Page 3 of Her Filthy Cold Billionaire Boss

“You must be Eden,” she said, voice warm, with a bit of a bite, like a good whiskey. “Come in, come in. Don’t let the draft in.”

I stepped inside and nearly stopped breathing. The kitchen was my grandmother’s kitchen on a billionaire’s salary. Massive marble island, copper pots everywhere, and a long, battered table that looked like it had been salvaged from a French farmhouse. Above it, hanging from a wrought-iron rack, was every type of pan and whisk known to humankind. Fresh herbs grew in glossy boxes along the windowsills, and there was an entire wall of spice jars labeled in beautiful, looping script.

Maribel pointed at a stool at the end of the island. “Sit. You drink coffee this late?”

“Is there an option where the answer is no?” I said, immediately liking her.

She barked a laugh and poured two cups, black. “Milk’s in the fridge if you’re weak,” she teased, sliding one my way.

I grinned and took it as is. The mug was heavy, hand-thrown, with a wolf howling at the moon painted on the side. Obviously, my boss was obsessed with wolves, which explained his grumpiness. He probably longed for the freedom of a pack instead.

Gareth strode in a moment later, suit now minus the jacket but still aggressively perfect. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his burgundy button down, exposing forearms that belonged on a rowing team. Maribel snorted softly at the sight, like maybe she’d seen him less put-together, maybe even barefoot and human.

He nodded to me, then to Maribel. “I’ll leave you in her capable hands,” he said, already glancing at his phone. “I have a call to take.”

He retreated to the far end of the hall, just out of earshot but still visible through the kitchen’s glass doors. Maribel watched him go with a fond exasperation.

“He’s not as scary as he looks,” she said.

“I think he might be scarier,” I admitted. “Like, you expect the fangs, but not the…” I caught myself, realizing too late I was speaking aloud. “Uh. Never mind.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Go on.”

I felt my cheeks flush. “Nothing, just… he’s very… intense. I mean, he looks like if Ed Skrein and an ice sculpture had a baby.”

She cackled. “Good. He needs to hear that once in a while.”

I sipped the coffee and tried to regain dignity. “Not from me. You’ve worked here long?”

“Too long. Started as a line cook in the city, came out here when he bought the place.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “It’s better than it looks. You get used to the odd hours and the privacy clauses. And if you play your cards right, he’ll forget you exist until he needs something, which is how I like my employers.”

I tried to imagine Gareth Wolfe “forgetting” anything. “Has anyone ever seen him smile?”

She looked at me, and for a second, I thought she was going to say something deep. Then she snorted. “Not unless you count when the stock market tanks and he’s the only one shorting.” She set a plate of cheese and fruit in front of me. “Eat. The last girl who worked here fainted at her first dinner because she thought thin was in. Not in my kitchen.”

I poked at the brie, which was better than anything I’d ever bought for myself, and said, “So, Maribel. Give me the inside scoop. Is he as much of a control freak as the stories say?”

She grinned. “Worse. You’ll get used to it. Or you won’t, and you’ll cry in the linen closet for five minutes, then you’ll get used to it.” She eyed me. “You seem tough. You’ll last.”

I wanted to believe her. I took a big bite of apple to keep from blurting out that my last boss was a seventy-year-old dentist with a My Little Pony screensaver, so maybe I was unprepared.

The kitchen door opened again, and Gareth appeared, phone to his ear. He pointedly ignored both of us while he finished his call, pacing along the kitchen’s perimeter like a caged cat. I tried not to watch him, but of course I did. He stopped next to the window, outlined by the light, looking somehow even taller. I wondered what it would take to make him laugh. Or blush. Or, hell, even stammer.

He hung up, glanced at me, and said, “Enjoy your meal. If you forget the way, Maribel will show you to your quarters.Breakfast is at six, meetings start at seven. I expect you to be prepared.” His eyes lingered on me a fraction too long. “Any questions?”

“Is there a map? For the house?” I said, only half joking.

“Explore. You’ll remember what matters,” he said. Then he nodded at Maribel and vanished back into the hall.

The moment he was gone, I let out a breath I hadn’t meant to hold. Maribel gave me a look that was half pity, half “girl, you’re in for it.”

She waited a beat, then said, “You’re thinking it, aren’t you?”

I looked up from my coffee, confused. “Thinking what?”

She grinned, sly. “That the boss is hot as sin. Don’t lie.”

I almost choked. “Is it that obvious?”