by Ryli Jordan
Copyright 2016 by Ryli Jordan - All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
EXOTIC
BILLIONAIRE ALPHA MALE ROMANCE
BY: RYLI JORDAN
Ryli is a daydreamer with real-life love experiences, but hasn’t found Mr. Right. That won’t stop her from trying! She pours her experiences into her books. Romance author, Miss Ryli, writes steamy reads, with bad boy, alpha males, and sexy vixens. On any given night, when not writing about your next book boyfriend, Ryli can be found reading her Kindle, filled with love stories, hot romance, and "Happily-Ever-Afters."
She lives in the great state of Texas where everything is bigger… bigger love and bigger lust! She loves traveling with friends to tropical destinations and the occasional snowy spot in the mountains with her favorite caramel latte.
Ryli loves hearing from her fans and you can reach her at: [email protected] or tweet her at @author_ryli.
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Website: byrylijordan.wordpress.com
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
ABOUT THIS BOOK
MAIN STORY
Epilogue
BONUS STORY 1
BONUS STORY 2
ABOUT THIS BOOK
Celebrity chef, Knox Free, makes women feel delicious and exotic in and out the bedroom, but with Staci Abrahams as his new financial advisor, he gets a new recipe for life.
Knox
A woman is like an exotic dish, she is a masterpiece of art. Delectable and delicious.
As a celebrity chef, I’m all about pleasing and satisfying every taste bud. Creating a palate of lovemaking takes an exquisite taste and I have a ferocious appetite for women.
I know how to handle my meat, and can go for hours without a break.
If a woman is willing to play with fire, try me, I’m burning hot.
But will Staci wait until it’s too late for my playboy ways to wane?
Staci
Knox is larger than life in every way, and he likes to make sure I know it. The last thing I want is to mix business with pleasure.
His striking blue eyes, masculine body, and arrogant personality make him irresistible. The kitchen is his kingdom, where he creates delicious meals made for royals and celebrities alike.
Known in the streets as “Knox,” I know him as the ultimate heart breaker.
Too bad I'm not interested in being on his menu.
I can’t be interested.
Well, what happens when his words bring me to my knees, making things a little complicated?
Book 2 in the series can be read as a standalone, HEA included, no cliffhanger, no cheating. For mature audiences 18 and older only!
It’s dinner time and I’m having you.
-Knox
MAIN STORY
Chapter 1
Knox
Creating an exotic meal is a highly spiritual experience, a rigorous and methodical process that combines creativity and passion, art and math, science and madness—and maybe it is the closest I will ever come to procreating. When I, Kenneth Free, creates a masterpiece fit for a Michelin-rated restaurant, the audience is putting their trust in me…they’re listening. They are lending me their senses, aching for fulfillment.
Not just of body but of soul. Food is erotic, dinner is nurturing. And whatever I am now, call me a billionaire, a celebrity—or just a man who satisfies others and is well thanked for it—all I am is because of dedication. I’ve had plenty of opportunity, God knows, and of course I owe my innate abilities and aesthetic appreciation from by father and grandfather who taught me about the art of cooking.
But if you’re talking about inspiration it comes from the human experience itself. It is a learned skill but the passion, the imagination, is innate. When a cook enjoys what he does, when he takes in life, all that accumulated knowledge and love shows in his masterpiece. A wise man once said cooking is like painting or writing lyrics. There are only so many notes, so many colors at your fingertips. How you combine them is what makes it a meal, makes it a taste that matters.
Ingredients themselves are versatile, they are a chef’s slaves and his patron’s messengers. For instance, whenever I make a puff pastry dessert, I like using peaches and apricots, something rustic, something about yesterday. There is a simplicity to cooking and a reverence of tradition. Sometimes when they ask me gives me an idea, I simply tell them that my location, my travel log, is my inspiration. I find new ingredients when I travel and I particularly enjoy finding new flavors from clean, pure cold-pressed herbs from local growers. A good chef knows what he has available, what’s in front of him.
But when he wants to splurge and make something truly wonderful, mythically delicious, he thinks just as much about where he ought to serve. Under what circumstances and resources he has to choose from. Greatness comes from a moment the individual creates and shares…
“Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Julia?”
I smiled at the reporter interviewing me for a magazine story, right on the patio of a well-to-do coffee shop downtown. She said she wanted a public place, which I accepted, but I insisted that we go to drink good gourmet coffee. I dressed in colors of black and white, austere, and imposing, as I always tend to do. She dressed in friendlier colors of blue and white. We revealed everything about ourselves even before spoke. But to my surprise, although I wasn’t expecting a friendly interview I found Julia to be quite fetching.
