Page 1 of Lost At Sea With A Billionaire (Billionaire Row #5)

Janet

I never expected a phone call to change my life, but here I was, staring at an opportunity that would either resurrect my dream or make me lose what little sanity I had left.

“Girl, it’s triple your standard rate,” Melanie, my sister, who’d been managing my business affairs, squealed through the phone. “You’d be absolutely insane to turn this down.”

I paced my kitchen floor, the same floor I’d stood on for countless hours perfecting recipes for my failed restaurant. It had been six months since I’d locked those doors. The wound remained fresh, like salt in an open cut.

“Working for some rich asshole on his yacht isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I went to culinary school,” I replied, running my fingers over the counter where I’d rolled countless pastries and chopped through garden-fresh vegetables.

“But it could fund your dream again,” Melanie pressed. “Two weeks cooking for one man, and you’d have enough for a serious down payment on a new restaurant space.”

I stopped pacing, my hand frozen mid-air. “How’d you even get this offer?”

“He saw you on ‘Extreme Chef: Wilderness Edition.’ He said he was impressed by your resourcefulness.”

My mind flashed back to that ridiculous competition—cooking over open flames during torrential rain, foraging for ingredients in dense woods while competitors whined about conditions.

I’d been running on pure adrenaline. I still couldn’t believe I’d won.

My daddy’s survival training had come through when I needed it most. He would’ve been so proud.

“I don’t know, Melanie.”

“What the hell, Janet? You’re broke,” she cut in, her usual subtlety nowhere to be found. “Your restaurant savings are gone, and those sad frozen dinners you’ve been eating are an insult to your talent.”

The truth in her words stung, but I couldn’t deny it. “That’s not fair.”

“Fair? Life ain’t fair, honey. This could be exactly what you need—get away for a while, cook amazing food, make ridiculous money.”

I sighed, glancing at the stack of unpaid bills on my counter. “What’s his name?”

“Jonathan Black. He’s a pharmaceutical mogul. He created some breakthrough treatment for antibiotic-resistant infections after his sister nearly died from one.”

“Never heard of him.”

“That’s because you’ve lived under a rock since Flavors closed. He’s everywhere. Young, filthy rich, and unbelievably handsome.”

“I don’t care if he looks like Idris Elba,” I interrupted. “If he’s paying that kind of money, he’s going to be impossible to please.”

“Is that a, yes?”

I closed my eyes, thinking of my restaurant dreams slipping further away with each passing day. “Two weeks, you say?”

“That’s it, and that’s all.”

I groaned. “Fine. Send me the details.”

“That’s my girl! You won’t regret it, I promise.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’m a sure motherfucker,” she laughed loudly, and I rolled my eyes even as a smile formed on my lips.

One week later, I stood at the marina with my knife roll clutched in one hand and my duffel bag in the other, staring at the most enormous yacht I’d ever seen. Three decks of gleaming white perfection stretched before me, making me feel smaller with each step I took toward it.

A Black woman in a crisp white uniform approached me with her posture military straight. She had a pixie cut, sharp arched brows, and a wide nose that she tried to thin with contour.

“Ms. Banks?”

“That’s me.”

“I’m Sandra, Mr. Black’s personal assistant. The rest of the crew is already aboard. You’re the last to arrive.” Her tone suggested this was between a cardinal sin and a federal offense.

“My flight was delayed,” I said, though I didn’t owe her any explanation.

“Mmm,” she hummed, not bothering to offer help with my bags. “Follow me.”

I trailed behind her up the gangway, trying not to gawk at the obscene display of wealth surrounding me. The polished teak decks gleamed in the sunlight, chrome fixtures sparkled, and everything reeked of casual luxury that reminded me I was not in my world anymore.

“The kitchen is this way,” Sandra said, leading me through a door and down a corridor. “Mr. Black has specific dietary preferences that were sent to you. Did you review them?”

“Thoroughly,” I replied. No allergens, preference for high-protein meals, an aversion to overly sweet desserts. Simple enough.

She stopped at a doorway. “This is the kitchen. Your quarters are one deck down. I’ll show you after you meet Mr. Black.”

My heart skipped. “He’s in there now?”

“Yes. He likes to approve all staff personally.”

Great. Straight off a commercial flight to meet my new billionaire boss. I smoothed my chef’s jacket and followed her in.

The kitchen was a chef’s dream—everything was top of the line with more counter space than my entire restaurant had offered. Floor-to-ceiling windows provided a panoramic view of the water, but my attention was immediately drawn to the man standing at the center of it all.

Jonathan Black was... overwhelming. He was at least six-foot-five, with broad shoulders that strained against his shirt and biceps that looked like they could bench-press me without breaking a sweat.

Dark skin gleamed under the kitchen lights, and his sharp features were so perfectly structured they belonged in a museum.

His faded haircut accentuated a strong jawline, and his neatly trimmed goatee framed full lips that seemed permanently set in a serious line.

He wore no jacket, just a white button-down with sleeves rolled up, revealing powerful forearms dusted with hair.

