by the other one if they dared take a few hours to sleep. They sat in their respective corners, planning the next week's menu to present to the owner at the meeting first thing in the morning. She was also formulating another plan too, though...she was once and for all determined to rid that disgusting man from her kitchen. She should be THE head chef and not have to share the title with that silly, stupid, disgusting man. She'd had enough of sharing. She WOULD convince the restaurant owner that she deserved to run the kitchen on her own, she decided.

She was lost in her thoughts, thinking about what she'd say to the owner the next morning to persuade him, when the Neanderthal himself came over and sat down next to her. "So, whatchya got so far, honeypie?"

"Go back to your mud hole, you pig," she hissed.

"Put the claws back in for a sec, princess. What're you doing for the fourth course? Beef?"

"You'll see tomorrow morning at the meeting," she said, returning to her work.

"Ok, so you're doing beef...then I'd better plan for seafood," he said, making a note on his notepad.

"I did NOT say I was making beef!" she yelled, throwing her pen down.

"I bet $1 million dollars that you're making Kobe beef for the fourth course," he said as he made more notes.

"Don't you have somewhere to be? Someone waiting for you to come home and annoy them?"

"Nah, just an apartment in Soho. My cat doesn't care when I get home."

She rolled her eyes.

"So," he continued, "definitely beef for course four?"

"Ugh! You're impossible!"

"I'll take that as a yes," he said, jotting more notes.

She ripped his notebook out from underneath him and threw it across the kitchen. "Go fetch, doggy."

He stood up. "You're violent," he said, smirking. He turned his back to her and started walking towards his notepad, which was now laying on the floor.

"And you're an obnoxious pig!" she screamed, as she pulled a ladle off the utensil wall and hurled it at him. He bent over to pick up his notebook just in time to miss being hit with it. He quickly stood back up and looked back at her. She had a slotted spoon in her hand, ready to be thrown in his direction.

"Don't you dare!" he yelled, but it was too late. The spoon was already heading his way. Again, he ducked just in time to avoid being hit with it. "You crazy bitch!"

"I fucking hate you!"

"The feeling's mutual!"

Just then, something caught her eye. She turned her head to see his favorite stock pot sitting freshly washed near the sink. Every chef had a favorite piece of equipment and this was his...at least she had a bargaining chip to get rid of him even if it was only for a few hours. She slid over to it and picked it up.

"Don't you throw that pot! It'll get damaged!"

"I want you outta here!"

"Ain't gonna happen, sweetheart, so get over it...and put the pot down."

"Get out or the pot gets it!" she said, screaming like a lunatic, waving the pot in the air.

"Put MY pot down NOW!" he demanded.

"I will...as soon as YOU get out of MY kitchen!" He took a few steps towards her and she lifted the stock pot into the air. "STOP!"

He stood still on her command. "Put...my...pot...down."

"You're in no position to be making demands," she said, smirking.

"Put it down, I said."

"Get out of here, let me have some peace to finish my menu, and your pot lives to see the light of day."

He huffed as he returned to his station, shoved his notebook into his messenger bag, zipped it up, then slung it over his shoulder. He started to walk towards the door, looking in her direction long enough to say, "It's my cat's dinner time anyhow." Then, he was gone.

She set the stock pot down and went back over to the table, collapsing into the chair with a huge sigh. She was finally alone in the kitchen...the way it was meant to be. Why, then, did she feel SO alone? She couldn't stand that vile man, yet being here alone didn't feel as comfortable as she expected. She didn't have time to ponder it, though. She only had seven hours to finish the menu, sleep, and get back to the restaurant for the meeting.

*****

"Aaaahhhh, yes, this is a brilliant idea, Mia! This Kobe beef dish will fit the fourth course perfectly!" the restaurant owner said to her. Mia beamed.

"And I love the recipe you have here for course two, Jake. How can we go wrong with scallops and citrus aioli?"

"Thank you, sir," he said with a nod. Then, Jake leaned over to Mia and whispered, "I'll take that million dollar Kobe beef bet in unmarked twenties, thanks."

Mia huffed, then smiled at the owner once more.

"I swear, hiring the two of you was the best move I ever made! I have the two best chefs in the city in MY restaurant! No wonder sales are up by 40%!"

"It's a really great restaurant, sir. I'm honored to cook here," she said.

"Aww, Mia, you're a darling."

"So, then, is that the final menu sir?" Jake asked, interrupting their sweet moment.

"Yes, Jake, I think we'll go with your ideas for courses 2, 3, 6, and 7 and we'll use Mia's ideas for courses 1, 4, and 5."

"Excellent! Then we'd better get to work Mia, darling!" Jake said sarcastically, bursting from his chair.

"I'll be along in a minute, Jake...I want to talk to Mr. Daggerfield about something first."

"Ok," Jake said, looking at her suspiciously as he left the office.

"What is it, Mia? Everything ok?"

"Well, no sir, to be honest, Jake and I are having a bit of trouble working together."

"Oh, well, there's always an adjustment period. I'm sure you two will warm up to each other."

"I HIGHLY doubt that, Mr. Daggerfield."

