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Planet Hollywood Casino and Hotel
Las Vegas, Nevada
June 2009

Hillary drank her second glass of Chardonnay, savoring every drop of the colorless liquid. She licked her lips as the wine ran smoothly in her throat. Damn, this Chardonnay was good. But she shouldn’t be surprised at all. She ordered for the Gran Montana, and it was worth every penny for its price. And the fact that her tab was already paid for by an admiring gentleman only made the wine taste better. 

She already finished two glasses, but she wanted another one, so she asked the bartender for another glass. He happily poured it to her, and she said her thanks. But before the bartender left, an idea popped up in her mind and called the bartender back.

“Do you have garrotxa?” she asked.

The bartender looked at her, confused. “Sorry, I don’t know what that is, Ma’am.”

“It’s Spanish goat cheese. It goes well with Chardonnay. Especially ones like Gran Montana,” she said.

“Oh, I see. I’ll have to check with the kitchens. We don’t typically serve cheese with wine, but we can make arrangements,” the bartender smiled.

“Thanks, darling,” Hillary winked, sipping her drink.

The bartender left her corner, but she could feel like she wasn’t alone. Call it intuition, gut feeling, whatever. She was sure that she would not spend the night on her own for long.

The bartender came back with an apologetic face. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. We don’t have garrotxa,” he said.

“No worries,” she said. “Do you have brie or camembert then?”

“I think we may have, because I know what those are,” the bartender quipped. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Thank you. You’re really such a doll,” she replied, smiling sweetly.

The bartender smiled back and went off to get her cheese. Meanwhile, she took her second sip of Chardonnay. The Chardonnay was probably kicking in, because she could definitely feel that somebody was looking at her. So she tried to find that gentleman who had paid for her Chardonnay. She scanned the room, but she didn’t find any guy who was alone and looking at her. She looked around again. Really, there was nothing. The only one who could possibly be was the guy sitting on the opposite end of the bar, but he was talking to someone else as he took a bite of his croque monsieur.  

Hillary swung back, taking her third gulp of Chardonnay. The bartender returned with a small plate of brie and camembert. She took the fork and stabbed a small bite of cheese. 

“You know, I can make you goat cheese.”

She turned around to find the source of that voice. The guy who was eating croque monsieur was no longer talking on his cellphone, and he was now extremely interested in her.

“Oh really? You sound so confident in your…cheese-making skills?” she teased.

“Of course, I do. I came from the South!” the man said. “We know how to make a decent goat cheese!”

Hillary was a little surprised. She didn’t realize that the man was a Southerner, even though he as a thick accent. She was busy staring at his beautiful, enormous hands.

“Southerner, eh? I bet you eat everything,” she said.

The man shrugged. “Pretty much. Barbecue, catfish, beaver, raccoons, alligators, frogs…”

“Gosh, you guys are weird.”

The man chuckled, eating another bite of his croque monsieur. “Are the food we eat the most interesting to you?”

“I’m sorry,” Hillary giggled. “I am a chef. I am interested in what people eat.”

“So am I!” the man remarked happily. “The name’s Bill Clinton.”

“Hillary Rodham.”

“Nice to meet you, Hillary.” Bill and Hillary shook hands, and Bill didn’t realize that his hand was a bit oily.

“Oh, sorry about that,” he apologized. “I forgot…”

Hillary felt her cheeks blush. He was clearly flustered in front of her, and she found his momentary clumsiness very endearing.

“What restaurant are you working on?” Hillary asked.

“Ironically enough, a Southern cuisine restaurant,” Bill replied. “The name’s Aunt Betty’s. I work as the head chef there.”

“I see. So what’s the house specialty?”

“Biscuits and gravy,” he said proudly. “We make the best in the South.”

“Yum,” she replied. “And what about your specialty?”

“Well, biscuits and gravy,” he said. “When I learned the secret of their famous dish, it became my best dish too.”

Hillary was a little disappointed with his response, but that was neither here nor there. “I should visit Aunt Betty’s sometime.”

Bill’s eyes lit up. “Oh you should! We have the best food the South has to offer.”

“I bet,” she said, drinking another sip of Chardonnay. "I should visit your restaurant sometime."

"You definitely should. New York cuisine tastes a lot different from the South."

"How did you know I was from New York?" she asked amusedly, with a little hint of surprise.

"Just a hunch, but a strong one," Bill replied. "You New York girls are so confident."

"Is it a turn off for you Southern men?" she asked playfully. "I know you guys like your Southern belles.

"Not really. It's just a stereotype. I mean, I've dated my fair share of Southern belles but I think I like women from the other side of the country. You know, New York, Boston, Chicago..."

"I was born in Chicago and raised in New York," Hillary quickly said, smiling.

"Really?" Bill grinned. "No wonder why I like you already."

Hillary felt the warmth rise up in her cheeks. "Is that true? Or you're just saying that to charm me?"

"Both," Bill replied. "You're very easy to like."

"And you too," she said. "You're very charming."


"I like you so much that I'd like to buy you a glass of Chardonnay so that you can enjoy this delicious piece of cheese with me."

Hillary called the waiter and asked for a glass of Chardonnay for Bill, who left his croque monsieur unfinished. He sat next to Hillary and took a small piece of the brie.

"You're right. This is wonderful," he said.

"Of course, I'm right. I always am," she said.

"Of course," Bill chuckled. "Who are you looking for? Do you have company?"

"No," she shook her head. "I was looking for the guy who bought me this glass of Chardonnay but I couldn't find where he is". Suddenly, Hillary realized something. "Was it you, Bill?"

"No," Bill said. "I wish I could, but as embarrassing at it is to admit, I am broke right now. I was sent by my boss for a short seminar and this croque monsieur was all I could afford."

"I'm sorry to hear that. What if we drink some more and have some more cheese? On me."

"Oh, don't. I wouldn't want to impose."

"Of course not," Hillary dismissed. "Let's have fun tonight."

Just in time, the bartender brought Bill's glass, which Hillary took and passed to her new friend. She raised her own glass and made a toast.

"To good food and good friends!" she said.

"To good food and good friends!" Bill repeated. They clanked their glasses before they sipped their Chardonnay.

Bill and Hillary spent the evening talking, eating cheese and drinking Chardonnay, not minding the time nor how much Hillary’s tab already was. By the time they realized they were drunk, it was already 2 AM. In her drunken stupor, Hillary managed to give the bartender her credit card and sign the receipt.

As drunk as he was, Bill accompanied Hillary to her hotel room. They bumped into other hotel guests as they rode the elevator and crawled to her room door. When they got to her room, they were giggling so much, and Bill’s lips were on her neck.

Good thing he was drunk, because he could not have done this if he was sober. He nipped the skin of her neck, marking her as if she was his. She let out a sigh that told him that she was enjoying this. She was grinding her hips against his front, and she could be him slowly harden.

“Kiss me, Bill.                                                                   

“Not here, Hillary.”

Of course. She couldn’t kiss him in the hallway, so she unlocked her door and she tugged him inside, letting him feel every inch of her as if he had known her all her life.

Nobody denied what happened that night. But what happened in Vegas might not stay in Vegas. Or at least that was Bill was hoping when he woke up in her bed and left because he had to catch his flight. But he made sure he left his calling card on her bedside table. He was hopeful that there was something more into that night than a one-night stand. He wasn’t able to say it last night but he fell for her. If he was sober, he would have tried to ask her out.   

At noon, Hillary was woken up by a phone call. She got up, her head feeling like it was being drilled. She looked at her phone and saw that it was her boyfriend, Sean. Pissed at the intrusion, she threw the phone on her bed and ignored the blaring sound of her ringtone.

She looked to her side and noticed a piece of paper on her bedside table that wasn’t there last night. She picked it up and saw that it was Bill’s calling card. Her heart sank as she recalled the events of last night. She kicked herself for being so flirty on Bill. She didn’t even care that she had a boyfriend who was waiting for her on the other side of the country. She liked the attention that Bill was giving her, and she let him get to her, even though she shouldn’t because she has a fucking boyfriend.

