Feeding His Purest Obsession: The Billionaires' Little Cook

Five minutes before Kylian opened his office door, Vanessa had been leaning so far across his mahogany desk that her cleavage was practically spilling onto his financial reports.

"You look tense, Kylian," she had murmured, her voice dropping into a low, sultry purr. Vanessa was a socialite Kylian kept around to past time, and she knew exactly how to bypass his assistants.

She reached out, her long red nails trailing slowly down his tailored lapel. "A man like you shouldn't let a few nervous executives ruin his day. Why don't you let me help you forget about the merger?"

Kylian hadn't moved. He just leaned back in his leather chair with a cynical smirk, watching her slide herself onto the edge of his desk. He was a man with strong physical needs, and Vanessa was an intoxicating distraction when his mind was burning from work. He had reached out, his large hand wrapping around the bare skin of her thigh, his fingers digging in low enough to make her gasp.

"You always know exactly when to show up, don't you?" he muttered, his voice dropping into a hoarse growl.

"I know what you like," she whispered, inching closer.

But right as she braced herself to pull him closer, a sharp chime cut through the room. Kylian's personal phone buzzed with a security alert from his desk assistant: The cook has arrived on Floor 50.

The dark look vanished from his face instantly, replaced by a more serious one. He pulled his hand back from her leg and snapped his files shut.

"Time's up," Kylian said flatly, standing up to adjust his vest. "The cook is here."

"Kylian!" Vanessa cried out, her face flushing with pure frustration. "You're seriously stopping for a servant?"

"Get out of my office, Vanessa," he said, his voice dropping low. "Go wait in the reception lounge until I'm done, or leave entirely. I don't care which."

Furious, Vanessa had grabbed her designer purse, marched out of his private office, and slammed the heavy door behind her, flinging herself onto the leather reception couch to boil in her own anger.

Kylian stepped out of his office, thin file folders in hand, his mouth set in a harsh line. His eyes swept right past Vanessa on the couch, ignoring her completely, and locked 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.

"You're the cook?" Kylian asked, his voice low as he took a step closer to her.

"I am," Evangeline said, her voice remaining soft but completely level.

Up close, the difference in the room was jarring. Vanessa was watching them from the couch, smelling of expensive French perfume and showing off every inch of her legs in that tight red dress. But as Kylian's sharp eyes raked down Evangeline's front, he realized something that made his throat go completely dry.

The blue linen dress was loose and plain, meant to hide her from the world, but it couldn't hide everything. The thick fabric strained against the full curve of her breasts, stretching tight over a narrow waist before flaring out over a wide, rounded set of hips and a big ass that the apron couldn't completely conceal.

She had the kind of natural, breathtaking shape that city women spent thousands of dollars trying to buy at surgical clinics, all buried under cheap, modest cloth.

Her face was entirely pure, untouched by makeup, but that hidden body was built to make a man sin.

Vanessa stood up from the couch, her face twisting in rage as she threw him an annoyed look. "Is this a joke? Kylian, tell me you aren't actually considering hiring a pilgrim to cook your meals. Look at her!"

Kylian didn't look back at Vanessa. "Leave," he said, his voice dropping into a flat, dangerous tone.

"But Kylian, we were just-"

"Leave, Vanessa. Before I have security drag you out."

Vanessa's mouth snapped shut. She clutched her purse tight, her silver heels clicking furiously against the marble as she stormed past Evangeline, intentionally shoving her shoulder against the girl's arm as the elevator doors slid open.

Evangeline barely moved from where she stood. She just adjusted her grip on her wooden suitcase, her steady gaze remaining fixed on Kylian's face.

Kylian reached into his pocket, took out another dry piece of raw ginger root from his silver tin, and chewed it slowly to stop the hot acid from bubbling up in his chest. "The firm told me they were sending a professional. They didn't mention they were pulling someone out of a history museum. Do you even know what a stove is, girl?"

"I do, Mr. Moreno," Evangeline said, her voice dropping into that calm tone that didn't show a single hint of fear. "The firm already briefed me on your condition in my offer letter. "They told me you have an ulcer and fast food makes you sick. You do not need a fancy chef right now. You need something to ease the pain."

Kylian's jaw tightened. Nobody talked to him about his weaknesses so bluntly. He was about to tell her to get her suitcase and get out, but another sharp, burning cramp hit his stomach, making his posture stiffen.

Evangeline saw the twitch in his jaw. Without asking for his permission, she reached into the small cloth pocket tied to the side of her apron. She didn't open her suitcase; she just pulled out a tiny, tightly sealed glass jar filled with dried green leaves.

"Your kitchen lounge has hot water right?" she asked, pointing toward the wide frosted glass doors behind his desk.

"It does," Kylian said coldly.

"Good. Then let me use the kettle," Evangeline said, walking right past him, expecting him to direct her to the kitchen.

Kylian stood in the middle of the room, completely stunned. Nobody walked past him. He turned around and ushered her into the private lounge.

Evangeline was already moving through the stainless steel space. She found a clean ceramic mug in his cupboard, filled a small electric kettle with water, and pressed the switch. She didn't look confused by the modern appliance; she just watched the light turn on and waited.

She opened the small glass jar, the strong scent of thyme and dried peppermint instantly drifting into the room.

"What exactly is that?" he asked, leaning his large frame against the marble island, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Wild thyme and peppermint," she said, tossing a precise pinch of the dried leaves into the bottom of the mug. "My community grows it in the valley. The firm told me your doctors give you pills, but they don't help much. This coats the lining of your stomach before the acid can bite through it."

When the kettle went off, she poured the steaming water directly over the leaves. She let it steep for exactly two minutes, her hands resting quietly on the counter.

She slid the hot mug across the marble counter toward him. "Drink it while the steam is still rising. Do not gulp it."

Kylian looked down at the pale amber liquid, then up at her face. His stomach gave another angry twist, as if demanding he put out the fire. He picked up the mug, taking a small, cautious sip.

The heat hit his tongue first, followed by a cool, clean aftertaste that seemed to coat his throat instantly. He swallowed, waiting for his stomach to reject it.

It didn't come.

Instead, a strange, heavy warmth spread through his chest, dulling the sharp edges of the ulcer cramp within seconds. He took another sip, larger this time. By the time the mug was half empty, the tight knot in his ribs had completely loosened up for the first time in weeks.

Kylian set the mug down, his dark eyes locking onto her face. The corporate anger was gone, replaced by an intense curiosity. She was a complete anomaly in his world, but she had just fixed in ten minutes what three expensive city doctors couldn't touch.

And looking at the heavy curve of her breasts beneath that plain dress, he knew having her around his penthouse was going to be a very dangerous game.

"The firm said your salary goes back to your family farm," Kylian said, leaning closer across the counter.

"It does," Evangeline replied.

"Good. Then you're going to earn every cent of it," he muttered, his voice dropping into that dark, commanding tone. "My driver will take you and your suitcase to the penthouse right now. You will get the kitchen ready, and you will cook my dinner before I get home.  Do we have a deal, Evangeline?"

Evangeline looked at his hand stretched out over the marble counter. It was large, clean, and powerful. She took a breath, thinking of her family's debt and the thirty thousand dollars.

She reached out and placed her small, calloused hand into his.

"We have a deal, Mr. Moreno."