A Strict Seduction (27 page)

‘Tell me Carole, how many times have you been to Paris?' he asked, formally marking the start of the interview.

‘Four times, two weekends and two longer holidays,' she said.

‘And your French?'

‘I couldn't be an interpreter, but I do speak the language. I have my certificates at home if you want me to bring them in…'

He smiled, and slid a leather-bound menu across the table to her. ‘Read from this,' he said, leaning back in his seat.

She opened it carefully and scanned through it. It was all in French of course, with no English translation; there was a separate menu for that. He listened closely as she began to read, fluently and with a pronunciation that was perfect. There was no doubt that she knew what she was reading as well, she was practically licking her lips as she went through the main courses.

‘Very good,' he said, interrupting her in mid-sentence. ‘I am impressed. You sound like you enjoy your food as well.'

She smiled shyly. ‘Thank you, Mr Moore. I've got my figure to think about,' she added, ‘but I do like my food.'

‘Good, I like that, there's nothing worse than being served by someone who has no understanding of food.'

‘I only wish I could afford to eat at places like this,' she sighed, handing back the menu.

He nodded. The prices in the menu were not cheap, there was no denying that, but then again
La Tempête
was not going to be just another French restaurant.

‘Tell me what you know about the job,' he suggested.

She took a deep breath before beginning. ‘This is going to be a very special French restaurant, very different to all the others. You've got an excellent chef, even I've heard of him,' she paused momentarily, but there was no reassuring smile from Nick. ‘It won't be the sort of place you come to on a whim. Every place has to be booked in advance, they'll even be someone at the door to stop undesirables from barging in from the pub and that sort of thing.'

‘It's not so much people from the pub I'm worried about,' he said, clarifying the point for her. ‘It's just that I don't want crowds of drunken hoorays turning up and spoiling the atmosphere. Do you know the kind of atmosphere I'm after?'

‘I think so,' she said uncertainly. ‘Parisian sophistication, I think. You know, very elegant, smart. Am I right?'

‘Partly. The missing word in your description is decadent. Visiting
La Tempête
will be an experience in more than the culinary sense. Was that not explained to you?'

‘Yes, Mr Moore,' she said quickly, her eyes widening with the fear that she had just messed up her chances of working there.

‘Part of that decadent ambience will be created by the girls who'll work here.
La serveuse
will be a central character, she will embody the elegant and the decadent, both in the way she looks and in the way she acts. You do understand that, don't you?'

For a moment he was certain she was going to shake her head or burst into tears. ‘I think so, Mr Moore,' she agreed softly, her voice barely a whisper of indecision.

‘As you know, the salary I'm offering is far higher than the norm, but that salary has to be earned. Of course you'll have the added perk of enjoying some of the finest cuisine this side of the channel.'

‘Yes, I hadn't thought of that,' she agreed, her smile returning slowly. Her eyes were still full of uncertainty, as though she were struggling with herself and could not make a decision.

‘I like you Carole,' he told her, smiling properly for the first time. ‘You have excellent French and, even better, an appreciation of the finer things in life. If it were up to me then the job would be yours, however, there are the final formalities before I can make that offer.'

She looked at him eagerly, the chance of a job clearing the indecision. ‘What do I have to do?'

‘There's the uniform to try on,' he explained.

‘The uniform?'

He laughed. ‘I thought you knew. There is indeed a special uniform for the waitresses, very French and very naughty. That's what I meant about helping to create that special ambience.'

‘I hadn't realised,' she said, sounding crestfallen.

‘It's a French maid's outfit,' he told her, deciding to be blunt rather than trying to break it gently. ‘Very enticing and sexy, in a light-hearted way. If the uniform looks good on you then the job is practically yours. So far the other girls have loved it.'

She looked at him dubiously, the suspicion clouding her dark eyes. ‘I wasn't really expecting this…' she started to mumble. The screech of the electric drill drowned out the rest of her words, but the look on her face told its own story.

‘May I suggest that you try it on, and if you feel uncomfortable about it then we can talk about finding you some other job?'

She hesitated for a moment, weighing up the possibilities, and then nodded reluctantly. ‘Okay, I'll try it on, but I have to say that I wasn't really expecting anything like this.'

‘The staff changing room is currently the scene of all that banging and screeching, I'm afraid. It's the last part of the building to be finished. However, if you don't mind changing in the kitchen today…'

She looked shocked. ‘The kitchen? But… Isn't there some…'

Nick glared at her. ‘Are you always so difficult?' he demanded, suddenly angered by her obvious distrust. None of the other girls had been so suspicious, even though the uniform was a surprise for most of them too.

‘I'm sorry,' she mumbled, her pretty face flushing pink with embarrassment. ‘If it's private I'll change in the kitchen,' she agreed.

Nick sighed. ‘If it wasn't private I wouldn't have asked you to change in there. Now, please be a good girl and go and try your uniform out. It's there waiting for you, hanging behind the door. There's no mirror I'm afraid, but if you give me a shout when you're ready I'll tell you how you look.'

It was obvious that she was unhappy about the whole idea, but she did as she was told. He watched her cross the length of the restaurant and enter the kitchen, noting the way her long black boots accentuated the shape of her legs, and the way the tight skirt clung to her well-shaped behind. She was tall and slim but with curves in all the right places, which was just what he was looking for.