And now, she felt guilty for leading Bill on. She knew that Bill wanted something more, otherwise he wouldn’t have left with that calling card. Poor guy. He should stick with the Southern belles because midwestern women like her are bitches and break men’s hearts.

Hillary should have had the sense to rip the calling card into two and throw it away. But she didn’t. Instead, she took the calling card and kept in her wallet, behind Sean’s picture.

Chapter Text

Hillary looked at the restaurant sign and double checked against the card that had been sitting in her wallet for a year. She was relieved that she had got off the bus at the right stop. However, she was dreading at what she might find out inside that Southern cuisine restaurant. She vowed to herself that she wouldn't go to this place while she was in Little Rock for a business trip, but curiosity and a burning desire to see him got the better of her.

Hillary opened the glass door of Aunt Betty's, and a young smiling hostess welcomed her.She directed her to her seat and handed her the menu. She had no interest on the food, so she simply asked for the hostess's recommendation. Hillary could hear the girl mention Southern ribs and mashed potatoes and she simply said yes. The hostess took the order and passed the small sheet of paper to a neighboring waitress. But before the two servers could leave, Hillary made a quick request.

"Uhm, I was wondering if I could speak to your executive chef?"

"I think he is busy in the kitchens right now but I could tell her that you are here," said the waitress in her thick Southern accent. "What is your name, Ma'am?"

"Hillary Rodham," Hillary replied. "Chef de Cuisine of The French Laundry."

The waitress eyes turned wide as saucers.

"I didn't realize we are hosting royalty," the waitress replied. "I'll bring you Mr. Clinton."

"Thank you." Hearing the name "Clinton" made her heart race.

The waitress left her to call Bill. As she waited by herself, she tried to steady her pounding heart. The longer she waited, the more that she regretted coming to Aunt Betty's. She was fidgeting and playing with her fingers. She was imagining a whole universe of scenarios: Bill yelling at her, throwing her out, Bill calling her a slut...Hillary knew that she deserved every one of those things, considering what she did to him (and what he didn't know), but it still killed her to have Bill hate her.

After an agonizing ten minutes, Bill emerged from the kitchen, still in his apron. He sat in front of her, looking not too happy about the entire situation.

"Hi," Hillary greeted softly.

"Hi," said Bill, his face stoic.

"It's been a while," she said. The air was stuffed with absolute awkwardness between the two.

"Yeah, a year," the hint of bitterness was evident in his voice. "No messages or anything."

"I know. I won't pretend that I wasn't being an asshole," she conceded. "And that's what I'm here for. To properly apologize."

"I see now. You came here to tell me that you have a boyfriend and what happened in Vegas was a mistake."

Hillary's jaw dropped, and her heart struck. Indeed, she was about to do those things, but hearing Bill say it with pure, unadulterated hatred tore her to pieces.

"I wish I could say I am here otherwise, but there is nothing else I could say," she said.

"Of course," he grunted. His eyes were on the napkin in front of him as he played with the steak knife.

"I know I'll take a lot for us to be friends again, but I'd really like that. I'd really like to patch things up with you."

"Why?" Bill said grudgingly. "There's no need to embellish things. Let's call it what it is: a one-night stand. A night of pure fucking. No more, no less."

Hillary was hurt by Bill's characterization of their first time together, but she completely understood where he was coming from.

"Alright," she kept herself from crying. "I think we made ourselves clear."

Bill debated whether to stay with her or leave her be, but he decided that staying with her would probably open old wounds. He stood up and left for the kitchens.

When Bill came back to his workstation, he saw his sous chef, Danny placing a couple of ribs on the grill. Bill looked at the orders board and looked at table #42, the table where Hillary was sitting. She had ordered a plate of ribs with mashed potato, a side salad and pumpkin soup.

Bill tightened his apron and went back to work.

"Hey, I'm doing order #583. That's for table #42," Bill called out to no one in particular.

"I've already put the ribs on the grill, Bill," said Danny.

"I'll put a fresh batch. And don't worry, somebody will order the extra ribs."

"Alright," Danny replied, wondering what his boss was up to.

Bill took his basket and went to the walk-in fridge. He took the finest cut of ribs in the batch, a couple of potatoes, the brightest pumpkin and the freshest greens. Though he was already the executive chef and he had a team of chefs to assist him, he decided that he would do Hillary's order all by himself so no one would see that he put poison in her food.

But of course, he would never ever to that, even to his most avowed enemies. And Hillary, she's just a bitch that he met. He wanted to show that he could be civil, unlike her.

Bill took the cut of rib and put it on the grill. Suddenly, he felt out his element. He had been making these ribs for years but somehow, he was doubting himself. What if he overcooked the ribs? What if it didn't have the usual melt-in-your-mouth texture? What if it was underseasoned? Sure, Bill was the executive chef and he didn't have to make these on a daily basis but he felt that his uncertainty was not because of his lack of practice. No. He was so familiar with the dish that he could make it with his eyes closed.

He didn't want to admit it, but he very well knew what was making him feel insecure: He wanted to impress Hillary. He wanted to impress the girl who broke his heart so that she would see that he was a better man that she thought to be.

He toiled in the kitchen for a good twenty minutes, pouring his heart and soul into the juicy ribs, the creamy mashed potatoes, the crisp salad and the hot pumpkin soup. He felt like it was as good as any of his other dishes, but he was still nagged by his self-doubt. Bill, sweating profusely, called a waiter and told him to take the food to their VIP guest.

The waiter did as he was told. Bill wiped the sweat off his face. He should go back to the main kitchen and assist his staff, but he was being stubborn today. He decided to freshen up a little and go outside to check on Hillary’s reaction.

When he emerged from the kitchen, the sight in front of him made his heart stop. Hillary was licking her lips as the barbecue sauce drizzled from the corner of her mouth. She then pouted her lips ever so slightly as she swallowed her entrée. Vivid images of Hillary licking her lips, her mouth laced with another substance flashed inside Bill’s hand, making him blush profusely in the middle of the restaurant.

To Bill’s misfortune, Hillary turned his head to his direction and caught him red-faced. Hillary mistook it for his rage and felt guilty that he was being hospitable despite what she had done. She wiped her mouth with a napkin and asked for the bill.

But before the waitress could even give Hillary the bill, Bill called the waitress and told her that Hillary's meals were on the house.

Hillary insisted to the waitress that she would pay, and Bill, coming from the other side, overruled. The poor, confused waitress stood in the crossfire of the two chefs who wouldn't relent, but the impasse was broken when Bill said, "I owe you. You gave me free dinner. I am just returning the favor."

The waitress happily walked away. Hillary was relieved that Bill didn't bring up anything beyond that dinner. It was that part of Las Vegas that she was fondly remembering without feeling guilty. Indeed, it was one of her happier memories from that trip"

"Fine," Hillary relented. "Thank you."

"It's the least I could do. I am just hoping that this is my last favor to you," Bill said, sitting on the chair opposite hers. "I hope you don't blame me if I want to maintain a distance from you."

"Not at all," Hillary lied, feeling the sting of Bill's words. "I would stay away from myself if that's possible."

"I don't mean it that way, but I am just protecting myself, you know?"

“I know,” Hillary replied, sighing. “Well, I guess I have no reason to stay here. I am intruding already.”

“I can’t say I’d want you in my house, but here in the restaurant, you are welcome to stay. We are always happy to accommodate guests.

Hillary felt another stab in her chest, to she tried to make the conversation light-hearted. “Which is why I am wondering why this restaurant hasn’t earned its Michelin star yet.”

“Well, actually…” Bill began to blush.

“You know something that I don’t,” Hillary began to smile.

“The guys from Michelin had already visited us last week. We are very optimistic that we can get that star,” Bill proudly told Hillary.

“That’s great! I know you’d get it.”

“Thanks. The team has been very great.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. These ribs are the best I’ve ever tasted in my life. Bar none,” Hillary said glowingly.

“You are too kind,” Bill tried to be modest.

“I am just saying,” she replied, “that these ribs are worth the trip.”

“Well, I won’t stop you showering praises on my ribs,” Bill chuckled nervously. “I can give you more, if you like.”

