Billionaire Wolf Needs a Chef

Book 4 of the My Grumpy Werewolf Boss series.

Cameron Fitzgerald is the king of convenience. As the billionaire founder of Cam’s Comfy Cuisine, he’s built a meal-kit empire that’s revolutionized the way people cook at home. But when a scandal threatens to destroy his company’s reputation, he needs more than a PR fix. He needs a miracle. Enter Ivy St. Clair, a ray of sunshine in chef’s whites, whose infectious smile and passion for food are the exact opposite of his cold and sterile corporate world.

Ivy’s life is a recipe for disaster. After a food critic with a personal vendetta tanks her career, she’s left jobless, penniless, and desperate. When Cameron offers her a job to revamp his meal kits, it’s an offer she can’t refuse, even if it means working for the grumpiest, most boss she’s ever met.

Cameron doesn’t do cheerful, and Ivy’s relentless optimism drives him up the wall. But the more time they spend together, the harder it is to ignore the sparks flying between them. There’s just one problem. Ivy’s been burned before, and she’s not about to let another another bossy alpha male ruin her life, even if he ignites the passion in her heart that she thought she’d buried forever.

But when Cameron’s wolf scents her as his fated mate, he realizes this is more than just a business arrangement. He’ll brave the flames of the kitchen, destroy their enemies, and tear apart anyone who stands in his way to claim her. Forever.

Excerpt

IVY

“Ivy St. Clair: A chef who should stick to reheating pasta, not pretending to create it.”

The words glared back at me from my phone screen, Ashton Blackwood’s review still fresh even weeks later. My hands shook as I swiped to my bank app. $5.02. Five dollars, two cents, and a shattered career. All because one smug critic decided my food, my life’s work, wasn’t worth the plate it was served on because I refused to sleep with him.

I hurled my phone onto the couch before I could be tempted to reply. Again.

With my laptop balanced precariously on my knees, I sat cross-legged on the couch, staring at the numbers on the screen as if they might magically change if I willed it hard enough. They didn’t. Five dollars. That was the remaining balance in my bank account and I still had unpaid bills due before the end of the month. The chaos that had become my life was a stark reminder of how far I had fallen since Ashton Blackwood’s scathing review had destroyed my career.

With a frustrated sigh, I leaned back, letting my head fall against the couch cushion. The apartment around me was a riot of color and life, colorful paintings and decorations hung along the walls, plants spilled from their pots, and the faint scent of roasted spices lingered in the air from last night’s coconut curry. The busy decoration covered the cracks in the walls and the age of the apartment. It was a small space, but it was mine, and I’d made it a home. Right now, though, it felt more like a padded cage.

The scent of burnt sugar snapped me back to reality. Shit. My caramel was smoking. I lunged for the pan, but it was too late. Another failure to add to the pile. Tossing the smoking pan into my sink and turned on the tap.

My phone buzzed. It was Katie.

“Hey, cuz,” I answered, trying to inject some cheer into my voice. “What’s up?”

“Ivy, are you sitting down?” Katie’s tone was urgent, and I felt a pang of worry. I leaned against the counter, gripping the phone tighter.

“I’m in the kitchen, so technically, no,” I said, forcing a laugh. “What’s going on?”

“Okay, don’t freak out,” Katie began, which immediately made me want to panic. “But I found something that might help. It’s not a perfect solution, but it’s something.”

I exhaled slowly, trying to keep my nerves in check. “Katie, I’m pretty much out of options here. At this point, I’m ready to scrub toilets. Anything’s better than staring at my bank balance until it magically adds a couple of zeroes.”

“Right, so, remember the employment agency I used to find my job?”

I remembered how my cousin found a job through the agency as an executive assistant for an infamously vicious billionaire CEO and ended up marrying him a year later.

“Yeah,” I answered cautiously.

“Well, one of their clients is looking for a new chef.”

I blinked, processing her words. “A billionaire? Like, a real, actual billionaire?”

