Chapter 8

"Hamada-san," Marissa called. "What can we do for you?"

Surveying the kitchen with an aura of imperturbable command, the short Japanese man was the proverbial eye at the center of the storm. He never used more words than he had to, was an excellent chef and had a wry sense of humour about him. Amidst all the mayhem, he was right in his element.

He gave her a slight smile that only barely showed his teeth. He was obviously enjoying himself. He had a slight accent, but spoke very clearly. "Everything is under control."

A little over two years had passed since Alan and Marissa returned from Las Vegas.

Somehow, they made it work.

When they compared notes, they were surprised to find out how much they were worth together. Alan still had some of his inheritance left from his parents's death and had made some smart investments with his book sales and university salary. Marissa had a good chunk of change saved up for the day when she would no longer be a call girl. Most of her money was in several investment accounts that were to have been her retirement. Plus, Alan had a fair amount of equity in his house, and Marissa's was paid off.

That didn't count the thirty-two thousand dollars Marissa had refused to accept from Alan for their first week together (twenty thousand he was paying her for the week, a twenty percent tip, the one thousand he had given her when they first met, the three thousand for the Lasik, and four thousand for the money Marissa saved him on the TGR kitchen equipment deal) and the sixty-five thousand dollars worth of kitchen equipment that was sitting in a warehouse waiting to be delivered.

Alan continued to teach at the university and lacking any other direction, Marissa threw herself into the restaurant. She had a good head for business, but knew nothing about cooking. What she did know was the art of making a deal. She quickly learned how to negotiate with contractors, navigate the health department's bureaucracy, talk to the IRS and all about managing employees in a small business.

First of all, Alan and Marissa incorporated themselves as BAM Food Services, Inc. (Brianne, Alan and Marissa) and then liquidated some of their investment accounts, pouring them into the restaurant. They calculated their start-up costs and took out a couple of low-interest small business loans. Yes, they could have paid cash, but they wanted to have some savings left in case there was an emergency.

They couldn't find a building they liked, so they built a new one, and made it look exactly how they—and Brianne—wanted.

Then they went looking for an executive chef. That's how they landed Hamada Takateru. He was the best Italian chef they could find in the area. Sure it was strange having a Japanese man running the kitchen at an Italian restaurant, but not quite as strange as one of the co-owners being an ex-hooker who looked just like the other co-owner's first wife. They placed their entire kitchen in Hamada-san's capable hands and then built their business around the cuisine.

It took almost two and a half years to get everything finished, from a cold start to opening night.

And then, of course, there was the wedding Alan and Marissa somehow found time to fit in.

There were licenses to apply for, construction to oversee, permits to obtain. Some days were good. Some days were complete cluster-fucks. Yet, somehow, the good days outnumbered the bad and the restaurant opened on a crisp autumn day, using the name Brianne had picked out, "A Taste of Italy."

Marissa didn't want anything to do with the restaurant side of the operation. She was the (self-trained) accountant and handled all the numbers. Alan told her what he wanted or needed. She told him how much he could spend.

They hired the kitchen and service staff a couple of months ago, and the week before they had a dry run for friends and family. It was a disaster. Orders were mixed up. Food was cold. They ran out of meatballs. The soda fountains wouldn't mix the Diet Pepsi syrup with the water and CO2. One of the gas ovens wouldn't light. Mr. Murphy paid one hell of a visit.

Through it all, Alan and Marissa remained calm and everything got fixed (they hoped).

This was the night of their grand opening. They received a fair amount of buzz in the local press and there was a good crowd in addition to the people who had received special invitations.

Alan was running around nervously, checking on all the little things. Of course, Hamada-san had the kitchen working at 110% capacity, the service manager Anastasia had things under control out front and John-Marc had the bar staff working under his careful supervision.

Marissa made sure to say hi to some of their high-profile clients, like the city councilmen at table 53 and the food critic from the local paper who was just getting seated. She roamed the restaurant, taking pictures of the staff and some of the patrons, especially Alan's friends from the university. Even Laurie came by to see how her former working girl was doing.

After checking in with some of the staff, Marissa retreated back into the office. The opening was out of her hands now. She and Alan had poured their hearts and souls—not to mention a whole lot of money—into this venture over the past two and a half years. They had hired good people. They bought the best equipment. They marketed their business the right way. They had a good menu, fresh ingredients, a healthy wine list and reasonable prices.

Now they just needed people to come.

She took off her jacket and hung it over the back of the chair. She picked up her phone and sent Alan a text message. Then she moved a couple of things around the desk, walked around to the other side and waited.

A few minutes later, he burst through the door. There was a crease in his brow that came only when he was under intense stress. She had an amused smile on her face.

"You worry too much," she chided him gently. "Lock the door."