“No, no. I’ve already troubled you enough. But I wouldn’t say no to the recipe."

“Not in your lifetime, Hun,” Bill said without thinking. It didn’t take long for them to realize that he had just said, and it made them both feel uncomfortable.

“I’d better go,” Hillary stood up, breaking the awkward silence. “It’s been a lovely meal. You can visit The French Laundry sometimes. You know, to experience the first-class tasting menu.”

“If I can get out of here for a vacation,” Bill replied. “If we get that Michelin star, people will surely flock.”

“I understand,” Hillary smiled, “but it’ll be nice to see you at the French Laundry as a guest.”

“One day,” he promised.

“Alright. I better go now. Take care Bill.”

“You too,” he replied.

Bill watched Hillary walk away. He couldn’t help but feel empty. He had a nagging feeling if he simply let her go without a fight, she would be gone for good, and he wouldn’t get the closure that he needed, the closure that she owed him. She would no longer be in his life, nor her sweet smile, her beautiful eyes or her perfect being.


Bill ran to her, still not wanting to let her go that easily.

“Where are you staying in Little Rock and until when?”

Bill looked up the ceiling of Hillary’s hotel room, panting and wondering how he ended up like last time. A few hours ago, he went to her hotel to ask her out for coffee after he had finished his shift. He simply wanted to get some closure. But what Bill expected to be a night of catharsis became a night of passion and ecstasy. Bill didn’t realize how relieved he was when Hillary was back in his arms, moaning and thrashing under him. Every thrust inside her brought him joy. She was clinging onto him like he was her lifeline, and they were about to fall into a deep abyss. In her deep throes of passion, Hillary said multiple times that she missed him, and based on the way she sucked his cock, Bill had no doubt that it was true.

And then there was Hillary, sleeping peacefully as she clung into his body, her head resting on his chest as if it was a pillow. Once in a while, Bill would play with her hair or occasionally kiss her head.

Bill wondered if this was yet another mistake. Hillary had all but confirmed that she was still seeing her boyfriend, yet there she was, sleeping in his arms again. He was beginning to think that all she wanted from him was sex, and she was simply using his body. And yet again, he was tripping all over her, as if he didn't learn the lessons of their past.

Hillary began to stir when the sunlight hit her face. She stretched her arms and legs before looking up to him adoringly.

"Good morning," she said.

"Good morning to you too," he said. "Slept well?"

"Very much, thanks to you."

"How are you feeling?" he asked, trying to get a hint of where they stand.

"I am feeling refreshed. You are a great lover, Bill."

"I am glad."

Hillary caught that stoic tone, and she knew why he was speaking that way.

"I know what you're thinking, Bill," she said as got up from bed. "You think I used you again."

"I wish I could say otherwise. But you said so yourself. You have a boyfriend and you don't seem to have plans of breaking up with him anytime soon."

Hillary remained silent. What could she say? After all, he was right.

"Well, I better go." Bill got up from bed and began to dress up. "For what it's worth, it was a great night."

Of course it was, Hillary thought bitterly. They both orgasmed at least three times last night, not counting the times when they randomly touched each other in the night.

Hillary was in no mood stop him or to help him fix himself. She simply sat in her side of the bed, looking at the opposite direction, not wanting to see Bill leave. She only knew that she was still there by the sounds that he made.

After a while, Hillary heard Bill say "I'll be going" but she didn't respond. In another universe where she wasn't tied to another man, she would have had her in bed everyday, waking up to the beating of his heart and to his radiant smile. But, alas, it was not meant to be, and she had to live with what she had.

Hillary heard Bill open the door, prepared to let him go, or at least her mind was. But her heart wasn't quite there yet. Just as he was walking out of her life forever, Hillary thought of something. She suddenly blurted out "wait!", quickly got into her robe and rummaged something from her bag. She pulled out a small card and hurriedly handed it to Bill.

"My card," she said, panting. "Whenever you need anything, I'll be at The French Laundry. No matter what happened last night and this morning, my offer still stands. You can visit anytime. I can help you with anything. It's the least I could do."

"I doubt I'll go to you for anything because I should keep as far away from you as possible," he said, looking at the card, "but thank you anyway. You are a generous person with a big heart. It's just that I don't belong in yours."

Yet another stab in her chest. "I know. Take care then."

"You too."

Hillary watched Bill leave for the elevator. As she did so, she was this close to making a call to Sean to tell him that they're over.

Chapter Text

Bill absentmindedly played with Hillary's business card as he sat in the bar of Glass Ceilings, Hillary's restaurant situated in the posh Manhattan area which indeed featured a glass ceiling. Bill didn't expect to find himself here. After battling with himself, he finally decided to contact her, as he had no other choice.

Not long after Hillary visited Bill in Arkansas, Bill's friend Vince Foster approached him for a business venture: a restaurant. Bill, now a Michelin-starred chef, quit his job at Aunt Betty's and left to establish a restaurant of his own. Vince managed go find a decent location in the heart of Little Rock at a good price. Bill and Vince each staked half of the starting capital into their new business. And at first, it seemed, things were off to a good start.

But the break that they were waiting for didn't come. They never really managed to break into the Little Rock restaurant scene, probably because their menu was too similar to Aunt Betty's, and people were into really into trying something new unless it was unique. Bill was almost driven into bankruptcy and he needed a job to keep himself afloat.

Bill, in the course of his job and soul-searching, decided that even though he already had a Michelin star under his apron, he still needed to expand his repertoire. He could apply for any of the five-star hotels in Little Rock but he felt that he wouldn't learn much from them. He needed a completely fresh start away from Little Rock.

And so, Bill reluctantly dug Hillary's business card from the pile of documents that he kept in his bedroom. He called The French Laundry, but they said that Hillary has already left and established her own restaurant in New York City. After some digging, he managed to find Hillary's restaurant: Glass Ceilings. He made a call to her NYC restaurant and to his relief, she wasn't there. But he did manage to get ab appointment with her, and now, he was sitting inside her restaurant, finally seeing her for the first time in three years.

From afar, Bill heard her distinct cackle. Her voice became louder as she approached the open area, surrounded by a band of chefs who were waiting for her instructions.

“We need to plan our fall menu. We only have until next month to do it,” Bill heard Hillary say. “One mistake and we lose our Michelin star.”

The chefs nodded and went to the kitchen to do their jobs. The hostess approached Hillary and whispered something in her ear, and her face suddenly looked urgent. Her eyes scanned the room until she met Bill’s, and her lively demeanor suddenly died. She became stiff and still, and the color was drained from her face.

She slowly approached him, straightening her clothes and tucking her hair behind her ear as she did so. Bill’s heart was beating like a drum. He awkwardly pulled the seat next to him. She sat down, looking equally uncomfortable as he was.

"I'm glad that you paid a visit to my restaurant," she said, trying to sound casual. "Have you had anything from our menu yet?"

"No, no, no. I am not here to dine," Bill said, thinking that he couldn't afford the meal anyway. "I wish I don't have to, but I have nowhere else to go."

"What do you mean?" Hillary asked, feigning ignorance. Of course she knew why he was here. She had been following his career after she left Little Rock. She knew the rise and fall of his business venture, but she didn't want Bill to know that; he may think she was stalking him unnecessarily.

Bill gulped and braced himself for the torture of telling Hillary his failure. His pride was extremely beaten, having Hillary hear the fact that he couldn't do better than her. When she broke his heart for the second time, he had directed all his hurt and anger into proving his worth: establishing his own restaurant. But then, his efforts had failed, he was there in her restaurant, begging for scraps like a dog.
To his surprise, Hillary looked distraught. But of course. She probably wanted to erase what happened between them because he would have been stain in her illustrous life, and there he was, coming to her from her darkest memories just to beg for a job. Judging rom her expression, he was sure
But the rejection that he was expecting didn't come. Instead, her distraught face turned into a sympathetic one.

"Let me guess," she said, "You came here because you wanted a job?"

Bill nodded.

"Well, my kitchen's already full," she said.

There it was. The "I'm sorry but I cannot help you" bullshit.

"But," she continued, "I can make an exception. I know you need someplace to start."

