Page 29 of Breadwinner
Her hand slipped beneath the elastic, her body already buzzing with need. A groan left her lips as damp arousal coated her fingers, the result of her desire for Sarah after a night of watching her succeed. She moved two fingers in meticulous, unrushed circles around her clit, matching the same pace she had kept all night. Every pass of her fingers, every breath she drew, was timed to the reel playing behind closed eyelids: Sarah’s voice, Sarah’s smirk, Sarah’s mind. Sarah’s hands spreading obediently on the table that night at the Foxhall.
A pleased sound escaped her throat as the tension wound tighter inside her. This was what real power felt like. It wasn’t taken or forced. No, Nell knew that real power was built on trust. Tonight, Sarah had trusted her to lead.
Nell’s hips lifted into her own touch, a shudder breaking through the command she so carefully curated. Pressing her palm against her clit, she dipped one finger, then another inside herself, chasing the high Sarah had left simmering under her skin.
“Fuck,” she whispered hoarsely, as the wave she’d been riding in silence broke.
She lay there for a long moment afterward, one hand still splayed over her stomach, grounding herself, as her breathing returned to normal and a smile spread across her face. She was right. Sarah was going to ruin her. And Nell intended to enjoy every second of it.
SEVEN
SARAH
RULE #3: ALWAYS DRINK THE GOOD WINE.
Sarah stirred, stretching languidly across crisp linen sheets. She sighed softly as she rolled onto her back. For a moment, she forgot where she was. Right. The Hamptons. Nell.
She blinked against the morning light, unsure what time it was. Half expecting, or maybe half hoping, that Nell would be waiting for her with an itinerary for the day. Her stomach growled, breaking the silence with an embarrassingly loud rumble.
“Fine,” Sarah muttered to herself, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She pulled on a shirt and shorts, not bothering with much else, and headed downstairs.
When she entered the kitchen, she was surprised to find a woman already there behind the massive marble island. She was wearing a faded NYU sweatshirt and denim shorts, her hair twisted into a messy bun that bounced as she bobbed along to music Sarah couldn’t hear. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-one, twenty-two at most.
Sarah stood awkwardly in the doorway as the girl looked up, blinked in surprise, tugging one earbud out. “Oh! Shit, sorry!” the girl said brightly, wiping her hands on a towel tucked into her waistband. “You must be Sarah—the one with the shellfishallergy.” She grabbed a note card from her apron and flashed it in front of her. There, scrawled in thin, elegant handwriting, was her name, along with the words SHELLFISH ALLERGY in all caps.
“I’m Emory,” the girl said, holding her hand out.
Sarah accepted the handshake. Emory was not what she’d pictured for Nell’s staff. “You’re... the chef?” she asked, trying to keep the skepticism out of her voice but not entirely succeeding.
Emory laughed. “Yeah. Kinda. I mean, technically, I’m a culinary student at NYU. I just work for Ms. Stanhope when she’s in town. Sometimes out here, sometimes at her place in the city, depending on where she’s at.”
Sarah blinked. Nell Stanhope, who could probably have hired some Michelin-starred, award-winning, Food Network-famous chef, had instead hired... a college kid?
Sensing her confusion, Emory beamed. “She mentors a bunch of us—mostly women and non-binary students. Sometimes it’s internships at her companies, or opportunities like this. Honestly, this gig is insane. I only have to come out here a few weekends a summer, and what she pays me basically covers my tuition. Plus, she’s been helping me with my business plan.”
Sarah tilted her head, trying to process that. She couldn’t quite picture Nell walking around NYU campuses picking protégés.
“You’re not what I expected,” Sarah said, before she could stop herself.
Emory shrugged and began slicing an avocado. “Ms. Stanhope likes investing early. That’s what she says, anyway. Catch people before everyone else realizes how good they are. So, I take that as a compliment, right? Because that must mean she sees something in me.”
Sarah’s lips quivered into a small smile.Yeah, she thought.That sounds exactly like Nell.
“You hungry?” Emory asked, already reaching for another plate.
Sarah’s stomach answered for her. “Starving.”
“Sit. I’ll fix you something.”
Sarah pulled out one of the stools and settled onto it as she watched the younger woman move confidently around the kitchen, the space clearly familiar to her.
Sarah glanced toward the big windows framing the sprawling back deck and shimmering pool. There was no sign of Nell yet, which made her a little uneasy. She hated not knowing the rules. She wished she had asked Nell last night what the expectations for today were, but she had been a little distracted following their ride home from the party.
Emory slid a plate in front of her with a piece of thick sourdough toast heaped with avocado, tomato, and a crumbled cheese that smelled heavenly.
Sarah muttered her thanks and took a bite, savoring the creamy, tangy combo, closing her eyes in appreciation.
“She’s not really a morning person, you know,” Emory said, as she leaned back against the counter, sipping from a coffee mug.