Finding the right sort of girl had proved to be a far bigger problem than he had anticipated. There were lots of pretty girls of the right age around, but few of them had the intelligence, the elegance, or the personality to carry off the roles he had assigned them. Luckily, once he had recruited the first four they had helped him find the others. Carole had been recommended by one of the other girls, and so far he was impressed by her looks and by her knowledge of French, however he was not so enamoured by her personality. If she were only a little more trusting, or perhaps a little more relaxed, then he'd be certain.

His ruminations were interrupted by one of the builders, a burly monster of a man, striding purposely towards the kitchen. ‘Where do you think you're off too?' Nick demanded, rising quickly from his seat.

‘There's something needs seeing to in there,' the builder announced, his broad grin splitting his face in two.

‘Very funny,' Nick sighed. ‘Now isn't there some real work for you to be getting on with?'

The builder look offended, the grin replaced by a sullen frown. ‘I was only having a laugh,' he complained. ‘A fella's got to have a laugh sometimes. Pretty bit of skirt like that appreciates a joke, I can tell.'

‘She might appreciate the joke, I certainly don't. Now, if you don't mind…'

The builder glared at Nick for a moment, then turned and marched back the way he had come, muttering a litany of complaints as a salve to his injured pride. It was no surprise; the lure of pretty young women was certainly going to be one of the main attractions of the restaurant, but it was also going to be one of the problems. A strict door policy sounded like financial suicide for a new restaurant, but it was the only way Nick could think of having some control over the clientele. It was a gamble, and the thought always caused a shudder of fear to pass through him. His house, savings and a substantial loan from the bank were all riding on the success of
La Tempête
, which promised to be as stormy as its name.

‘I'm ready,' she cried from the kitchen, her voice lacking in any form of enthusiasm.

She looked gorgeous. The black satin and white frills complementing her dark good looks and soft white skin. It was a perfect fit, from the towering black high heels to the seamed stockings, to the low cut of the uniform to the lace cap which banded her dark hair. When she moved the skirt swished slightly and he was treated to an enticing glimpse of flesh above the thick black stocking tops. The deep cleavage of her breasts was emphasised by the constricting tightness, and the apron tied at her waist served to draw attention to the roundness of her backside.

The effect was spoilt by the pensive expression on her face, her eyes flitting from side to side nervously, her lips pursed as though stifling her anger. She was standing straight, hands together in front of her, balanced finely on the high heels.

‘What is it, girl?' he demanded, annoyed by her obvious discomfort. If it wasn't enough worrying about the opening of the restaurant, he had to contend with the antics of silly teenage girls.

‘I'm sorry, Mr Moore,' she whispered, her face flaring red once again, ‘but I don't think I can handle this.'

He exhaled heavily. ‘Handle what, exactly?' he asked, not bothering to hide his exasperation.

‘All of this,' she explained, rubbing a hand down the smooth satin uniform. ‘I mean it'll hurt, won't it?'

He looked at her quizzically. ‘The shoes?' he asked.

‘No, not that, I can handle the stilettos all right. No, I mean, you know… The punishment when I'm naughty.'

By now her face was bright red and her eyes were fixed at a point six inches in front of her toes. Her voice had become a strained whisper. ‘I don't understand,' Nick admitted, hardly daring to let his imagination get ahead of him.

‘The decadence thing… You said you wanted us to be all decadent and naughty…' she tried to explain, but seemed to have trouble finding the right words. ‘With the high heels and everything I suppose we'll always be spilling things and so on… It'll hurt, won't it, afterwards.'

‘You mean when you make mistakes, when you're naughty, as you put it,' he looked to her for the nod of confirmation, ‘you expect to be punished – physically.'

‘Like in those magazines,' she added, helpfully.

He nodded sagely. Those magazines. She looked so young and naïve, but obviously her education extended down to
those
magazines. He could follow her train of thought – maid's uniform, decadence, naughtiness, correction. ‘Yes, I suppose it will hurt. But unless you try it how will you know?'

‘I know the other girls have accepted… Did they try it first?'

He suppressed the smile. ‘Yes, they were all punished by me, but only after they'd put the uniform on first. In your case I'm inclined to be extra strict, you're being very difficult about this. You either want this job or you don't.'

‘But I do,' she insisted forcefully.

‘In that case I think you should be a good girl and bend over the counter there,' he pointed to one of the worktops, smooth steel polished like a mirror.

She hesitated, and he could see the arguments raging inside her. There was doubt there, and denial, but there was also excitement and a curiosity that could not be suppressed. Hesitantly she turned round, took the two steps to the appointed place, and stopped. For a moment she stared at her reflection in the cold steel, allowing him the chance to appreciate how she looked from behind. Long straight legs, beautifully shaped by the shiny black heels, slim waist but a well proportioned rear, long black hair held in place by the frilly lace cap.

When she bent over at the waist the skirt raised at the back, lifting clear of the stocking tops and displaying the black suspenders which pressed firmly into the flesh of her thighs. She pressed her face and chest against the worktop, wriggling slightly in an effort to get comfortable.

‘Lift your skirt completely,' he ordered, enjoying the view. When the skirt was raised he saw the tiny black briefs were pulled up between the round globes of her bottom, the thin wisp of lace delineating the rear cleavage to her advantage. She looked good, there was no denying the enticing image her primly offered backside made.

‘How many?' she asked, almost breathless with fear and anticipation.

‘Six, with my hand.'

She made no reply. Instead she arched her back slightly, offering a rounder target. He stepped forward, hardly daring to believe what was happening. He touched her softly, running his fingertips over her backside, from one side to the other. She hardly dared to breathe, her eyes were half closed and her fists were clenched tightly.