Bill's face soured. He tried to hide his surprise from her pronouncement.

"I will be happy to open a spot for you here in my restaurant, but on one condition."

"Sure. Name it," Bill replied.

"You will be a sous chef, and I know it will be a blow to your ego because you were already the head chef of a Michelin-starred restaurant, but here in Glass Ceilings, every one is versatile. Each chef can cook everything. And what I know is that while you are an expert on southern cuisine, your knowledge of other cuisines need work."

"In here, I want you to be able to create your own dish, based on what drives you, what inspired you," Hillary added. "That is what Glass Ceilings is for. This is where chefs get to expand their artistry on food. I can say that our chefs are all artists. They get inspired and they express their artistry on food. This is why customers go to this restaurant. Our chefs' creativity brings the ultimate culinary experience to our diners."

Bill simply stared at Hillary, struck. He was unsure if he would be happy that he offered him a job or offended because she had insinuated that he lacked skills. It would have been better if she never said anything at all. But then again, he was in no position to give him a piece of his mind. She might rescind her offer if he did.

"You have one week to think about my offer," Hillary said. "I know my offer wouldn't stand against the other restaurants who would want a Michelin-starred chef in their roster, but I can promise you that when you leave my restaurant, you will have the skills you need to go all the way. You can have my word on that," she assured.

Bill bit his lip. It's not as if he had a choice. Contrary to Hillary's belief, he had no offers from other restaurants. Apparently, the culinary word was no different from showbiz. Word of his failure spread fast, and nobody wanted a chef like him to work in their restaurants.

"I accept your offer," Bill sighed.

Hillary nodded. "Great. You will start after the fall shutdown. As you know, we take a two week shutdown at the beginning of every season to give our employees a well-deserved break. There's no reason for you to start prior to that shutdown."

Hillary decided whether to prolong this conversation or not, as this has been an ultimate torture for her. All along in this conversation, she was consumed by guilt, guilt from the terrible things that she had done to him. She thought it was a freaking miracle that he was talking to her. And now, by some twist of fate, she would be his boss. Part of the reason why she offered him the job was that she hoped it would help him forgive her, even though she hadn't asked for this forgiveness yet.

Hillary decided that she would let him be by himself. After all, she didn't even know how to start a conversation with him, even though years ago, talking to him was as easy as breathing. But then again, he had no idea back then how big of a bitch she was. She took a deep sigh and gave him his privacy.

Bill stared at his hands, still in disbelief that he had landed a job and at the same time, bracing for the flood of painful memories that were sure to surge because of constant presence. No matter how hard he tried to put her behind him, she was still there, lurking in his mind and his heart. He quietly kicked himself for not being able to escape from her. Bill looked around to see if she was still there, but he was a little disappointed that she was not. His heart broke a little bit when he realized that she hadn't properly said goodbye to him, but he had to learn to live with that. He had to learn once and for all that Hillary would never choose him, over her career or her boyfriend who he can never measure up to.

He had to, or else he wouldn't survive.

Chapter Text

Hiring Bill wasn't probably the best decision Hillary ever made in her life. Training him proved to be very challenging and frustrating. He was not in any way receptive to the new techniques that were being taught to him, and since he was already an executive chef of a Michelin-star restaurant, his ego was preventing him from coping with the new work environment.

Hillary massaged her temple as she digested the news that one customer had complained about the overcooked lièvre à la royale. The dish, which was made of hare cooked long and slow until it has a melt-in-your-mouth texture, was a French specialty. Hillary immediately knew that the culprit for the imperfect dish: someone had cooked the hare over high heat. This simple error should not have gone past Bill, as it was his duty to supervise the meat dishes.

She went down to the kitchen to check what was happening. She saw Bill and his assistant chefs plating another batch of lièvre à la royale.

"Boys, stop this for a sec," Hillary ordered, and Bill and the chefs obliged. "Have you tested the dish before plating?"

"We have," said Bill.

"And? Does it pass our standards?" she asked.

"Well, it's not the best lièvre a la royale but it is extremely delicious, I can assure you," said Bill.

Hillary took one of the unfinished plates and tasted a small portion of the hare. Her face crumpled as if she had tasted something sour.

"The customer's right. It is overcooked," said Hillary.

"What?!" Bill yelped. He took a spoon and took a bite out of the plate where Hillary took from. "It's soft and tender. It's earthy. I fail to see what's wrong with this plate!"

"This dish is soft for a reason," said Hillary. "This was made for a toothless King Louis XIV so that he could eat his favorite hare even without chewing. If you have to chew it, then it's not lièvre à la royale!"

Bill annoyingly threw the spoon that he had been using and walked out of the kitchen.

Stacey, one of Hillary's other sous chefs, was watching from the other side. She approached her boss and friend, offering a sympathetic ear.

"That's what you get when you hired an executive chef for a subordinate position," reminded Stacey. "Didn't he beg you for a job?"

"Yeah, he did," Hillary replied, still looking at the direction where Bill went. "I was feeling bad for his misfortunes so I hired him, against my better judgment."

"Obviously," Stacey rolled her eyes. "Are you sure you didn't just hire him because he looked more edible than the entire menu here?"

Hillary tried to remain casual. "No. I just really feel bad for him. I met him years ago in Las Vegas. He was a good friend. I couldn't deny him the help he needed."

"So let me get this straight. You guys met each other in Vegas a few years ago and your next conversation is like, three months ago where he begged for a job? Sounds like a lousy friend to me"

Hillary couldn't look at her sous chef directly. She was praying that Stacey wouldn't notice.

"Well, I don't want to dwell into our frequency of conversations," Hillary tried to pivot the conversation.

"What's important is that I find a way to connect to him."

"He should be connecting to you, Hillary," Stacey reasoned. "Not the other way around. He should take this job seriously if he wants to get ahead."

"I know, but it takes the two of us to make progress. If I am not receptive to his needs as a boss, then he would not grow," Hillary said.

Stacey simply sighed. "Fine, Hill. You're the boss. I know you can manage him."

"Thanks, Stacey," Hillary smiled. "By the way, the vol au vents were amazing."

"Of course," Stacey winked as she returned to her workstation. "I learned from the best."


After an exhausting workday, when most of her staff had already left, Hillary sat in the kitchen, eating the leftover gratin dauphinois. She had been more involved in the kitchen that usual, not just because of the influx of diners due to the weekend, but because of a problematic sous chef that she couldn't fire because of legal reasons.

A number of her staff greeted her as they passed by, but when Bill did, carrying his backpack, he gave zero fucks that his boss was sitting there. Hillary noticed his ignorance, and she quickly called for him before he could leave.
Bill masked the annoyance in his face as he walked back towards his boss.

"Hey," he tried to sound casual. "You need something?"

"Yeah," she replied, talking another bite of gratin. "I wonder if we can have a chat. Have you eaten dinner yet?"

"I'd like to eat dinner at home," Bill said.

"Why? Food's free here," she replied.

"I just like the peace, you know, of eating alone," he lied. That did not escape Hillary's sharp senses.

"Alright," she pretended to accept his response. "I'd like you to invite to dinner then. Let's go to my office. Gary, can you please send some food to my office?"

Gary, a younger chef, nodded and left to do his boss's orders. Meanwhile, Bill was this close to rolling his eyes in front of her.

Hillary and Bill together went to her office, which was simply a small room where she could receive guests. She led him to the small table which doubled as a dining table. Not long after, Gary arrived with plates of food and set the table for them.

"Alright," she said as they took their seats. "First, I apologize that I held you up when you're just about to leave, but you're always gone before I was able to call you."

"No problem," he said, which the exact opposite of what he was thinking.

"So, I just want to talk to you about your first three months here. I just want your feedback how you are getting along with your work."

"It's okay," he said. "I do the stuff asked of me."

Hillary bit her lip. "And? Anything else?"

"No," he replied.

She sighed. Bill didn't want to open up to her. He didn't even want to learn.

"Bill," she said, "listen to me. I know that you are having a hard time in this job, and I understand that because of your different background, but if you want to succeed in his path that you chose, then you will have to learn how to cope. You have a lot to learn in here, Bill."

