Feeding His Purest Obsession: The Billionaires' Little Cook

The boardroom was dead silent, but the tension was thick enough to choke someone.

Kylian Moreno dug his thumb hard into the side of his ribs, right where his stomach was twisting into a sharp, familiar knot. He reached into his vest pocket, pulled out a small silver tin, and snapped it open.

He took a dry piece of raw ginger root and chewed it slowly, not even wincing at the burning taste. It was the only thing that kept the ulcers from flaring up.

Four of his top executives were staring down at their folders, sweating through their shirts while they waited for him to speak.

"The merger details are sloppy," Kylian said. His voice wasn't loud. It was just a flat, low rumble. "Fix it by midnight, or I'll find a new team that actually knows how to read data."

Nobody argued. They practically tripped over their own feet trying to get out of his office before he looked up again.

Once the room cleared, Kylian pulled out his phone. A text from his secretary was waiting. The culinary firm had messed up the schedule again, and the replacement cook hadn't even shown up at his penthouse.

His jaw tightened, the ginger root burning the back of his throat. He was sick of restaurant food that tasted like grease and chemical preservatives. He paid too much money to wait around for a meal.

He pulled up the firm's manager's contact and typed out a text.

If the cook isn't at my office for the interview in twenty minutes, consider your contract canceled.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket and turned back to his laptop.

~~•~~

Evangeline walked out of the train station, her right arm aching from holding the wooden suitcase. The second her boots hit the concrete, the smell of exhaust and rust hit her nose, making her cough.

The buildings were unnecessarily tall, blocking out the sky entirely so the street felt like a gray tunnel. People kept rushing past her, hitting her shoulders without looking, their faces turned down toward the little glowing rectangles they held. To her, they looked like blind ghosts walking around a maze.

She kept her head down, her white bonnet pinned tight against her braids, and just focused on the paper in her hand. The directions from her community elders were written out plainly, and she wasn't going to let the traffic noise confuse her.

It took her fifteen minutes to find the employment firm. When she pushed the doors open, the woman at the counter just stared at her plain blue dress and apron, her mouth slightly open.

Before the girl could even speak, the manager, Petra, came running out of a back office. Her face was white and she was gripping a pen like a weapon.

"Are you Evangeline?" Petra gasped out, grabbing her by the sleeve. "Thank God. Look, you have to get to the Moreno Tower right now. He just texted from his office. He's furious, and he wants to do the interview at his office instead of the penthouse. If you're late, he's going to fire all of us."

Petra tried to push her back toward the doors, but Evangeline planted her boots and pulled her arm out of the woman's grip.

"Slow down," Evangeline said, her voice dropping into a quiet  tone. "I just got off a very long train ride. Pushing me out the door won't make the distance shorter. Just tell me where this tower is."

Petra blinked, looking stunned that the girl wasn't panicking. She quickly pointed out the window toward the corner.

"It's three blocks down. The massive black glass building with the gold logo. You can't miss it. Just go to the top floor and tell security you're the new chef. Hurry, please!"

Evangeline gave a small nod, adjusting her grip on the heavy suitcase. "Thank you. I will walk there now."

She left the manager staring through the glass and headed down the sidewalk. She didn't care how much money this Mr. Moreno had. He was just a man who needed food, and she had a debt to pay back home.

When she reached the Moreno Tower, it looked like a giant wall of mirrors. She walked straight through the automatic doors, her boots making a loud clicking sound on the clean floor.

The security guard looked at her outfit twice, but the second she gave her name, he swiped a plastic card and pointed to an elevator in the back.

"Floor fifty," he said quickly. "He's waiting."

Evangeline walked into the metal box. The sudden upward pull made her stomach drop, but she just closed her eyes until the doors slid open again.

The reception area was huge, and  sitting on a leather couch was a woman with bright red hair, wearing a red dress that was far too tight and short. The woman looked up, sneering when she saw the bonnet.

"Did the agency send you to clean the toilets?" the red-haired girl laughed, crossing her legs. "Because if you're here for Kylian, you're definitely in the wrong place, honey."

Evangeline didn't move. She just looked at her with a flat, steady gaze. "I am here for the cooking position. And my name is Evangeline, not honey."

Before the woman could snap back, another door swung open.

Kylian stepped out into the hallway, a thin file folders in his hand. He was tall, his dark suit fitting him perfectly, but his mouth was set in a harsh line. He looked like a man who hadn't slept a full night in years.

His eyes swept the room, ignoring the red-haired girl entirely. His gaze locked right onto Evangeline standing by the elevator. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing as he took in the plain blue fabric, the apron, and the white bonnet.

Evangeline held his gaze, refusing to look down at the floor.

"You're the cook?" Kylian asked, his voice low as he walked toward her.

"I am," Evangeline said.

Kylian stopped just two feet away, looking down at her in disbelief.