“Yes, Ivy. A real, actual billionaire. His name is Cameron Fitzgerald. He founded some meal-kit company, Cam’s Comfy Cuisine, or something like that. The pay is insane, and it’s a chance to get your foot back in the industry.”

My stomach flipped. Cameron Fitzgerald. I’d heard of him. Who hadn’t? He was practically a household name, the man who’d turned simple meal kits into a billion-dollar empire. But he was also notorious for being difficult. Rumor had it he was cold, demanding, and his fiery temper drove more than one employee to quit.

“I don’t know, Katie,” I said hesitantly. “I’ve heard some things about him. He sounds intense.”

“Ivy, you’re not in a position to be picky. I can feel the desperation oozing over the phone line,” Katie said bluntly. “And let’s be real, you’ve dealt with worse. Remember Chef Marco? That guy threw a ladle at you, and you still managed to charm him into giving you a raise.”

“He threw it near me, not at me,” I corrected, but I couldn’t help smiling. Katie always knew how to cheer me up.

“Besides,” she continued, “you’re the most optimistic person I know. If anyone can handle a grumpy billionaire, it’s you.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I don’t know, Katie. This feels different. I mean, I’ve worked for difficult people before, but Cameron Fitzgerald? He’s not just a CEO with a temper. He’s a billionaire CEO. One wrong move, and I could end up back in this apartment, but with even less than I have now.”

Katie’s voice softened. “Ivy, I get it. I really do. But you’re smart, talented, and you have this magical way of disarming people. You make them want to like you, even when they’re trying not to. I’ve seen it happen a hundred times. You’ll be fine.”

I chewed my lip, staring at the mixing bowl in front of me. The batter was smooth and creamy, the way I liked it, but my appetite had vanished. Katie was right, I was desperate. Rent was due in two weeks, and I had no idea how I was going to scrape together the money.

“Okay,” I said finally, exhaling the word like it had been stuck in my chest. “I’ll do it. I’ll send in my resume.”

Katie let out a triumphant cry on the other end of the line. “You won’t regret this, Ivy. I promise.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, but I didn’t have the energy to argue. After we hung up, I pulled up the agency’s website and filled out the application form, my fingers trembling slightly as I typed. By the time I finally hit submit, my heart was racing, and I felt like I’d just jumped off a cliff without knowing if there was a net below.

The next morning, my phone buzzed, skipping across my nightstand.

“Hello,” I answered, my voice still rough with sleep.

“This is Gladys at Discreet Talent Connections. Is this Ms. Ivy St. Clair?”

“That’s me.”

“I have gone over your resume and I must say that your qualifications are very impressive. I may have a placement for you. Would you be available for an interview this afternoon?”

I sat up and ran my hands through the tangled bird’s nest that was my hair. “Oh, that’s so sudden!” I cleared my throat. The knot of anxiety in my stomach tightened, but I forced myself to respond with a polite, professional message. “I mean, I would be delighted to meet with you.”

“Good. Come to our office downtown at 1:00 p.m. I look forward to speaking with you, Ms. St. Clair.”

The line went dead. I kicked off the covers and jumped out of bed. For the next hour, I paced my apartment, trying to decide what to wear. My wardrobe was limited, mostly casual clothes and a few chef’s uniforms, but I managed to dig out a pair of black trousers and a white blouse that didn’t look too wrinkled.

When I arrived at the agency’s office, I nearly turned around and walked right back out. The building was sleek and modern, all glass and steel, with a lobby that looked like it belonged in a sci-fi movie. The receptionist greeted me with a polite but impersonal smile and directed me to a waiting area where I sat, clutching my portfolio like a lifeline. The chairs were incredibly uncomfortable, and I shifted nervously, trying to ignore the way my palms were sweating.

After what felt like an eternity, a woman in her late fifties with sharp icy blue eyes and an even sharper gray pantsuit emerged from a hallway. “Ivy St. Clair?” she asked, her tone crisp and professional.

