Billionaire Chef Bear: BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance (Beast Bears Book 2)

by Natalie Kristen

  Layla shook her head. No, not a coven meeting. She would tell them that she and her aunts were doing some outdoor cooking. Yes, outdoor cooking in the woods.

  It was worth a shot.

  Layla gulped as she marched resolutely towards Dean’s Kitchen.

  A couple turned and eyed her curiously as they walked up the front steps of the restaurant. Layla stopped and touched her pointed hat and cloak self-consciously.

  Maybe she should go round the back of the restaurant instead.

  She would be less conspicuous and the less eyebrows raised at her, the better.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Dean Howell transferred the pan-seared salmon onto the plate and carefully arranged the lemon slices around the salmon. He placed the dish onto the counter and rang the bell.

  One of his waitstaff promptly appeared at the window with his tray. “Table thirteen,” Dean said.

  “Yes, boss!”

  The young waiter grinned when Dean scowled at him. “Dean, not boss,” Dean said, rolling his eyes.

  “Okay, whatever you say, Dean-boss!” The waiter snapped his heels and saluted.

  Dean gave a mock growl and shook his head. He always took his staff’s good-natured ribbing and jibes in his stride. Most of them had been with him since he opened his first restaurant. He had just opened two more branches in the heart of the city, but this was the original Dean’s Kitchen. This was where it all started. In this sleepy neighborhood at the outskirts of the city.

  Dean had to split his time between the three branches, but he particularly loved spending time at his oldest restaurant. Dean’s Kitchen at Haywood Park held the most memories for him. He had worked his butt off to get it off the ground, and his younger brother Zack had stoutly supported him in this venture. Zack owned a very successful investment firm, and he had insisted on investing in Dean’s restaurant.

  Dean and Zack were all that was left of the Howell family. They had a big brother, but Max was lost to them. No one saw Max again after he ran out of the house after an argument with their dad when he was sixteen.

  Dean had taken on the responsibility of raising Zack when their father died. Dean was only eighteen at the time, but he swore that he would keep his baby brother close. It was hard, and Dean worked himself to the bone to make ends meet but it all worked out in the end.

  Both Dean and Zack had made good. Dean was especially proud of Zack. His baby brother was the founder and CEO of Howell Holdings, Inc. Zack had initially offered Dean a high-paying, fancy-sounding position in his company, but Dean declined the offer. He didn’t know anything about complicated financial instruments and investments. He was just a simple guy. And it wouldn’t be right for him to be sitting around and doing nothing in a big swanky office.

  Despite Dean’s protests, Zack had put Dean down as a shareholder in his company. “You don’t want a job in my company, fine. But the shares are yours,” Zack had told him firmly. “I owe my success to you, Dean. Don’t think I don’t know how much you sacrificed for me. You raised me, put me through college and looked out for me. I wouldn’t be what and who I am today without you. Don’t worry, big brother, your shares won’t become worthless,” Zack had added with a smirk. “I’ll make sure they multiply in value.”

  Zack had been true to his word. Zack had taken his company public about a year ago.

  After the initial public offering, the stock price of Howell Holdings Inc., went through the roof. Dean’s net worth skyrocketed and to his shock, he became a billionaire almost overnight.

  With all that money, Dean could invest in any venture he wanted. But his passion was cooking. Zack was the investment guru, not him. He was just a humble chef.

  So Dean sold his shares and used the money to open two more branches in the city. He enjoyed cooking, and he loved seeing people enjoy his food. In the early days when Dean had to struggle to make the rent and make sure Zack stayed in school, he usually returned home thoroughly exhausted. But no matter how tired he was, he always took the time and effort to whip up a nutritious meal for Zack with the limited ingredients that they could afford.

  When Dean saw his younger brother digging into the simple meal with gusto and delight, all his weariness simply melted away. Cooking for family gave him the greatest joy. Food gave comfort and happiness, and it brought people together.

  And that was really how Dean’s Kitchen started. Dean would tell everyone that his culinary skills had been honed in the small, leaky kitchen of that dingy rented apartment he shared with Zack.

  Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that he would one day own a successful chain of restaurants and have so many talented, dedicated chefs working with him in his kitchen.

  It was an honor to work alongside his staff, who were his colleagues and friends, in the kitchen.

  Dean never saw himself as their boss. He was just Dean, one of the many cooks in Dean’s Kitchen.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Dean started when someone nudged him and said, “Why don’t you take a break, boss?”

  “I don’t need a break, Emily,” Dean said at once. “I can help...”

  “You do need a break.” Emily gave him a pointed look over her shoulder as she threw ingredients into a simmering pot. “You look dog-tired. Get out of the kitchen for a bit. The crowd’s pretty manageable tonight.”

  “Yeah, but...”

  “No buts. Everything’s under control. You don’t need you here, boss,” she snapped. “Go outside and get some fresh air.”

  The other cooks laughed. Emily was one of his oldest staff, and a very efficient, no-nonsense chef. She was a formidable, eagle-eyed woman in her fifties who didn’t mince her words. The junior staff were all a little afraid of her, but everyone knew that Emily had a sharp tongue but a good heart. The staff regarded her as a stern but caring big sister.

  “Take a breather,” Emily said without looking at him. “Go out, have a drink with the customers, meet new people, have fun.”

  “Am I in your way?” Dean said, pretending to be miffed.

  “Yes,” Emily said matter-of-factly. “Shoo! Leave so I can yell at the junior chefs.”

  Dean held up his hands. “Don’t let me stop you...”

  “Tsk. I have to be on my best behavior when my boss is in the kitchen and it’s killing me! I’m going to explode,” she warned.

  The other cooks chuckled and pretended to shrink away from Emily as they continued frying, broiling, mixing and chopping with practiced ease. It was like a perfectly choreographed performance in the kitchen. Everyone knew their roles and responsibilities, and even during the dinner rush and the pressure was on, they never lost their sense of fun. They worked as a team, and everyone helped out as needed.

  Dean danced out of the way as someone rushed past him to grab ingredients from the large refrigerator. Two cooks staggered past with a large pot, slinging jokes and jibes at each other.

  Dean’s Kitchen was a busy, happy place. There was a sense of camaraderie and purpose among the staff. Dean saw that Emily was right. Everything was under control. He had to learn to let go and step back. Let his staff do their jobs.

  It was true what they said. Too many cooks did spoil the broth.

  He sighed, suddenly feeling tired. He had just rushed back from the city after inspecting his other branches, and he had been on his feet the whole day.

  No doubt Emily could tell that he was stretching himself too thin and stressing himself out.

  Dean opened the back door and stepped out into the cool night air. It was a lovely night, and the moon was hanging low in the sky like a glowing, rotund lantern.

  The breeze rustled the leaves and grass, and brought a strange new scent to his nostrils.

  Dean scented her before he even saw or heard her.

  He spun round when he heard her step behind him.

  A pretty raven-haired woman in a long black cloak was standing in the shadows, her gaze darting around furtively. She was wearing a tall, pointed, rather dramatic hat on
her head.

  The woman managed a shaky smile when she saw him staring at her. “Um, hi,” she said, clearing her throat.

  “Hi.” Dean continued watching her. The woman was mesmerizing. Curling lashes framed her deep, soulful brown eyes and her black hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, leaving tendrils of wavy hair brushing against her neck. The color was blooming in her cheeks as she bit her soft, pink lips and swallowed repeatedly.

  She was incredibly beautiful. In fact, she was the most beautiful woman Dean had ever seen.

  But her dressing was...kind of odd, to say the least.

  Dean thought that she just needed a broomstick to complete the look. Assuming that was the look she was going for.

  Was she dressed for Halloween? She seemed too old to be trick-or-treating. She looked like she was in her late twenties, but he could be mistaken.

  What was she doing here, skulking around the back of the restaurant? Was she lost?

  “Can I help you?” he asked gently, taking a step towards her.

  The woman nodded and said, “You work here, right? In Dean’s Kitchen?”