Bill simply looked at the other direction, and this was starting to get into her nerves. But she might know what do motivate him, much as she hated to bring that up.

"Bill," she sighed, "Do not think of your employment here as something that would benefit me. Think of it as a training for yourself. I know that doing a favor for me is the last thing that you'd want to do, and with a level of skill like yours, you are doing me and my business good, but I accepted you here because you needed somewhere to start again. Don't let me get in the way of your growth. You are a very talented chef, Bill. Prove to me, to your coworkers and to the diners what made you a Michelin-starred chef. Because in the end, the reason of your success is you, not me."

"I know that you hate me," she continued, "but don't let your hate for me prevent you from being successful."

"I don't hate you," Bill said through gritted teeth. "I just work this way."

To say that Bill was lying was a massive understatement, and Hillary knew that. The Bill that she met in Las Vegas and the one sitting in front of her were two different persons. She couldn't blame him, though. He was hardened by his experiences, and he simply needed to be reminded that there was more to life that misfortunes.

Hillary tried another approach. "I know you are just new here, but if you need to take a leave then you have my permission to do so. I know losing everything that you've worked for hurts a lot."

"How would you know?" Bill asked bitterly. "You've never failed."

"Getting the top job at The French Laundry wasn't a walk in the park," said Hillary. "The last three executive chefs before me have far less experience than I have. Being looked over and branded as not being enough despite my skills was painful to me."

Bill simply stared at her. He didn't know that part of Hillary's life. But then again, he never had a real, in-depth conversation with her.

"I know what you're going through, Bill. You need to pick up the pieces. You might be demotivated right now, but you will have to stand up for yourself at some point. And whenever that is, I will be there to support you."

For the first time since they met again, Bill looked at her with kind eyes, the same way he looked at her when they first met, and it set off the butterflies that had been slumbering in her stomach.

Glancing at the food in front of them, Bill pulled the plate in front of him and began to eat. Seeing Bill open up a little felt like a small triumph for Hillary.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door. It was Gary.

"Chef H, Sean is waiting for you outside. He says he wants to take you to dinner."

"Too late for him because I already ate, but tell him I'll be there." Hillary then turned to Bill. "Hey, I am sorry but I cannot join you. You are welcome to finish my plate, though. I haven't touched it so it should be clean."

Bill nodded and muttered his thanks.

Hillary smiled. "Eat. Chill. Rest. You need it."

She stood up to meet with her boyfriend. But before she left the room, she gave Bill one last glance. Her heart swelled at the sight of him eating. She knew that Bill took the first step towards healing, and she was proud of him for choosing to fight for himself.

He's stronger than he thinks he is, she thought.

Chapter Text

Hillary arrived at the restaurant earlier than usual. She usually arrives at 9, but that day, she was already there by 6 AM. Her restaurant would play host to the President of France for a goodwill dinner by the French-Americans in NYC. Having her highest profile event yet, Hillary couldn't afford to make any mistake. And so, she had her team had been preparing for this for months. With the dinner a few days away, everything had shifted to a higher gear.

As Hillary pulled her car and got out, she noticed a man jogging into her direction. His body looked good enough for her to eat, and Hillay let herself indulge for a few seconds by staring at him. Hillary almost felt her heart drop when she realized that the jogger was Bill. He had grown more muscular since she had last seen his body, which was a few years ago. He had definitely blossomed since then, and Hillary felt like a blob. Even though she was clothes, she felt like she still needed to cover her body because she felt like shit next to him.

Hillary wanted to hide, but unfortunately, Bill already was too close that she could not pretend that she didn't see him.

"Good morning," she said.

"Good morning," he panted as he stopped.

"Are you early to work, like me?" she asked.

Bill shook his head. "I've always been early. At least, for the past two months. I'm trying to create a routine. I arrive at 5:30 then jog a bit then eat breakfast at 7 then start working at 7:30."

"Wow, I didn't know you start so early," she remarked, astounded.

"I wasn't, but what you told me made me realize things. One of which is that I can do anything if I put my heart into it. So here I am, rebuilding my life, taking care of myself and keeping my body healthy."

Hillary smiled, feeling awfully proud of him. "I am glad that you found your confidence. I've always known that you have it in you."

"Thanks," Bill blushed. "Well, I gotta go. You know, to jog. See you in half an hour."


Bill went on with his jog. Hillary remained behind, biting her lips and reminding herself that she had a boyfriend.

During the days leading up to the dinner, Hillary had been more and more involved in the kitchen. Usually, she was simply overseeing the operations, but now, she was doing the dirty work herself. Like in the day before the dinner, she was baking a batch of vol-au-vents which would be be container for her reimagined lièvre à la royale. Instead of the dish just being served in a plate with bread, the hare casserole would be served in the puff pastry. She liked the idea of giving the traditional French dish a new twist.

On the day of the dinner itself, Hillary has closed down the restaurant to give them time to prepare for the big even. The restaurant was filled with experienced chefs, but everyone was running like chickens with their heads cut off.

The pressure had started to take toll on Hillary. She was more irritable than usual, occasionally swearing in front of her staff. Her reputation was on the line, and so she could not make any mistake. Everything must be perfect.

Bill, on the other hand, was holding on his own. He had been assigned to the entreès. For his part, he developed a pastry with brie and mozzarella filling, to be served with champagne. He was particularly proud of it, because it gage him Hillary's first nod of approval. He could remember that day when he was to present his dish to her. He could vividly recall how Hillary indulged in his pastry, that face which he had only seen whenever he hit her particularly sensitive spot with his cock. Bill almost exploded when he saw her that way, but thank God he was surrounded by other people and thus his desire to rub himself was immediately dampened.

As Bill was putting the pastries the oven, Hillary suddenly barged in.

"Hey, Bill. What's up with the pastries?" she asked.

"All good, all good," he proudly showed her the perfect little pastries cooking in the oven.

"Would you look at that," Hillary admired his work. "You really did it, Bill. I am so proud of you."

"Thanks. I am happy that I am able to do this. I never imagined that I would be cooking French."

"You just have to open your mind, and I am glad you did. There's a reason why you have a Michelin star."

"And so do you," Bill replied. "You're a great chef and a great teacher. No other chef could do what you are doing."

It felt like they had turned back time and they were sitting in that bar in Las Vegas, eating cheese and drinking Chardonnay. The mirth in their laughs return, and it's as if no time had passed since. They inched closer, laughing and giggling. Hillary didn't even flinch when Bill tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Miss Hillary?"

A young chef, Elton, opened the kitchen door to find them too close for a boss and her subordinate. Both jumped away and pretended as if nothing had happened.

"Yes, Elton?" Hillary replied.

"Mr. Lecornec of the French security services is here. He wants a routine inspection and an interview with you, Ma'am."

"Oh yes, I almost forgot. Thanks for that, Elton," Hillary wiped her hands on her apron even though they were not dirty. She then turned to Bill. "Let me know if these are already done. I want to test them."

"Sure," said Bill.

Hillary left Bill in the kitchen alone. He couldn't help but glance at her succulent, heart-shaped bottom that he fondly kneaded.

The dinner with the French president was nothing short of exhausting. Hillary would rather be in the kitchen and make sure that everything was running smoothly. But as the owner and head chef of Glass Ceilings, she was to attend the dinner. This was the part of being a boss that she didn't particularly like: attending functions.

As with attending functions, she didn't like dressing up. And so, she just simply let Stacy do all the work for her. Stacy had a friend who worked in Vogue and she managed to "borrow" one of the gowns in magazine's fashion department. Hillary had no participation in it whatsoever. So when Hillary was to wear the dress, she was stunned.

"Oh Stacy!" Hillary exclaimed. "This is too much!"

"No, Hillary," Stacy replied, "you are just not used to wearing gowns. I mean, look at you!"

Hillary looked at herself in the mirror. To be honest, she was pleased at how she looked. It was a gold Dela Renta gown, embellished with sequins and embroidery. The gown was long sleeved yet it accentuated her silhouette. It gave Hillary a nude illusion, yet it there was nothing harrassing about it. It was simply perfection.