"What are you doing?" Alan asked abruptly. Since they had met, Alan had only grown more handsome. Their relationship blossomed, strengthened by their mutual commitment and all the time they spent together. "Have you seen—"

Marissa turned, bent over the desk and spread her legs. Her ass stuck out for Alan. She flipped up her skirt to show him that she wasn't wearing any panties.

"Shut up and fuck me."

"We don't have time—"

"We do if you hurry." Marissa looked over her shoulder with an alluring smile.

Alan was torn. He wanted to get back to the restaurant. At the same time, he couldn't pass up his wife. He had never passed up his wife. And he didn't intend on starting now.

With two steps he was behind her. She heard him fumbling with his belt buckle and soon his pants fell to the floor.

One hand was on her ass. She felt the head of Alan's cock rubbing against the slit of her pussy, which was already wet for him.

"What are you waiting for, Alan?" Marissa said with a huff. "Fuck me. Fuck my pussy. We haven't christened the restaurant yet."

That was all he needed.

With one hard and fast push, his cock was buried deep inside her.

Marissa braced herself against the sturdy solid-oak desk. This was one of the reasons she had bought it. And with the pounding Alan gave her, it was worth every penny.

He didn't last long, but she didn't want him to. This was what they called a "fuck and run". They may have been married for close to two years, but the passion never faded.

She still loved it when Alan took her. Sometimes she did it to him, too, but more often than not, it was Alan who would spontaneously strip her down, mount her and get off. Sometimes she would orgasm. Most of the time, she didn't, and that was okay. She loved walking around with Alan's cum inside her. It made her feel as if he was always with her.

Alan's fingers dug into her ass.

"Fuck my pussy, fuck me hard," she chanted, fairly sure that no one outside the door would hear them over the commotion of the restaurant's opening night. She really wanted to scream for Alan, but there is a time and a place for everything and that would come later.

He gave her one final thrust and then held it. Her womb filled with warmth and she knew Alan was cumming inside her.

With a sigh, Alan pulled back and his cock popped out of her. She turned and was on her knees instantly. Taking his deflating member in her mouth, she licked it clean.

Then she pulled his pants up and helped him tuck in his shirt.

She smoothed out the creases in her blouse and skirt, then stepped into Alan's waiting arms.

"You're a hell of a business manager," Alan said with a playful grin. "Don't tell my wife I'm sleeping with you."

"You're a hell of a business partner," Marissa smiled back at him. "Don't tell my husband that I'm addicted to your cock."

Alan pulled her close and they held each other for a long moment. They had been busy for the past couple of weeks leading up to the opening and hadn't had as much time together as they would have liked.

"I love you, Mrs. Gibson," he whispered in her ear.

"I love you, too, Mr. Gibson," she replied, trying to steal one more kiss. Then she patted him on the backside and sent him back out into the restaurant.

All too soon (or for the guy who had to hand-make more ravioli halfway through the shift, not soon enough), the night was over. It was almost midnight. The last patrons had been served, the bills paid. There had been a few tense moments, but for the most part, it had gone well. Better that Mr. Murphy had wreaked havoc upon them on friends and family night than at the grand opening.

Marissa walked around the restaurant as the last of the staff cleaned up their stations.

A hostess was vacuuming the lobby. Hamada-san and two cooks were making sure the kitchen was spotless for the morning prep shift. Anastasia and John-Marc were strategising ways to streamline the service while a handful of servers were setting up tables for the next day.

Alan was sitting in a chair, sipping on a glass of wine. He had the "thousand-yard stare". He had never worked in a restaurant before. Where he saw chaos, the professional staff saw a carefully choreographed dance. It may have been just a step above absolute bedlam, but there was a method to the madness.

His intentions were good, but Marissa finally told him to not worry about doing everyone else's job. Alan acquiesced, gave up trying to manage everything and simply hung on for the ride. The busboys and hostesses especially were very appreciative to have Alan out of their hair, and they thanked Marissa profusely.

Marissa put her arms around him from behind. He turned and kissed her on the cheek.

"How'd we do?" he asked.

"Two hundred eighty-seven customers on a hundred and five tickets in the main dining room," she whispered in his ear. Of course, this was all computerised and controlled from the office. All she had to do was run a nightly report. "The average check was about seventy bucks. Add in our business from the bar, and we grossed about eighty-five hundred dollars tonight."

Alan smiled. "That's about ten percent better than we thought we'd do."

"Mm-hmm. Oh, and Dr. Emerson from the graduate college wants to have their winter faculty and staff banquet here in December," Marissa replied. She sucked on Alan's ear lobe gently. "Everyone is cleaning up. What doesn't get done tonight can be finished in the morning. Send these folks home and then meet me in the garden."