My Orc Billionaire (Eastshore Isle #12)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Riven

“Oooh, are any of these up for grabs?”

I hadn’t even realized Mom was in the kitchen until I saw her hand snaking in from my left side, reaching for one of the macarons I was carefully arranging on the platter. Without thinking, I smacked her hand to keep her away from them.

The noise she made was somewhere between a laugh and a huff. “Riven!” she scolded…but at least her hand disappeared.

“Sorry.” I didn’t look up from my task, frowning in concentration to ensure the sixth cookie was perfectly aligned with the first five. “The rejects are in the blue plastic container.” I used my butt to point across the kitchen. “You can have one of those.”

“A reject! Such an honor!” Mom teased, but I heard her cross to the other counter. “These still look amazing. Are they for the interview?”

I hummed in concentration, moved the maple pecan macaron a millimeter to the right, then nodded in satisfaction and blew out a breath as I straightened.

“Yeah, it’s not for a few hours, but I’ve been baking for ages.” I planted my hands in the small of my back and bent, groaning as I stretched. “Ugh, I’m getting old.”

My mother shoved a pink dessert into her mouth, but not before I saw her wince. And the pity in her eyes.

I wasn’t old—not even thirty yet. This was supposed to be the prime of my life…but no one told my genes that. Because of my family history, we all got regular screenings, and we caught the cancer early last year, thank God. But that kind of shit wasn’t easy on your body, you know?

At least you don’t have to worry about your boobs getting in the way anymore.

Well, there was that.

I’d never been big, but I was discovering there were benefits to having smaller tits—when they weren’t aching from the surgery—especially when I worked long hours on my feet.

“The maple pecan is the best,” Mom declared, already turning back to the reject container.

I snorted. “You haven’t tried the lavender lemon—they’re the best. And the sriracha-honey.”

I could see her nose wrinkle as she studied the offerings. “Is that this bright red one? I don’t know about that combination. What if he doesn’t like spicy foods?”

“Then he’ll love the chocolate buttercream, or the mini apple-bourbon pies.” I shrugged. “Something for everyone.”

“You make the best desserts, and he’ll love them,” Mom announced, popping the lid off one of the other containers. “Oooh, brownies! I’m going to miss you when you move away, lovebug.”

Since this was accompanied by her taking a big bite of one of the mini brownies, I knew exactly what she’d miss. Still, her vote of confidence—and obvious enjoyment of the desserts—made me smile.

Mom was convinced I would get the job which I’d made all these treats to interview for.

It wasn’t the first time I’d gone in for an interview as a private chef, and I knew exactly how to highlight my skills.

Since the application process had specifically mentioned a requirement for dessert at each meal, I figured the client had a sweet tooth, and I leaned into that.

The only issue? This was the first time I’d ever interviewed with zero idea of who the client actually was.

The internet was practically empty when it came to Abydos No Last Name.

Apparently he owned the Vengeance Mine in Colorado, and the Vengeance Lithium Refining Plant on this coast…and that was just about all anyone knew about him, other than speculations about his outrageous worth.

I knew he was an orc, obviously. My cousin Sami was married—and Mated—to his best friend Tarkhan. I knew he was one of the orcs who’d crossed through the veil a decade earlier from their world and were slowly coming to Eastshore Isle to make their homes. And I knew he was a huge recluse.

“Soooo…” Mom turned around with a happy sigh and planted her butt against the counter. She was wearing that ridiculous cat-in-a-witch’s-hat sweater, which told me she’d been volunteering at the library this morning. “How are you feeling?”

“In general?” I shrugged. “My back aches and my feet hurt.” And even though the doctors told me the scars would stop itching, I swear I could still feel them a year later. “And my bank account—”

I pressed my lips together, not wanting to get into that old argument.

My last clients—a wealthy couple up in New York—had found a reason to fire me when it became obvious my medical bills were going to be outrageous…

and I’d refused to take money from Mom. I did move in with her during recovery, which I figured was basically me accepting her charity, but now I just tried not to mention money.

Or drowning in medical debt.

“I’m fine,” I said instead with a bright smile.

Her eye roll told me she didn’t believe it. “I meant about the interview. This Abydos guy lives here on Eastshore?”

