Chapter 2 Becoming the CEO's Private Chef
1249 Words
Tracy felt incredibly honored—personally selected as chef by the crown prince of a business empire. Yet what did it matter? This wasn't her first rodeo.
Golden handshakes had been dangled before her countless times, desperate pleas for her to mentor their kitchen staff—she remained stone-faced through them all.
In the end, she'd declared on Taste Titans' website: Her life's work would belong to one kitchen alone.
"My terms are simple," she said, voice ringing clear as morning chimes. "Taste Titans is my everything. Business proposals? Welcome. Private chef arrangements?" The door clicked shut behind her. "I must respectfully decline."
The man's voice pursued her—smooth as single-malt scotch, sharp as a guillotine's fall. "You've got a day to reconsider. Remember the name Gordon Hayworth. Refuse me, and I'll have you come crawling back a thousand different ways."
Tracy's pulse stuttered in her veins.
Gordon Hayworth?
The corporate world's most feared predator? The man whose mere name turned seasoned executives pale?
With his resources, he could hire any Michelin-starred chef alive. Why her?
She kept walking. Hayworth or Hitler, it made no difference—no one rewrote her rules.
One kitchen. One purpose. Transforming humble ingredients into art—that was her creed.
Outside, his threat clung to her like acrid smoke. Cyrus clocked her premature departure and went sheet-white—this failed mission might cost him his head.
Tracy leveled a glare that could frost hell over. The assistant wore the grimace of a doomed man. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
When Cyrus slipped back into the office, Gordon was sketching dark, spiraling designs that looked suspiciously like nooses with a diamond-encrusted pen. After years at his side, Cyrus recognized the signs—some unfortunate mark was already caught in the spider's web.
The $10,000 pen clattered onto marble. Gordon lifted eyes dark with promised violence.
"Your continued employment baffles me, Cyrus. How does an extended safari... permanently, sound?"
"I'll accept whatever punishment you deem fit, sir."
Cyrus had no choice but to play his trump card—the family patriarch. Anything was better than getting shipped off to Africa.
"Mr. Hayworth just returned from abroad. He's done traveling for now and is focusing entirely on you. Said he'll be here soon with a handpicked selection of heiresses—won't stop until you've chosen a fiancée."
Just as expected, Gordon's handsome face turned stormy the moment he heard the news.
Every word came straight from the patriarch—Cyrus was just the messenger!
Joseph Hayworth was the only person who could rein in this unrivaled tycoon.
"Are you trying to add fuel to the fire?" Gordon's voice dripped with menace.
"Absolutely not! I've got a perfect solution," Cyrus swore, praying his next words would save his skin. He was, after all, the sole keeper of his boss's most embarrassing secret—the fact that the legendary CEO had never been in a relationship.
"Talk. If it's useless, you're on the next flight to Africa."
"Tracy Page isn't just a chef—she's the creative director behind Classic Red Restaurant. If you two got engaged, she'd have to stay and prepare your meals!"
Cyrus held his breath as Gordon's expression darkened further.
Okay, maybe it wasn't the best plan. But desperate times called for desperate measures! Even if they brought her here, what good would it do if she refused to cook?
"Get me her profile."
To Cyrus's shock, the tension in Gordon's jaw eased slightly. The man's moods changed like April weather—unpredictable from one moment to the next.
As long as Africa was off the table, Cyrus would take it.
Within the hour, Tracy's background file landed on Gordon's desk. His fingers traced the pages, pausing at her photo—that youthful appearance belying the determination of a culinary genius. So this woman had dared to reject him, even after hearing his name?
Him! Gordon Hayworth! Women fought for his attention, yet she wanted nothing to do with him?
"Tracy Page," he murmured, studying her achievements. At just twenty-four, she'd perfected her craft through sheer talent and relentless effort. A decade after leaving the Page family, she'd established her brand from scratch.
Despite himself, Gordon felt a flicker of respect.
Meanwhile, Tracy rushed home and searched frantically through her apartment, only to find empty bedsheets. Where was—?
Tiny hands suddenly wrapped around her waist from behind.
"Mommy, I'm right here!"
"Mommy!" A sweet, babyish voice chimed in—this little troublemaker still loved pulling these sneaky stunts!
Tracy turned and crouched down, pinching his rosy, doll-like cheeks with affection. His face was so finely crafted it might've been carved by angels. Where on earth did he get those stunning features? For a boy, he was almost unfairly pretty.
Elliot's raven-black hair had grown shaggy again. Tracy brushed the strands aside, revealing those piercing emerald eyes. His thick lashes fluttered like butterfly wings—absolutely heart-melting.
"How're you feeling, pumpkin?"
"All better! Don't fuss, Mommy—I'm a big boy now."
The little schemer hadn't been sick at all. He'd just missed her during school activities and cooked up this plan to come home early.
Tracy had rushed him back from school thinking he was ill. When he refused to go to the hospital ("Too many germs!"), she'd bombarded him with instructions before leaving, only to cave under his pleading puppy-dog look.
Still, she'd been distracted the whole time, racing back the moment her meeting ended.
Just thinking about this clever boy sent warmth flooding through Tracy's chest. She really needed to make more time for him.
She finally relaxed after confirming he was fine. At four years old, Elliot was more responsible than kids twice his age—sometimes he even put her to shame. But he was still her little boy.
"Mommy, my tummy's rumbling! Can you make your magic ribs?"
"Sure thing, sweetheart. Those tender pork ribs glazed in sweet-sour sauce, just how you like them. Then maybe a quick trim afterward?"
Elliot's face scrunched into a pout. "Do I haaaave to? I like my hair!"
Tracy bit back a laugh. It was cute now, but any longer and people'll think I've got a daughter instead of a son!
"Just a teeny-tiny trim? It's getting in your eyes, love."
"Only if you're the one holding the scissors."
"You've got yourself a deal."
Elliot acted like such a little adult, his maturity melting her heart. What an incredibly thoughtful little boy—with a son like him, she could focus on work without constant worry.
Tracy stepped closer, sweeping him into her arms before planting a noisy kiss on his rosy cheek.
Though not related by blood, these years had bonded them more deeply than most mothers and sons. To Tracy, he was hers in every way that mattered.
She'd never mothered a child before, unsure of the right way to do it. But she was determined to give it her all—anything to see Elliot grow up safe and sound.
She once chased dreams, but now she lived for him.
With such a wonderful boy in her life, she must have accumulated lifetimes of good karma.
"From now on, Mommy will spend more time with you, okay?"
"Thanks, Mommy." His tiny arms clung to her neck as if he'd never let go.
He didn't know his origins, but in his heart, he knew Tracy was his real mother. Evidence or not, he'd never stop believing it.
- Writer
