Page 386 of Savage Bosses

“Thank you for the good food, Ms. Dupree,” he whispered. “But I need something sweeter. I can’t wait until you get off work, so I can have my favorite dessert, that pussy. And don’t worry about giving me a napkin. I won’t need it. I want to make a mess with that pussy. I want your juices to drip down my chin. And I promise not to be wasteful. I’ll even lick my plate clean.”

Damn it, Bryce!She forced a small smile, trying to maintain her composure in the crowded restaurant.

“You’re welcome, sir,” she replied softly, her voice trembling slightly. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your meal. Meet me at my place tonight for your dessert.”

As she turned to leave, Bryceson reached out and gently grasped her hand, sending a jolt of electricity through her body. His eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her feel exposed and vulnerable. Though she was at work, she couldn’t resist intertwining her fingers with his. He squeezed her hand tenderly.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

Just when she was about to say she’d missed him too, they were interrupted.

“Excuse me,” came a terse voice from behind her.

Tatianna rolled her eyes. She didn’t have to look back to know who it was. That voice and tone belonged to Marco, the sous chef. She glanced over her shoulder to find Marco staring down at her and Bryce’s clasped hands with a barely concealed scowl on his face.

Jealousy flickered in his eyes, irritating Tatianna as it always did. She didn’t want a confrontation with him here. And she didn’t want Bryceson to do something crazy. It would be best if she just went back to the kitchen.

“Sorry, Marco. I’m getting back to work now,” she stammered, pulling away from Bryce and hurrying back toward the kitchen.

She cast one last look at Bryce to find him glaring at Marco. Bryce hated the Sous Chef, which was why Tati wanted to separate the two. Thankfully, Marco followed her back to the kitchen, where the clatter of pots and pans drowned out the sound of her racing heart. Tatianna rushed over to her station.

“Everything okay?” Marco asked from behind her, his tone icy.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?” she asked, avoiding his gaze as she busied herself with her next dish.

“Just asking. Tati, I worry about you and…”

“Thanks for asking,” she rushed to say, determined to bring a quick end to their conversation.

Marco must’ve caught on to her intent because he stormed away from her station. But she knew Marco well. He’d be back. Ever since he found out who her boyfriend was, he’d been pestering her about it. She knew he was concerned about her, and like many people, he was afraid of the Cattaneo family.

But she didn’t need his concern. With a sigh, she pushed Marco and his concerns out of her mind and tried to focus on her work. But focusing was still hard because no matter how hard she tried to ignore them, the memory of Bryce’s words lingered in her mind like a sinful temptation.

“Why him?”

Tatianna looked back. Marco had returned, as she’d expected.

“Why does it have to be him?” Marco pressed, his jealousy apparent in the tightness of his jaw and the fire in his eyes.

“Shouldn’t you be working?” Tatianna whispered, desperate to avoid the brewing confrontation.

“I’ll get back to work when you answer the question.”

Damn!Was she going to have to report his ass for harassment? She’d been trying not to. But this was getting worse, and he no longer seemed to care that others saw him behaving this way.

“Just answer the question,” he pressed.

“My private life is none of your concern, Marco! Damn!”

“Fine,” he snapped, turning away to focus on his own tasks.

But most of the kitchen staff had already heard the exchange between them. Ignoring the sensation of embarrassment that crept over her, she continued working. The tension in the kitchen was palpable, and Tatianna felt all eyes were on her.

“Order up!” she called out, sliding the finished dish onto the counter for the waitstaff to collect. In the background, she could hear the murmur of conversation from the dining room, punctuated by laughter and clinking glasses.

“Here you go,” she said to the back staff, who came and got the plate, forcing another smile as she handed off the plate. “Table six.”

“Thanks, Tatianna,” Lisa replied with a sympathetic glance, aware of the undercurrents of jealousy and resentment simmering beneath the surface of the bustling kitchen.

---