Sugar Baby , livre ebook

Andrews UK - Erin Pim

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33 pages

English

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Description

Kat, a budding young entrepreneur, has been turned down for her last chance at a loan. Out of desperation to open her business, she delves into the world of mutually beneficial relationships, where young women exchange sex to older rich men for gifts and money. Will Kat's Sugar Daddy make all her dreams come true? Or will she get suckered into the lavish, lax lifestyle of the Sugar Baby?

Sujets

Erotic literature

Informations

Publié par	Andrews UK
Date de parution	16 juillet 2015
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781785382673
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Title Page
SUGAR BABY
Erin Pim

Publisher Information
Sugar Baby
published in 2015 by House of Erotica
an imprint of Andrews UK Limited
www.houseoferoticabooks.com
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Copyright © Erin Pim 2015
The right of Erin Pim has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Chapter One
“I’m sorry, Miss McClaire. The bank is unable to offer you a loan at this time.”
“Really?” I reply, disbelieving. “But, I have perfect credit. And a full business plan. And I’ve literally been with this bank over twenty years.”
“Yes, we’ve reviewed your application. I’m sorry, Miss McClaire.”
“But...” I say, legitimately not understanding how I could not be eligible. “It’s not a huge loan. It’s only a small part of what I’ve saved up already...”
“Well, it is a considerable amount, considering you don’t have any equity in a home, or a partner’s income to support debt repayment.” He shuffles in his chair, perhaps not used to being grilled like this. “Do you perhaps have a family member, or a friend that could help you out, instead?”
“There’s really no way that I could obtain this loan? What about a smaller amount?” I ask, ignoring his question.
“It’s possible you would be eligible for a smaller loan, if you would like to go through the process again. But, if you would need to supplement that amount anyway, you may just want to consider asking a family member or...”
“Alright. Thanks.” I say sharply, standing. Then, realizing my rudeness, I add a softer, “Thank you. Thanks for your time.”
“You’re welcome, Miss McClaire.” He rises to shake my hand. I take it, forcing a defeated smile.
I walk against an unseasonably cool fall wind, towards Rigatoni’s. I have to grip a ponytail of my dyed auburn hair in my hand to deter it from slashing about my face, and grip my light jacket tighter. When I arrive, I see in a mirror by the door, that my usually fair complexion has turned rosy at the nose and cheeks. I feel the warmth of the heater as I enter the bistro, and pause briefly to shake off the chill. The independently owned restaurant has a welcoming atmosphere featuring rustic wood paneling, traditional Italian music, and a red tin ceiling. A very similar feeling to the cafe I would like to own.
“Cool one, today!” A gentlemen already sitting at the bar with an espresso says to me, and I nod curtly, quickly walking past him. I recognize his striking jawline and attractively greying temples as someone who comes in fairly often, but I’m not employed in the front of house for a reason. I’m a young, good looking woman, yes, but I have little patience for drooling male regulars. In fact, I long for my chef’s jacket and cap, where I feel I have the best chance of being taken seriously. Especially with the events of today, I wouldn’t know where to begin, in hiding my annoyance in front of customers. I push through the homey dining room and fireplace, past the swinging doors, and into the kitchen. The stainless steel of my pastry station glistens, momentarily reflecting the florescent light back to me, almost as if winking. Instantly, I feel better. I place my things in the change room, button up a freshly laundered white chef’s coat, and take extra care pinning my hair under my chef’s cap. I grab an apron, and head back out to the kitchen.
Only then, do the other cooks begin to arrive. Jeremy, the tall and lanky sous chef, spouts a casual, “Hey, Kat,” as he walks past in his civvies. He’s a really nice guy, and handsome in his own way, but has a much more casual approach to this job than I do. He has a lot of natural ability, and often coasts on it. In fact, he looks a little stoned this morning, perhaps from a wake and bake.
“Hey Jer.” I make a point of arriving early, not only to get a good start on my prep, but also to avoid changing in front of the guys, as there is no female washroom for the kitchen staff. I’m already kneading the breads for the day, when the head chef walks in. He’s a harsh looking man, perhaps in his mid-thirties, with a closely cropped haircut. I wish I could say that we get along, but the truth is, our strong wills often clash. I get the feeling he resents a woman asserting herself in front of him. Despite that, I try to remain professional. “Morning, Chef.”