  “Yes,” he replied, not sure where the conversation was heading.

  “I...um, well, I...” She took a deep breath and said in a rush, “Iwouldliketoborrowapot.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Layla felt her stomach flutter as she stared at the tall, blond, incredibly handsome man in front of her. He was dressed in his white chef uniform and there was a dish towel over his broad shoulder.

  When the man continued staring at her in silence, Layla clarified in a calmer, clearer voice, “A large soup pot, please. If you can spare one.”

  The man’s brilliant blue eyes locked on her face and Layla could feel her skin burning under his intense gaze. It felt like he was studying her and memorizing every detail of her.

  His white chef uniform were neat and crisp, stretching across his broad frame perfectly. Her eyes trailed down his hunky frame and she saw that he wore only a watch on his wrist and no ring on his finger. Layla had to bite her lip so he wouldn’t see her gleeful smile.

  With his short blond hair and chiseled features, the man looked more like a model than a chef.

  Were all the chefs in Dean’s Kitchen so devilishly good-looking? Was this why the place was perpetually crowded?

  But it wasn’t possible to house that much hotness under one roof. They would set the place on fire!

  “Too hot,” she murmured.

  The man arched a brow at her.

  Layla shook herself and gave a feeble smile. What was she doing? She was being a dork, that’s what.

  “A soup pot?” the man rumbled.

  “Huh? What?” She’d momentarily forgotten what she had come to do. She had been so busy gawking at this hunky, sexy chef that her brain had taken leave of her.

  “The pot. Oh yes, the pot!” She almost shouted out her response. Gulping, she continued, “Er, yes, I’d like to borrow a large pot, if you have one to spare and if it wouldn’t cause too much inconvenience.”

  The man’s lips curved in a smile. Layla almost swooned. He looked even more handsome when he smiled. How was that even possible?

  “I just need the pot for an hour or so. I think,” she blathered on. She wasn’t sure how long the coven meeting would last. Her mom sometimes stayed out all night with Aunt Ruth and Aunt Ursa. Goodness knows what the three witches got up to when they were together.

  “We’re cooking something, in the woods. You know, outdoor cooking is the in-thing now. We’ve always wanted to try it out. My aunts are so looking forward to this...cooking expedition.” Layla took a deep breath to stop more words from spewing from her mouth. She was babbling and spinning a rather convoluted, unconvincing story.

  The man must think that she wasn’t quite right in the head. She cringed and peered up at him, expecting to see derision or pity in his eyes.

  To her surprise, the man simply nodded and said, “Sure. We have a pot that’s perfect for outdoor cooking.”

  Layla’s brows shot up before she tugged them down in a hurry. He believed her?

  She waited for him to question her further but all he said was, “Wait here. I’ll get you your pot.”

  Layla blinked repeatedly. She must have heard wrongly.

  “Did you...just agree to lend me a pot?” Layla asked.

  “Yes. We have quite a few spare pots in the kitchen. You said you needed a fairly large one, right?” he said.

  Layla nodded mutely.

  “Okay, wait here,” he said, turning towards the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  Layla watched him slip back into the kitchen. She took a whiff of the delicious aroma wafting from the kitchen and her mouth watered. No wonder the restaurant was so popular. Judging from the sounds and smells coming from Dean’s Kitchen, the cooks there definitely knew what they were doing.

  The door opened and the blond, hunky chef appeared with a shiny pot under his arm. “Here you go,” he said, holding the pot out to her.

  “T-thank you,” she stuttered as she took the pot. “I’ll make sure I clean it and return it to you in the same condition. I’ll come by the restaurant and look for you tomorrow. What’s your name?”

  “Dean.”

  Layla’s eyes narrowed. “Dean? Dean’s Kitchen? You’re pulling my leg, right?”

  He smiled and shrugged.

  “Tell me your real name,” she said.

  “I’m Dean. Really.” He chuckled.

  “Really? Do you have to be called Dean to work in Dean’s Kitchen?” she tossed back.

  “Well, there are a few Deans among the staff.”