It was ironic that even though she was hosting the reception, she had go enter the restaurant like every guest: riding a limo and walking on the red carpet. She would be attending the dinner with her boyfriend, Sean, who would be picking her up.

Just as Hillary finished fixing her earrings, she heard the doorbell. Stacy rushed to open the door, and there was Sean, looking very handsome in a crisp tuxedo.

"Looking good, Sean!" admired Stacy.

"Thank you," replied Sean. "So, where's my girl?"

"Here!" Hillary replied as she emerged from the bathroom after giving a final look in the mirror.

"My God, I can't look away," remarked Sean. "You are so beautiful, Baby."

"Stop it," Hillary playfully nudged Sean.

Hillary and Sean bid Stacy goodbye and slipped inside the limo that Sean rented for this occasion. Once they were in front of her restaurant, Sean gave Hillary one quick smooch to soothe her nerves.

"For luck," Sean winked.

Hillary and Sean stepped down from the car, greeted by the camera flashes and the happy chatter of the guests. Hillary was congratulated by the French and American ambassadors, some members of the French delegation, and Hillary introduced Sean to everyone. Hillary was still uncomfortable by the attention, but slowly, she learned to cope with it.

They were escorted to their seats by Hillary's staff. When they had settled on their table, Hillary was still agitated by not being in charge of everything so she excused herself and slipped into the kitchen.

When she entered the kitchen, the staff was stunned to see her in such a beautiful dress, none moreso than Bill. He almost dropped the bowl that he was holding because he was staring at her for too long.

"I need to check if anything is running smoothly. Where's my sous chefs? Stacy? Robby? Bill?"

"Here," Bill hurried from the stove, retrieving his notebook from the table. He still couldn't stop looking at her.

Hillary gave Bill her last-minute instructions. Hillary was conscious that Bill was standing incredibly close to her, and as much as she hated to admit it, she liked it. She missed having him that close to her. She felt the heat rise up to her cheeks, something she hadn't felt in a long time.

"Honey, the President's chief-of-staff wanted to talk to you."

Both Hillary and Bill jumped when Sean's voice boomed in the kitchen. Sean was standing on the doorway, waiting for his girlfriend.

"Well, I guess that's it for my final instructions," Hillary composed herself. "Honey, can you come here?"

Sean approached the two of them. Bill hid his raging emotions under his poker face.

"Sean, I want you to meet Bill, my newest sous chef," she said to Sean. "And Bill, meet Sean, my boyfriend."

Bill extended his hand and gave a stiff handshake to Sean. Hillary wasn't exactly sure what made her do what she just did. Maybe it was the guilt that she had slept with Bill twice while she was in a relationship with Sean, and it felt incredibly awkward to have the two men that she fucked introduced to each other. But she had to act as if nothing had happened.

After the two men exchanged some small talk, Sean escorted Hillary out of the kitchen, his arm wrapped around her waist. Bill watched them go out, sickened on the sight and decided that after all of this was over, he'd take home that entire bottle of whiskey that he saw in the cellar.

Chapter Text

Every season, the restaurant shuts down for two weeks in order for the staff to rest and spend their time with their family. Everyone was relaxing and enjoying their break, with the exception of Bill, who was spending his break in the restaurant. He was busy trying to create a new dish for the next season's menu, which was Hillary's condition for his promotion. If he managed to do that, he would be ahead of the other sous chefs, making him Hillary's right-hand man.

He had been working on a modern variation of canard à la presse, a complex dish made of duck served on a sauce of its own blood and marrow. Instead of being served just by itself, he wrapped the duck into a pastry. Or at least, that was his plan, but he was having a hard time executing his plan. In every attempt, there was always something wrong: the pastry was too hard, the duck was underseasoned or the sauce was too rich. He was getting annoyed at himself for always getting something wrong. He had been toiling all week and he was no closer to the final product than he was when he began.

Exhausted and frustrated, Bill pulled his apron and threw it in his workstation. He didn't bother putting it in his locker because nobody was going to come in the restaurant tomorrow anyway. As Bill had just cleaned up and about to head home, he heard a distinct giggle from affair, and he was pretty sure who that giggle belonged to. His heart racing, he hid in the nearest stock cabinet, praying that the owner of the giggle wouldn't think of getting something from the storage.

"Sean...Baby...that tickles."

Hillary giggled softly when Sean softly nipped the skin of her neck. She had always been ticklish, and Sean knew it. He knew how to make her moan, to make her giggle, to make her come... Sean did his job, and Hillary was enjoying every single moment of it. That's why when Sean pulled her panties down and slipped inside her, she let out a deep sigh.

Behind the stock room door, Bill didn't need to take a peek to know what was happening. Even the dumbest of all idiots would know what was happening, and instead of feeling bitter or hurt, he couldn't help but chuckle. Hillary was much louder and vocal when she was with him on both times. She was constantly egging him to make her come and to come for her. Apparently, Bill had discovered, Sean wasn't as familiar with Hillary's body as he was. Being trapped in the stock room because his boss was fucking outside was incredibly awkward, but he had to admit, this had been his biggest ego boost in a while.

The two week break was over, and the restaurant was back in business. The restaurant was bustling with customers. The latest glowing review of their season's menu from the New York Times only increased their clientele. Glass Ceilings couldn't be in a better time.

As part of their effort to enhance the dining experience of their customers, Hillary and her sous chefs would walk around the diners and talk with them, offering personalized service, just as crepe requests and menu customizations. Often, customers would ask for the chefs' recommendations for wine to match with their menu. Bill, Robby and Stacy were happy to accommodate their customer's requests.

As for Hillary, she would usually go to clients who ordered the cheaper menu sets. She didn't want to make them feel that just because they couldn't afford the more expensive meals, they would not be given a special treatment. Hillary treated every customer the same, and that's what sets her apart from the other restaurant owners.

That night, Bill was doing his rounds on the floor, and his attention was caught by a blonde woman sitting with four other people who seemed to be her friends. Seeing that Hillary and the other sous chefs hadn't attended to them yet, he took the liberty of entertaining them himself.

"Good evening," he said, "my name is Chef Bill. How is your dinner so far?"

"Wonderful. The food is amazing," said the blonde.

Bill looked so pleased with himself. "I see you just had the foie gras."

"Yes, it was amazing. They're as good as the ones I had in Paris," said the blonde.

"I am glad! You seem to be well traveled," he replied.

"Yes, I am. And I am surprised too see you here. I thought you were still in Aunt Betty's."

The woman definitely knew the who's who in the culinary world, Bill thought. "Yeah, I left there years ago. Started my own restaurant but it didn't really take off. That's why I am here right now."

"I see," said the blonde. "I ate in Aunt Betty's four years ago. The ribs were the best I've ever tasted in my life."

"I am glad you enjoyed them," Bill replied, feeling proud of himself.

"Hey, I see the other sous chefs and Miss Hillary take requests from the customers," the blonde noted. "Can I make a request too?"

"Anything, ma'am," Bill replied.

"I heard from the waitress in Aunt Betty's that you are a good sax player. Well, I see a sax over there," the blonde said, pointing at the sax near the piano. "Can you play for us?"

"Well, to tell you the truth, I am a bit rusty...."

"Please..." the woman brought out her most innocent, adorable face, and Bill couldn't help but fulfill her wish. He approached the piano and picked up the sax. He racked his brain for a good song, and thank goodness, he managed to find one in time.

The tune of Frank Sinatra's It Had To Be You in saxophone filled the entire restaurant. The beautiful music caught everyone's attention, and everyone, including Hillary, became aware of the sous chef's hidden talent.

Hillary, her clients forgotten, was staring at Bill. For her, he had never looked so handsome. He was so good with the saxophone. It's as if he was calling her name. It's has if he was reading her a love letter in song. If he had asked her to marry him right then there, she would say yes, Sean be damned.

When the song was over, the whole restaurant erupted into applause, including Hillary. She thought he would go back to entertaining the other customers, but to her dismay, he went straight to the table where the blonde woman was sitting and he seemed to flirt with her. Upset and heartbroken by what she saw, Hillary quietly exited to the kitchens, burying herself in kitchen work.

