Daddy CEO: A BILLIONAIRE SECOND CHANCE BABY ROMANCE

by Jaymes, Holly

  Daddy CEO

  A BILLIONAIRE SECOND CHANCE BABY ROMANCE

  Holly Jaymes

  Copyright © 2018 by Holly Jaymes

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Daddy Player Chapter 1 Preview

  Daddy Player Chapter 2 Preview

  Also by Holly Jaymes

  About Holly Jaymes

  Chapter 1

  Piper

  I was concentrating hard, trying to get my hands not to shake as I drew the exact shape Chef wanted me to draw with the mint sauce on the plate. He was obsessed with presentation, and it added several additional minutes to the plating procedure for every dish I created.

  I hadn’t been sleeping well. My mind was wrecked with thoughts about my future and where I was headed. Every night, I tossed and turned in bed. For the rest of the day, I survived on caffeine and an adrenaline rush. But now I could feel the effects of the lack of sleep. My eyes felt strained, and my hands were beginning to shake.

  Both were dangerous traits to have when you were trying to create the perfect plate of food, to match Chef Morris’ high standards. Was I going to lose my job? Chef would not hesitate to fire me if he was unhappy with me. But then again, he wasn’t happy with anyone.

  “Cohen! The fucking lamb!” I heard him shout from across the kitchen.

  “Two minutes, Chef!” I shouted back.

  “That’s not good enough. It should have been served two minutes ago!” he called.

  I swept a perfect circle with a butter knife across the plate and stepped back. It was looking right now, at least in my opinion. Behind me, I sensed a shadowy presence looming. It was Chef.

  “What do you call this?” I heard his voice, and I pressed my eyes closed.

  “I’m sorry, Chef,” I said. There was no point getting into an argument with him. I would never win.

  “This is despicable work, Cohen. It’s cold as marble too!” he growled, lifting up the plate. It was hot in reality, but not hot enough as per his standards.

  “I’m sorry, Chef,” I said again, while he handed the plate over to a waiter.

  “Sit the next one out,” he snapped and whipped away from me. Telling one of us to sit the next order out was the most significant punishment he could give us. I caught the others’ eyes as they glanced over their shoulders. They sympathized with me. Everyone knew we were all working hard, and to the best of our abilities and yet, nothing seemed to be good enough for Chef.

  Breathing in deeply, I stepped away from the counter and walked over to the corner of the kitchen. When Chef told us to take a break, he didn’t actually mean take a break. He meant more along the lines of go to the corner and watch the rest of the kitchen work, and repent your sins!

  It was painful.

  I stood with my arms crossed over my breasts, feeling increasingly hot in my uniform. I’d been working in kitchens all over the country for the past seven years. I even managed to get the job of Sous Chef at this restaurant, and that was through sheer hard work and determination. However, no position had been as hard as working under Chef Morris. He really knew how to make everyone feel worthless and not good enough for the job.

  I watched the others working. As always, the restaurant, Privy, was bubbling and busy. It had opened up just a year ago, and it was already the hottest new joint in the city.

  All things considered, I should have felt blessed. I was precisely where every young chef wanted to be, working as the sous chef of a new experimental restaurant which was being reviewed positively by the newspapers weekly. I was working under Chef Morris, who was one of the most celebrated chefs in the country. I knew I’d made it. I was already there, where I should have wanted my career to be.

  Despite all this, I felt like a failure every day. Not only because Chef treated me like I was unworthy, but also because I wasn’t actually living the dream I’d chased all these years.

  I wanted to be able to save enough so I could finally buy the restaurant I always had my eye on.

  It was a small cafe on the outskirts of Boston, with sprawling garden premises and thick ivy covering the exterior red brick walls of the building. The place had been kind of derelict, and eventually, the cafe closed down and the property remained abandoned.

  I had big dreams for it. I dreamed that I would invest money in it and bring it up to the standard of a modern European style cafe, in an idyllic countryside setting. Even now, in bed at night, I would think up all the menu ideas I had for it.

  But slowly, that dream was beginning to diminish, because I hadn’t even come close to saving as much money as I needed to renovate the place. It hadn’t been looked after for years, and it would require a lot of repairs plus marketing and hiring staff. I didn’t have that kind of money, not even the down-payment for a loan I would need.

  The more time that went by, the more I was beginning to accept the fact that it wasn’t going to happen. By the time I might be able to save the money needed, it would be too late. The place could be unsalvageable by then. But my heart was set on it, and I thought I would never truly be happy unless I acquired it.

  “Cohen!” Chef’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts again.

  “What are you doing standing there? This isn’t the cinema!” he growled.

  There was no use reminding him that he was the one who’d given me a time-out.