“Of course,” she said, a little intimidated and quieted, as most are, when they find out I’m Kenneth Free, Chef, Restaurateur and TV personality. “The world describes you as a perfectionist. You’ve opened chains of top-rated restaurants, you’ve written books, you’ve entertained royalty…and all before your thirty-sixth birthday.”
She smiled, and as always they have to throw a prickly question in there to make me stand at attention.
“One can’t help wonder what you want out of life, since you’ve given so much to others. Is there a Missus Free somewhere in the future?”
“No,” I answered quickly but hesitantly. I’ve been warned by my publicists that a sharp and vehement NO is bad for business. Women want to believe I’m single and looking rather than just single and dumbfounded that anyone would ever want to get married. “I just don’t think I would be good at something like that. Food is predictable, business is logical. Love and marriage and all that…it’s very random, isn’t it?”
“I think we have enough, Mister Free,” she said with a respectful smile, standing up from the chair and reaching for my hand. “And I will definitely send you the transcript before it goes to print. After all, you and Mister Valenti are good friends. I really want to thank you again for renting us the Beach House in Devon. We had a very special time there.”
“Just call
me Knox. I’m you two enjoyed your time there,” I said, smiling as I stood and shook her hand. “He fell in love is the story I got out of him.”
“Well, we’re not jinxing it. We’re taking it one day at a time.”
“Good. You know falling in love on my island costs you extra.”
We both fake-laughed.
“Seriously though, I’m happy for Raymond. We’ve known each other for a long time. Going on what…ten years?”
“Oh, I didn’t realize you were connected for that long.”
“I met him in college. We had some wild times.”
“I’m sure you did,” she said with a squint.
“Ah, I better say no more,” I replied with a tight smile-back. “Suffice it to say, we both managed to do well for ourselves. I was drawn to culinary arts, naturally. He always had a knack for gadgets. It’s funny the way we seem to follow a career path even early on.”
“It is!”
“And from what I hear, Ray’s business is really picking up. I suppose you’re quite the muse. Before he met you, I had no idea whether he would even continue after his father passed on.”
“We all knew he had it in him.”
“Well take care, Julia. And tell Ray I look forward to golfing with him next month. But he’s buying brunch.”
I couldn’t help but silently check out the lovely reporter as we left the establishment. She was beautiful, but taken. My love life was non-existent, but my sex life was fucking amazing. I was at the point where I didn’t have to try very hard to take a woman home for the night. My notorious temper and micromanaging style earned me TV fame and I had my choice of groupies or foodies.
After all, the only thing more appealing than fucking a celebrity was cooking for a woman in the romantic afterglow. Sure, it didn’t hurt that I was also young, tall, blond haired and fit. Perhaps my blue eyes are what grabbed a woman’s attention. I “loved” many but liked few. I could only imagine the misery that would come from trying to love someone.
My mother always warned me not to take the restaurant home with me and I think I finally get what she meant by that. The only way to create perfection in culinary form was to be demanding. To be cruel at times. Possessive. Competitive, downright harsh to my allies and fiendish to my guests—at least when it came to categorizing them and analyzing their weaknesses. A chef had to be a bastard, yes, less someone doubt his instincts, or question his knowledge. Arrogance is tied into success. They called me “Knox” as a nickname because I was like a hard wrap on a door.
But a lover, a respectable man, indeed, he had to be heroic. Altruistic. A kind man who would turn the other cheek and let bygones be bygones. The good man was always the Bigger Man, the first to forgive, and the first to trust.
And this was something I could not be, if I hoped to maintain my life…my talent…my name. Some would consider it a fair trade. To rise to the top of the world and become a legend…only to leave behind everything that made me a human being. It wasn’t fair, but then again, no one’s plight is fair, is it?
Was it better to be nothing and in love?
And to the others that would claim I lost something special…Bon appétit.
Chapter 2
Knox
As difficult as it might be to believe, I do have a soul and maybe even a conscience, though as my agent tells me, that’s not what people prefer to hear. They would rather believe I’m a hothead that fires people for no good reason, yells at his assistants, and generally behaves like an ass afterhours. The truth is something far less interesting. I satisfy cravings and I avoid thinking too deeply about the ramifications of my actions.
As for my assistants, well, they do sometimes get on my nerves and I have been known to throw a tantrum or two. But it’s almost a joke in my restaurants that when the boss badmouths you, and presumably feels regret afterward, you get the Bad Boss Bonus, which cheers them right up.
But at certain times, like on December 14 in the morning, a day I remember well, I am reminded of my own mortality. I even share an incline of compassion for important people who are not immediately dining at my table.
My longtime financial planner Henry Jameson passed away. He was in his eighties but always with a powerful air to him, a light that exuded from his center. He always wore old suits and looked so damned professional, talking in that deep and tired voice, always making me second-guess myself. Not because Henry was stoic, but because he was introspective. He had a way of making me think, even about the things in life I was so sure about.