  “I bet.” She flashed him a wide smile. “Okay, thanks for your help, Dean. I really appreciate it. I’m Layla, and you can look for me at The Magic Oven. It’s the bakery at the corner of Cedar Lane. I’m there almost every day—‘cause I’m the owner,” she added with a laugh.

  “You’re welcome, Layla,” Dean said. After a beat, he asked, “Can I have your number?”

  Layla tried not to show her glee and excitement. Was he going to ask her out?

  Cool your head and your libido, girl, she snapped at herself.

  Dean wasn’t getting her number so he could ask her out on a date. He was just getting her name and number so he could track her down if she didn’t come back with the pot.

  It’s just that...she really wanted him to ask her out. Layla couldn’t even remember the last time she had gone on a date. Her bakery took up almost all her time and energy. Not that she was complaining.

  No rest for the wicked, as they say.

  But she deserved a break, didn’t she? Everyone did.

  Layla badly wanted to stay and chat with Dean. He seemed like a really nice guy. Helpful, easy-going and easy on the eyes. Maybe she should make the first move and ask him out...

  But she had a coven meeting to get to.

  After exchanging phone numbers, Layla smiled and said, “Okay, I gotta go.”

  She tapped the pot and asked, “You sure this is okay? I don’t want to get you in trouble with the boss. You know, the Big Dean of Dean’s Kitchen.”

  “No trouble at all.” Dean smirked. “The Big Dean won’t mind at all.”

  Layla snorted. “How would you know?”

  “Dean’s a nice guy.”

  He winked at her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  As Layla trudged deeper into the woods cradling the huge soup pot in her arms, she couldn’t help wondering what Aunt Ruth and Aunt Ursa were up to.

  Why in the world did they have to go all the way into the woods for their coven meeting? And what did they want with a soup pot? Were they really going to be boiling up some gooey stew tonight using eye of newt and toe of frog? That would be gross.

  Layla froze when she heard Aunt Ursa’s frantic whisper as she neared the clearing. “Hurry up, Ruth! She should be here anytime now! You’re such a slowpoke.”

  “Slowpoke? Why don’t you try?” came Aunt Ruth’s annoyed
retort. “These stupid wands don’t seem to work. They’re sparkly and nice to look at, but they’re pretty useless.”

  “Gimme the wands, let me try!”

  Layla crouched behind a tree and parted the tall grasses to peek out. She saw Aunt Ruth and Aunt Ursa in the middle of the clearing, huddling over a pile of twigs. They were clutching fistfuls of colorful, shiny wands and shouting incantations at the dried twigs.

  Layla pricked her ears. Those incantations didn’t sound like anything her mom had taught her. She leaned forward and listened carefully.

  When she finally made out the words, Layla had to bite back a chortle. Those weren’t incantations. Those were swear words.

  When the two older witches finally stopped cursing and swearing, they shook the sparkly wands angrily in their fists and shouted, “What a bunch of useless wands!”

  “Well, when something is too good to be true...” Aunt Ursa huffed.

  “Yeah. And we thought these wands were such a steal,” Aunt Ruth snapped.

  “You get what you pay for,” Aunt Ursa finished sulkily.

  “Well, since we can’t even cast a simple spell with these useless wands, we should at least try to get some use out of them.” Aunt Ruth pushed her glasses up her nose and flung the wands into the pile of twigs. “They should make good firewood.”

  Layla watched in amusement as her aunt dug deep into her cloak and rooted around. “Ta-da!” Aunt Ruth held up a box of matches triumphantly. “We’ll just have to start a fire the old-fashioned way.”

  Layla waited until the two witches managed to get a fire going. The wands did make good firewood. They cackled and burned merrily, throwing up psychedelic sparks and stars.

  Aunt Ruth and Aunt Ursa hi-fived each other and looked around. “Where’s Layla? She should be here by now,” Aunt Ursa remarked.

  Layla swallowed and straightened up. It wasn’t nice to keep her elders waiting. She was the youngest member of the coven. She should have been here much earlier to make the necessary preparations.