Ah. Well, this I could answer. I might not know much about him personally, but…

“Apparently not full time.” I turned back to my platter and began to lay out the brownies and other treats I’d selected. “I’ve had two calls with the guy’s assistant—” I sent Mom a smirk over my shoulder. “His name is Mr. Sylvik, and he sounds like he knows what he’s doing.”

“And what’d he say about the big shot?”

I carefully placed a chocolate-cherry ball beside a lime tart. “Mr. Abydos has a full-time residence in Colorado near his mine, and works remotely basically all the time. But his biggest stockholders all live here on Eastshore now, and Tarkhan talked him into building a house here on the island.”

Mom hummed; I could hear her chewing. “Does Sami have any insight—?"

“She’s never even met him,” I interrupted, studying the tray.

“Her husband’s best friend, and he’s never invited them over or anything.

She says he’s really reclusive, and he’s not even usually here on Eastshore.

Just built the house to get Tark off his back and to have someplace to meet with shareholders. ”

With a little flourish, I tucked in a mini silk-mum-and-autumn-leaf embellishment and stared down at the tray critically. Then, deciding my dessert presentation was as good as I could make it, I turned and rested my hip against the counter, waggling my brows.

“And that’s where Mr. Sylvik got technical. Basically, Mr. Abydos’s Eastshore residence is a work space. But since it wasn’t zoned commercial, and the mayor has passed all those rules about permits for rental homes versus full-time residences…”

Mom’s eyes lit up as she understood. “He had to classify his new mansion as a full-time residence?”

I nodded. “Yep. Which means someone has to be living there, even when Mr. Abydos is in Colorado. Which apparently is like all the time. He’s just planning on being here for meetings, which he’ll need catered.”

“So you’ll be the live-in personal chef when he’s there, and when he’s not…” Mom clapped in excitement. “I’m going to come visit you in your new mansion, lovebug! A salary, a mansion, and health benefits for sitting around waiting for him to show up?”

I had to chuckle at her enthusiasm. “I still have to pass the final interview—the guy has to meet me and like my food, although Mr. Sylvik promised me he’ll approve of the sample menus I put together. I guess they’ve been working together for years, and he knows Mr. Abydos well.”

Mom shrugged. “Well, if he’s as reclusive as your cousin says, it makes sense that he has someone to help him interact with the world.

” Her nose wrinkled in that adorable way she did whenever she was feeling Big Feelings.

“I can’t imagine what kind of difficulty he must have overcome to go from joining our world to becoming a billionaire in a few short years. How did he even make that much money?”

“Oh, actually, I do know that!” I reached for my phone in the back pocket of the chef pants I wore basically every day these days and began to pull up some of the articles I’d found about Vengeance, Inc.

“Apparently finding lithium in the Rockies was lucrative, but he didn’t start making a real profit until he began to process it.

Up until then, manufacturers—especially for things like electric vehicles—had to deal with plants in Asia.

Since his is not only here, but on the East Coast, he’s cornering the markets in this country and making headway in Europe. ”

Since Mom was nodding along, I figured she understood…right up until she—still nodding—said, “What?”

“What, what?” I raised one brow.

“I understood most of those words, lovebug, but not the order.”

Oh Lord. “What part didn’t make sense?”

“He made his money making electric cars? Like that musky guy?”

Did she even have the internet? I hid my smirk by sliding my phone back into my pocket. “He makes batteries, Mom. Expensive batteries.”

“And you make delicious desserts!” With a big smile, Mom pushed away from the counter and crossed the kitchen, arms wide. “You’re going to utterly wow him, I know it.”

Honestly, as she enveloped me in a hug, I did feel pretty good. Not just because of the chocolate and the hug, although that helped—her vote of confidence in me was what I needed to psych myself up.

I did make delicious desserts, and amazing mains, and everything in between. I knew that. I knew how to work in a big commercial kitchen or on a yacht’s galley. I had lots of experience as a private chef, and I knew how to talk the talk and walk the walk.

In an hour, I would make myself look far more professional and put-together than I normally did, and I would march into that interview with my platter of desserts and all the confidence I could armor myself in…

And I would kick ass.

I would get this job.

Not just because I loved the freedom of being a private chef, not just because it would mean not having to share my mom’s space…but because the salary was enough for me to start chipping away at my debt and the health benefits would cover my ass with all these follow-up appointments.