Page 10 of Billionaire Wolf Needs a Chef

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't fight the smile that tugged at my lips.

By the end of the day, we'd created two more meal kit concepts: a spicy Thai curry with a coconut milk base, and a hearty vegetarian option with roasted vegetables and a tangy balsamic glaze. The aromatic smells drew in staff from other departments. I was more than thrilled to have so many taste testers offer their feedback. To my disappointment, the one person I wanted more than anybody else to taste my food had vanished from the doorway. The team gathered around the counter to tastethe dishes, their reactions ranging from impressed to downright enthusiastic.

"This is going to be a hit," Bridget said, taking another bite of the curry. "I can't wait to see how customers react."

"Me neither," I agreed, feeling a swell of pride.

As we cleaned up the kitchen, I couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. It had been a long day, but I'd proven to myself that I had what it took to succeed in this role.

As I was about to leave, Brody appeared in the doorway, a knowing smile on his face. "How'd it go?" he asked.

"Better than I expected," I admitted. "The team's great, and I think we're onto something with these new kits."

Brody nodded, looking pleased. "Good to hear. Oh, and Cameron wanted me to let you know that he'd like you to present your new meal kits to the team as we prepare for the upcoming FoodieCon conference. It's a big opportunity for the company, and he thinks you'd be an asset."

My heart skipped a beat. "Really?"

"Really," Brody confirmed. "He's impressed, Ivy. Don't let him fool you. He doesn't just hand out compliments."

I smiled, feeling a flicker of excitement. Maybe I was starting to win him over after all.

Over the next few weeks, I settled into my role at Cam's Comfy Cuisine, finding my rhythm in the fast-paced kitchen environment. The team had warmed up to me, and I could feel the camaraderie growing with each passing day. Bridget, inparticular, had become a close confidant, her calm demeanor balancing my more energetic personality.

One of the first changes I made was to introduce music into the kitchen. The first time I turned on my playlist, the upbeat tunes filled the room, and the atmosphere instantly shifted. Bridget grinned, her knife moving in time with the rhythm as her foot tapped to the beat.

Cameron, however, was less enthusiastic. He walked into the kitchen one afternoon, frowning as he heard the music. Bridget and I shimmied as we worked in sync with the tempo, unaware we were being watched.

"What is this?" he asked, his tone sharp as he shouted to be heard over the speakers.

I turned to face him, a smile plastered on my face. "Just a little something to keep the energy up. You know, studies show that music can improve productivity."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "This isn't a nightclub, Ms. St. Clair. Keep it down."

I shrugged, lowering the volume but not turning it off. Over the next week, I noticed that Cameron stopped by every day to check on our progress, but always with a frown on his face and a complaint about the noise. Then, one day, I caught his foot tapping to the beat as he watched Bridget and me work from the doorway. I hid a smirk, feeling a small sense of victory.

The next day, I cranked up the music again, just to see how he would react. Sure enough, within minutes, his shadow darkened the doorway. I pretended not to notice, swaying my hips as I chopped herbs.

Let him look.

He squeezed the doorframe until his knuckles turned white. "Ms. St. Clair."

I turned, innocent. "Yes, Mr. Fitzgerald?"

His jaw flexed. "Your hairnet is crooked."

He stormed off before I could reply, but not before I caught the way his gaze had dipped to the curve of my waist.

As the days went by, Cameron's visits to the kitchen became more frequent. At first, he'd hover, offering curt suggestions or critiques, but gradually, he started to step back, letting me take the lead. It was a subtle shift, but I understood what it meant. He was beginning to trust me.

Bridget noticed it too. "He's impressed with you, you know," she said one afternoon as we prepped ingredients.

"Really?" I asked, skepticism in my voice. "It doesn't exactly feel like it."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "Trust me, Ivy. Cameron doesn't give out trust easily. The fact that he's letting you run the kitchen without micromanaging means a lot."

I thought about her words, a small smile tugging at my lips. Maybe I was making progress after all.

The real test came a few days later, during a team meeting to discuss the upcoming FoodieCon conference. Cameron had asked me to present the new meal kit concepts we'd been working on, and I was determined to make a strong impression.

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