“Morning. Did you get the extra prep list?”
“Yes, Chef.”
“The guys got slammed last night. Couldn’t be helped.”
“Already working on it.”
“Good.” You’re welcome, I think to myself. But instead, I decide to take the high road and use the opportunity to show him that I’m not afraid of a little extra work and responsibility. Our Sous Chef has left, and Chef Daniel hasn’t yet declared who will fill the position. I talked to Daniel months before about my desire to move up, but maybe I should have another talk with him. It seems like I would be the obvious choice, but I can’t take any chances. Jeremy may very well get it, even with showing absolutely no desire to take on more responsibility. And this promotion may be my last chance to save up the extra money I need for my cafe.
“Not a problem,” I add, as sincerely as possible, even trying to offer a humble smile.
“It shouldn’t be.” He says, continuing towards the change room. I take a deep breath, shaking of the comment. Take it easy, Kat. You’ll only have to do this a while longer. I cut the dough, forming the pieces into four loaves, then brush them with oil, scattering them with herbs. I throw them in the proofing oven, and check off bread from the prep list.
I begin forming the shells for the cannoli , and dunking them into the deep fryer. They cool on a rack, before I fill each one with cream, and garnish them with berries and sifted icing sugar. The rest of the front of house team arrives as I’m dusting them, and one of the waitress comes into the kitchen, excitedly.
“Kat! Do you want to play Date, or Dad ?”
“Sorry?”
“Date, or Dad? At the bar. What do you think?” I glance out towards the bar, and see the forty-something fellow that greeted me when I came in. He’s usually alone, but an attractive, European young woman has joined him now, and seems very interested in what he is saying. She laughs, and touches his arm. I wouldn’t say that she is any more good looking than I am, but is all done up, wearing a smart dress and heels, and I can see her designer purse from here.
“That’s a date. Definitely.”
“I know! Gross!” I look again. The man, despite being a little older, is actually quite handsome. I’ve been with my share of misguided boys to see the attraction in someone that has established a life for himself. And, he probably bought her that Louis Vuitton. If you care about stuff like that.
“Well, whatever floats your boat,” I say, going back to my station.
At home, I make myself some 99 cent Asian noodles, and sit at the small kitchen table in my bachelor apartment. I’m going to talk to Chef Daniel again tomorrow. He’s got to see it coming. I obviously want the position. He hasn’t hired anyone, so maybe he’s already counting on promoting me. I know he doesn’t like me, but that shouldn’t matter. I’ve been at Rigatoni’s for over a year. And if I haven’t shown by now that I deserve to be promoted, then... then what? I have to be careful I don’t do something rash.
I arrive early, as usual, tying back my hair inside my cap, and making sure my uniform is impeccable. There are many things I can’t control, but at least I have power over this. I take a breath, and start with the simple, classic recipes of biscotti and bruttiboni . I bend to put the cookies in the oven, when I see the chef arrive.
“Morning, Chef!” I chirp, as he passes through the threshold of the kitchen. But, directly on his tail, is someone I don’t recognize. A brown guy, with a young looking face. They both pause, upon entering the kitchen. Chef takes an awkward breath.
“Kat, this is your new sous chef, Zachariah. Zach, this is pastry chef Kat McClaire.”
“Nice to meet you,” he nods. I feel my jaw hang open, and a tingling sensation accumulates in my chest. Chef raises his eyebrows and gestures towards the change room, intent on continuing their tour. And then, they’re gone.
I go through the rest of my shift with a mix of barely contained anger and hopelessness, then dart into the change room, hoping to get out of there as fast as possible.
“Hey, Kat?” Jeremy peeks his head of shaggy hair.
“Geez! You scared me,” I say, holding my shirt in front of my chest, barely contained by a worn sports bra. I turn around to finish putting it on. “I can’t stay late. I’m already changed.”
“No, I just wanted to say, I’m sorry you didn’t get the job.”
“Oh. Well, yeah. Me too. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Yeah, I guess. Hey, since you and I won’t be working together anymore.”
“Yes?” I say, intimidatingly.
“Well... aww, never mind.”
“What, Jer?” I say impatiently.
“Oh, just... maybe you and I could hang out sometime?”
“Hang out? Listen, Jer. The only way I would get involved with someone right now, is if they had some major money. Seriously.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Sorry, that sounded harsh. It’s just that my dreams have basically been crushed in the past few days. I’m just not in the right head space.”
“Oh,” he says awkwardly. “Uh...”
“It’s okay. Never mind. I’