“Mr. Black, this is Janet Banks, the chef,” Sandra announced.

His dark eyes assessed me from head to toe in the way someone might inspect a racehorse before placing a bet. But something else behind his perusal made my skin tingle—a flare of interest, perhaps? Or maybe that was just my imagination working overtime.

“Ms. Banks,” he said, his deep voice shooting tingles down my skin. “I enjoyed watching you on ‘Extreme Chef.’ You have remarkable ingenuity.”

“Thank you,” I said, gripping my knife roll tighter. “However, I’m more comfortable in a kitchen than a forest.”

A slight smile curved his lips, transforming his face in a way that made my stomach do an unexpected flip. “I certainly hope so. This trip is important to me. I need everything to be on point.”

“I understand,” I said, sounding more confident than I felt. “I’ve reviewed your preferences, and prepared menu plans for your approval.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprise flickering across his features. “Already? Impressive.”

“It’s my job,” I replied.

“Your job starts now. I’d like to sample something before we depart.” His eyes held mine. “Consider it an audition.”

My spine stiffened. “An audition? I thought I was already hired.”

“You are. But I like to know exactly what I’m getting.” The challenge in his gaze was unmistakable.

Sandra shifted uncomfortably beside me. “Mr. Black, perhaps Ms. Banks would like to settle in first?—”

“It’s fine,” I said, setting my duffel down and stepping further into the kitchen. “What would you like me to prepare?”

Jonathan crossed his arms, the movement causing his biceps to flex impressively. “Surprise me. Use whatever you find here. You have thirty minutes.”

With that, he turned and left, and Sandra trailed behind him like an obedient puppy.

I stood alone in the gleaming kitchen, my irritation building with each passing second. An audition? After I’d already been hired? After I’d packed up my life and flown across the country? Who did this man think he was?

A billionaire who’s paying triple your rate, a voice in my head reminded me.

I sighed. If he wanted an audition, I’d give him one he wouldn’t forget.

I opened the refrigerator, pleased to find it fully stocked with ingredients that would make any chef confident with this sudden challenge.

My mind raced through the endless options as I assessed what I had to work with.

I needed something simple but elegant that would show technique without exaggeration.

Twenty-five minutes later, I’d prepared a seared sea scallop with brown butter, lemon, and capers, served with roasted asparagus. Classic flavors executed perfectly—a statement of confidence rather than flash.

Right on time, Jonathan returned, minus Sandra, and along with him, a spicy aphrodisiac, incredibly masculine, drifted from him. He surveyed the plate I’d prepared, with no expression in his gaze.

“Please,” I said, trying to remove myself from the spell his scent lured me under. I gestured to the stool at the counter.

His powerfully built frame moved onto the stool, though he was still so tall he looked like he was standing. I placed the plate before him, then stepped back, resisting the urge to explain each component.

He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. His eyes closed briefly, and when they opened again, they locked with mine.

“The scallop is perfectly cooked,” he said. “You didn’t feel the need to complicate it.”

“Sometimes simplicity is more challenging than complexity,” I replied. “Anyone can hide flaws under layers of sauces and garnishes.”

He took another bite, then another. “You’re not intimidated by me.”

It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “Should I be?”

A genuine smile spread across his face, transforming his features from merely handsome to downright drop-dead gorgeous. “Most people are.”

“A kitchen is my territory, not yours. Nobody intimidates me on my turf.”

He chuckled and finished the dish in silence, then pushed the plate away. “You’re hired. For real this time.”

“I was already hired,” I reminded him, unable to keep the annoyance from my tone.

He stood, towering over me. “Now you’re hired on my terms, not my assistant’s.”

“And what are your terms?” I asked, suddenly aware of how close our bodies were, near enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him.

“Excellence. Every time. No shortcuts.” His gaze was intense as if searching for something beneath my surface. “Can you deliver that, Ms. Banks?”

“Janet is fine,” I said. “No need to be formal. And yes, I can deliver excellence. Every time.”

“Good.” He nodded, then checked his watch—a timepiece that probably cost more than my entire culinary school tuition. “We depart in one hour. Dinner is at eight. I’ll have Sandra show you to your quarters so you can settle in.”

As if summoned by the mention of her name, Sandra appeared in the doorway. “Everything satisfactory, Mr. Black?”

“More than,” he replied, his eyes still on me. “Janet will do nicely.” He nodded again, then left the kitchen with long, confident strides.

It wasn’t until he disappeared that I realized my heart was pounding like I’d just sprinted up a flight of stairs.

“This way to your quarters,” Sandra said, eyeing me with curiosity.

I followed her, but my mind was racing. Two weeks on this yacht with Jonathan Black. Triple my standard rate. Half my sanity, probably.

But as I thought of his smile when I stood my ground, I felt a flutter of warmth that I couldn’t excuse for professional pride.

I needed to squash it immediately. Jonathan Black was my employer, nothing more.

And I had restaurant dreams to resurrect, which depended on me keeping my head on straight.

No matter how tingling his chuckle was.