The Billionaire’s Full Figured Desire

“Good boy,” Frida purred, and out of the corner of her eyes, she saw his cheeks go red.

She smiled at this, pleased to be able to have this effect on him. “So I fry my eggs when making this particular dish, and sometimes I put a little cheese on top as well. Again, it’s not really traditional, but my kitchen, my rules. And, of course, I fry the bacon as well.”

“Have to.” Terrence nodded in agreement. “Gets it crispy, right?”

“Exactly.” Frida nodded. “You’d make a good line cook, babe.”

As soon as she said it, Frida felt her heart skip a beat. Did I just call him babe? What was I thinking? Terrence didn’t seem to have noticed. He took a seat at the kitchen table, still in his boxers, took a satsuma from the fruit bowl and began to peel it. “Well, I guess that means I’ve still got good career options for if I ever go bankrupt! Although it’ll probably take me a lifetime to work through my billion dollars” he said with a cheeky wink.”

Frida laughed at this. For the next few minutes, the kitchen was full of the smell of frying eggs, toasted muffins, melting butter, and hollandaise sauce; all manner of heavenly smells. And then, once the breakfast was made, Frida and Terrence sat opposite each other to eat it. From the first bite, Frida could tell that she’d hit the jackpot. Judging by

Terrence’s expression of delight, she knew hers was just as delicious as his. She knew what she was capable of, but it didn’t mean that satisfying someone wasn’t still fun to watch.

“Damn, girl!” Terrence exclaimed under his breath. “You really can cook!”

Frida was glad that her skin was too dark to allow for blushing because she would have been redder than a tomato at that compliment. Anyone would be lying if they said they didn’t like receiving a compliment now and again, even when it came to something that comes easily. “Well, thank you, dear,” she said imperiously. “I did crisp it up real nice, didn’t I?”

Terrence nodded. “And the perfect amount of sauce, too! I hate when people drench the eggs in sauce, and the bread goes all soggy.”

Frida nodded wisely. “Sauce to bread ratio is crucial.”

Terrence laughed at this. “Top ten sentences you didn’t think you’d say today.”

Frida snorted derisively. “I know, right?”

Terrence had one thing straight, at least – Frida really could cook! In fact, the eggs that she was eating must have been the best that she’d ever made them. Maybe it was because of how good a mood she’d been in that morning? As a Head Chef and a professional, Frida was all too familiar with the hypothesis that good energy and positive vibes could affect the quality of the food that one was making, and even though there was no hard scientific evidence to support this theory, she liked to believe that it was true. She wouldn’t mind putting the theory to the test, especially now considering she was tasting some of her best cooking.

And it wasn’t just limited to cooking, either. It was all art forms that could take a positive or negative turn based upon the vibes that one was giving off, at least according to Frida’s opinion. But Frida had long since learned that when in her kitchen, “according to her” was the only “according to” that actually mattered. Call it bigheadedness, but Frida had long since learned the lesson that, as a Head Chef, her rules were law in her kitchen. It was the only way to run a tight ship, and a tight ship was key to a successful team.

Frida also felt that it was up to her to respect the integrity of the job. Andrew Ferguson had been a sous chef longer than she had even been in the profession, and there was no way he would have stood by and watched her leapfrog him in the pecking order after O’Malley had resigned if he didn’t think that she was worthy of the position. It was the moment where she’d been made Head Chef that she and Andrew truly became bosom friends, in fact, because he’d accepted it with grace, humility, and he’d truly been proud of her. She’d loved him for that. And she loved him like her own brother. The brother she never had.

“Something wrong?” Terrence asked. “You’ve hardly touched your eggs.”

Frida smiled serenely and took another bite. “It’s okay, I was just doing some thinking.”

“Penny for them?” Terrence asked.

“Doubt they’re worth a penny.” Frida shrugged. “I was just thinking about…stuff, you know?”

“Oh, I definitely know stuff.” Terrence nodded, agreeing enthusiastically. “How great is stuff? I just love stuff. So what…you know…stuff, in particular, were we thinking about?”

There was a soft and subtle beep from somewhere in Frida’s bedroom. She frowned and eyed her phone, which was on the kitchen table in front of her. She knew that she hadn’t been expecting any messages any time soon so even as she looked at her phone she already knew it wasn’t hers that had gone off.

“Must be mine,” Terrence said by way of explanation. “I think I left my jacket in your bedroom last night. It’s fine, I’ll check it later. What were you saying?”

Frida shook her head. “Nothing. I wasn’t saying anything.”

Frida suddenly shifted her weight. She sat back in her chair, raised her leg underneath the table, and propped her foot up in Terrence’s lap. She noticed his expression of subtle surprise as he took another bite of his eggs.

“You know exactly what I want,” Frida said in a low tone. “Now hurry up and give it to me.”