"Sure you will Mia! Give him a chance...he's very talented."

"He is, sir, I agree. I'm just not sure he and I are a good fit. I'd hoped to run my own kitchen...THIS kitchen."

"I see," Mr. Daggerfield said, running his hand across his stubbly beard. He was obviously choosing his next words very carefully. After a long pause, he began to speak. "I appreciate your desire, Mia, I really do, but business is booming with the two of you running the kitchen. You and Jake may not get along, but your culinary chemistry is outstanding. As a business man, I can't dare ruin that by getting rid of one of you."

"I really don't think I can work with him."

"Well, Mia, if you want to work here, you'll have to. That's the deal. Take it or leave it."

She left his office a few minutes later, deflated. She really hadn't expected her bluff to work, but she didn't expect him to be so willing to let her go, either. She knew she wouldn't REALLY quit, but she doubted her nerves would stand up much longer to the Neanderthal. Then, it hit her like a lightning bolt. No, she wouldn't have to quit! What she could do, however, is make HIM quit! She could make his life a living hell! A smile returned to her face as she walked towards the kitchen with a new, better, more devious plan in place.

Upon entering the kitchen, she saw Jake at his station, chopping the black truffles for the Baked Truffle Macaroni and Cheese. He turned and spotted her. "How'd your meeting with Daggerfield go?"

He sounded a little nervous. She LOVED that.

"Great! Really great!" she replied, in a sing-songy voice.

"Glad to hear it!" he said, mimicking her.

She went over to her station, retrieved her knife case from beneath the counter, and began rolling it out...smiling the entire time. She could tell her smiling made him nervous, so she kept it up.

"So when should I expect my million?" he asked.

"A week from never," she said, coldly.

"Ahhh, but you DID do Kobe beef for the fourth course! A bet's a bet!"

"I never bet you," she said smiling.

"Did you notice Daggerfield chose FOUR of my courses for next week's menu? It's exciting that the menu is predominantly composed of MY dishes."

"Congrats to you," she said with a smile. She could almost see his huge ego deflate before her eyes.

They didn't speak another word the rest of the day or through dinner service. Both concentrated on impressing the guests...and the owner. They were on their game...chopping and sauteing and searing like madmen. They inspected every plate that left the kitchen so that everything was perfect. They didn't have time to poke or prod each other...until the dinner service was over.

"Your foie gras was a tad overdone," she blurted out as she was cleaning her knives at the sink.

"My foie gras was perfect," he said as he cleaned his knives at the sink next to hers. "Your Beef Wellington looked a little too crispy, though."

"It was a buttery golden brown as it should be," she calmly replied.

"So, what'd Daggerfield say this morning? After choosing more of my ideas over yours for next week's menu, is he gonna fire me just because you asked him to?"

"What makes you think your name even entered the conversation? Are you THAT much of an egomaniac?"

"Are you gonna stand there and tell me that you DIDN'T tell Daggerfield that you couldn't work with me? You DIDN'T threaten to quit unless he got rid of me?"

"I most certainly did NOT threaten to quit!"

"Ahhh, but you did tell him you couldn't work with me?"

"You're such a pain in the ass, narcissistic, egomaniac pig, ya know that?" she said matter-of-factly as she dried her knives and returned them to their case.

"Takes one to know one, princess."

"Is that all you got?"

"No. Want more?"

"Sure. I dare you." She turned and looked at him, leaned against the counter, and folded her arms, waiting for his response.

"Well, for starters, you're a control freak."

"Name a top chef who isn't."

"Yes, but your controlling tendencies carry over into your life. I bet you have all your shampoo bottles lined up in a row in your shower. Everything in perfect order. I bet your even alphabetize your spice rack."

Lucky guess. She rolled her eyes.

"Ok, I'm right so far. You can't keep a relationship because no man lives up to your standards, but that's only because your standards are so impossibly high. You won't give anyone a break."

"That's NOT true!"

"And you don't trust anyone because your heart got broken badly once, maybe twice. Well buck up, sweetheart, that's happened to everyone." He barely took a breath as he continued. "And in the egomania department, you take the cake. You think you're so perfect and no other chef could possibly come close to you. Well, I hate to shatter your ideals, sister, but there ARE a few of us in your league." She was fuming, but he wasn't yet done. "And I think you have no idea how to have fun...you're too busy making the kitchen your life instead of just your job. You need to let go. Hell, you probably just need to get laid so you won't be such a raging bitch-a-saurus."

She turned, knives in hand, and walked towards her kitchen station without saying a word. Somehow she managed not to stab him.

"No response? I'm disappointed. I thought for sure you were gonna tell me how I have you all wrong," he said as he leaned against the sink and dried his knives.

"You want a response?" she asked, her back still turned. "I'll GIVE you a response!" She set her knives down and picked up a ceramic dinner plate, quickly turned, and flung it in his direction like a Frisbee. Her aim was off, though, and it hit the wall to his left and shattered into the sink.

The few staff members who were lingering quickly ran out the back door...they didn't want to get caught in the middle of the battle. She looked in his direction, full of rage. To her surprise, he burst out laughing. "Now THAT was a response!"