The blond woman was still clapping when Bill approached her. He seemed really pleased with himself.

"That was amazing. The chefs in Aunt Betty's are right," complimented the woman.

"Thank you, uh, Miss..."

"Margot. My name is Margot."

"Nice to meet you, Margot."

Bill and Margot shook hands, Bill's face felt hot. He felt like a hormonal teenager. He could barely manage not to look like a fool in front of Margot.

"It was great seeing you play the sax," Margot said. "Thanks for doing that for us."

"The pleasure is all mine," replied Bill.

"Hey, do you have a business card?" Margot asked. "I'd like to exchange cards, in case I need someone doing catering."

Bill's face felt hot, in disbelief that Margot was doing what he hoped she would.

"Here," Bill scrambled to give her his business card.

"William J. Clinton," Margot read the card. "Nice name. Here's mine."

Bill put Margot's card in his apron pocket, hoping that he wouldn't crumple it. "Thank you so much, Margot."

"No worries," she smiled. "I believe I am holding you for too long. "I'll call you if I have a catering job for you."

"I'd appreciate that. See you, Margot."

Bill walked away from Margot, almost jumping. He had almost missed having this feeling of having a woman fall for him. Unfortunately, his experience with Hillary had wiped out his memories of being loved and desired.

When Bill entered the kitchen, Bill was surprised to see Hillary in a foul mood. He must have been roaming around for too long and Hillary was left on her own.

"Bill!" Hillary cried, exasperated. "Where have you been?"

"Sorry, I was doing the customer rounds," Bill hurried to her side. "What do I need to do?"

"Nobody's in charge of the entrées, please take care of it," she replied frustratingly as she left for the second kitchen. "And Bill?"


"Next time, try not to openly flirt with our customers," she replied, "especially during work hours. This is not a strip club."

Hillary stomped as she left Bill on his own. For a second, he wanted to scream at her to tell her that she had no business meddling at his personal life. And at the same time, he couldn't control a smile coming out of his mouth, knowing that she was jealous of Margot.

Chapter Text

Hillary had been running around in and out of the kitchen, tending to the customers and managing the chefs. She was one sous chef short, because Bill was on a leave. For the first time since he started working there, he had asked for a leave. Of course, with the performance that he had been giving, he more than deserved a leave. Hillary had already been thinking of promoting him as her right-hand man, but since he hasn’t delivered his original dish yet, which was her condition for his promotion, she couldn’t do that just yet.

She emerged from the kitchen after straightening out the situation with the hors d'oeuvres. She was already tending to the diners when she saw a familiar face in the floor.

Bill, arm-in-arm with the woman who Hillary was sure that Bill was flirting with before, was led to one of the tables by the hostess. A waiter was about to approach them, but Hillary stopped him midway, saying that she would attend to them herself. The waiter nonchalantly obeyed her orders and let her serve them herself.

Hillary plastered her most natural smile (which was a huge effort on her part) and hugged the menu to her chest.

"Hi Bill," she greeted him. "I didn't know you'd be here."

Bill looked a little flustered that it was Hillary who would be serving them. "Yeah. I made a reservation weeks ago because I wanted to spend time with Margot."

"Oh, you're Margot?" Hillary asked in her falsely sweet voice that made Bill squirm.

"Yes, I am. Margot DiLaurentis. A reporter from The New York Standard."

Hillary accepted the handshake from Margot. "Hillary Rodham. Executive Chef."

"Of course I know you. You're famous!" Margot said excitedly. "Best female chef in the US. A legend amongst women in the culinary world."

"Thank you," Hillary replied. She was trying to find a reason to hate Margot, but she couldn't. The woman was very personable.

"So, do we order now? I am hungry," Margot told Bill.

"Of course," Bill was handed the menu and he popped it open. He was well aware that Hillary was waiting for them, but he wanted anyone but her to do that. He felt guilty enough for bringing Margot here because she wanted to. Now, his boss was going to be their waitress.

"So, what will you have?" Hillary took her pen and paper, ready to jot down their order.

"Uhm, no offence, Hillary, but can't you have others wait for us? I mean, you have a lot to do and we don't mind having the other servers. You can focus on the VIP diners," said Bill.

"That's fine, the others are more than up to the task," Hillary assured him. "So, what do you like?"

Bill scanned the menu, his brain not registering the information in front of him. He was too busy overthinking how awkward this situation was. It's like inviting his mistress to his house and have his wife cook her dinner.

Wife?! Where did that come from?? Bill berated himself. Why was he guilty again? Aha! He remembered now. He didn't want his boss to serve him.

Margot happily informed Hillary of her order, and Bill had no choice but to follow suit. He barely mumbled his choice (duck ballotine) and when Hillary left, his eyes were following her while his hands were holding Margot's.
Hillary angrily tapped in Bill's order in the computer and marched towards the kitchen, her brain working overdrive. She told her staff that she would work on Bill's order herself, leaving them confused.

Bill tried to have a good time with Margot. Fortunately for him, Margot was doing a very good job lifting his spirits up. She was very engaging and very much into him. Normally, he would not have any problem entertaining her, because he loved talking to people. But that night, he was struggling a bit. Once in a while, when he became too comfortable with Margot, his mind would drift back to Hillary.

"Here's your order."

Bill looked up at the direction of that voice. Hillary, her hair tied in a messy bun, placed their plate of food in front of them. She must have fixed her hair when she was in the kitchen. The presence of the appetizing food and the delicious aroma did not manage to take away his gaze from her.

As abruptly as she appeared, Hillary left Bill and Margot. Much to Bill's relief. He tried to focus his attention to Margot. His eyes dropped on the low cut dress that she was wearing. Margot noticed his gaze, and gave out a dirty smirk.

Bill groaned on Margot's neck when he slipped inside her from behind, hitting that delicious spot. Kneeling on Bill's bed. Margot reached his back from behind, urging him to plunge deeper into her. Her breasts bounced as her body rocked against his, and his large hands covered those soft orbs, twisting and pinching her nipples. Margot arched her back then he stabbed her once again, sending shocks of pleasure to her very last vein.

"Oh God, Bill, I'm going to cum...please...." she begged him.

"Yes, baby...cum for me...cum hard..."

Three stabs of his cock, and Margot's orgasm came over her like a freight train. Her body stilled, absorbing the liquid hot pleasure from the incessant friction against Bill's body. Bill took the opportunity to suck the skin of her neck, leaving a mark that would let every other man know that she was his.

When Margot calmed down, she pulled Bill closer and whispered, "your turn, Baby. Cum for me. Put your seed inside me."

Oh fuck. The way Margot said it, it was fucking glorious. Bill wasn't in any mood to disobey her so he pounded her harder from behind, determined to get his release.

A doorbell. Bill thought he heard the doorbell.

He ignored it and instead, continued to fuck Margot's pussy.

Another doorbell. And then another. And then another.

And then it became hard for Bill to concentrate on getting his release. He was harder than a rock, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to cum. He was too bothered and annoyed by the doorbell to bring himself to completion.

Deciding that he couldn't finish until he settle that fucking doorbell, Bill pulled out of Margot and pulled up his black shorts, leaving his upper body bare. Margot was a little disappointed but she promised to suck him clean when he returned.

Bill grumpily marched towards the door and angrily swung the door opened. His face was full of annoyance, and when he stepped out of his apartment, he nearly scared the shit out of the person outside.

Hillary was holding her chest for dear life and she saw the expression on Bill's face. She had never felt so scared when she was with him.

Bill jumped when he saw Hillary was outside, still clad in her chef's garb without the hat. Bill wanted to kick himself for almost giving his boss a heart attack.

"Oh shit!" Bill exclaimed. "Sorry about that...uhm....uh...can I help you?" he said awkwardly.

"Uh, yeah," Hillary pretended not to see the hard outline of his cock in his pants. "I...I came here to give you your schedule for next week," she lied.

"Oh," Bill looked away, hopelessly praying that she was oblivious to what was happening. "What's my roster?"