  Putting my hair-net back on, I rushed to the counter again and snatched up the next order. I was determined to prove myself to him this time. There would come a time, hopefully soon, when Chef Morris might actually look at a plate and give me a nod of approval.

  For now, that was the dream I was working towards, and even that seemed too far out of my reach.

  Chapter 2

  Cliff

  Michael Baynard picked Privy as his restaurant of choice for our meeting. To be honest, I didn’t even really want to meet with him. I wasn’t interested in a merger, but he wanted to meet with me again to try and convince me to change my mind.

  Privy was a new place, one of those restaurants in Boston that were hard to get a table at. Michael booked us in, and I wondered if he was hoping that would impress me.

  These high-browed stuffy places weren’t exactly my style, but I went along with it. What was the worst that could happen from sharing a meal with him?

  As usual, Michael was flamboyant and wouldn’t stop talking.

  “I’m sure you haven’t given it enough thought,” Michael said, looking over the menu. He was talking about the fact that I’d said no to his idea for a merger again. He was wrong because I had thought about it a lot.

  “That’s not what it is, Michael,” I told him, trying to select something I would like to eat. Nothing on the menu seemed to appeal to me. It all appeared to be a little too creative and out-there. I would have preferred a bowl of steaming hot rame
n or mac-and-cheese any day. Good hearty, fulfilling food.

  I looked at the wine list instead. That was definitely something I could do.

  “Then what is it? What is the reason?” Michael asked.

  He seemed to be coming on too strong this time. He was losing his patience.

  “I’m not interested in a merger, Michael. It’s as simple as that,” I told him.

  Michael and I had been running rival investment firms for the past few years since I joined the market. The problem for him was that he’d been monopolizing the industry in Boston for several years. He was a lot older than me.

  When I started my investment firm from scratch, everyone in the industry thought I was a kid who was trying to play with the big guys. It was true. I had minimal experience in the sector.

  All I really had going for myself was the money I’d inherited from my grandfather and my business school degree. That was it.

  But what I did have along with the above was a knack in sniffing out small businesses and good ideas. In the past six years that I’d been trying to make my firm grow, I’d managed to make sound investment decisions and had grown the company exponentially.

  Now, that I was sitting on several million dollars, and that number was growing every month, people like Michael Baynard were shitting their pants. They finally had to admit that I wasn’t just a fresh-faced young child, but someone they would have to contend with.

  This merger was Michael’s idea to get a piece of the cake I was serving.

  “Do you know how much capital I could add to your portfolio?” he asked after we’d placed our orders with the waiter.

  I squared my shoulders, sighing deeply.

  “Yes, Michael. I have a pretty good idea,” I replied.

  Adding Michael’s firm to mine, gaining more capital, would have seemed like a good idea. In fact, it would have been an excellent idea for growing the firm. Maybe the best business decision I could have made.

  At the same time, it would also mean that I couldn’t make investment decisions alone. Michael Baynard would be on my board, and he’d have a vote and a say in every investment I wanted to make.

  I didn’t play like them, like the big boys.

  I didn’t just invest in safe, successful businesses. I preferred giving my money to small companies or individuals who had a great idea. I liked to work closely with these people, giving them more than just my money, but my business expertise, my time and my ideas. I wanted to watch these small businesses grow, and give back to the community. It was what my grandfather would have wanted me to do with his money, and I had no intention of letting him down.

  Our food arrived, and Michael didn’t miss a breath. He continued to try and convince me, and I continued to shoot him down. I could see him beginning to lose his temper. He seemed like the kind of man who wasn’t accustomed to being turned down.

  “Dammit, Cliff!” he banged his fist on the table at one point.

  His lack of patience with me was actually making me smile. I liked watching these big guys squirm in their seats, and do everything short of getting down on their knees and beg me to let them join me.

  “You need to calm down, Michael,” I told him, still smiling.

  “This funny to you?” he growled, and I shrugged my shoulders.

  “A few months ago, you wanted to eat me alive. You were competing with me. Now you want to merge. You have to admit there is some humor in that,” I told him.

  From the sour look on his face, I could sense he still didn’t get the joke.

  He cut himself a piece of the lamb on his plate, swept it in the mint sauce and then plopped it in his mouth.

  “This is unacceptable!” he growled, and before I knew what he was talking about, he clicked his fingers in the air, trying to get the attention of the waiters.

  “What are you doing, Michael?” I asked him. He glared at me.

  “Sending this filth back!” he hissed, pointing at the lamb on his plate.

  My food seemed fine to me, and I had no idea why he was reacting so violently to his. I had a theory that he was, in reality, furious with me, but was taking his anger out on the food and the restaurant.

