Page 4 of Billionaire Wolf Needs a Chef

This predatory CEO thought he had me in his jaws, well, he was going to discover that I bite back.

Chapter 2

IVY

I stood there for a moment, staring at his retreating figure, my heart still racing from the encounter. Brody cleared his throat, pulling me back to the present.

"Well," he said, offering a reassuring smile. "That went better than expected."

"Really?" I asked, my voice tinged with disbelief. "Because it felt like he doesn't like me very much."

Brody chuckled, leading me toward a stainless steel workstation where several meal kits were laid out. "Trust me, that's his version of friendly. You'll get used to it."

I wasn't so sure about that, but I forced a smile and followed him to the table. The kits were neatly packaged, each one labeled with a name and a list of ingredients. I picked up one called "Tuscan Sunset" and studied it.

"These are the current offerings," Brody explained. "Cameron's been pushing for something new, something that stands out. That's where you come in."

I nodded, flipping through the instructions and ingredients. The concept was solid, but it felt… safe. Predictable. I couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement at the challenge.

"Can I see the kitchen?" I asked, glancing up at Brody.

"Of course," he said, leading me into the adjacent space. It was a chef's dream. Stainless steel counters, top-of-the-line appliances, and a wall of spices and herbs. I ran my fingers along the edge of the counter, feeling the cool metal beneath my fingertips.

"Mind if I play around a bit?" I asked, already rolling up my sleeves.

Brody grinned. "Be my guest. Just don't burn the place down."

I laughed, grabbing a knife and a cutting board. As I started prepping the ingredients, I felt the tension from earlier melt away.

The kitchen was where I belonged, surrounded by the smells and sounds of cooking. I hummed under my breath, letting the rhythm of chopping and slicing guide me.

"What are you making?" Brody asked, leaning against the counter.

"Something inspired by this kit," I said, gesturing to the "Tuscan Sunset" box. "But with a twist. Maybe ribollita, a white bean soup with vegetables, to accompany the pasta."

Brody raised an eyebrow. "Impressive. You work fast."

I grinned, feeling a flicker of pride at his reaction. "When you've got a fire under you, you learn to move quickly. Plus, I've always believed that cooking should be fun, not stressful."

Brody watched as I added the chopped onions, carrots, kale, herbs, and a can of strained white beans to a simmering pot of broth. His expression was thoughtful. "You've got a real passion for this, don't you?"

"Yeah, I guess I do," I admitted, tearing chunks of bread for the soup and spreading them on a baking tray. "It's the one thing that's always made sense to me, you know? When everything else feels chaotic, the kitchen is where I can find my center."

He nodded, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer before he glanced toward the door. "Well, I'll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything."

"Will do," I said, already drizzling olive oil on the bread. As I worked, my mind wandered back to Cameron's abrupt exit. There was something about him, something magnetic, that I couldn't quite shake. My cheeks heated as I remembered the intense way he looked at me when we met.

I'd barely finished sliding the tray of bread into the oven when I felt a presence behind me. I turned, my heart skipping a beat as I saw Cameron standing in the doorway, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

"Mr. Fitzgerald," I said, wiping my hands on my apron. "I was just—"

"Working on the Tuscan Sunset kit, I assume?" His tone was as sharp as his gaze.

"Yes," I replied, trying to steady my voice. "I thought I'd add a ribollita to complement the pasta. It's a simple addition, but I think it could elevate the dish and round out the meal without adding much cost to the ingredients."

"You think?" he cut in, stepping closer. His presence was overwhelming, and I had to fight the urge to take a step back. "I didn't hire you to think, Ms. St. Clair. I'm hiring you to execute."

My cheeks burned, but I held his gaze, refusing to let him intimidate me. "Respectfully, Mr. Fitzgerald, execution requires thought. If we're going to innovate, we need to be willing to take risks."

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