Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
No, I thought I didn’t need the skills each woman unfortunately learned, not with this man. One I trusted. One old enough to be my father. A mentor.
After that night, I didn’t think there was such a thing as a man I could trust. Or feel safe with.
“You know you want it,” Gerald had whispered, lips against my neck. “I’ve seen the way you look at me.”
“No,” I replied, quietly at first, trying to push his roving hands away. “No!” I said louder as his hands crept even lower. “I don’t want it. I don’t want you.”
I’d thought a lot about those words. Whether what happened next was my fault because I’d said it so plainly, without adornment or gentleness to stroke his ego enough to hide the straight up rejection.
I’d wondered if there was something I could’ve said, something I could’ve done to make him stop.
It was only in hindsight, with time to pad me from the trauma, that rage replaced those feelings of blame and guilt. It was not my responsibility to let him down easily so he wouldn’t assault me. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, a woman could say to make sexual assault her fault. Nothing she could wear. No looks she could give.
No.
The single word was enough.
It was enough to make what he did a crime.
“He didn’t rape me,” I forced out the words. “Didn’t get that far, at least. But he … did enough.”
Gerald’s fingers, dry and probing, making their way past the elastic of my pants, pushing my simple cotton panties to the side before pushing inside.
It hurt.
It shocked me.
I left my body, not entirely understanding what was actually happening to me.
But then I did.
And my knee went to his balls.
His finger left me in a rush, brutally, causing more pain, but it gave me the opportunity to run.
I squeezed my eyes shut then forced myself to look at Kane. His face was a cool mask. “I came back to the kitchen the next day. I don’t know what I was thinking. Don’t know why I didn’t report it to the police.” I couldn’t keep Kane’s eye contact, my gaze flitting around the bathroom skittishly. “Because I was in a foreign country, was what I told myself,” I sighed. “Because it would draw attention to me in a way I wouldn’t like. I would never ever be able to make a name for myself as a chef. I’d always be the girl who accused Gerald DuBois of sexual assault. I wouldn’t be believed. I’d already assumed that much. It would be he said, she said. The student of the great man who was nothing but ordinary. I wanted him to pay. I did. But I didn’t want it to be at the expense of my career. My future.”
Shame bloomed in my cheeks.
“It was selfish and cowardly,” I admitted in a small voice. “Going back into that kitchen was, second to watching my father get buried, the hardest thing I ever did.”
I’d thrown up in the alley before I walked in.
“But I went in,” I whispered. “And he was there. And he looked at me, smiled tightly, politely, acting like nothing ever happened. Although I was no longer his golden student. Much to the delight of the others in the kitchen. I made sure I was never ever alone in his presence again.” I clenched my fists at my sides. Kane was close to me but he wasn’t touching me.
“I finished out my time there then left. Worked in other kitchens. Buried myself in that.”
Though I didn’t feel brave enough, I looked at Kane. His face was still expressionless. But he was shaking with what might’ve been rage, his chest rising and falling quickly.
I felt awkward, unaware of what to do with my admission out in the open air. Air that was stagnant after being buried for so long.
Kane jerked, as if I’d thrown water on him. His eyes lost that glazed look to them, and he squinted at me. His fire was back, mixed with a kind of rage I’d never seen on his face.
He cupped my face in his hands. “You, Avery Hart, are many, many things. Two things you absolutely aren’t are selfish or a coward.” His words were steely, hard as iron. “I’m not gonna lie, Chef, hearing that makes me want to make calls, get on a plane and go kill the fuck with my bare hands. I know that’s my ugly, baser nature speaking, but fuck if his death doesn’t sound sweet to me.”
He took in an audible breath, never breaking eye contact.
“Spent my life working on that. That rage that put me in a cage. That turned me into someone I don’t want to be, so I’ll continue working on that. Moreover, I will not make this about me. I’ll say it plainly, Chef. I’m sorry that happened to you. So fucking sorry. Men are scum. And I don’t mean ‘some men,’ I mean most of us. Almost all of us.” His thumb brushed my bottom lip. “But I’ll endeavor to be worthy of you. And I’ll treasure that you felt safe enough with me to tell me that just now.”