Daddy’s Billionaire Chef

Blonde hair. Hazel eyes. Perfect pink lips that I just couldn’t stop staring at.

Finally I sent her out to sit beside her father so I could serve them a selection of small appetizers.

“This is incredible,” Connor said, rolling his eyes dramatically as he took his first taste of the chicken satay. He had taken off his jacket and tie when he got home from work, and looked much more like my old friend instead of a partner at a law firm.

Every year, people asked why I took such a personal interest in catering such a small event. The truth was, Connor had completely saved my career ten years ago.

After working like hell for several years and saving every penny, my best friend decided to partner with me to open a small restaurant. Then, a month before opening, he got cold feet and dumped the project entirely. If I hadn’t found a lawyer who would work for eternal free dinners, I would have lost everything.

I suppose I could have started again from scratch, but it might have crushed my spirit forever.

But somehow Connor managed to wrangle all of the legal details so that I could retain full ownership, and even lent me the money to buy my partner out, so that I could maintain complete control.

Even though I paid him back in full within two years, I still felt like I owed him a huge debt. I always thanked him in the dedication of each of my books, and at the opening of every single one of my dozens of restaurants.

Last year when my accountant told me that all of my business holdings and investments had hit the ten-figure mark, I came to this very house to share a bottle of incredibly rare whiskey with the man who enabled me to start my own little empire.

Now I was having wildly salacious thoughts about his breathtaking daughter whom I hadn’t seen in years.

“What do you think about this one, Julia?” I asked. “I served something similar at another event, but noticed that the women didn’t enjoy it as much. Any idea why?”

She looked at me strangely, pursing her lips. Then she shook her head. “The flavor is great. But you can’t eat this if you’re on a date.”

“What?” Her father and I asked at the same time.

“Seriously,” she continued, “women will pass on any appetizer that ruins their lipstick, or that they have to chew a lot. If they’ve been together a long time, and they’re completely comfortable together, it’s likely fine. But if it’s an early dating situation, we’re trying to look as elegant as possible.”

I fell into a chair beside her. “I can’t believe I never thought of that.”

“I’m betting you’ve never had to worry about your lipstick”, she joked. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to mess up your menu. But I assume you want the truth, right?”

“Absolutely.” My fingers drummed on the dark mahogany table. “Hold on.”

Dashing to the kitchen, I chopped the chicken into bite-size pieces, plating each one with a touch of sauce in a tiny bowl with a long toothpick.

Returning to the dining room, I passed them to her. “Try it like this.”

Julia’s eyes lit up as she daintily stabbed the chicken bites, easily popping them into her mouth. “See?” She grinned. “This way it doesn’t have to touch my lipstick, if I were wearing any.”

I had definitely noticed that her beautiful pink lips were bare, since it was nearly impossible to tear my attention away.

“Actually,” Connor said, “I think we get a bit more sauce this way. I like it.”

I brought out a few more appetizers. “We’ll have these constantly passed around, changing the selections every thirty minutes, just like last year.”

Julia looked down at the array of hors d’oeuvres, biting her lip slightly. “If you have an idea, I’d love to hear it,” I said.

“It’s another date thing,” she said sheepishly. “Sometimes when you’re in the middle of a conversation, you don’t want to have to stop and ask the server exactly what it is. Or they’re walking by quickly and I don’t want to bother them.”

“But that’s why they’re there,” I said. “They are told all of the ingredients, and they’re there to help you.”

She shrugged those slim shoulders. “Still. Sometimes people get a bit shy. I’ve always liked it when events have big platters of food with little signs saying what everything is and you can just walk by and steal a piece of cheese now and then.”

“Julia, honey, we can’t ask Matt to change everything at the last minute,” Connor said.

I stared out the window at the back lawn for a moment, visualizing the menu and dividing things up. “What if we did both? All of the hot food will be passed around, and anything else can be set out.”

In the paperwork at the end of the table was a room layout chart. I pulled it across the table and pointed. “We can have food and