"12-10 PM everyday," she lied. To be honest, she had no idea what was Bill's supposed roster for the next week. She came to his apartment to warn him not to bring Margot again to the restaurant even when he is not working, which she had realized was a dumb idea when she had already pressed the doorbell, and it was already too late."

"Alright," Bill replied, not looking at her eyes. "I'll see you next week."

"Alright," Hillary replied. "Enjoy your leave."

She quickly left Bill's apartment, salvaging what was left of her dignity. Bill on the other hand, remained on the door for a couple of minutes, pondering if he should quit his job if his feelings for Hillary were keeping him from moving on with his life completely. He was snapped back into reality when Margot called his name. He returned to her, lying seductively in his bed. He tried his best to push Hillary aside. He laid down beside her and whispered on her ear.

"Do you want me to fuck you in the shower?"

Chapter Text

Bill didn't know what had happened. His relationship with Margot turned sour overnight. He thought he had already gotten over Hillary because for the first time in years, he had actually desired a girl and was dreaming of future with her. And then, they had their major fight: Her refusal to go back to Arkansas with him.

Bill had been hinting that he would be resigning from his post because of Hillary's proximity, but of course, he didn't tell her that this was his true motivation. He told her that he was thinking of moving back to Arkansas now that he had a stable income. Margot wasn't willing to move to Little Rock with him, and at first, they brushed that off, but it became a point of tension between the two. To be fair, Bill was indeed planning to go back to Arkansas, just not this soon. But with Hillary looming, he needed to remove her from his life once and for all.

After a nasty fight with Margot while they were in her apartment, Bill was in no mood to get home. He thought of going to the restaurant and cooking something. Anything to distract him from his fight with Margot. But when he arrived, he thought he was alone. But he was wrong.

He found a teary Hillary, sitting on the kitchen while nursing a glass of Chardonnay.

Bill looked up into the ceiling. Oh dear God, why me...why now?

"Hey," Hillary sniffed. "What are you doing here?"

"I was just...I was just...I just left something," he lied. "I think I did. I couldn't find it in apartment so I thought I'd look here."

"Alright," she replied. She tossed a large ring of keys on to the tables from her bag. "Just look at the lost and found locker."

"Thanks," Bill got the key. He was about to go to the locker to "get" his stuff but he changed his mind halfway. "Are you alright."

"No," she replied. "I feel shit."

"Want me to make you a dessert, or...?"

"I'm fine," she told Bill. "I just want some privacy."

Bill was hesitant to leave her just like that, but pushing her might only provoke her. "Alright. I'll leave you to yourself."


Bill went to the lockers to "get" this stuff, but his mind was nowhere near them. He was aching to find out what was bothering Hillary. He knew he shouldn't meddle into her affairs, but seeing her cry like that made him want to kiss her pain away.

When he got back to the kitchen, he found her in a better shape than before, but nevertheless still devastated. His heart was yearning to comfort her, but his logical mind told him that he should protect himself from further pain. He gave a last glance at Hillary before deciding to leave.

But before he could do so, her voice caught him off-guard.

"I know what you're thinking, Bill," she said, her voice cracking.

He turned around. "What is it?"

"You think I deserve this," she said.

"What are you talking about?"

Hillary stood up, the glass of Chardonnay in her hand. "You think that I'm such a bitch that I deserve to be hurt."

"Sorry, Hillary. I really don't know what you are talking about."

"Sean and I are over," Hillary broke down into tears again. "I wanted him to marry me, but he was sick of me giving him deadlines, so he walked out on me."

Bill simply looked at her, stunned. He was processing the new information, and he didn't know what to feel about it.

"Go on, Bill! Gloat! Laugh on my face! Fuck Margot in front of me!" she dared him drunkenly, and then she broke down again "I'm so sorry for being such a bitch, Bill."

Bill was torn between hurt and vindicated. He was glad that Hillary finally felt remorse for what she did to him, but he didn't like she paid such a price for it.

Deciding that he would stay with her for a couple of minutes then leave, Bill turned back and sat beside her.

"I accept your apology," he said. "Thanks. I needed it, you know?"

"I should have done that when you first approached me," she replied. "But I was scared. I was scared because it meant that I acknowledge that I had feelings for you."

"I don't know if it still matters but I did," she added. "You were probably confused and hurt because you thought I was playing you. Well, I wasn't. Or at least, partly. I was just a coward to finally tell you that we wouldn't work and for jumping at you whenever you were near."

Bill had to admit that he felt good that she finally acknowledged that she hurt her, but he wasn't sure if she would have thought of it had she and Sean did not have a relationship-ending fight like this.

Feeling awkward regarding the whole situation, Bill decided that he was going to let her be. He was going to give her a soft pat on the shoulder just to be respectful, but when the moment his hand touched her shoulder, something had shifted in him, something that had been slumbering inside him had awoken and was now roaring.

Bill pulled her closer to him, and she didn't resist, telling him that it was okay. She meld into his body, her tears wetting his shirt, his body all too aware of her closeness. Pushing his bodily desires away, he kissed her forehead, letting her know that he was there for her.

Hillary let herself go, basking in his strength and warmth. With him, she felt safe. With him, she felt secure. With him, she felt loved.

Hillary didn't how it happened, but she found herself kissing Bill, and he was kissing back. His tongue deliciously swirled around her mouth, just the way she remembered it. She was taking him in, letting him explore her mouth, nipping, licking and sucking. Their noses bumped, their teeth clashed. But that slight friction was nothing compared to their hearts that beat as one.

After all the pain that Hillary had inflicted on Bill, she was more than willing to make it up to him. In record speed, she managed to unzip his pants and pull them down, revealing his already erect cock, standing proud for her to see. She knelt down and without warning, she took all of him in her mouth.

The more she made love to his cock with her mouth, the more aroused she get. Hearing Bill reduce into moans and grunts was a matter of pride for her. It even brought her joy. Of course, nothing stroked a woman's ego more than to see her man succumb to her seduction, but for Bill, it was an act of love.

"Oh, Hillary," Bill removed his cock from her mouth. "I am going to cum soon. I want to be inside you."

Hillary nodded. She let Bill remove her clothes and gently pushed her against the wall so he could enter her. Slowly, he slid in, and Hillary felt like she would almost be torn apart into two. 

"I'm sorry, babe," he apologized. "I didn't realize you weren't ready yet."

"It's alright," she gasped. "I can handle it."

Bill inserted her hand between her legs and played with her clit, and the effect was immediate. She gasped at the sudden surge of pleasure, masking the pain that she felt on her entrance. Bill felt the rush of her fluids on her cock. The more he played with her, the more she relaxed. In time, she was already thrusting herself against his cock, and Bill knew she was ready.

"Here I come," he said.

Bill pulled himself until he was completely out, and in one fell swoop, he rammed himself completely into her.

Any trace of her pain was completely gone, replaced only by a feeling of pure bliss. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the kitchen walls. Hillary relished the pounding that she received, slowly edging herself towards her climax.

But she was an impatient woman. She wanted to cum, and she wanted to cum now. She wanted to cum with him, to roll over the edge and find him waiting on the other side, and then to hold her as she cuddled against his strong chest...

Her fantasy was broken when Bill told her that he was cumming soon. Since they coupling was out of the blue, nobody thought of using protection. But luckily, Hillary had always been on the pill.

"Cum inside me," she urged him. "Fill me with your cum."

And that was all Bill needed. He pumped into her, hard and fast, his cock plunging into her entrance again and again and again. He was so close, so damn close. He could feel the first stirrings of his orgasm, and hers as well.

White hot ecstasy shot all over their veins as they climaxed together. He shot his cum inside her as she squeezed his cock with her walls. As they came down from their high, the reality slowly sunk in, but neither thought badly of what they had done. In fact, they were relieved, because it was the true longings that they had tried to suppress for years.

They cleaned up and helped each other dress in silence. There was no need for words, for they had said everything through their actions. When they were about to head out, they suddenly realized that they didn't know where to go.

For Bill, this was a no-brainer.

"Come to my place, Darlin," he said, smiling.

Hillary had no desire to resist. She happily held his hand and followed him, realizing that she should have done that years ago.