“Yes, that’s me,” I said, standing up too quickly and nearly knocking over my portfolio. I caught it just in time and smiled sheepishly.

“I’m Gladys Martin,” she said, extending a hand. Her grip was firm, and I tried to match it, hoping I didn’t come across as nervous as I felt. “Come with me.”

She led me down a hallway lined with abstract art and into a small conference room with a glass table and chairs that matched the uncomfortable ones in the lobby. I sat down, trying to appear confident, but my heart was pounding so hard I was sure she could hear it.

“So, Ivy,” Gladys began, opening a folder in front of her. “Your resume is impressive. A graduate of Le Cordon Bleu, experience at several Michelin-starred restaurants, and then you were head chef at L’Atelier. May I ask what happened?”

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to keep my voice steady. “A food critic wrote a less than favorable review after we had a personal disagreement, and it impacted business to the point where I had to resign.”

Gladys nodded, her expression unreadable. “I see. And why are you interested in this position?”

I took a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. “I’ve always loved cooking, and I believe in making food accessible and enjoyable for everyone, even busy families with basic skills in the kitchen. Cam’s Comfy Cuisine has a great reputation for that, and I’d love to be a part of it. And also, well, I need the work.”

Gladys’ lips twitched, almost like she was fighting a smile. “Honesty. I appreciate that. Mr. Fitzgerald can be challenging and demanding to work with, but he’s passionate about what he does. He’s looking for someone who can bring fresh ideas to the table. Someone who isn’t afraid to push back and innovate.”

I nodded, trying to absorb her words. “I think I could be that person. I’ve always believed that cooking is more than just following recipes. It’s about creating something that resonates with people.”

Gladys studied me for a moment, her sharp eyes assessing. “You’ve got passion, and from what I’ve seen, you’ve got the skills to back it up. I’ll be honest, this won’t be an easy job. But if you can handle it, it could be a great opportunity for you.”

“I understand,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’m ready for the challenge.”

She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. “Good. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’ll speak with Mr. Fitzgerald and set up an introduction. If he’s interested, you’ll meet with him directly. Be prepared, he’s not one for small talk.”

Her words ramped up my anxiety. How bad could Cameron Fitzgerald be?

“Got it,” I said, my nerves tingling with a mix of excitement and dread.

Gladys stood, signaling the end of the interview. “I’ll be in touch soon. Good luck, Ivy.”

“Thank you,” I said, shaking her hand again before heading out.

As I stepped back into the lobby, I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the interview pressing down on me. This was it, my chance to start over, to prove myself again. But the thought of working for someone like Cameron Fitzgerald filled me with both anticipation and anxiety.

Two days later, my phone buzzed with an email from Gladys. I was to meet Cameron at his office the following morning. The knot in my stomach tightened, but I forced myself to focus. I spent the rest of the day preparing, going over my resume, researching Cam’s Comfy Cuisine, and trying to anticipate what questions he might ask.

When the morning came, I dressed in my interview outfit again and took the subway to CCC’s headquarters. My stomach twisted itself into knots as I stepped into the skyscraper. For a company that made its name by selling hearty homemade meal kits, the steel and glass interior which resembled a sterile laboratory was not what I expected.

A receptionist directed me to the elevator, and I rode up to the top floor, my heart pounding with each floor I rode past. When the doors opened, the sight before me took my breath away. I stepped out into an open space with an amazing panoramic view of the city below. In the distance, ships bobbed in the harbor and the ocean shimmered under the midday sun. A large modern sculpture that resembled a blob of molten metal stood in the center of the room. The office looked like it belonged in one of those magazines featuring the rich and famous, but it felt cold and uninviting.

A man in his mid-thirties approached me, his expression friendly but professional. He was tall, with dark hair and sharp features. A thin silver scar ran along his left cheek down to his jaw. He extended a hand as he reached me.