Sometimes he would ask me:
“When are you ever going to settle down, Knox? You know you made some good money, son. But money is only worth the memories you buy.”
“Oh Henry,” I used to laugh in response. “There will always be women, always be singles parties. But the market is surprisingly fickle.”
“I’m just telling you for your own good, son, money is overrated. Believe me I know. I want to see you settle down before I pass on.”
“You’re going to live forever, Henry. You promised.” I winked.
“Yeah…right.”
When he died, there was one aching thought that went through me, and overpowered even the more selfish thought of “I’m going to need a new financial planner.”
And it was…Dammit, Henry, did you really have to go so soon? I really looked forward to settling down. And you, you old fool, you had to kill the life of the party.
There was something profoundly sad about losing someone who knew something close to the real me, something like an older sibling or uncle. Henry always spoke to me like a man, not a reporter or a patron. He wasn’t impressed by wealth or pomp. He had been rich, poor, rich again and then retired-rich, which he always felt most comfortable with. Henry had a way with words and an attitude of fire, which I respected to no end.
I immediately resented the idea of replacing him with someone younger, someone “hungrier”…Hell, someone healthier! There was no replacement for the quaint old man. It was probably smart management on the part of Waylon Financial to send a pretty young lady to take over my account. They knew, as my reputation preceded me, that the only people I had to be kind to were inquisitive young beauties. It was far more difficult to shout down a lady chef, more difficult to be crude or abrupt to a female journalist.
And yes, a beautiful mathematical mind was definitely a way to impress me. The moment Staci entered my New York office, I was a little stunned. Her dark hair dropped to her breasts in soft waves and her almond-shaped eyes were a rich deep hazel. A thin frame but curvy in all the right places. She wasn’t too young, certainly not the twenty-year-old backpacker that loved to surprise me outside the restaurant afterhours. She was closer to my age, about thirty, meaning she didn’t quite have that obedient little gaze in her eyes that I was used to seeing.
We met in my New York office, a sterile environment that no doubt did me zero favors. Staci wore a dark grey button blouse with lighter grey pants, very determined to show me this interview was all business.
“Miss…Staci Abrahams?” I said, halfway expecting her to flutter around in disbelief. Yes, I really am that handsome in person, don’t you know!
“Mister Free,” she said with a congenial smile and firm voice. “What a thrill to meet you in person.”
“The thrill is all mine.”
“So let’s just get into it,” she said, having a seat in the guest chair, as I sat down in my seat behind the office. Well she was definitely enthusiastic but I could tell right away that she wasn’t gaga over me. In fact, she didn’t even seem like she watched my show or ever dined at my restaurant before, since she didn’t have the right gaze. Most girls flutter or giggle when they recognize me. She only stared through me; eager to begin…or worse yet, get it out of the way.
She had a look of maturity, of grace, and one I found most refreshing compared to all those all-trusting eyes of adoration. Her scent was of blackcurrant leaves, honey, and orchid. I could see her nipples showing thro
ugh the blouse, calling me or I was yearning for them. She was probably just cold, not aroused as I wished her to be.
“Wait a minute,” I said with a teasing smile. “Which show in particular do you like best?”
“Oh you know…um…all of them.” She laughed and briefly met my eyes, but without a lustful glare. More like a food critic or investor might “evaluate me”. That looks of reservation…of entitlement! A look I wasn’t too fond of witnessing. I got a sudden chill up my spine. Had she heard something about me? Or was I just repellant on a chemical level?
“Uh huh…” I said, folding my arms. Damn, a woman who didn’t seem to like me but who tolerated me.
“Typically this initial meeting is just a few questions, Mr. Free” she said, dispensing with any sexual tension I tried to create.
“Just call me Knox.”
“Knox?”
“Right, no need to be formal,” I said.
“Alright. As some of our advisers have already told you, your previous relationship with Mister Henry Jameson was not exactly modern when it comes to investment strategy.”
“Oh I know, he was old and set in his ways. He was a charity donation type of guy. It was the way he was raised…”
“Well, from what our research shows us, since you are scheduled to accumulate so much in assets and because of the royalties from TV shows, books, etc., we think it’s time for a restructuring. I can’t tell you, Mister Free, I mean Knox, how many men in your position I’ve seen who gambled or wasted their life earnings away…sometimes in as little as five years.”
“Really?”
“Really. I’m talking billionaires who were so reckless…” She shook her head. “And it’s all because they don’t know the first thing about wealth building. And I think in your case, since you have so many different branches of your restaurant and brand name, it makes sense to have an ongoing consultation. We want to multiply income and give you objective third party analysis of each major purchase. After all…you know we’re eventually going to hit another recession. Don’t you want to be ready when that happens?”