"What the hell is wrong with you? Is everything a fucking joke to you?"

"Not everything, sweetheart, just you," he said nonchalantly.

Without thinking, she turned, grabbed another plate, and flung it in his direction again. This time, she almost hit him, missing his head by less than an inch, before the plate shattered against the wall again. He looked at her with wide eyes. "Closer. Getting mad, are you?"

"Fuck you!"

"Ya know what else...I really don't see why the owner thinks you're such a great chef. Are you sucking his cock on a regular basis or something? I mean, I've seen better side dishes at TGI Friday's and better prime rib at Outback Steakhouse. You've really got a lot to learn, honey."

Mia lost it. REALLY lost it. She picked up one plate after another and began flinging them like Frisbees in his direction. Most of them missed him, crashed against the wall, and fell into the sink in pieces. A few, however, hit him in the head and shoulder as he did his best to dodge them. Finally, though, the stack was gone. She paused. He put his hands down and looked up at her.

Almost simultaneously, they both spotted another stack of plates about 3 yards away that had just been cleaned after dinner service and returned to the kitchen for the next day. They both took off towards the plates. Mia reached them first and grabbed the first plate, flinging it at him. He was too close, though, and it missed him, flying just over his left shoulder. She grabbed another and had it up in the air at the ready, but he grabbed her wrists, slammed her back up against the cool stainless steel ovens that had long since been turned off, and held her there with his own body weight. She dropped the plate in her hand and it fell to the floor and shattered.

"Enough!" he screamed.

"I hate you!" she screamed back, a fire in her eyes.

"I hate you, too!" he yelled back at her.

They both stood there steaming...nostrils flaring, eyes raging, breathing hard. "I want you gone!" Mia ranted as she tried to break free from his grasp.

"I want...." his voice trailed off as he looked at her writhing beneath him.

"What do you want?! Spit it out, you fucking moron!"

"I want...." he could barely believe what he was thinking, let alone say it out loud.

"Say it!"

Without another word, he leaned in and kissed her hard. She struggled beneath him, trying to break free from his grasp. He held her wrists tight against the oven as he shoved his tongue into her mouth to taste her. She writhed a bit, feigning a want to escape...she soon realized though, to her surprise, that she didn't want to break free. Finally, she quit struggling and allowed the kiss to happen, even kissing him back a bit. When he thought it was finally safe, he let go of her hands and circled his arms around her waist, drawing her into his body. She pushed against his strong, broad shoulders instinctively, but his kiss became more and more insistent. As his tongue roamed her mouth, she quit fighting him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him back. She ran her fingertips through his wavy black hair. He, meanwhile, already had other ideas.

Jake scooted over to the stainless steel countertop, Mia in tow, and lifted her up onto it, continuing to kiss her roughly. His hands moved down to her breasts, squeezing and kneading them. Although he'd barely even admitted it to himself, she had the best tits. He'd found himself staring at them more than once. She had to be at least a D cup...and he could tell that her nipples were hard as rocks beneath her thin bra and her chef's jacket. He slid his hands down her sides then down her thighs. She always wore a skirt on "meeting day", which Jake currently appreciated. He pushed it up until her black, silk panties were visible.

He reached down, unbuckled his jeans, and unceremoniously pulled out his stiff cock. Before she could attempt to tell him 'no', he pulled her towards the edge of the table, pushed her panties aside, and buried himself inside her. They both audibly sighed in relief as his thick, hard cock penetrated her soft, soaking-wet canal. She dug her fingernails into his shoulder as she tossed her head back. He held her tight against his body as he thrust his cock into her over and over again. He kissed her passionately and sucked her neck as she moaned. She spread her legs wider to accept more of him. He, in turn, pushed further into her.

He needed more, though. He ripped open her chef's coat with both hands, leaving her to lean back and hold herself up by placing her hands flat on the countertop behind her. This forced her chest to push out towards him. She looked up at him, catching the fire in his eyes. Even she couldn't deny that she'd never been so turned on in all her life. He reached down and unclasped the front clasp of her bra. When he let it go, her bra sprang back and her breasts sprang forward. He wasted no time lifting her right breast up to his lips and taking one of her nipples into his mouth. He flicked his tongue out across it making it stiff and, in turn, making her moan in ecstasy. He circled his free hand around her waist, holding her close to him again. Meanwhile, he never stopped his assault on her cunt. He kept thrusting, fucking her with all he had.

Finally, his hand dropped from her breast and snaked down her belly. He slipped it beneath her skirt, over the top of her panties, and immediately found her hard little nub of a clit. He pressed against it with two fingers and she jerked. He let her nipple fall from his lips and stood straight up again, staring at her. She wasn't sure what to do...she sat still, staring back at him. He snaked one hand up her back, leaving the other hand on her clit. He grabbed a handful of her long, wavy, auburn hair and pulled her towards him. As his tongue entered her mouth once more, his fingers began to move in small, rough circles over her clit. She sank into his deep, overwhelming kiss...his hot mouth enveloping her as their tongues entwined.