  When a waiter appeared at our side, looking meek and apologetic, Michael started growling immediately.

  “I want to speak to the chef. What the Hell is this? I’m paying good money for this!”

  Chapter 3

  Piper

  I was in the middle of chopping potatoes when Chef Morris stormed towards me from the other end of the kitchen. From the look in his eyes, I could sense there was something seriously wrong.

  “I knew it!” he raged. I put the knife away.

  “What’s happened?” I asked, already beginning to cower.

  “What’s happened is that your fucking lamb and mint sauce is going to be sent back!”

  I had no idea what went wrong. I’d followed Chef’s recipe perfectly. When I sampled the dish, it tasted fine too.

  “Was it the presentation?” I asked him. Before he answered, he grabbed my arm and started tugging me in the direction of the door.

  “I don’t know, but you’re going to find out,” he growled, pushing me.

  “But…” I mumbled, but he’d already pushed me through the swinging doors of the kitchen.

  I was standing out on the main floor of the restaurant now.

  “I’ll take you to the table,” Manny, one of the waiters I was friendly with, said. Trying to keep my head held high, I followed Manny, weaving my way around the tables.

  I could see two men seated at a corner table near the windows. There was a big, gray-bearded man who was sitting on one side and now he looked up at me with raging eyes. I could immediately sense that he was the complainant. I couldn’t see the other man yet.

  “This is Chef Cohen.” Manny introduced me when I stepped up to the table.

  I smiled at the man and turned my eyes to the other one whose face I hadn’t seen yet. I recognized Cliff immediately, and for a few moments, I was startled to silence. This couldn’t actually be happening!

  I’d been back in Boston for over eight months now and hadn’t once bumped into him. Why did it have to happen here, like this? I felt like the whole Universe was working against me.

  “Did you make this?” the other man growled, pointing two fingers at the lamb dish in front of him that had now gone cold.

  “Is there a problem, Sir?” I asked him. He arched his brows up high on his forehead.

  “A problem? It’s cold and tough like I’m chewing a piece of play-dough! Completely tasteless!” he growled.

  “My apologies, Sir. It wasn’t our intention to serve you a sub-standard dish,” I replied, trying to remain as polite as I could.

  I could sense Cliff’s eyes on me. He was watching me, even though he hadn’t said a word. I was fighting every urge in my body to not look at him again. I was awash with embarrassment at the same time.

  “Your apologies are not going to cut it, Miss! You know how much effort goes into getting a reservation at this place? You know how much money I’m spending to eat here and entertain my guest?” the man continued.

  The customer was always right. No matter how confident you were that you weren’t wrong.

  I hung my head down and nodded.

  “I completely understand, Sir, and I would like to apologize to you personally on behalf of the entire restaurant and the management,” I said. I’d faced criticism by customers before, but not like this, not in such a rude way. I couldn't believe this was all happening in front of Cliff.

  I could sense other eyes on us too. People at adjoining tables were turning to look at us.

  “What am I supposed to do with your apology?” the man growled.

  “Michael, I think that’s quite enough. She’s apologized to you here.” Cliff finally spoke up. I glanced at him, just for a nanosecond and caught him looking at me.

  I could see there was an annoyed look on his face.

  “We would
be happy to offer you another meal, Sir. Anything of your choosing, on the house with dessert,” I told him. I just wanted to be able to walk away. I needed to get as far away from Cliff as possible.

  I could feel the back of my neck burning up, and my hands beginning to shake. I’d never had to deal with public embarrassment on this scale before.

  “I’m not hungry anymore. This is ridiculous. This is shameful!” the man continued to growl.

  “That’s enough, Michael. What more do you want here?” Cliff snapped.

  I couldn’t help but look at him, neither did the other man.

  “Stay out of this, Cliff. I know what I’m doing. These people need to be taught how to do their jobs!” he hissed.

  “These people just served you a perfectly cooked dish, which you berated for no reason. Then these people offered you a free meal for being a whiny little bitch,” Cliff continued.

  I felt an incredible urge to smile, but I couldn’t. That would have been highly unprofessional of me.

  “Watch yourself, Cliff!” the man snapped.

  “We don’t have a deal, Michael. You’re wasting your time wining and dining me. My answer isn’t going to change. It’s time you face that,” Cliff said. I had no idea what he was talking about, but from the expression on the other man’s face, I could tell he wasn’t pleased to hear it.

  He snapped his napkin off his lap and crumpled it on his plate.

  “Fuck this, I’m going home,” he growled and stood up from his chair.

  Cliff remained seated.

  “Have a nice night, Michael,” he said instead, while the man mumbled something under his breath.