Page 3 of My Orc Billionaire
Abydos
My watch beeped,and I glanced at it without processing why.
Hells, was that the time? Thank fuck Sylvik programmed alerts for me, or I would’ve missed the interviews altogether. It was amazing what my assistant could do from halfway across the country; order my favorite groceries for delivery, prep my plane for takeoff, weed through three dozen applications and schedule interviews, whatever.
In this case, he’d even done the first two rounds of phone interviews and narrowed down the field, so I wouldn’t have to interact with anyone more than necessary.
I owed him, but it wasn’t like I’d ever actuallytellhim that. I didn’t do mushy crap.
With a few keystrokes, I closed the reports I’d been reviewing and pulled up the resumes and Sylvik’s impressions of the?—
Oh.
Frowning, I scrolled through the pages. There was only on applicant? Or only one applicant Sylvik thought I should meet?
Hmm. The further I got through the resume, the more I could see why he narrowed it down to just this one… He had exactly the experience I’d asked for, and some of the descriptions of the dishes he suggested made my mouth water.
Yeah, I was probably the only billionaire who put this much effort into hiring his private chef. Which meant I was the only sane one, right?
I’d grown up eating raw fish and fire-roasted mash. And yeah, sometimes I had a craving for that sort of stuff—I couldput awaysome sushi, let me tell you—but having a twin brother like Aswan, who had his own restaurant until he’d been foolish enough to fall in love with his Mate, had taught me how much I liked the finer foods the human world could offer.
Like peanut butter.
I was asuckerfor peanut butter.
And pasta. And lamb chops. And a really creamy brie with cranberry. And a… I peered closer at the screen as my eyes widened. This chef’s description of his signature miso black cod and bok choy made my stomach rumble.
We were on an island. I was suddenly in the mood for fish.
I had to admit, this resume was impressive.
Or maybe I was just hungry.
Growling in irritation at myself, I scrolled up to the top of the document again. Sylvik had outdone himself—found a single candidate who checked all my requirements.
Willing to relocate to Eastshore Isle and live in a private apartment in this house.
A brilliant and inventive chef.
And willing to put up with working forme.
Knowing Sylvik—who’d put up with me for years—that last one might have been what he’d focused on during the interviews.
Still, this guy—Riven Starr—seemed ideal. And if Sylvik had approved him, and I was already half in love with his proposed menus, then this interview was only a formality.
Riven Starr, huh?
I shook my head as I pushed away from my desk in the large study.
Riven? Was that a fae name? Could be minotaur—the name sounded minotaurish—but they tended to shy away from the number of beef dishes on theproposed menu. Gargoyles had harder syllables, andRivensounded far too melodic for them.
Nah. “Hundred bucks the guy’s fae,” I muttered to no one at all.
The cleaning staff wasn’t due to return until Monday, and I was totally alone in the recently completed house.
The way I liked it.
This side of the house was my favorite. The study, dining room, and my private suite all boasted floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the north cliffs of Eastshore Isle. Most of the time there was sunshine and seagulls and other cheery shit, but today was my favorite weather; heavy clouds and a strong wind that made the sea oats blow sideways.