“You must be Ivy St. Clair,” he said, his voice warm and welcoming. “I’m Brody Kane, Cameron’s COO. He’s in a meeting right now, but I’ll give you a quick tour while we wait.”

I shook his hand, trying to steady my nerves. “Nice to meet you, Brody. Thanks for taking the time.”

“Of course,” he said with a smile. “We’re excited to have you here. Follow me.”

Brody led me through the office, pointing out different departments and introducing me to a few people along the way. Everyone seemed friendly enough, but there was an underlying current of stress in the air like they were all walking on eggshells.

“Cameron’s very hands-on,” Brody explained as we walked. “He’s passionate about the company, and he expects everyone to share that passion. It can be a bit intense at times, but it’s also what makes this place run like clockwork.”

I nodded, trying to absorb the information. “I can imagine. He’s built something incredible here.”

“That he has,” Brody agreed. “And he’s always looking for ways to improve. That’s why he’s so excited about bringing you on board.”

The words should have been reassuring, but they only made me more nervous. What if I didn’t live up to his expectations? What if he took one look at me and decided I wasn’t worth his time?

Brody must have noticed my anxiety because he gave me a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Ivy. You’ll be fine. Just be yourself. Cameron might seem intimidating at first, but he’s fair and he respects people who stand their ground. Just don’t let him steamroll you.”

I appreciated the advice, but it didn’t do much to calm my nerves. “This is where most of our testing happens,” Brody explained. “Cameron likes to be involved with the recipes, so he’s often in here.”

The moment I stepped into the kitchen, the air shifted. A man stood with his back to me, his broad shoulders rigid beneath a tailored suit that clung to his frame like a second skin.

Brody cleared his throat. “Cameron,” he said, his tone professional but friendly. “This is Ivy St. Clair.”

He turned, and my breath caught in my throat.

I turned, and for the first time, I found myself face-to-face with Cameron Fitzgerald. He wasn’t just handsome. He was dangerous.

His amber-brown eyes locked onto mine, and for a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just us. My skin prickled, my pulse thudding in my throat like a trapped bird. Cameron was taller than I expected, with broad shoulders and an imposing presence that filled the room. He wore a perfectly tailored suit that probably cost more than what I made in a year. His black hair was neatly styled, and his sharp jawline was set in a stern expression. I had seen his photo online from my research, so his appearance wasn’t too shocking. What the pictures on my screen could not convey was the intensity of his piercing gaze as he examined me up and down and the sensual curve of his lips as he smirked.

My stomach flipped as he examined me like a scientist looking at a bug under a microscope.

Then his nostrils flared ever so slightly.

“Ms. St. Clair.” His voice was a deep growl, rougher than I expected, sending a vibration that went deep into my bones. He didn’t offer a handshake. Instead, he crossed his arms, his biceps straining the fabric of his rolled-up sleeves.

“Mr. Fitzgerald,” I replied, forcing a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He nodded curtly, his expression unreadable. “Gladys claims you’re the best. I disagree.”

“Oh?” I forced a smile. “And what do you base that on, Mr. Fitzgerald?”

He stepped closer, his amber eyes flickering like a predator catching the scent of prey. “Instinct.”

His tone was clipped, and I felt a flicker of annoyance at his dismissive words. But the way he smirked sent a thrill through me. I reminded myself that this was my chance, and I couldn’t afford to let my ego get in the way.

“Mr. Fitzgerald, you will see why I am the best by the end of the day.” I tilted my chin up. His eyes dropped to the movement, lingering a second too long on my throat.

“Good. Brody, show her the current lineup of meal kits. I want her feedback on all of them by the end of the day.” He studied me for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Ms. St. Clair, your suggestions will determine if you will be a good fit for the company. Do not disappoint me.”

It was a challenge. A dare.

With that, he turned and walked away.

If Cameron Fitzgerald expected me to back down and run out of the building crying, he had another thing coming. I had never backed down from a dare in my life.

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