Chapter 9
Ava’s Pov
“Are you spying on me?”
Somehow, Ethan got a photo of my supervisor, Mr. Dillon, and I laughing at a stupid joke I made while at work. As far as I was aware, Ethan had not come in to the restaurant at all during my shifts.
“I did.” Ethan admitted, “But you’ve been coming home late and tired. I wanted to know what my wife has been getting herself into.”
“I was at work!” I defended, zooming in on the picture to show Ethan I was wearing an apron and gloves. “I got a job at a little restaurant as a pastry chef.”
Ethan cocked his head to the side very slightly.
“Why would you need a job?” He asked, as though he genuinely couldn’t believe I wanted to work. “If you need money you only have to ask, I will give you whatever you need.”
His voice was soft. My pride got the better of me when I replied.
“Your money is yours, mine is mine,” I insisted. “Besides, you already gave me more money than I could ask for for my mother’s treatment. I’m working to pay you back.”
Ethan shook his head at my reply, “Those medical bills are nothing for me. I can pay them ten times over and still provide you with an allowance that makes your salary look like pocket change.”
My bottom lip puckered out in a slight frown. Ethan didn’t understand me, and how could he?
To Ethan, the CEO of a largely successful corporation, menial jobs in the food service industry must seem so pointless. It was a modest job for someone like him, sure, but for me it was one step closer towards a lifelong dream. I couldn’t imagine giving it all up just because I was told I could be gifted whatever money I wanted.
My morals wouldn’t allow that.
“Look,” I said, with no hope of changing his outlook. “I want to work, so that’s what I’ll do. The contract stipulates that we don’t bother with each others’ affairs, alright? So, don’t fuss about my job and I won’t fuss about yours.”
Ethan raised his eyebrows and nodded his head, though I still didn’t feel like he understood me. The frustration over our differences bubbled up in my chest and I had to excuse myself to go to bed.
Maybe if I worked more and earned better money, he would understand what this job meant to me.
I started working even harder at the restaurant, and staying longer too. My supervisor and I grew to be a great team when working together. He understood and listened to many of my concerns in the business, and also supported my experimentation with recipes and new desserts.
Together, we created four new menu items and three new icing flavors. I felt like, for once, I was making progress in the right direction and actively making contributions that helped the business grow.
One night while we were closing, my supervisor started telling me how wonderful of an employee I had been to him.
“Ava,” Mr. Dillon, my supervisor, called me over to the register. “Great work tonight. I couldn’t have done any of it without you.”
I beamed at him, bowing my head to say thanks.
“You have been a great mentor,” I told him. “I’ve learned so much from you.”
Mr. Dillon grinned and something in him changed. He started taking a few steps closer to me.
Confusion overtook my mind. I took a few steps back away from him as he continued moving nearer. He had a strange look on his face, his eyes were dark with something I couldn’t understand, and his lips curled in a sinister fashion.
“Mr. Dillon?” I swallowed when my hips hit the edge of a dining table. I couldn’t move back any more.
That didn’t dissuade him, though. He came nearer until our abdomens were brushing against each other, so close that we shared the same air as we breathed in and out.
He licked his lips and raked his eyes down my body.
“I’m so thankful for you,” He whispered in his low, rumbly voice. It didn’t sound as appreciative as it had before. It was a dark sentiment with mal intent. His hand came up to my side and he ran his fingers from the top of my knee to just below my hip.
I panicked, his touch making my skin feel ice cold, slimy. I reached behind me on the table and grabbed the hot kettle that was sitting there. I opened the lid of the kettle and threw the boiling water in his face.
He screamed and hit the pot from my grip, making the water pour back onto my hands and forearm. A cry of pain erupted from my throat involuntarily, but I couldn’t focus on my own pain.
I used the distraction to push Mr. Dillon away from me and ran out of the restaurant. I barrelled through the front doors, hearing the loud curses of my supervisor behind me, and sprinted as far as I could until I felt safe enough to stop. I hauled a taxi and got a ride to Ethan’s villa.
I cried the whole way back.
When I made it through the doors of the house, I heard Ethan on the phone with someone in the living room. I snuck past him so that he wouldn’t see my wounded hand and tear stained cheeks, and went up to my room to take a shower.
I needed to get the feeling of Mr. Dillon’s touch off my skin. I felt betrayed by his advances and disgusted all the same. I really thought Mr. Dillon saw me as an equal, a teammate. But he only ever wanted our relationship to be inappropriate.
I laid out some clothes on my bed and went into the bathroom that was attached to my bedroom. My hand was throbbing in pain, I could see bits of skin that were already peeling from the burn. I ran some cold water over the raw flesh, but it hurt too bad.
White spots danced in my vision and I had to stop.
I needed to shower, then I’d deal with my hand. I got into the tub, careful not to let the warm water touch my hand, and reflected on what happened.
Was there something that made Mr. Dillon believe that I was attracted to him? Did I say or do something that convinced him that I was interested? Why me?
A million questions floated through my mind as I scrubbed the spots on my legs that he touched. Nothing could erase the feeling of his cold hands on my thigh, but I thought adjusting the showerhead to have a stronger water flow would help.
I tried to stretch further, but my footing slipped.
I lost my balance and fell onto my side, hard. My ribs and shoulder hit the side of the bathtub as I came down, knocking the wind from my lungs.
I lay there, blinking as the water continued to beat down against my body and hit the burnt parts of my arm.
“Help!” I called out without thinking, “Please!”
I could hear footsteps pounding up the stairs to my room and the door to the bathroom burst open.
Ethan threw the shower curtain to the side.
